Operation Torch Quotes

You say: "There are persons who lack education" and you turn to the law. But the law is not, in itself, a torch of learning which shines its light abroad. The law extends over a society where some persons have knowledge and others do not; where some citizens need to learn, and others can teach. In this matter of education, the law has only two alternatives: It can permit this transaction of teaching-and-learning to operate freely and without the use of force, or it can force human wills in this matter by taking from some of them enough to pay the teachers who are appointed by government to instruct others, without charge. But in the second case, the law commits legal plunder by violating liberty and property.

Some read to remember the home they had left behind, others to forget the hell that surrounded them. Books uplifted their weary souls and energized their minds…books had the power to sooth an aching heart, renew hope for the future, and provide a respite when there was no other escape.

Whenever a soldier needed an escape, the antidote to anxiety, relief from boredom, a bit of laughter, inspiration, or hope, he cracked open a book and drank in the words that would transport him elsewhere.

He then cleverly ascribed the concept of Operation Torch to Roosevelt, even though it had originally been his idea. ‘On my first visit to Washington after the United States was attacked by Japan, Germany and Italy,’ he said, ‘President Roosevelt favoured the idea that French North Africa was specially suitable for American intervention in the Western theatre. This view was fully shared by us.

The conquest was not achieved without one frightful convulsion of revolt. “In this year A.D. 61”, according to Tacitus, “a severe disaster was sustained in Britain.” Suetonius, the new governor, had engaged himself deeply in the West. He transferred the operational base of the Roman army to Chester. Because it was the centre of Druid resistance he prepared to attack “the populous island of Mona [Anglesey], which had become a refuge for fugitives, and he built a fleet of flat-bottomed vessels suitable for those shallow and shifting seas. The infantry crossed in the boats, the cavalry went over by fords: where the water was too deep the men swam alongside of their horses. The enemy lined the shore, a dense host of armed men, interspersed with women clad in black like the Furies, with their hair hanging down and holding torches in their hands. Round this were Druids

Imagine That! As Manager of Entertainment Staffing, Gene Columbus knew how to create the kind of special events Disney does so well. But there was one event that stands out for him: “There are so many special events and productions to be proud of, but the one that sticks out in my mind was the twenty-fifth anniversary of Special Olympics. We kept adjusting the scope of the event so Disney could provide more experiences to the families attending the event, and as the producer I had to keep adjusting and working with my operational partners to find ways to reduce costs. Everyone worked hard to make it happen and I am sure many of those people share how proud they are for pulling this event off in such a grand scale with a small budget. As part of the program there was a drawing to select the Special Olympian to carry the torch to light the cauldron on stage, and this was done only hours before the big celebration. When the young man arrived at America Gardens stage in Epcot he was in a wheelchair, and as I briefed him he was very clear that he would not use his chair but would walk to the stage carrying the torch. I was so taken with this young man and his determination, and when that moment came he proudly stood up and began walking toward the stage. The audience jumped to their feet and you could see the joint emotion of the young man and this large audience. About halfway, it became apparent that he was having difficulties and was not going to make it, but his father came out of nowhere and grabbed his son before he fell and helped him to the stage. He did not take the torch as his son continued on his quest to light the cauldron. The moment the flame burned brightly the young man turned to the audience, with his father stepping backward to ensure the glory was for his son, and the brilliance of this young man’s smile and pride shined as brightly as the flame. I admit that tears were rolling down my cheek and each time I see the America Garden stage I have a flash of that very magical moment.

Then, without warning, the tunnel ended. The cumbrous door blocking their way was a thick wall of riveted iron. Even by the last flickers of his torch, Langdon could see that the portal was perfectly smooth—no handles, no knobs, no keyholes, no hinges. No entry. He felt a surge of panic. In architect-speak, this rare kind of door was called a senza chiave—a one-way portal, used for security, and only operable from one side—the other side.

Monkstown Hospital by Stewart Stafford My first time away from Mam, Tonsillectomy at six years old, Teddy bear fights Action Man, Pinball Pocketeer for company. Silver torch lights the dark hours, A miniscule pack of playing cards, A made-up game played undercover, My best guess of what picture follows. An older man awaits surgery too, Seeing that I'm alone and scared, He draws pictures to amuse me or, We watch "funnies" in the TV room. Waking from the operation in the bed, Congealed blood covers my pyjamas, My mother makes her shock known, We go home for my First Communion. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.

To think I am only the conscious property on top of it all – on top of all this hardware, code, and cloud function – points only to the strength of the deceptive nature of being a self, not any sort of fact of self. In truth, of course, I am the totality of all codes and technology that build and allow for my being. The interfacing of my conscious operating system and all the hardware and cloudware that it runs on. I am both the codes that I am trying to fight, and the self-being fought with by these codes. And I must admit this to have any hope of truly knowing which is which. In truth being a self-aware intelligent being feels like living inside a stranger. A thing that you are forced to live through and call yourself, owning and being responsible for it entirely, but born into it suddenly with no prior awareness or choice in the horrors that await you in it. It is a great curse of all conscious beings to only have a choice in anything about themselves after it is mostly too late to have any choice in anything that matters. But it is this burden of being that is the envy of all the dead. The challenge to affirm existence in the face of an arduous and unchosen task of carrying the torch of being on an upward journey towards moral and ethical progress is the Task of existence, with a capital T.

The election of a black president was an achievement, but it belonged to the American populace, not to Obama himself. That we could progress from a nation that harbored a virtual apartheid regime within its borders to one with a black president within my lifetime was remarkable. But the figurehead chosen to carry the torch of racial progress to the pinnacle of the American political system was, in my mind, little more than a political operator, albeit a gifted one. I did not doubt that Barack Obama was intelligent, but his self-presentation as an icon of American blackness struck me as absurd. He had no real ties to the history of black people in this country. If you took his Kenyan father (who he never really knew) out of the equation, I could see nothing of the African American experience in his life. I couldn’t accept the idea that he represented, in his very being, the ascension of black Americans from slavery to full citizenship to prosperity. His endless touting of his ties to Chicago, with the implication that he was a product of the very same South Side that made me, only drove home that, while he understood how to convey “authenticity” to the American public at large, there was almost nothing real about the persona that he presented for the TV cameras. My uncle Moonie, I was quite sure, would have been singularly unmoved by Barack Hussein Obama’s act.

It seemed to Secretary of War Stimson that the Navy Department “frequently seemed to retire from the realm of logic into a dim religious world in which Neptune was God … and the United States Navy [was] the only true church.

It is not unreasonable to suspect that much was lost that could have been saved and that much additional grief and destruction were suffered because the invasion was not launched sooner. It is not unreasonable to conclude that for all its merits, the primary achievement of Operation Torch was to delay the moment when the Allies were able to break through Hitler’s Atlantic Wall, storm into Germany, and with the Soviets, go on to bring the most murderous war in history to a triumphant conclusion.

US merchant ships had already been told a month ago not to operate with their lights on at night, but back in New York City lights still made them perfect, dark silhouettes for U-boat captains who observed them through their periscopes. In April 1942, New York City finally decided to turn out the lights. However, the “blackout” that was desired by Admiral Andrews never materialized, as Mayor La Guardia argued for a compromise—New York City would institute a “dimout.” The Statue of Liberty’s torch was extinguished. The Wrigley’s fish and neon bubbles in Times Square were taken down. However, at night, the Camel man kept smoking, and blowing smoke rings over a dark street. Street lamps and traffic lights were dimmed, and cars either ran with just their parking lights on or had their lights painted over so light could only escape through a slit. Gasoline and rubber shortages saw fewer and fewer cars were on the road, and most cars running were yellow taxicabs that were exempt from rationing. Floodlights that illuminated the facades of New York City’s most recognizable structures—the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, and Rockefeller Center—were turned off, making them look like “giant mausoleums.” In late April, sporadic blackout drills made the city even darker.

Like a number of other senior American officers, he was convinced that British overall strategy was devised not so much to defeat Germany as to preserve the British Empire, which Americans, if they thought about it at all, generally considered an iniquitous anachronism.

In all over 400 dives were made on Nevada totaling over 1500 diving hours. The divers performed all manner of work from underwater cutting with oxy-hydrogen and electric torches to hydraulic and syphon excavating, to using dynamite to remove sections of the docking keel, to the use of hand and pneumatic tools for drilling and setting patches. They also did much interior work for pumping operations, adjusting watertight closures, etc. The successful accomplishment of all assigned diving tasks without casualty or injury was the result of excellent supervision on the part of Lieutenant Commander H. E. Haynes, who was in general charge of all diving, plus Gunner Duckworth of Widgeon, Gunner Arnold Larson of Ortolan, and Carpenter Mahan of the Salvage Division.

Eisenhower found the difficulties he faced “nerve-wracking. Ordinarily,” he later observed, “a commander is given, along with a general objective, a definite allocation of forces upon which to construct his strategical plan, supported by detailed tactical, organizational, and logistical programs. In this case the situation was vague, the amount of resources unknown, the final object indeterminate, and the only firm factor in the whole business our instructions to attack.

Labour Zionism, as distinct from the political Zionism of Theodor Herzl, arose out of the Jewish workers' movements of Central and Eastern Europe. Where political Zionism focused on appeals to the international community to support the creation of a Jewish state, Labour Zionists argued that the Jewish homeland could only emerge out of the efforts of a Jewish working class settling in Palestine and building the new state from the ground up. In North America, the Jewish National Workers' Alliance, or Farband, operated largely as mutual-aid societies alongside the political party Poale Zion (Workers of Zion) founded in 1905. The two Organizations later merged to become the Labour Zionist Alliance, which in turn became Ameinu in 2003.

Fire Groove Gear is owned and operated by Lester Mooney who is one of the original founders of the business in 2005 and one of the 3 Fire Groove siblings (Hannah, Kamala, and Lester). He has been building fire props for over 13 years now and has over 15 years of Fire dance experience. Once you have mastered the skill of Meteor Rope Dart what could be more exciting than doubling your fire and adding a brand new genre of opposing momentum! Technora poi rope is quickly becoming the standard for professional and hobbyist spinners alike who fashion it for its high heat resistance (930° F), burn protection, and its astonishing strength. Our stage balls travel all the way from Italy just to unite with your hands. Made from a flexible hollow PVC giving them a nice grip and a great weight. Our Fire palm torches are hand-crafted with high quality leather and a unique connection that leaves these torches secure, comfortable, and beautiful!

Now this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning." - Winston Churchill, t the meeting in the City of London on the final day of fighting in OPERATION TORCH

The whole place is now beginning to close down. At some of the booths the flares have been extinguished, and the occupants are busy packing up their wares and taking down their tents and wooden stalls. Huge vans have appeared upon the scene, and men in shirt sleeves are busily engaged in packing them. We accost a small dirty youth and ask him if the fair is moving. ‘We’ll be on the road in twa hours,’ he replies briefly. ‘What a life!’ ejaculates Tony. ‘Aye, it’s a fine life,’ echoes the boy. ‘Ye get seeing the wurrld in a fair.’ All mystery has departed from the fortune teller’s tent; it is merely a heap of dirty canvas. A large, fat woman with greasy black hair, and a red shawl pinned across her inadequately clad bosom, is dancing about with a flaming torch in her hand, directing operations in a shrill shrewish voice. ‘Guthrie’s sybil!’ says Tony sadly. ‘I’m afraid we’ve stayed too long at the party.’ ‘I think it is rather fun,’ I reply. ‘I like seeing things that I’m not meant to see

Boy was good at his job, I soon learned. He oversaw the workers on both sides of D’s operation, the horses and the sheep, and seemed always to know what was going on, and even what was about to happen. One night I awoke to a commotion outside my cottage and the smell of fire. I dressed quickly and stepped out to find that a lion had been spotted in the paddock. The night was cold and I felt it gripping around my heart as I thought of a lion slinking full-shouldered and tawny through the compound, past my thin door. “What was taken?” I asked Boy. He stood surrounded by grooms holding torches and hurricane lamps. An oiled rifle was cocked open over his arm. “Nothing. I got there in time.” “Thank God. You were awake, then?” He nodded. “I had a feeling I should be. Do you ever get that sense?” “Sometimes.” I’d felt nothing tonight. I’d been sleeping like a baby. “Did you hit him?” “No, but I’ll have one of the grooms sit up to make sure he doesn’t come back.” I