Nod Harvester Quotes

All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, Led yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding corn." [Brigs of Ayr]

Every woman who enters the sea carries a coffin on her back,” she warned the gathering. “In this world, in the undersea world, we tow the burdens of a hard life. We are crossing between life and death every day.” These traditional words were often repeated on Jeju, but we all nodded somberly as though hearing them for the first time. “When we go to the sea, we share the work and the danger,” Mother added. “We harvest together, sort together, and sell together, because the sea itself is communal.

Your playmates sent him?” I asked, nodding at the dead man. “I only talked to him with this,” he said, patting the automatic on the bed, “but I reckon they did.” “How did it happen?” “It happened simple enough. I heard the door opening, and I switched on the light, and there he was, and I shot him, and there he is.

I had thought myself lost, had touched the very bottom of despair; and then, when the spirit of renunciation had filled me, I had known peace. I know now what I was not conscious of at the time—that in such an hour a man feels that he has finally found himself and has become his own friend. An essential inner need has been satisfied, and against that satisfaction, that self-fulfilment, no external power can prevail. Bonnafous, I imagine, he who spent: his life racing before the wind, was acquainted with this serenity of spirit. Guillaumet, too, in his snows. Never shall I forget that, lying buried to the chin in sand, strangled slowly to death by thirst, my heart was infinitely warm beneath the desert stars. What can men do to make known to themselves this sense of deliverance? Everything about mankind is paradox. He who strives and conquers grows soft. The magnanimous man grown rich becomes mean. The creative artist for whom everything is made easy nods. Every doctrine swears that it can breed men, but none can tell us in advance what sort of men it will breed. Men are not cattle to be fattened for market. In the scales of life an indigent Newton weighs more than a parcel of prosperous nonentities. All of us have had the experience of a sudden joy that came when nothing in the world had forewarned us of its coming—a joy so thrilling that if it was born of misery we remembered even the misery with tenderness.

I wish I could live here in this meadow. It's gorgeous." "Yeah, it is," Hercules agreed. "That's Persephone's handiwork," he explained. "She's the god of vegetation." "Demeter's daughter, right?" Meg said. "I heard Demeter talking when I was on Olympus. Something about not knowing where the girl had run off to." Hercules nodded. "Yeah, Demeter keeps appealing to my father to find her. No one has seen her in months, and harvest will be coming before long." He touched one of the hyacinths with his finger. "Every flower has its season.

Can you keep a secret, Sarah?" she asked. I nodded, remembering all our secrets shared together in her mother's house, and she said, her breath hot in my ear, "You cannot harvest the corn until you go into the corn." I awoke with tears on my face, my hands clutching at the ribs around my heart. I had for more than forty years kept the past behind an impenetrable wall of my own devising. I thought that to move beyond this wall and revisit the past would scorch my reason and make me mad. But then, as I lay sweating in bed, restless and prickly, it came to me that to harvest a field of corn one does not wade into the dark middle of things and cut the stalks from the inside out. It is best done starting with the outside ears and working inward, stalk by stalk, keeping the light of the sun always at one's back so that its rays can illuminate each ear of corn, be it whole and sweet or black and blighted. And in this way does one make a meal that feeds a starving body back to wholeness. (183)

Soundings must be made at all three mounds. We make a start with Tell Mozan. There is a village there, and with Hamoudi as ambassador we try and obtain workmen. The men are doubtful and suspicious. "We do not need money," they say. "It has been a good harvest." For this is a simple, and, I think, consequently a happy part of the world. Food is the only consideration. If the harvest is good, you are rich. For the rest of the year there is leisure and plenty, until the time comes to plough and sow once more. "A little extra money," says Hamoudi, like the serpent of Eden, "is always welcome." They answer simply: "But what can we buy with it? We have enough food until the harvest comes again." And here, alas! the eternal Eve plays her part. Astute Hamoudi baits his hook. They can buy ornaments for their wives. The wives nod their heads. This digging, they say, is a good thing! Reluctantly the men consider the idea. ...

Happiness is not just a mindset You trade it with silent penance, Sometimes in your violent cries with a grin to disguise. The toil makes you stoic yet crowns you strong. In the timidest moment of apprehensions you are made to nod to fake comprehension. Assimilate risks vs rewards, still nothing might seem to pay off, It is achieved when you elude capital punishment for uncommitted crimes. You can embrace it when you persist to elicit obscured fears, Yeah, happiness is not a mindset instead you mindfully harvest Happiness is to strategise circumstances for mental alacrity, social satisfaction, a sense of accomplishment and personal fulfilment to develop holistic aspects of wellbeing

He felt his jaw again, wiggling it back and forth, then nodding. “And now you’ll be tellin’ me they started

While you were gone, I began planning for the return of our Harvest Festival. Rava doesn’t want the event held. She told me to call it off.” “I know,” he wryly acknowledged. “She made me aware of your activities and her decision when I arrived.” “And?” “She won’t yield. She’s already sent word to the High Priestess.” I nodded, then asked, my voice barely audible, “And what do you say?” “I say…” He reached for my hands, determination building in his intense blue eyes. “I say we proceed with the festival until and unless the High Priestess comes here herself and brings it to a halt. Political fires aren’t interesting without kindling.” I smiled, and he took me into his arms, lightly kissing me. “At least we don’t have anything to worry about tonight,” I murmured as we lay down next to each other. “I always worry.” “Really? I wouldn’t have thought of you as the worrying kind.” “I worry when I cannot act,” he mused, drawing me close, and I felt life and strength flowing into me, warming me from head to toe. “I can handle heaven and hell, but not limbo.” “I thought you had no religion in Cokyri. How do you know about heaven and hell?” “We don’t practice religion, but we have education. I probably know more about your faith than you do.” I placed a hand on his chest and pushed myself up to look at him in mock umbrage. “Then tell me how our wedding will proceed.” “That I don’t know,” he said with a grin. “I suspect Hytanica’s marital traditions and rites would fill a volume more than double the rest of our history texts put together.” “You’re ridiculous!” I lightly smothered him with a pillow, then nestled upon his chest, content and ready for sleep. At some point in the night, I woke and looked over to see Narian staring at the ceiling. “What are you doing?” I asked, stifling a yawn. “Thinking.” “Do you want to tell me what you’re thinking about?” “Candidates for my new second-in-command. I have a feeling your Harvest Festival is going to bring matters to the breaking point between us and Rava. If things go our way and the High Priestess removes her, I intend to be the one to name her replacement.” “And this cannot wait until morning?” I asked, even though I knew how he would respond. “I believe in being prepared.” I nodded and closed my eyes. Anticipating, planning, developing strategies and counter strategies, was another ingrained aspect of Narian’s nature. As I drifted back to sleep, I wondered for how many contingencies he was prepared that I knew nothing about.

—but not to you. That makes me the only person here who can talk to everybody. How . . . nice. Do tell me about the drains, dear Pym. Don’t tell me they backed up again.” Ekaterin slipped the envelope into the inside pocket of her bolero, leaned her elbow on her chair arm and her chin on her hand, and sat listening with her dark eyebrows crinkling. Pym nodded. “I’m afraid so, Miss Martya. Late last night, Dr. Borgos”—Pym’s lips compressed at the name—“being in a great hurry to return to the search for his missing queen, took two days’ harvest of bug butter—about forty or fifty kilos, we estimated later—which was starting to overflow the hutches on account of Miss Kareen not being there to take care of things properly, and flushed it all down the laboratory drain. Where it encountered some chemical conditions which caused it to . . . set. Like soft plaster. Entirely blocking the main drain, which, in a household with over fifty people in it—all the Viceroy and Vicereine’s staff having arrived yesterday, and my fellow armsmen and their families—caused a pretty immediate and pressing crisis.” Martya had the bad taste to giggle. Pym merely looked prim.

What’s Albert going to do?” a boy named Jim demanded. “Where’s Albert?” Albert stepped from an inconspicuous position off to one side. He mounted the steps, moving carefully still, not entirely well even now. He carefully chose a position equidistant between Caine and Sam. “What should we do, Albert?” a voice asked plaintively. Albert didn’t look out at the crowd except for a quick glance up, like he was just making sure he was pointed in the right direction. He spoke in a quiet, reasonable monotone. Kids edged closer to hear. “I’m a businessman.” “True.” Toto. “My job is organizing kids to work, taking the things they harvest or catch, and redistributing them through a market.” “And getting the best stuff for yourself,” someone yelled to general laughter. “Yes,” Albert acknowledged. “I reward myself for the work I do.” This blunt admission left the crowd nonplussed. “Caine has promised that if I stay here he won’t interfere. But I don’t trust Caine.” “No, he doesn’t,” Toto agreed. “I do trust Sam. But . . .” And now you could hear a pin drop. “But . . . Sam is a weak leader.” He kept his eyes down. “Sam is the best fighter ever. He’s defended us many times. And he’s the best at figuring out how to survive. But Sam”— Albert now turned to him—“You are too humble. Too willing to step aside. When Astrid and the council sidelined you, you put up with it. I was part of that myself. But you let us push you aside and the council turned out to be useless.” Sam stood stock-still, stone-faced. “Let’s face it, you’re not really the reason things are better here, I am,” Albert said. “You’re way, way braver than me, Sam. And if it’s a battle, you rule. But you can’t organize or plan ahead and you won’t just put your foot down and make things happen.” Sam nodded slightly. It was hard to hear. But far harder was seeing the way the crowd was nodding, agreeing. It was the truth. The fact was he’d let the council run things, stepped aside, and then sat around feeling sorry for himself. He’d jumped at the chance to go off on an adventure and he hadn’t been here to save the town when they needed it. “So,” Albert concluded, “I’m keeping my things here, in Perdido Beach. But there will be free trading of stuff between Perdido Beach and the lake. And Lana has to be allowed to move freely.” Caine bristled at that. He didn’t like Albert laying down conditions. Albert wasn’t intimidated. “I feed these kids,” he said to Caine. “I do it my way.” Caine hesitated, then made a tight little bow of the head. “I want you to say it,” Albert said with a nod toward Toto. Sam saw panic in Caine’s eyes. If he lied now the jig would be up for him. Toto would call him out, Albert would support Sam, and the kids would follow Albert’s lead. Sam wondered if Caine was just starting to realize what Sam had known for some time: if anyone was king, it was neither Sam nor Caine, it was Albert.

jerk up. “I should have the knife. So he cannot take it.” “Easy.” Alexus rises on an elbow, rubbing my arm to calm me. “It’s strapped to my thigh, and I’m better protection than any Keeper.” He winks. “Even you.” I’m not sure he’s right. “Finn took the knife from me,” I tell him. It had been strapped to my thigh the night of the harvest supper, and yet Finn slipped it from the dagger belt like the best of thieves. Alexus narrows his eyes. “Who’s Finn?” Heat blooms across my chest and chases up my neck, followed by another cresting wave that I fight with all that I have. I’ve tried so hard not to think of him, but here he is, rising up like a ghost while I lie beside another man. “Is Finn the special someone you lost?” Alexus asks. I don’t even have to nod for him to know that he was. “I’m so sorry, Raina. How did he take the knife? Why?” I glance away from his inquiring stare. “We were dancing at the harvest supper. Calling down the moon. He was only pestering me.

She knelt at Aerhee’s side. “Do not let this taint your view of Court Zhaes. This results from human error. These people are guilty of murder. Sinners in the faith do not discredit eternal truth.“ Aerhee nodded. “You will learn this one day, little one.

My father always told me,” Ponts finally said, nodding his head along to his own thoughts, “to let my words pass through three gates. At the first gate, challenge the words with this question: Are you true? If it is, it can proceed to the next gate, where I challenge it again: Are you necessary? And lastly, if it has gotten to the final gate: Are you kind? And only then do I let it out of my mouth.

She (Hestizo) nodded, and for the moment neither of them spoke. There were times when no amount of speech could convey the heart’s grief, and silence was the most articulate response. After a time, she felt Bennis tentatively reaching for her hand -Hestizo Trace

The headman nodded, then asked: “So is this is the cause of rebirth, Sir?” “It is. An individual may have to take an indefinite number of births to harvest the effects of all his latent impressions, and then, in each fresh lifetime there is further action, which sows further seeds of karma”.

And this morning while she'd harvested her beans for seed she'd glanced up from the garden and to her complete astonishment Mr. de Sabran had been smiling. Not at her- he had been saying something to French Peter, his attention focused mainly on the cider press. But still, he had been smiling. And that simple act had made his face a thing she barely recognized. His teeth were even. Very white and very straight although the smile itself was lopsided, so wide it carved deep lines in both his cheeks and made his eyes crease at their edges. He looked younger. He looked- Then, as if he'd known that she was staring, he had turned his head and for the briefest, stomach-dropping instant, he had turned that smile on her. Her hand had itched to hold a pencil that would let her somehow capture it, but with one polite, quick nod he had looked away, returning to his conversation and his work. Since that moment, she had found herself innumerable times now glancing up from her own work to see if she might catch him smiling in that way again. She hadn't, but she noticed he looked more relaxed today than she had seen him; more at ease with both their company and his surroundings, as though he were there by choice and not by force of circumstance.

He nodded, keeping silent. She would say more if he gave her enough room.