Mary Anning Quotes

He places the last pillow on the pile and looks at me. He jerks his head to the pile of pillows. “I watched you die. I need to fuck you Mac.” The words slam into me like bullets taking my knees out. I lean back against a piece of furniture-an armoire I think. I really don’t care. It holds me up. It wasn’t a request. It was an acknowledgement of a requirement to make it from this moment to the next like I need a transfusion my body has been poisoned. “Do you want me to ” There is no purr or coyness or seduction in his voice. There is a question that needs an answer. Bare bones. That’s what he’s after. That’s what he offers. “Yes.

I have always admired most those who lead with their eyes, like Mary Anning, for they seem more aware of the world and its workings.

The carpenter's daughter has won a name for herself, and deserved to win it

At times, the solution to a maze is to reduce it to embers ans walk straight through the ashes." ― Mary Doria Russell, Children of God

here, there, and everywhere"-an opinionated riddle.

Yes, Mary Anning, you are different from all the rocks on the beach.

​Space. ​Space. ​Space. ​That’s all anyone ever gave me. ​That’s all anyone knew how to give. ​An excuse to leave, an excuse to run. ​No one stayed.

While Molly and Joseph Anning suffered materially that winter, with many days of weak soup and weaker fires, Mary barely noticed how little she was eating or the chilblains on her hands and feet. She was suffering inside.

But first and foremost, I learned from Whitman that the poem is a temple—or a green field—a place to enter, and in which to feel. Only in a secondary way is it an intellectual thing—an artifact, a moment of seemly and robust wordiness—wonderful as that part of it is. I learned that the poem was made not just to exist, but to speak—to be company.

The world has used me so unkindly, I fear it has made me suspicious of everyone.

Flaubert tells us that three things are required for happiness: stupidity, selfishness, and good health. I am," he told Morgan, "an unhappy man -

J'ai mis longtemps à admettre que je ne m'étais marié que pour les autres, que le mariage n'est pas quelque chose que l'on fait pour soi-même. On se marie pour énerver ses amis ou faire plaisir à ses parents, souvent les deux, parfois l'inverse

...and yet, in the end, did Klara Hitler's sickly son ever fire a gun? One hollow, hateful little an. One last awful thought: all the harm he ever did was done for him by others.

Har­ri­son had start­ed out wor­ried that Cor­rie would shoot Mary Rose be­cause the wom­an was as crazy as ev­ery­one said she was, but by the time the one-​sid­ed con­ver­sa­tion was fin­ished, his con­cern had changed. Now he couldn't fig­ure out why Cor­rie didn't shoot her just to shut her up.

Mary Anning, sister of the above, Who died March the 9th, 1847, Aged 47 years.” The grave perches at the edge of the sea, nestled near the cliffs that Anning knew so well. Visitors leave flowers and seashells, and, sometimes, a toy dinosaur or two.

marry. Fanny was having all the time what I experienced only the once with Colonel Birch in the orchard. I had my fame to comfort me, and the money it brought in, but that only went so far. I could not hate Fanny, for it were my fault she was crippled. But I could not ever feel friendly towards her nor comfortable round her. That was the case with many people in Lyme. I had come unstuck. I would never be a lady like the Philpots—no one would ever call me Miss Mary. I would be plain Mary Anning. Yet

I wouldn’t want to make it look like a gardener’s garden, all clipped an’ spick an’ span, would you?” he said. “It’s nicer like this with things runnin’ wild, an’ swingin’ an’ catchin’ hold of each other.” “Don’t let us make it tidy,” said Mary anxiously. “It wouldn’t seem like a secret garden if it was tidy.

Oh my God", Marc rhapsodized. "Who is that ?" "An asshole," I mumbled, turning back to him and picking up my tea. I was so rattled I sloshed some of the hot liquid on my hand, but I didn't feel a thing. "He's coming over here !" Marc squealed. "Oh my God, oh my God, ohmyGod!" "Will you get a hold of yourself?" I hissed. "You sound like a girl with a crush. Ah-ha!

Twenty-first-century attitudes towards time and our expectations of story are very different from the shape of Mary Anning’s life. She spent day after day, year after year, doing the same thing on the beach. I have taken the events of her life and condensed them to fit into a narrative that is not stretched beyond the reader’s patience. Hence events, while in order, do not always coincide exactly with actual dates and time spans. Plus, of course, I made up plenty. For instance, while there was gossip about Mary and Buckland and Mary and Birch, there was no proof. That is where only a novelist can step in.

As for Elizabeth Bennet, our chief reason for accepting her point of view as a reflection of her author's is the impression that she bears of sympathy between them--an impression of which almost every reader would be sensible, even if it had not the explicit confirmation of Jane Austen's letters. Yet, as she is presented to us in Pride and Prejudice, she is but a partial and sometimes perverse observer.

... active wisdom--an entire cohort with something new to offer to the world as years of experience combined with continuing health. [p. 52]

Kestrel lifted her gaze. As he met her eyes—an extremely light brown, the lightest shade before brown becomes gold—Arin knew that he was a fool. A thousand times a fool.

It would be hard to think of a more overlooked person in the history of palaeontology than Mary Anning,

THE WHISTLER All of a sudden she began to whistle. By all of a sudden I mean that for more than thirty years she had not whistled. It was thrilling. At first I wondered, who was in the house, what stranger? I was upstairs reading, and she was downstairs. As from the throat of a wild and cheerful bird, not caught but visiting, the sounds war- bled and slid and doubled back and larked and soared. Finally I said, Is that you? Is that you whistling? Yes, she said. I used to whistle, a long time ago. Now I see I can still whistle. And cadence after cadence she strolled through the house, whistling. I know her so well, I think. I thought. Elbow and an- kle. Mood and desire. Anguish and frolic. Anger too. And the devotions. And for all that, do we even begin to know each other? Who is this I’ve been living with for thirty years? This clear, dark, lovely whistler?

She became uncontrollable and violent, succumbing to a greater depth of evilness than any Night Empian had ever seen. She turned on us, one by one, taking men away for her own torture and pleasure...an art she mastered well. She claimed she only wanted to keep the Night Empians in line and strengthen them. But she opened a more dangerous depth to the Night Empians psyche that not even the Dark Guardian was able to reach.

87. And indeed, We gave Moosa (Moses) the Book and followed him up with a succession of Messengers. And We gave 'Iesa (Jesus), the son of Maryam (Mary), clear signs and supported him with Rooh-ul-Qudus [Jibrael (Gabriel)].

She was alone and destitute in a world of pointless carnage. By an eight-hundred-year-old Sepahrdic tradition she ad been since the age of twelve and a half "bogeret l'reshut nafsha"--an adult wit authority over her own soul. The Torah taught, Choose life. And so, rather than die of pride, Sofia Mendes sold what she had to sell, and she survived.

Do you understand everything birds say?” said Mary. Dickon’s grin spread until he seemed all wide, red, curving mouth, and he rubbed his rough head. “I think I do, and they think I do,” he said. “I’ve lived on th’ moor with ’em so long. I’ve watched ’em break shell an’ come out an’ fledge an’ learn to fly an’ begin to sing, till I think I’m one of ’em. Sometimes I think p’raps I’m a bird, or a fox, or a rabbit, or a squirrel, or even a beetle, an’ I don’t know it.

Mary Anning and I are hunting fossils on the beach, she her creatures, I my fish. Our eyes are fastened to the sand and rocks as we make our way along the shore at different paces, first one in front, then the other. Mary stops to split open a nodule and find what may be lodged within. I dig through clay, searching for something new and miraculous. We say very little, for we do not need to. We are silent together, each in her own world, knowing the other is just at her back.

A better-constituted boy would certainly have profited under my intelligent tutors, with their scientific apparatus; and would, doubtless, have found the phenomena of electricity and magnetism as fascinating as I was, every Thursday, assured they were. As it was, I could have paired off, for ignorance of whatever was taught me, with the worst Latin scholar that was ever turned out of a classical academy. I read Plutarch, and Shakespeare, and Don Quixote by the sly, and supplied myself in that way with wandering thoughts, while my tutor was assuring me that "an improved man, as distinguished from an ignorant one, was a man who knew the reason why water ran downhill." I had no desire to be this improved man; I was glad of the running water; I could watch it and listen to it gurgling among the pebbles and bathing the bright green water-plants, by the hour together. I did not want to know why it ran; I had perfect confidence that there were good reasons for what was so very beautiful. ("The Lifted Veil")

There are four places where the spirits still wander . . . the snow-covered Dark of Night, the forgotten paradise of Sobri Elan, the Glass Pillars of Dumon, and the human mind, that eternally mysterious realm where ghosts shall forever walk. —An Exploration of Ancient and Modern Myths, by Mordove Senia

I wouldn't want to make it look like a gardener's garden, all clipped an' spick an' span, would you?" he said. "It's nicer like this with things runnin' wild, an' swingin' an' catchin' hold of each other." "Don't let us make it tidy," said Mary anxiously. "It wouldn't seem like a secret garden if it was tidy.

The Lord hadn't forgotten Elizabeth, nor had he tarried in answering her prayer without a good purpose. He chose her—an older woman with an unproven womb—in order to display his power, his might, his authority. And he blessed her to honor her faithfulness. The truth is, God's strength is fully revealed when our strength is depleted.

When I had attained the age of seventeen my parents resolved that I should become a student at the university of Ingolstadt. I had hitherto attended the schools of Geneva, but my father thought it necessary for the completion of my education that I should be made acquainted with other customs than those of my native country. My departure was therefore fixed at an early date, but before the day solved upon could arrive, the first misfortune of my life occurred—an omen, as it were, of my future misery.

- Offre ton identité au Conseil, jeune apprentie. La voix était douce, l’ordre sans appel. - Je m’appelle Ellana Caldin. - Ton âge. Ellana hésita une fraction de seconde. Elle ignorait son âge exact, se demandait si elle n’avait pas intérêt à se vieillir. Les apprentis qu’elle avait discernés dans l’assemblée étaient tous plus âgés qu’elle, le Conseil ne risquait-il pas de la considérer comme une enfant ? Les yeux noirs d’Ehrlime fixés sur elle la dissuadèrent de chercher à la tromper. - J’ai quinze ans. Des murmures étonnés s’élevèrent dans son dos. Imperturbable, Ehrlime poursuivit son interrogatoire. - Offre-nous le nom de ton maître. - Jilano Alhuïn. Les murmures, qui s’étaient tus, reprirent. Plus marqués, Ehrlime leva une main pour exiger un silence qu’elle obtint immédiatement. - Jeune Ellana, je vais te poser une série de questions. A ces questions, tu devras répondre dans l’instant, sans réfléchir, en laissant les mots jaillir de toi comme une cascade vive. Les mots sont un cours d’eau, la source est ton âme. C’est en remontant tes mots jusqu’à ton âme que je saurai discerner si tu peux avancer sur la voie des marchombres. Es-tu prête ? - Oui. Une esquisse de sourire traversa le visage ridé d’Ehrlime. - Qu’y a-t-il au sommet de la montagne ? - Le ciel. - Que dit le loup quand il hurle ? - Joie, force et solitude. - À qui s’adresse-t-il ? - À la lune. - Où va la rivière ? L’anxiété d’Ellana s’était dissipée. Les questions d’Ehrlime étaient trop imprévues, se succédaient trop rapidement pour qu’elle ait d’autre solution qu’y répondre ainsi qu’on le lui avait demandé. Impossible de tricher. Cette évidence se transforma en une onde paisible dans laquelle elle s’immergea, laissant Ehrlime remonter le cours de ses mots jusqu’à son âme, puisque c’était ce qu’elle désirait. - Remplir la mer. - À qui la nuit fait-elle peur ? - À ceux qui attendent le jour pour voir. - Combien d’hommes as-tu déjà tués ? - Deux. - Es-tu vent ou nuage ? - Je suis moi. - Es-tu vent ou nuage ? - Vent. - Méritaient-ils la mort ? - Je l’ignore. - Es-tu ombre ou lumière ? - Je suis moi. - Es-tu ombre ou lumière ? - Les deux. - Où se trouve la voie du marchombre ? - En moi. Ellana s’exprimait avec aisance, chaque réponse jaillissant d’elle naturellement, comme une expiration après une inspiration. Fluidité. Le sourire sur le visage d’Ehrlime était revenu, plus marqué, et une pointe de jubilation perçait dans sa voix ferme. - Que devient une larme qui se brise ? - Une poussière d’étoiles. - Que fais-tu devant une rivière que tu ne peux pas traverser ? - Je la traverse. - Que devient une étoile qui meurt ? - Un rêve qui vit. - Offre-moi un mot. - Silence. - Un autre. - Harmonie. - Un dernier. - Fluidité. - L’ours et l’homme se disputent un territoire. Qui a raison ? - Le chat qui les observe. - Marie tes trois mots. - Marchombre.

87We gave Moses the Scripture and We sent messengers after him in succession. We gave Jesus, son of Mary, clear signs and strengthened him with the Holy Spirit.

To promote a book so long after it’s in print makes you—according to novelist Ian McEwan—an employee of your former self.

No matter how much death she saw, she just couldn’t get used to it. That was good though. Murder should never become normal.

Notre génération est trop superficielle pour le mariage. On se marie comme on va au MacDo. Après, on zappe. Comment voudriez-vous qu'on reste toute sa vie avec la même personne dans la société du zapping généralisé? Dans l'époque où les stars, les hommes politiques, les arts, les sexes, les religions n'ont jamais été aussi interchangeables? Pourquoi le sentiment amoureux ferait-il exception à la schizophrénie générale? Et puis d'abord, d'où nous vient donc cette curieuse obsession: s'escrimer à tout prix pour être heureux avec une seule personne? Sur 558 types de sociétés humaines, 24 % seulement sont monogames. La plupart des espèces animales sont polygames. Quant aux extraterrestres, n'en parlons pas: il y a longtemps que la Charte Galactique X23 a interdit la monogamie dans toutes les planètes de type B#871. Le mariage, c'est du caviar à tous les repas: une indigestion de ce que vous adorez, jusqu'à l'écœurement. “ Allez, vous en reprendrez bien un peu, non? Quoi? Vous n'en pouvez plus? Pourtant vous trouviez cela délicieux il y a peu, qu'est-ce qui vous prend? Sale gosse, va!” La puissance de l'amour, son incroyable pouvoir, devait franchement terrifier la société occidentale pour qu'elle en vienne à créer ce système destiné à vous dégoûter de ce que vous aimez.

Always preoccupied with his profound researches, the great Newton showed in the ordinary-affairs of life an absence of mind which has become proverbial. It is related that one day, wishing to find the number of seconds necessary for the boiling of an egg, he perceived, after waiting a minute, that he held the egg in his hand, and had placed his seconds watch (an instrument of great value on account of its mathematical precision) to boil! This absence of mind reminds one of the mathematician Ampere, who one day, as he was going to his course of lectures, noticed a little pebble on the road; he picked it up, and examined with admiration the mottled veins. All at once the lecture which he ought to be attending to returned to his mind; he drew out his watch; perceiving that the hour approached, he hastily doubled his pace, carefully placed the pebble in his pocket, and threw his watch over the parapet of the Pont des Arts.

Mrs. Craven was a very lovely young lady," he had gone on rather hesitatingly. "An' mother she thinks maybe she's about Misselthwaite many a time lookin' after Mester Colin, same as all mothers do when they're took out o' th' world. They have to come back, tha' sees. Happen she's been in the garden an' happen it was her set us to work, an' told us to bring him here." Mary

Oh! human wit, thou can'st invent much ill,   Thou searchest strange arts: who would think by skill,   An heavy man like a light bird should stray,   And through the empty heavens find a way?

And why had those prayers focused heavenward? Well, kind of made sense, didn't it? Even when there were no more options for the body, the heart's wishes find a way out, ans as with all warmth, love rises. Besides, the will to fly was in the nature of the soul so its home had to be up above. And gifts did come from the sky, like spring rain and summer breezes and fall sun and winter snow.

Notre génération est trop superficielle pour le mariage. On se marie comme on va au MacDo. Après, on zappe. Comment voudriez-vous qu'on reste toute sa vie avec la même personne dans la société du zapping généralisé? Dans l'époque où les stars, les hommes politiques, les arts, les sexes, les religions n'ont jamais été aussi interchangeables? Pourquoi le sentiment amoureux ferait-il exception à la schizophrénie générale? Et puis d'abord, d'où nous vient donc cette curieuse obsession: s'escrimer à tout prix pour être heureux avec une seule personne? Sur 558 types de sociétés humaines, 24 % seulement sont monogames. La plupart des espèces animales sont polygames. Quant aux extraterrestres, n'en parlons pas: il y a longtemps que la Charte Galactique X23 a interdit la monogamie dans toutes les planètes de type B#871.

Touchy people are proud of their sensitiveness, by which they tyrannize others. An unkind word provides tragedy for months. You cannot open your mouth because you might hurt the other person. They get into tempers over everything and sulk and are hurt in their wonderful delicate feelings; it is just plain tyranny. Such people usually have a very vulgar hidden power complex which comes out in the shadow—an infantile attitude toward life through which those around are tyrannized. What should be a receptive, loving attitude becomes a thorny hedge, where every man who tries to penetrate gets so torn that he just retires.

What did we talk about? I don't remember. We talked so hard and sat so still that I got cramps in my knee. We had too many cups of tea and then didn't want to leave the table to go to the bathroom because we didn't want to stop talking. You will think we talked of revolution but we didn't. Nor did we talk of our own souls. Nor of sewing. Nor of babies. Nor of departmental intrigue. It was political if by politics you mean the laboratory talk that characters in bad movies are perpetually trying to convey (unsuccessfully) when they Wrinkle Their Wee Brows and say (valiantly--dutifully--after all, they didn't write it) "But, Doctor, doesn't that violate Finagle's Constant?" I staggered to the bathroom, released floods of tea, and returned to the kitchen to talk. It was professional talk. It left my grey-faced and with such concentration that I began to develop a headache. We talked about Mary Ann Evans' loss of faith, about Emily Brontë's isolation, about Charlotte Brontë's blinding cloud, about the split in Virginia Woolf's head and the split in her economic condition. We talked about Lady Murasaki, who wrote in a form that no respectable man would touch, Hroswit, a little name whose plays "may perhaps amuse myself," Miss Austen, who had no more expression in society than a firescreen or a poker. They did not all write letters, write memoirs, or go on the stage. Sappho--only an ambiguous, somewhat disagreeable name. Corinna? The teacher of Pindar. Olive Schriener, growing up on the veldt, wrote on book, married happily, and ever wrote another. Kate Chopin wrote a scandalous book and never wrote another. (Jean has written nothing.). There was M-ry Sh-ll-y who wrote you know what and Ch-rl-tt- P-rk-ns G-lm-an, who wrote one superb horror study and lots of sludge (was it sludge?) and Ph-ll-s Wh--tl-y who was black and wrote eighteenth century odes (but it was the eighteenth century) and Mrs. -nn R-dcl-ff- S-thw-rth and Mrs. G--rg- Sh-ld-n and (Miss?) G--rg-tt- H-y-r and B-rb-r- C-rtl-nd and the legion of those, who writing, write not, like the dead Miss B--l-y of the poem who was seduced into bad practices (fudging her endings) and hanged herself in her garter. The sun was going down. I was blind and stiff. It's at this point that the computer (which has run amok and eaten Los Angeles) is defeated by some scientifically transcendent version of pulling the plug; the furniture stood around unknowing (though we had just pulled out the plug) and Lady, who got restless when people talked at suck length because she couldn't understand it, stuck her head out from under the couch, looking for things to herd. We had talked for six hours, from one in the afternoon until seven; I had at that moment an impression of our act of creation so strong, so sharp, so extraordinarily vivid, that I could not believe all our talking hadn't led to something more tangible--mightn't you expect at least a little blue pyramid sitting in the middle of the floor?

Why must we cling to those who walk away instead of granting freedom? We must give the same liberty God gives to prodigals-an ability to let them go-or we'll be perennially bound to others for our happiness and effective service.

paleontological momentum had moved to England. In 1812, at Lyme Regis on the Dorset coast, an extraordinary child named Mary Anning—aged eleven, twelve, or thirteen, depending on whose account you read—found a strange fossilized sea monster, seventeen feet long and now known as the ichthyosaurus, embedded in the steep and dangerous cliffs along the English Channel. It was the start of a remarkable career. Anning would spend the next thirty-five years gathering

Our minds are vulnerable to myths, falsehoods and fictions not merely because we are dumb or stupid, but because we are frail, flawed and easily afraid. Advocating fearless rationality—an end to myth-making and myth-believing—is not just about being smart. It is a matter of privilege. If you don’t lack for food and water, for physical security or a police department that comes when you call, you might not feel the need to turn to myths, rationalizations and rituals. You may have no need for fellow members of your tribe to come to your assistance when you are sick, because there are doctors and hospitals who will do a better job. If you think of yourself as a citizen of the world because borders are illusions and people everywhere are the same, you probably haven’t lived through the kind of persecution that makes you desperate for the protection of your fellow tribesmen. It’s fine to hold secular, cosmopolitan views. But when rationalists look down on people who crave the hollow panaceas of tribe and nation, it’s like Marie Antoinette asking why peasants who lack bread don’t satisfy themselves with cake. They fail to grasp what life is like for most people on the planet.

Memmi believes racism has four elements—an insistence on difference, a negative valuation of that difference, the generalization of that difference to an entire group, and finally the use of that difference to justify hostility and aggression.

Mercur stapineste al zecelea an. Cu planeta aceasta omul se misca repede si usor intr-o orbita restrinsa; orice fleac este cauza perturbatoare, dar invata mult si usor sub mina Domnului, sireteniei si elocintei. Cu al douazecilea an incepe stapinirea planetei Venus; dragostea si femeile il stapinesc. In al treizecilea an stapineste Marte; la virsta aceasta omul este violent, indraznet, orgolios si razboinic. La patruzeci de ani barbatul e stapinit de patru planete mici: cimpul vietii sale creste. Este frugi, adica practic, prin influenta lui Ceres; are un camin datorita Vestei; a devenit intelept si invatat datorita lui Palas si, asemenea Junonei, sotia sa domneste stapina in casa. In al cinzecilea an stapineste Jupiter: omul a supravietuit celei mai mari parti a contemporanilor sai, se simte superior generatiei actuale. Are multa forta, experienta si cunostinte. Este, in functie de personalitatea sa, autoritar cu cei ce-l inconjoara. Nu suporta sa i se porunceasca si vrea sa comande. Acum este mai apt sa devina conducator. In al saizecilea an vine Saturn si cu el greutatea, incetineala, tenacitatea plumbului. Multi batrini par ca si morti: sint palizi, greoi si inerti ca plumbul. Cu Uranus, ciclul se incheie. Este momentul, se zice, de a merge in cer. Nu pot sa-l prind in calcul pe Neptun, pentru ca nu-l pot numi cu adevaratul sau nume – Eros. Prin Eros inceputul se leaga de sfirsit. Eros este in conexiune misterioasa cu Moartea. Poate de aceea Horus sau Amentes al Egiptenilor este in acelasi timp “cel care ia” si “cel care da”.

I would have said that Eichmann was profoundly, egregiously stupid, and for me stupidity is not the same as having a low IQ. Here I rather agree with Kant, that stupidity is caused, not by brain failure, but by a wicked heart. Insensitiveness, opacity, inability to make connections, ofter accompanied by low "animal" cunning. One cannot help feeling that this mental oblivion is chosen, by the heart or the moral will--an active preference, and that explains why one is so irritated by stupidity, which is not the case when one is dealing with a truly backward individual.

Remember when the angels said: ‘O Mary, God gives you glad tidings of a Word from Him. His name is the Christ Jesus son of Mary, greatly honoured in this world and the next, and among those drawn nearest to God. He shall speak to mankind from the cradle, and in maturity, and shall be among the righteous.

Schwester Marie–Claire hatte in ihrem Ethikunterricht stets behauptet, es käme gar nicht darauf an, dass die Menschen an den Teufel glaubten, denn es reiche schon aus, dass der Teufel gute Gründe hätte an die Menschen zu glauben, um sicherstellen zu können, dass das Böse in der Welt weiterhin über das Gute triumphierte.

Auf der Suche nach einer Beschäftigung ging Mary zu den Netzknüpfern und bot ihre Hilfe an. Als sie sah, wie die Mulefa arbeiteten, nicht jeder für sich nämlich, sondern immer zu zweit, weil sie jeweils zwei Rüssel brauchten, um einen Knoten zu knüpfen, fiel ihr ein, wie die Mulefa über ihre Hände gestaunt hatten, mit denen sie natürlich ganz allein solche Tätigkeiten ausführen konnte. Zuerst hatte sie das Gefühl, den Mulefa dadurch überlegen zu sein - sie brauchte niemand anders. Doch dann wurde ihr klar, dass sie sich dadurch von den anderen isolierte. Vielleicht waren alle Menschen so. Von da an verwendete sie nur noch eine Hand zum Knotenknüpfen und teilte die Arbeit mit einem weiblichen Zalif, mit dem sie sich besonders angefreundet hatte.

I have not yet described to you the most singular part. About six years ago—to be exact, upon the 4th of May, 1882—an advertisement appeared in the Times asking for the address of Miss Mary Morstan and stating that it would be to her advantage to come forward. There was no name or address appended. I had at that time just entered the family of Mrs. Cecil Forrester in the capacity of governess. By her advice I published my address in the advertisement column. The same day there arrived through the post a small card-board box addressed to me, which I found to contain a very large and lustrous pearl. No word of writing was enclosed. Since then every year upon the same date there has always appeared a similar box, containing a similar pearl, without any clue as to the sender.

Have you lost your teeny tiny mind, you too-tall, too-skinny, too-crazy jerk?” “Oh, look who’s talking, Miss Let’s Blunder Around the Time Stream and Hang the Consequences! Thanks to you, we’ve got a dead Marc and a live Marc in the same timeline . . . in the same house! Thanks to you, I got chomped on by a dim, blonde, undead, selfish, whorish, blood-sucking leech when I was minding my own business in the past.” “Don’t you call me dim!” “Um. Everyone. Perhaps we should—” Tina began. “Wait, when did this happen?” Marc asked. He had the look of a man desperately trying to buy a vowel. “Past, an hour ago? Past, last year? Help me out.” “Oh, biiiiig surprise!” Laura threw her (perfectly manicured) hands in the air. “Let me guess, you were soooo busy banging your dead husband that you haven’t had time to tell anybody anything.” “I was getting to it,” I whined. “Then after not telling anyone anything and not being proactive—or even active!—you grow up to destroy the world and bring about eternal nuclear winter or whatever the heck that was and how do you deal with your foreknowledge of terrible events to come? Have sex!” “An affirmation of life?” Sinclair suggested. Never, I repeat, never had I loved him more. I was torn between slugging my sister and blowing my husband. Hmm. Laura might have a point about my priorities . . . but jeez. Look at him. Yum. “—even do it and what do you have to say for yourself? Huh?” “You’re just uptight, repressed, smug, antisex, and jealous, you Antichristing morally superior, fundamentally evil bitch.” Laura and Marc gasped. My husband groaned.

Medlock said I was to carry tha' breakfast an' tea an' dinner into th' room next to this. It's been made into a nursery for thee. I'll help thee on with thy clothes if tha'll get out o' bed. If th' buttons are at th' back tha' cannot button them up tha'self." When Mary at last decided to get up, the clothes Martha took from the wardrobe were not the ones she had worn when she arrived the night before

Quand on divorce on achète toujours La Séparation de Dan Franck. La première scène est émouvante: pendant une pièce de théâtre, l'homme s'aperçoit que sa femme ne l'aime plus car elle retire sa main de la sienne. Il tente de la reprendre mais elle l'enlève à nouveau. Je me disais: quelle salope! Pourquoi autant de cruauté? Ce n'est pourtant pas compliqué de laisser sa main dans la main de son mari, merde! Jusqu'au jour où la même chose m'est arrivée.

Oh, Frankenstein, non essere equo con gli altri unicamente per calpestare me a cui maggiormente devi non solo giustizia, ma an- che clemenza e affetto. Sono tua creatura, ricordalo: avrei dovuto essere il tuo Adamo, e sono invece l'angelo caduto che tu hai allon tanato dalla gioia senza colpa alcuna da parte sua. Dappertutto ve- do benedizioni dalle quali io solo sono irrevocabilmente escluso. Ero buono: la miseria ha fatto di me un demone. Rendimi felice, e io sarò di nuovo virtuoso.

Quand j'ai cessé de voir trouble, j'ai aperçu une belle brune qui m'observait. Alice m'avait vu dégouliner. Je ne sais pas si c'est l'émotion, ou le contraste avec le lieu, mais j'ai ressenti une immense attirance pour cette mystérieuse apparition en pull moulant noir. Plus tard, Alice m'avoua qu'elle m'avait trouvé très beau: mettons cette erreur d'appréciation sur le compte de l'instinct maternel. L'essentiel, c'est que mon attirance était réciproque - elle avait envie de me consoler, cela se voyait. Cette rencontre m'a appris que la meilleure chose à faire dans un enterrement, c'est de tomber amoureux. C'était une amie d'une cousine. Elle me présenta son mari, Antoine, très sympa, trop, peut-être. Pendant qu'elle embrassait mes joues mouillées, elle comprit que j'avais compris qu'elle avait vu que j'avais vu qu'elle m'avait regardé comme elle m'avait regardé. Je me souviendrai toujours de la première chose que je lui ai dite: — J'aime bien la structure osseuse de ton visage.

DT, HANNAH I must admit that I mind this relentless defoliation (or deforestation) process. As though to grow old does not mean, as Goethe said, ‘gradual withdrawal from appearance’-which I do not mind-but the gradual (or rather sudden) transformation of a world with familiar faces (no matter, foe or friend) into a kind of desert, populated by strange faces. In other works, it is not me who withdraws but the world that dissolves-an altogether different proposition.” Hannah Arendt in a letter to Mary McCarthy on growing old

The Birth of Jesus Christ 18Now the birth of  u Jesus Christ [5] took place in this way.  v When his mother Mary had been betrothed [6] to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be with child  w from the Holy Spirit. 19And her husband Joseph, being a just man and unwilling  x to put her to shame, resolved to divorce her quietly. 20But as he considered these things, behold,  y an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, “Joseph, son of David, do not fear to take Mary as your wife, for that which is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit.

The two first met in June 1822, at a company store on Mackinac Island, part of a trading post owned by the American Fur Company. St. Martin was a French Canadian voyageur—an indentured trapper—hauling pelts by canoe and on foot through the woodsy landscape of the Michigan Territory. St. Martin retained little memory of the pair’s historic meeting, lying, as he was, barely conscious on the floor. Someone’s gun had discharged accidently, spraying a load of duck shot into St. Martin’s side, and Beaumont, the army surgeon assigned to the nearby garrison, had been called down to help.

Mais oui, maîtresse... Tenez ! juste au-dessus de nous, voilà le Chemin de saint Jacques (la Voie lactée). Il va de France droit sur l’Espagne. C’est saint Jacques de Galice qui l’a tracé pour montrer sa route au brave Charlemagne lorsqu’il faisait la guerre aux Sarrasins. Plus loin, vous avez le Char des Ames (la Grande Ourse) avec ses quatre essieux resplendissants. Les trois étoiles qui vont devant sont les Trois Bêtes, et cette toute petite contre la troisième c’est le Charretier. Voyez-vous tout autour cette pluie d’étoiles qui tombent ? Ce sont les âmes dont le bon Dieu ne veut pas chez lui... Un peu plus bas, voici le Râteau ou les Trois Rois (Orion). C’est ce qui nous sert d’horloge, à nous autres. Rien qu’en les regardant, je sais maintenant qu’il est minuit passé. Un peu plus bas, toujours vers le midi, brille Jean de Milan, le flambeau des astres (Sirius). Sur cette étoile-là, voici ce que les bergers racontent. Il paraît qu’une nuit Jean de Milan, avec les Trois Rois et la Poussinière (la Pléiade), furent invités à la noce d’une étoile de leurs amies. Poussinière, plus pressée, partit, dit-on, la première, et prit le chemin haut. Regardez-la, là-haut, tout au fond du ciel. Les Trois Rois coupèrent plus bas et la rattrapèrent ; mais ce paresseux de Jean de Milan, qui avait dormi trop tard, resta tout à fait derrière, et furieux, pour les arrêter, leur jeta son bâton. C’est pourquoi les Trois Rois s’appellent aussi le Bâton de Jean de Milan... Mais la plus belle de toutes les étoiles, maîtresse, c’est la nôtre, c’est l’Etoile du Berger, qui nous éclaire à l’aube quand nous sortons le troupeau, et aussi le soir quand nous le rentrons. Nous la nommons encore Maguelonne, la belle Maguelonne qui court après Pierre de Provence (Saturne) et se marie avec lui tous les sept ans

sunshine made the whole place look different. The high, deep, blue sky arched over Misselthwaite as well as over the moor, and she kept lifting her face and looking up into it, trying to imagine what it would be like to lie down on one of the little snow-white clouds and float about. She went into the first kitchen-garden and found Ben Weatherstaff working there with two other gardeners. The change in the weather seemed to have done him good. He spoke to her of his own accord. “Springtime’s comin’,” he said. “Cannot tha’ smell it?” Mary sniffed and thought she could. “I smell something nice and fresh and damp,” she said. “That’s th’ good rich earth,” he answered, digging away. “It’s in a good humor makin’ ready to grow things. It’s glad when plantin’ time comes. It’s dull in th’ winter when it’s got nowt to do. In th’ flower gardens out there things will be stirrin’ down below in th’ dark. Th’ sun’s warmin’ ’em. You’ll see bits o’ green spikes stickin’ out o’ th’ black earth after a bit.” “What will they be?” asked Mary. “Crocuses an’ snowdrops an’ daffydowndillys. Has tha’ never seen them?” “No. Everything is hot, and wet, and green after the rains in India,” said Mary. “And I think things grow up in a night.” “These won’t grow up in a night,” said Weatherstaff. “Tha’ll have to wait for ’em. They’ll poke up a bit higher here, an’ push out a spike more there, an’ uncurl a leaf this day an’ another that. You watch ’em.” “I am going to,” answered Mary. Very soon she heard the soft rustling flight of wings again and she knew at once that the robin had come again. He was very pert and lively, and hopped about so close to her feet, and put his head on one side and looked at her so slyly that she asked Ben Weatherstaff a question. “Do you think he remembers me?” she said. “Remembers thee!” said Weatherstaff indignantly. “He knows every cabbage stump in th’ gardens, let alone th’ people. He’s never seen a little wench here before, an’ he’s bent on findin’ out all about thee. Tha’s no need to try to hide anything from him.” “Are

For a moment I think to myself, which connection is quicker to God? Telepathically or by email? Maybe there’s a quicker turnaround time if I email my problems. I should probably start by apologizing and doing something spiritual to make up for my long absence. Would an Angel with poor customer service etiquette respond to my email? Is there an 800 holy number to dial? If so, which manual would the Angel be reading from? The Bible or the Qur’an? Does it matter? Would the Angel have Sister Mary sitting next to her, watching and coaching her on how to talk to people with issues? And how do you handle four billion calls a day? I suppose I would have to wait my turn in line, just like everyone else.

C'est merveilleux de voyager seule, se disait-elle, en marchant le long des rues pavées. A la réflexion, c'était la première fois en cinquante -cinq ans de vie, qu'elle voyageait seule. Pendant ce voyage en Allemagne, pas une seule fois elle n'avait ressenti la peur, la solitude ou l'ennui. Tous les paysages étaient nouveaux, tous les gens qu'elle rencontrait étaient aimables. Et chacune de ses expériences diverses faites au cours de ce voyage avait réveillé en elle des émotions depuis longtemps enfouies. Elle avait laissé à l'autre bout du monde tout ce qu'elle avait jusqu'ici considéré comme primordial dans sa vie - son mari, sa fille, son foyer- et elle n'avait plus besoin d'y accorder une seule pensée.

Now here is exactly the point, I am afraid, where multitudes of English people fail, and are in imminent danger of being lost for ever. They know that there is no forgiveness of sin excepting in Christ Jesus. They can tell you that there is no Saviour for sinners, no Redeemer, no Mediator, excepting Him who was born of the Virgin Mary, and was crucified under Pontius Pilate, dead, and buried. But here they stop, and get no further! They never come to the point of actually laying hold on Christ by faith, and becoming one with Christ and Christ in them. They can say, He is a Saviour, but not 'my Saviour,'—a Redeemer, but not 'my Redeemer,'—a Priest, but not 'my Priest,'—an Advocate, but not 'my Advocate:' and so they live and die unforgiven! No wonder that Martin Luther said, "Many are lost because they cannot use possessive pronouns.

Adolf Hitler a ajuns cancelar al Germaniei in 1933, pe cand eu aveam de-abia un an. tata, care nu-l mai vazuse din 1914, i-a transmis cele mai calde felicitari si un cadou, pictura lui Hitler in acuarela, Biserica minorita din Viena. Hitler a fost incantat. avea amintiri placute despre tata, din cate spunea, si l-a invitat in Germania, ca oaspete personal, sa ia seama la noua ordine sociala pe care o construia, sperand ca aceasta va dura vreo mie de ani, daca nu mai mult. mama, tata si Felix, care avea noua ani pe-atunci, au plecat din Ohio in Germania, pentru 6 luni, in 1934. [..] si imediat ce s-au intors acasa, tata s-a apucat sa-si arboreze cadoul favorit de la Hitler, pe bratul orzontal al morii de vant. era un steag nazist, mare cat un cearceaf. era un lucru misterios, exuberant, si, din cate zicea mama, comunitatea era mandra si in acelasi timp invidioasa pe tata, pe ea si pe Felix. nimeni in Midland City nu intretinuse vreodata relatii de prietenie cu un sef de stat. pana si eu apar intr-o poza din ziar. una cu toata familia noasta, in strada, in fata atelierului, privind in sus catre steagul nazist. sunt in brate la Mary Hoobler, bucatareasa noastra, care, incetul cu incetul, m-a invatat tot ce stia ea despre mancaruri si prajituri. pe cand pozam toti in strada pt fotografia din ziar, tata avea 42 de ani. dupa cum spunea mama, in Germania trecuse printr-o profunda transfigurare spirituala. isi redefinise scopurile in viata. nu-i mai era de ajuns sa fie artist. avea de gand sa se faca profesor si activist politic. sa fie purtatorul de cuvant in America al noii ordini ce abia se nastea in Germania, dar care, cu timpul, urma sa devina salvarea lumii. asta a fost, evident, o greseala.

»Marie, was bedeutet denn das? Da ist ja ein Herz draufgezeichnet und ein Pfeil und drei Buchstaben: E. v. B.?« Die Alte kam plötzlich ganz nahe an Manuela heran, so daß diese ihren Atem, der nach Kaffee roch, im Gesicht spürte. Eine ihrer braunen runzligen Hände legte sich auf Manuelas Arm, und lüstern sah sie ihr ins Gesicht, um die Wirkung ihrer Worte zu beobachten. »Was das heißt? Das heißt Elisabeth von Bernburg. Eine von den ›Damen‹. Die Damen, das sind die Erzieherinnen, müssen Sie wissen.« Und da Manuela noch kein Verständnis zeigte, flüsterte sie, als sei es ein tiefes Geheimnis: »Das junge Fräulein, dem diese Kokarde früher gehört hat, die hat eben wahrscheinlich für Fräulein von Bernburg was übriggehabt.« Manuela blickt etwas ratlos die Alte an. Diese reißt ihre Augen auf und, tausend Falten auf der Stirn, bohrt sie ihren unsauberen Blick in den des Kindes: »Geliebt – geliebt hat sie sie.«

If you feel an overwhelming rage coming up in you when a friend reproaches you about fault, you can be fairly sure that at this point you will find a part of your shadow, of which you are unconscious. It is, of course, natural to become annoyed when others who are "no better" criticize you because of shadow faults. But what can you say if your own dreams —an inner judge in your own being— reproach you? That is the moment when the ego gets caught, and the result is usually embarrassed silence. Afterward the pain and lengthy work, of self-education begins— a work, we might say, that is the psychological equivalent of the labors of Hercules. This unfortunate hero's first task, you will remember, was to clean up in one day the Augean Stables, in which hundreds of cattle had dropped their dung for many decades — a task so enormous that the ordinary mortal would be overcome by discouragement at the mere thought of it.

MATTHEW 28  m Now after the Sabbath, toward the dawn of the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and  n the other Mary went to see the tomb. 2And behold, there was a great earthquake, for  o an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. 3 p His appearance was like lightning, and  q his clothing white as snow. 4And for fear of him the guards trembled and  r became like dead men. 5But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. 6He is not here, for he has risen,  s as he said. Come, see the place where he [1] lay. 7Then go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and behold,  t he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him. See, I have told you.” 8So they departed quickly from the tomb  u with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. 9And behold, Jesus  v met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came up and  w took hold of his feet and

Crocuses an’ snowdrops an’ daffydowndillys. Has tha’ never seen them?” “No. Everything is hot, and wet, and green after the rains in India,” said Mary. “And I think things grow up in a night.” “These won’t grow up in a night,” said Weatherstaff. “Tha’ll have to wait for ’em. They’ll poke up a bit higher here, an’ push out a spike more there, an’ uncurl a leaf this day an’ another that. You watch ’em.” “I am going to,” answered Mary. Very soon she heard the soft rustling flight of wings again and she knew at once that the robin had come again. He was very pert and lively, and hopped about so close to her feet, and put his head on one side and looked at her so slyly that she asked Ben Weatherstaff a question. “Do you think he remembers me?” she said. “Remembers thee!” said Weatherstaff indignantly. “He knows every cabbage stump in th’ gardens, let alone th’ people. He’s never seen a little wench here before, an’ he’s bent on findin’ out all about thee. Tha’s no need to try to hide

The Resurrection MATTHEW 28  m Now after the Sabbath, toward the dawn of the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and  n the other Mary went to see the tomb. 2And behold, there was a great earthquake, for  o an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. 3 p His appearance was like lightning, and  q his clothing white as snow. 4And for fear of him the guards trembled and  r became like dead men. 5But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. 6He is not here, for he has risen,  s as he said. Come, see the place where he [1] lay. 7Then go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and behold,  t he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him. See, I have told you.” 8So they departed quickly from the tomb  u with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. 9And behold, Jesus  v met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came up and  w took hold of his feet and  x worshiped him. 10Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid;  y go and tell  z my brothers to go to Galilee, and there they will see me.

I write all this with respect for the possibility that rather than some kind of contact with the consciousness of my donor's heart, these are merely hallucinations from the medications or my own projections. I know this is a very slippery slope…. What came to me in the first contact….was the horror of dying. The utter suddenness, shock, and surprise of it all….The feeling of being ripped off and the dread of dying before your time….This and two other incidents are by far the most terrifying experiences I have ever had…. What came to me on the second occasion was my donor's experience of having his heart being cut out of his chest and transplanted. There was a profound sense of violation by a mysterious, omnipotent outside force…. …The third episode was quite different than the previous two. This time the consciousness of my donor's heart was in the present tense….He was struggling to figure out where he was, even what he was….It was as if none of your senses worked….An extremely frightening awareness of total dislocation….As if you are reaching with your hands to grasp something…but every time you reach forward your fingers end up only clutching thin air.

The Wisdom Goddess drew on precedents from other cultures the Hebrews had been exposed to, “seeing wisdom as an Israelite reflection or borrowing of a foreign mythical deity — perhaps Ishtar, Astarte, or Isis.”[38] Following the period where the Wisdom Goddess occurred in texts, around the third century BCE to the second century CE, camer the naming of wisdom as the Shekinah in the first-second century CE Onkelos Targum. Contemporary with the Shekinah and drawing on some of the same earlier sources we see the Gnostic wisdom goddess, Sophia.  There are many parallels between these two goddesses which suggest cross-fertilisation of ideas, which we will explore in more detail in subsequent chapters.  It seems apparent that both the Shekinah and Sophia influenced perceptions of the Christian Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary, seen in textual references to titles and motifs.  The Islamic figure of Sakina is clearly derived from the Shekinah, both through her name and also the references to her in the Qur’an, as we will demonstrate. Ancient textual evidence does not link the Sumerian goddess Lilith to the Shekinah.  However allegorical references made in medieval Kabbalistic texts have encouraged us to consider the changing cultural perceptions of Lilith from Sumerian myths through to medieval Jewish tales to determine the extent of her influence on the portrayal of divine feminine wisdom.

42The angels said to Mary: ‘Mary, God has chosen you and made you pure: He has truly chosen you above all women. 43Mary, be devout to your Lord, prostrate yourself in worship, bow down with those who pray.’ 44This is an account of things beyond your knowledge that We reveal to you [Muhammad]: you were not present among them when theyc cast lots to see which of them should take charge of Mary, you were not present with them when they argued [about her]. 45The angels said, ‘Mary, God gives you news of a Word from Him, whose name will be the Messiah, Jesus, son of Mary, who will be held in honour in this world and the next, who will be one of those brought near to God. 46He will speak to people in his infancya and in his adulthood. He will be one of the righteous.’ 47She said, ‘My Lord, how can I have a son when no man has touched me?’ [The angel] said, ‘This is how God creates what He will: when He has ordained something, He only says, "Be", and it is. 48He will teach him the Scripture and wisdom, the Torah and the Gospel, 49He will send him as a messenger to the Children of Israel: "I have come to you with a sign from your Lord: I will make the shape of a bird for you out of clay, then breathe into it and, with God’s permission, it will become a real bird; I will heal the blind and the leper, and bring the dead back to life with God’s permission; I will tell you what you may eat and what you may store up in your houses.

He turned about to the orchard side of his garden and began to whistle—a low soft whistle. She could not understand how such a surly man could make such a coaxing sound. Almost the next moment a wonderful thing happened. She heard a soft little rushing flight through the air—and it was the bird with the red breast flying to them, and he actually alighted on the big clod of earth quite near to the gardener’s foot. “Here he is,” chuckled the old man, and then he spoke to the bird as if he were speaking to a child. “Where has tha’ been, tha’ cheeky little beggar?” he said. “I’ve not seen thee before today. Has tha begun tha’ courtin’ this early in th’ season? Tha’rt too forrad.” The bird put his tiny head on one side and looked up at him with his soft bright eye which was like a black dewdrop. He seemed quite familiar and not the least afraid. He hopped about and pecked the earth briskly, looking for seeds and insects. It actually gave Mary a queer feeling in her heart, because he was so pretty and cheerful and seemed so like a person. He had a tiny plump body and a delicate beak, and slender delicate legs. “Will he always come when you call him?” she asked almost in a whisper. “Aye, that he will. I’ve knowed him ever since he was a fledgling. He come out of th’ nest in th’ other garden an’ when first he flew over th’ wall he was too weak to fly back for a few days an’ we got friendly. When he went over th’ wall again th’ rest of th’ brood was gone an’ he was lonely an’ he come back to me.

O My children, there is the sound of the turtledove echoing throughout the land. It is the voice of the Bridegroom calling His Bride. It is the wooing of the Spirit bringing forth a people for His Name. It is the Lord of Glory, Jesus Christ Himself, drawing together those who are His. It is the call of love, and those who truly love Him will respond. Like attracts like; and love has always been the test of true discipleship. Those whose hearts are fixed on things above will not be held by worldly entanglements (even though they may be within the organized church). Those who are listening to the voice of their Beloved will not be deafened by the cries of men. In a world filled with noises, each demanding attention, they will hear Him. Yes, they shall even hear the tender cooing of the turtledove! Another stands beside them and hears only the voice of the preacher. Another may be giving attention to the opinions and arguments of men. In the words of the beloved hymn writer: “The love of Jesus, what it is, none but His loved ones know.” You need not fear that you will miss it. Be it ever so soft, you shall hear. Your heart shall hear, and your heart shall leap with joy. You will be like Elizabeth when she was greeted by Mary. The response was immediate—an inner, involuntary response to the nearness of the Christ, even while He was yet unborn and unseen by the world. I tell you, there shall be a revelation of My nearness given to My dear ones before My second coming. Anticipate Me. Watch for Me. Your heart will listen, and your heart shall hear. I am not far off. I am looking through the lattice (see Song of Solomon 2:9). You shall see Me—you shall know—you shall rejoice.

As it turned out, Mary Jo White and other attorneys for the Sacklers and Purdue had been quietly negotiating with the Trump administration for months. Inside the DOJ, the line prosecutors who had assembled both the civil and the criminal cases started to experience tremendous pressure from the political leadership to wrap up their investigations of Purdue and the Sacklers prior to the 2020 presidential election in November. A decision had been made at high levels of the Trump administration that this matter would be resolved quickly and with a soft touch. Some of the career attorneys at Justice were deeply unhappy with this move, so much so that they wrote confidential memos registering their objections, to preserve a record of what they believed to be a miscarriage of justice. One morning two weeks before the election, Jeffrey Rosen, the deputy attorney general for the Trump administration, convened a press conference in which he announced a “global resolution” of the federal investigations into Purdue and the Sacklers. The company was pleading guilty to conspiracy to defraud the United States and to violate the Food, Drug, and Cosmetic Act, as well as to two counts of conspiracy to violate the federal Anti-kickback Statute, Rosen announced. No executives would face individual charges. In fact, no individual executives were mentioned at all: it was as if the corporation had acted autonomously, like a driverless car. (In depositions related to Purdue’s bankruptcy which were held after the DOJ settlement, two former CEOs, John Stewart and Mark Timney, both declined to answer questions, invoking their Fifth Amendment right not to incriminate themselves.) Rosen touted the total value of the federal penalties against Purdue as “more than $8 billion.” And, in keeping with what had by now become a standard pattern, the press obligingly repeated that number in the headlines. Of course, anyone who was paying attention knew that the total value of Purdue’s cash and assets was only around $1 billion, and nobody was suggesting that the Sacklers would be on the hook to pay Purdue’s fines. So the $8 billion figure was misleading, much as the $10–$12 billion estimate of the value of the Sacklers’ settlement proposal had been misleading—an artificial number without any real practical meaning, designed chiefly to be reproduced in headlines. As for the Sacklers, Rosen announced that they had agreed to pay $225 million to resolve a separate civil charge that they had violated the False Claims Act. According to the investigation, Richard, David, Jonathan, Kathe, and Mortimer had “knowingly caused the submission of false and fraudulent claims to federal health care benefit programs” for opioids that “were prescribed for uses that were unsafe, ineffective, and medically unnecessary.” But there would be no criminal charges. In fact, according to a deposition of David Sackler, the Department of Justice concluded its investigation without so much as interviewing any member of the family. The authorities were so deferential toward the Sacklers that nobody had even bothered to question them.

Les mois s'ouvrent comme les fleurs de navets, en quatre pétales de semaines; les jours de la semaine, comme des étamines, entourent les pistils dorés des dimanches. Peut-être que les mois ne sont eux-mêmes que les feuilles des saisons: quatre trèfles par an; et les saisons forment les quatre pétales d'une immense crucifère, l'année. Elles fleurissent, se fanent, refleurissent...

Elle avait treize ans et sa vie était déjà finie, avant même d'avoir commencé. Tout n'était que mensonge. Parfois, elle aspirait à la vérité. Mais elle savait qu'elle ne pourrait jamais la formuler de ses lèvres.La vérité était trop énorme, bouleversante. Elle aurait tout écrasé. Mais Marie lui manquait. Chaque minute. Chaque seconde. Elle lui manquait comme une jambe ou un bras. Comme une partie d'elle-même. Elles avaient été toutes les deux contre e monde entier. A présent elle était seule.

Laura handed Jenny a list the second day that she called “An Adult’s Survival Guide in a Kid’s World.” Lesson one: Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches taste better cut in triangles. Lesson two: Straws make milk disappear faster. Lesson three: Milk mustaches are cool. Even for grown-ups. Lesson four: There is a difference between regular Oreo cookies and Double Stuffed Oreo cookies. Lesson five: Fireflies are magic. Lesson six: Don’t ask a child who she’s talking to if she’s the only one in the room. Lesson seven: Check your child’s toothbrush at night to see if it’s wet. Lesson eight: Buy lots of bubbles and chalk. Lesson nine: Let your child “read” to you even if the words are made up. Lesson ten: Leave the night light on.

The trickiest thing about writing about hospitality is that it requires using the word hospitality. I cringe. Heaven only knows why our desire to spend meaningful time with others is saddled with such a churchy, pearls-and-an-apron sounding word, conjuring up vivid Sunday school images of Mary and Martha. Even though I know Jesus preferred Mary's MO, I always felt like Martha was secretly the real winner of the contest. The fact that I still see it as a competition only further illustrates my need for this lesson in the first place.

move a little faster than we originally planned, it is true, but we could rise to the challenge. We have been very successful during our first year.” “Rebecca,” he said, turning to face her, “I must tell you now once and for all that the school will never include girls. The idea is ridiculous. Why should we waste our time on educating females? What possible use could there be in our doing so?” She flushed. “I am a female, Philip,” she said, “and I happen to feel that my life is a little more complete for my ability to read and write and compute and for my knowledge of history and of French and music.” He made an impatient gesture. “You are not a member of the lower classes,” he said. “Of course it is necessary for ladies to have some smattering of knowledge so that they can participate to some small degree in social conversation. For these girls, Rebecca, an education would serve no purpose at all.” “Are we really such inferior creatures?” Rebecca asked very quietly. “And tell me, Philip, do I successfully participate to some small degree in social conversation? Do I save the gentlemen from the boredom of having to listen to an utter ninnyhammer all the time?” “You are becoming angry, Rebecca,” Philip said calmly, “and speaking unreasonably. You know that you are twisting my words. I am not saying that these girls are useless. They have infinite value. They are God’s creatures, fashioned to be a help and a comfort to their menfolk. We would spoil them by educating them, spoil their God-given beauty.” “Woman achieves worth and beauty only through the service she renders her menfolk,” Rebecca said. Philip almost smiled. “I could not have said it better,” he said. “I must try to remember those exact words.” “I will reach final fulfillment as a woman and as a person when I become your helpmeet,” she said. This time he did smile. “What a beautiful idea,” he said. “You will be a good wife, Rebecca. I am a fortunate man.” “Poppycock!” was all Rebecca said. “I beg your pardon?” “I said, ‘Poppycock!’ ” she repeated very distinctly. Philip frowned. “Yes, I heard you the first time,” he said, “but thought I must have mistaken. I have never heard such an inelegant word on your lips.” “It comes from having an education,” she said. “I have read the word somewhere. I am already one of the spoiled, Philip. You know, there has always been something about you that has made me somewhat uneasy. I have never

Woman, a pleasing but short-lived flower, Too soft for business and too weak for power: A wife in bondage, or neglected maid: Despised, if ugly; if she’s fair, betrayed. - Mary Leapor, 1722-1746 ‘An Essay on Woman’ Do not adultery commit; Advantage rarely comes of it. - Arthur Hugh Clough, 1819-1861 ‘The Latest Decalogue

And [mention] when Jesus, the son of Mary, said, "O children of Israel, indeed I am the messenger of Allah to you confirming what came before me of the Torah and bringing good tidings of a messenger to come after me, whose name is Ahmad." But when he came to them with clear evidences, they said, "This is obvious magic.

The Mexican Eve is called Suchiquecal. A messenger from heaven announced to her that she should bear a son, who should bruise the serpent's head. He presents her with a rose. This was the commencement of and Age, which was called the Age of Roses." (Is this the age when angels became the husbands of pure-minded women--an age fitly symboled by the rose, the flower of perfect love? Note, also, the resemblance between this tradition and the Christian tradition, concerning the angel's offering Mary a lily-branch at the Annunciation. Evidently, these are two different aspects of the same symbolism.)

Goody Putnam thereby became the first to follow Tituba in describing the devil’s book—an object that, in many guises, was eventually to appear in numerous statements by both accusers and confessors. The afflicted later referred repeatedly to being tempted to write their names in Satan’s book, while confessors typically described actually having done so. More than two decades earlier Elizabeth Knapp had been the first New Englander to indicate that the diabolic covenant was embodied in a book rather than merely a piece of paper.

Stop what you’re doing and observe your children! Lovie wanted to say to the young mother. Quick, set aside your chores and turn your head. See how they laugh with such abandon? Only the very young can laugh like that. Look how they are giving you clues to who they are. Treasure these moments! Savor them. For they will disappear as quickly as the setting sun. And then, before you know it, you will be like me—an old woman, alone and willing to trade anything and everything for one soft evening such as this with her babies once again.

The Prophet said to the jinni: “This is the stride of a jinni, as well as the tone of his voice!” The jinni replied: “My name is Hamah ibn Laqqis ibn Iblis.” The Prophet said: “Only two generations separate you from him [Iblis].” He replied: “True.” The Prophet asked: “How long have you lived?” The jinni replied: “Almost all of time. I was a small boy when Abel was killed. I believed in Noah and repented at his hands after I stubbornly refused to submit to his call, until he wept and wept. I am indeed a repentant—God keep me from being among the ignorant! I met the prophet Hud and believed in his call. I met Abraham, and I was with him when he was thrown in the fire. I was with Joseph, too, when his brothers hurled him into the well—I preceded him to its bottom. I met the prophet Shu‘ayb, and Moses and Jesus the son of Mary, who told me: ‘If you meet Muhammad, tell him Jesus salutes thee!’ Now I’ve delivered his message to you, and I believe in you.” The Prophet said: “What is your desire, O Hamah?” He said: “Moses taught me the Torah, Jesus the Gospels, can you teach me the Qur’an?” So the Prophet taught him the Qur’an.

Let us here lay to rest the myth that birds’ innards will burst if they scavenge the rice thrown at weddings. Over the years, this enduring bit of misinformation migrated as far as Ann Landers’s column and the Connecticut state legislature. In 1985, Representative Mae Schmidle proposed “An Act Prohibiting the Use of Uncooked Rice at Nuptial Affairs.” The Audubon Society called hooey, pointing out that migrating birds feed on fields of rice. Some churches ban the practice anyway, not because it’s perilous for birds but because it’s perilous for guests, who could slip on the hard, round grains and fall and then fly off to a personal injury lawyer.

11 heures. Il y eut tout. La jalousie, l'exclusion, la fin de l'histoire durant quelques secondes. Une jeune femme, grande, blonde et plate (entre vingt-cinq et trente ans, à côté d'elle la femme de S. paraissait fripée), qu'il voulait visiblement séduire. Elle était accompagnée de son mari, éditeur minuscule, du PC sans doute. Entre les deux couples formés, j'étais de trop. En plus, ma présence paraissait bizarre (à la femme de S. et à cette femme, qui a tout de suite repéré une connivence entre S. et moi). Puis je pars. Seule. Je revois ce tapis de l'ambassade, ces marches que je descends en pensant, « ça y est ».

There’s so much of my life that isn’t in my books—even within a particular story, so many parts that don’t make it onto the page. I might write about something I did and give two reasons I did it, but leave out the third reason because it would distract from the point I’m making and/or it overlaps with someone else’s life and I’m respecting their privacy. So a reader might evaluate that scene and decide, “That was the right thing to do” or “Oh, I hate that she did that.” It’s a fair judgment of the me-character in the story as written, but it is not—it can’t be—an informed judgment of me, the actual person.

Être une femme, adulte, grosse, était mon pire cauchemar. J'ai 27 ans et je suis devenue mon pire cauchemar.

Museums happily put Anning’s fossils on display, for instance, and they made a point of citing the name of the donor responsible for those handsome gifts. Mary Anning’s name went unrecorded.

the Geological Society would be closed to women for almost another century, until 1919. At the time of the talk, only two plesiosaurs had ever been found. Mary Anning had found both of them. Conybeare never mentioned her name.

Mary endured—for the sake of a man she’d once loved; maybe still loved. For the sake of the little girl she once was. And for the legacy she could leave Anne—an indomitable resolve to never surrender, however unavoidable the future seemed.

Black Panther Party—an organization founded in Oakland during the mid-1960s to stop police brutality toward African Americans and to help those who lacked employment, education and healthcare. Some of the many accomplishments of the Party would include the Free Breakfast for Children Program that would be replicated by public school systems across the country.