Lake Erie Quotes

Human beings will be happier - not when they cure cancer or get to Mars or eliminate racial prejudice or flush Lake Erie but when they find ways to inhabit primitive communities again. That’s my utopia.

You must have a bladder like Lake Erie. I think empires rose and fell in the time it took you to pee. I could hear it the whole time." Thank you. Do you want something?

What can we make of the inexpressible joy of children? It is a kind of gratitude, I think—the gratitude of the ten-year-old who wakes to her own energy and the brisk challenge of the world. You thought you knew the place and all its routines, but you see you hadn’t known. Whole stacks at the library held books devoted to things you knew nothing about. The boundary of knowledge receded, as you poked about in books, like Lake Erie’s rim as you climbed its cliffs. And each area of knowledge disclosed another, and another. Knowledge wasn’t a body, or a tree, but instead air, or space, or being—whatever pervaded, whatever never ended and fitted into the smallest cracks and the widest space between stars.

That's not water. That's socialism juice. We should bomb Lake Erie.

You can't see Canada across Lake Erie, but you know it's there. It's the same with spring. You have to have faith, especially in Cleveland. Snow in April always breaks your heart.

...we're a people who pollute the very air we breathe. And our rivers. We're destroying the great lakes; Erie is already gone, and now we've begun on the oceans. We filled our atmosphere with radioactive fallout that put poison into our children's bones, and we knew it. We've made bombs that can wipe out humanity in minutes, and they are aimed and ready to fire. We ended polio, and then the United States Army bred new strains of germs that can cause fatal, incurable disease. We had a chance to do justice to our Negroes, and when they asked it, we refused. In Asia we burned people alive, we really did. We allow children to grow up malnourished in the United States. We allow people to make money by using our television channels to pursued our own children to smoke, knowing what it is going to do to them. This is a time when it becomes harder and harder to continue telling yourself that we are still good people. We hate each other. And we're used to it.

Human beings will be happier—not when they cure cancer or get to Mars or eliminate racial prejudice or flush Lake Erie but when they find ways to inhabit primitive communities again. That’s my utopia. KURT VONNEGUT, JR.

You still there?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You must have a bladder like Lake Erie. I think empires rose and fell in the time it took you to pee. I could hear it the whole time.

Other lakes get similar treatment. According to Michigan markers, whites discovered Lake Michigan, Lake St. Clair, and Lake Superior. Lake Erie gets a more complex marker: “Named for the Erie Indians, this was the last of the Great Lakes discovered by white men...” Actually, none of them was discovered by white men, but this marker at least admits that Native Americans existed and implies they knew of Lake Erie.

Since Lake Erie water can eat through a human body in under three minutes, a wood or aluminum boat in ten and a steel hull in twenty-five, this resort couldn’t offer much by way of the usual swimming and boating

A mob with clubs had chased a group of immigrant miners out of town in 1921. The whiff of socialism was enough to inflame the attackers. Irish laborers had helped to build the city; refugees of the Great Famine dug the ditch that would become the Wabash and Erie Canal, largest in the United States, connecting Evansville to Lake Erie, 460 miles to the north. But because of their religion, they were second-class citizens in the caste system that the Klan exploited in Evansville.

Plunge a sponge into Lake Erie. Did you absorb every drop? Take a deep breath. Did you suck the oxygen out of the atmosphere? Pluck a pine needle from a tree in Yosemite. Did you deplete the forest of foliage? Watch an ocean wave crash against the beach. Will there never be another one? Of course there will. No sooner will one wave crash into the sand than another appears. Then another, then another. This is a picture of God’s sufficient grace. Grace is simply another word for God’s tumbling, rumbling reservoir of strength and protection. It comes at us not occasionally or miserly but constantly and aggressively, wave upon wave. We’ve barely regained our balance from one breaker, and then, bam, here comes another.

Why do I need TV when I have forty-eight apartment windows to watch across the vacant lot, and a sliver of Lake Erie? I've seen history out this window. So much. I was four when we moved here in 1919. The fruit-sellers' carts and coal wagons were pulled down the street by horses back then. I used to stand just here and watch the coal brought up by the handsome lad from Groza, the village my parents were born in. Gibb Street was mainly Rumanians back then. It was "Adio" - "Good-bye"- in all the shops when you left. Then the Rumanians started leaving. They weren't the first, or the last. This has always been a working-class neighborhood. It's like a cheap hotel - you stay until you've got enough money to leave.

Ohio is a scale model of the entire country, jammed into 43,000 square miles. Cleveland views itself as the intellectual East (its citizens believe they have a rivalry with Boston and unironically classify the banks of Lake Erie as the North Coast). Cincinnati is the actual South (they fly Confederate flags and eat weird food). Dayton is the Midwest. Toledo is Pittsburgh, before Pittsburgh was nice. Columbus is a low-altitude Denver, minus the New World Order airport. Ohio experiences all possible US weather, sometimes simultaneously.

I won’t let you stay here. Julia, we’re a people who pollute the very air we breathe. And our rivers. We’re destroying the Great Lakes; Erie is already gone, and now we’ve begun on the oceans. We filled our atmosphere with radio-active fallout that put poison into our children’s bones, and we knew it. We’ve made bombs that can wipe out humanity in minutes, and they are aimed and ready to fire. We ended polio, and then the United States Army bred new strains of germs that can cause fatal, incurable disease. We had a chance to do justice to our Negroes, and when they asked it, we refused. In Asia we burned people alive, we really did. We allow children to grow up malnourished in the United States. We allow people to make money by using our television channels to persuade our own children to smoke, knowing what it is going to do to them. This is a time when it becomes harder and harder to continue telling yourself that we are still good people. We hate each other. And we’re used to it.

Montreal Transcript, January 1848: From Grosse Île, the great charnel house of victimised humanity, up to Port Sarnia – along the borders of our magnificent river, upon the shores of Lakes Ontario and Erie, and wherever the tide of immigration has extended, are to be found the resting places of the sons and daughters of Erin – one unbroken chain of graves where repose fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers in one comingled heap, without a tear bedewing the soil or a stone to mark the spot.

He had long since observed that Elizabeth had superfluous IQ for her line of work, and inside all that free space in her brain she was completing a philosophy of the world wove together out of all the smells she had ever smelled. Maybe her memory was not the longest. Every day she had to go over every line of it again from top to bottom, just like the day before. She was history-minded: she wanted a piece of ever dog who had come before her to every landmark, the whole roll call, every tuft of grass at the foot of the loading platform by the old natrium plant, every pile of boards or lost truck part in the fringe of weeds along the shore at the four-car ferry, every corner stump or clump of pee-bleached iris on the shaggy line where front yards ended in pavement. The one-time ice house. The Wheeling & Lake Erie water tower. Every boundary stone still standing, however crookedly, in front of the town cemetery. Where putting her own bit into this olfactory model of the world was concerned, Elizabeth was not demure but lifted her leg like any male dog, a little decrepitly now that she was old. Come outa there, Elizabeth. He didn’t want her pissing on the gravestones.

The citizens of Buffalo, then a smallish lakeside town, embarked on a brief campaign, led by a local judge named Wilkeson, to clear their own eponymous riverway and so tempt the canal engineers to route the Erie Canal to a terminus nearby. Energetic lobbying, together with the clearance of the creek, evidently worked, for the engineers did eventually end their labors there, and the fact that more than a million people now still brave one of the country’s cruelest climates (with roof-topping lake-effect snowfalls drowning the city each winter) to live in and around Buffalo is testimony to the wisdom of Judge Wilkeson and the city fathers of 1825 in doing all the persuading, as well as dredging and prettifying the banks of Buffalo Creek.

I can tell you about my mother, and how her death nearly destroyed me. I can tell you in detail about what I did afterward, and what that cost me. I can tell you about the decade it took me to work through it. I can tell you how many days and nights I suffered during the forty-nine years Amarantha held Rhys captive, the guilt tearing me apart that I wasn't there to help him, that I couldn't save him. I can tell you how I still look at him and know I'm not worthy of him, that I failed him when he needed me- that fact drags me from sleep sometimes. I can tell you I've killed so many people I've lost count, but I remember most of their faces. I can tell you how I hear Eris and Devlon and the others talk and, deep down, I still believe that I am a worthless bastard brute. That it doesn't matter how many Siphons I have or how many battles I've won, because I failed the two people dearest to me when it mattered the most.' She couldn't find the words to tell him that he was wrong. That he was good, and brave, and- 'But I'm not going to tell you all of that,' he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. The wind seemed to pause, the sunlight on the lake brightening. He said, 'I am going to tell you that you will get through it. That you will face all of this, and you will get through it. That these tears are good, Nesta. These tears mean you care. I am going to tell you that it is not too late, not for any of it. And I can't tell you when, or how, but it will get better. What you feel, this guilt and pain and self-loathing- you will get through it. But only if you are willing to fight. Only if you are willing to face it, and embrace it, and walk through it, to emerge on the other side of it. And maybe you will still feel that tinge of pain, but there is another side. A better side. She pulled back from his chest then. Found his gaze lined with silver. 'I don't know how to get there. I don't think I'm capable of it.' His eyes glimmered with pain for her. 'You are. I've seen it- I've seen what you can do when you are willing to fight for the people you love. Why not apply that same bravery and loyalty to yourself? Don't say you don't deserve it.' He gripped her chin. 'Everyone deserves happiness. The road there isn't easy. It is long, and hard, and often travelled utterly blind. But you keep going.' He nodded to the mountains and lake. 'Because you know the destination will be worthwhile.' She stared up at him, this male who had walked with her for five days in near-silence, waiting, she knew, for this moment. She blurted, 'All the things I've done before-' 'Leave them in the past. Apologise to who you feel the need to, but leave those things behind.' 'Forgiveness is not that easy.' 'Forgiveness is something we also grant ourselves. And I can talk to you until these mountains crumble around us, but if you don't wish to be forgiven, if you don't want to stop feeling this way... it won't happen.' He cupped her cheek, calluses scraping against her overheated skin. 'You don't need to become some impossible ideal. You don't need to become sweet and simpering. You can give everyone that I Will Slay My Enemies look- which is my favourite look, by the way. You can keep that sharpness I like so much, that boldness and fearlessness. I don't want you to ever lose those things, to cage yourself.' 'But I still don't know how to fix myself.' 'There's nothing broken to be fixed.' he said fiercely. 'You are helping yourself. Healing the parts of you that hurt to much- and perhaps hurt others, too.' Nesta knew he wouldn't have ever said it, but she saw it in his gaze- that she had hurt him. Many times. She'd known she had, but to see it again in his face... She lifted her hand to his cheek and laid it there, too drained to are about the gentleness of the touch. Cassian nuzzled into her hand, closing his eyes. 'I'll be with you every step of the way,' he whispered into her palm.

There was an eerie quiet about last night, like death sleeping on the beach of Lake Erie. I woke up with sand in my shoes and tiny coffins on my feet.

Kelly’s Island was fabulous. It was still early in the season and there were very few people about. We spent the day riding up and down quiet little lanes and exploring every inch of the island. We visited several beaches, I swam in a disused quarry, we played crazy golf – this time, a more traditional (crap) British style, complete with a windmill that you had to putt through – and we ate many ice-creams. We returned our bikes late afternoon, much to the delight of the tyrannical lady in charge of rentals, and boarded the ferry back to the mainland, before driving to a rest area further along Lake Erie.

They came all that distance just to see a baby?” she whispered. “For heaven’s sake, they’re not a war party. Nothing’s going on. Just because Polly’s folks were Tories and Gideon lived at that school in Canada doesn’t make them dangerous.” “What if he’s a British agent, Eph?” “Don’t be ridiculous, Livy. That’s a harebrained, womanish idea.” “Why?” she said angrily. “It’s your pa said there were plenty of them making trouble out here. He said those British in Upper Canada keep telling the western tribes the king will come to their aid if they war with the Americans.” “Gideon lives right in the middle of Americans. What would he have to gain by starting a war in his own backyard?” “I don’t know, Eph. All I know is what Uncle John said. Upper Canada wants Indian territory sitting between it and America. A strip below Lake Ontario and Lake Erie. If Gideon helps them, maybe the British will give him land as a reward. Rising Hawk’s probably in on it, too. He’s always traveling over to Canada to the nations at Grand River. Couldn’t he be carrying messages to the British garrisons there?” “Rising Hawk’s not a sneak, Livy. Besides, he could never keep big secrets. He’d turn them into stories and blab to everyone.

said, “Is it so hard to believe anyone could love you, Eris? Is it so hard to believe I could fall for you just because you're you? You're everything I could ever want. You're pure and brave and honest and strong, you're quick and intelligent and dedicated. You take nothing for granted and yet you live life on your own terms. If all of that isn't enough, we can discuss what you do to me

lonely?” Eris took a deep breath and then released it. “I got along by minding my own business and staying out of everyone else's. Not too many people cared about a tall Indian kid with no parents. I didn't let anyone care, because I stayed out of everybody's way.” “Weren't you lonely?” Madeleine repeated softly. “Yes,” he said. “I was lonely. But I got along.” She

Lake Erie suffered immensely throughout the late 19th and 20th centuries as a receptacle for human, industrial and agricultural wastes. But nothing compares to what is happening today. Those millions of acres of destroyed wetlands, the overapplication of farm fertilizer, an increase in spring deluges and a lakebed smothered with invasive mussels have all conspired to create massive seasonal toxic algae blooms that are turning Erie’s water into something that seems impossible for a sea of its size: poison.

The younger partner, John D. Rockefeller, was barely twenty years old. Seeking independence, he had just left his position at Hewitt & Tuttle, a small firm that sold wholesale produce on behalf of farmers. Rockefeller had started there as an apprentice bookkeeper four years earlier. Beginning with $4,000 in capital—Rockefeller’s $2,000 coming half from his savings and half from a loan from his father—the firm took produce on consignment from farmers and sold it to wholesalers and other large buyers. Cleveland, being strategically positioned on Lake Erie, was an efficient point from which to get produce to New York City via Buffalo and the Erie Canal. The market for food and provisions was influenced by one especially large and consistent customer: the Union Army. The timing was good. Clark & Rockefeller thrived during the war.

Finally the job was done—a canal 363 miles long, 4 feet deep, 28 feet wide at the bottom and 40 at the top, with 83 locks lifting boats to a height of almost 600 feet, and costing over $7 million. Such a feat called for celebration, and the New Yorkers did not fail the occasion. On a morning late in October 1825 the canalboat Seneca Chief nosed into the canal at Buffalo carrying two kegs of the “pure water of Lake Erie,” Governor Clinton and other dignitaries, and a

October 20, 1916, when a freshwater hurricane brought down four ships on Lake Erie, became known as Black Friday.

Now we think maybe Lake Erie is the great water referred to in the I Ching, and if we wait long enough we can walk across—to Buffalo or Cleveland.

hot-tub guy?” I had to wipe my eyes

The Eerie Whispers of Lake Erie [10w] It's easier for a ghost to whisper than to speak.

A brick could be strapped to the back of a pet gerbil, to teach it how to swim. That’s how I learned to swim. Grandpa glued a gerbil to my back, dropped me off in the middle of Lake Erie, and told me he expected both of us back for dinner the following night. 


Algal populations dropped, fish populations grew. The recovery of Lake Erie was so dramatic that in 1986, Dr. Seuss even agreed to remove its mention from later editions of The Lorax. But Lake Erie is again getting glumped. The immediate culprit is a tiny, single-celled, blue-green algae called Microcystis that forms thick mats that can cover many miles of lake surface.

And you, Ivanhoe,' Skaggs said, 'intend to find her and fetch her home?' 'I do intend to find her. If she is at the ends of the earth, I shall find her. And to stay with her forever if she'll allow me.' Duff stared in admiration: the ends of the earth. He had never heard anyone but a priest use that phrase. He felt a wave of love for Ben, and suddenly saw his chance. 'I'll come along with you,' he said, practically shouting, he was so excited. 'West.' Ben smiled, and clasped Duff's hand, thumb hooked to thumb. 'Wait, wait, wait...' It had fallen to Skaggs, of all people, to challenge their quest on practical grounds. 'How shall you possibly find her? She has been two weeks on the road already. They might be anywheres between Ohio and the desert.' 'We shall obtain from Mr. Brisbane a copy of his little guide,' Ben said, 'and follow it like a map from east to west. The only question is our fastest route. Speed is paramount.' Skaggs saw that his friend would not be deterred. 'Well, a steamboat to Albany, railways to Buffalo, then a steamer across Lake Erie. It sickens me even to describe the route. But you could be in Cleveland before the end of the week.' He paused. 'I cannot believe that I am describing a speedy arrival in Cleveland as a desirable thing.

2. Lake Erie The wisdom to recognize and halt follows the know-how to pollute past rescue.

(Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.) Dr. Mark Haen completed a residency at Lake Erie College of Osteopathic Medicine.

But know that Briallyn and the others sold me to him not through their devices, but his. By words he planted in their courts, whispered on the winds.” “He’s still at the lake,” Lucien said carefully. Lucien had been there, Cassian recalled. Had gone with Nesta’s father to the lake where Vassa was held captive. “Yes,” Vassa said, relief in her eyes. “But Koschei is as old as the sea—older.” “Some say he is Death itself,” Eris murmured. “I do not know if that is true,” Vassa said, “but they call him Koschei the Deathless, for he has no death awaiting him. He is truly immortal. And would know of anything that might give Briallyn an edge against us.” “And you think Koschei would do all of this,” Cassian pressed, “not out of sympathy for the human queens, but with the goal of freeing himself?” “Certainly.” Vassa peered at her hands, fingers flexing. “I fear what may happen if he ever gets free of the lake. If he sees this world on the cusp of disaster and knows he could strike, and strike hard, and make himself its master. As he once tried to do, long ago.” “Those are legends that predate our courts,” Eris said. Vassa nodded. “It is all I have gleaned from my time enslaved to him.

The other queens indeed fled from Briallyn weeks ago, as Eris said. She alone sits in the throne room of their shared palace. And what Eris revealed about Beron was true, too: the High Lord visited Briallyn on the continent, pledging his forces to her cause.” A muscle ticked in Azriel’s jaw. “But Briallyn’s gathering of armies, the alliance with Beron, is only the auxiliary force to what she has planned.” He shook his head, shadows slithering over his wings. “Briallyn wishes to find the Cauldron again. In order to retrieve her youth.” “She’ll never attain the Cauldron,” Amren said, waving a hand gleaming with rings. “No one but us, Miryam, and Drakon know where it’s hidden. Even if Briallyn did uncover its location, there are enough wards and spells on it that no one could ever break through.” “Briallyn knows this,” Azriel said gravely. Nesta’s stomach churned. Azriel nodded to Cassian. “What Vassa suspected is true. The death-lord Koschei has been whispering in Briallyn’s ear. He remains trapped at his lake, but his words carry on the wind to her. He is ancient, his depth of knowledge fathomless. He pointed Briallyn toward the Dread Trove—not for her sake, but for his own ends. He wishes to use it to free himself from his lake. And Briallyn is not the puppet we believed her to be—she and Koschei are allies.” He added to Cassian, “You need to ask Eris whether Beron knows about this. And the Trove.” Cassian nodded into the ensuing silence. Nesta found herself asking, “What’s the Dread Trove?” Amren’s eyes glowed with a remnant of her power. “The Cauldron Made many objects of power, long ago, forging weapons of unrivaled might. Most were lost to history and war, and when I went into the Prison, only three remained. At the time, some claimed there were four, or that the fourth had been Unmade, but today’s legends only tell of three.

Feyre asked Azriel, “Briallyn has not found the Dread Trove yet?” Azriel shook his head. “Not as far as I could tell. The Dread Trove was last rumored to be here in Prythian. That’s all Koschei knows, apparently. We have that on our side at least. Briallyn won’t risk coming over here—not yet. Even with Beron as an ally. And Koschei is bound to his lake. But they are readying Briallyn to come, gathering her realm’s greatest spies and warriors. There was already a host of them at the queens’ palace. Why Briallyn and Koschei took Eris’s soldiers is something I still haven’t figured out.” He gestured to Cassian. “You need to meet with Eris.

But the Erie Canal opened in sections as it was being built. Every section became instant proof of the canal’s value as a propeller of commerce. Traffic grew immediately every time a section opened. When the full canal opened in 1825, its revenues from tolls vastly exceeded all expectations. The initial projection of 500,000 annual tons of goods within twenty years was exceeded within ten. Within twenty years of its opening, over a million tons per year were being transported on the Erie Canal. Overnight, the commercial implications were clear. Goods from Cleveland could end up in New York within days. Chicago was completely accessible by water from New York through the Great Lakes. With the Mississippi River already the conduit to New Orleans, a very large part of the United States could now be accessed by waterways. The Erie Canal’s financial success set off canal mania in other states, which saw that it had cost the state of New York nothing financially—the tolls were more than sufficient to pay off the bonds—while transforming the state economy and driving down the price of grain. It was the model of successful public infrastructure.

It's like asking a gang of kids to lift a Patton tank out of Lake Erie with a few ropes and a raft.

Much of plotting from chapter to chapter deals with this kind of juggling of events so that one thing leads logically to another, cause-and-effect fashion. Writers over the years have probably sweated enough to fill Lake Erie as they tried to figure out how to motivate Priscilla to open the locked door (cause), or what next might happen after she did so (effect). In real life, blind luck has to be accepted because, after all, there it is – it just happened, period. But the fiction reader demands more credibility than he usually gets in real life.

Said Mr Jefferson: ‘It wd. have given us time.’ ‘modern dress for your statue… ‘I remember having written you while Congress sat at Annapolis, ‘on water communication between ours and the western country, ‘particularly the information…of the plain between ‘Big Beaver and Cuyahoga, which made me hope that a canal ‘…navigation of Lake Erie and the Ohio. You must have had ‘occasion of getting better information on this subject ‘and if you wd. oblige me ‘by a communication of it. I consider this canal, ‘if practicable, as a very important work. T. J. to General Washington, 1787 …no slaves north of Maryland district… …flower found in Connecticut that vegetates when suspended in air…. …screw more effectual if placed below surface of water. Those details at the opening of canto 31 are all, apart from the Latin lines, from the historical record, mostly from the ‘ten fat volumes’ of The Writings of Thomas Jefferson which Eliot had been given by his father and had passed on to Pound.

This is what was happening in the late 1960s, when people started to refer to Lake Erie not as a Great Lake, but as “North America’s Dead Sea.

The condition of Lake Erie, to which Professor Barry Commoner, among others, has drawn attention, should serve as a sufficient warning. Another decade or two,

the American population was increasing rapidly, from 5.3 million in 1800 to 12.9 million in 1830, and from sixteen states in 1800 to twenty-four in 1830, most of the increase across the mountains in the trans-Appalachian west. The river steamboat from 1807, the Erie Canal between Albany, New York, and the Great Lakes from 1825, railroads from 1829, penetrated the American wilderness and fostered its settlement. These new places and people needed lighting.