Pied Piper Quotes

The greatest enemy of hunger for God is not poison but apple pie. It is not the banquet of the wicked that dulls our appetite for heaven, but endless nibbling at the table of the world. It is not the X-rated video, but the prime-time dribble of triviality we drink in every night.

Anxious, depressed, psychotic, lunatic, bipolar, manic - you name it, I attract it. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? In some circles I am known as the Pied Piper of Mental Illness.

Quite a crowd tonight, Gin. Usually, it's just you and Finn." I shrugged. "What can I say? I seem to attract minions wherever I go these days. Kind of like the Pied Piper." Behind me, Finn huffed out his displeasure. "Minion? I am most certainly not a mere minion. Head minion, perhaps. At the very least.

He couldn't concentrate on anything while her incredible bottom led him up those stairs like the Pied Piper of tempting asses.

Dang! Look at that RAINBOW!" Piper shouted, accidently spewing bits of apple pie from her overstuffed mouth. All quickly turned and saw... ...exactly what Piper claimed, a rainbow.

You can call a sunset by a filthy name, but you do not spoil its beauty, monsieur.

Rats They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles. Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.

When it comes to leaders we have, if anything, a superabundance—hundreds of Pied Pipers…ready and anxious to lead the population. They are scurrying around, collecting consensus, gathering as wide an acceptance as possible. But what they are not doing, very notably, is standing still and saying, ' This is what I believe. This I will do and that I will not do. This is my code of behavior and that is outside it. This is excellent and that is trash.' There is an abdication of moral leadership in the sense of a general unwillingness to state standards….Of all the ills that our poor…society is heir to, the focal one, it seems to me, from which so much of our uneasiness and confusion derive, is the absence of standards. We are too unsure of ourselves to assert them, to stick by them, if necessary in the case of persons who occupy positions of authority, to impose them. We seem to be afflicted by a widespread and eroding reluctance to take any stand on any values, moral, behavioral or esthetic.

The anarch nurtures no expectations. He stakes on no one but himself. Basically, people remain pied pipers, whatever melodies they play to introduce themselves. And as for the rats - that is a chapter unto itself.

Then the patience borne of seventy years of disappointments came to his aid;

The flute of the Pied Piper of Hamelin has never left us and it is essential that we train our ear to detect its false notes because in our case the flute is being played by the rats.

And then, Monsieur votre fils, he was well too? Well, they had to know. He turned away from her blindly. ‘Madame,’ he said, ‘mon fils est mort. Il est tombé de son avion, au-dessus de Heligoland Bight.

Finally he got up, feeling uncommonly well. It did not occur to him that this was because he had a job to do, for the first time in many months.

I cannot understand the reasoning of children. She said that she is glad that she has not got to say ‘Heil Hitler’ any more, because the Führer wears a moustache.

The ruggers followed me all the way to the cafeteria. I felt like the Pied Piper, except that the rats probably weren't offering to share protein-rich snacks with him.

At odd moments she may fret over a blank in her memory, but soon a Pied Piper thought will come dancing along and her untrained mind will follow...

The corporal said, “Place called Brest. Not the kind of name I’d like to call a town, myself, but that’s the way these Froggies are. Officer said to go there if we got cut off, and we’d get the lorry shipped back home from there.

Jude collected them in almost exactly the same way the Pied Piper had collected rats, and children. He made melodies out of hate and perversion and pain, and they came to him, skipping to the music, hoping he would let them sing along.

Eh, I've always rather enjoyed being fashionably late." I picked up the violin case for Melanie, giving her an hug before clambering off the rock. "I feel like we should be leading a procession in, Pied Piper style." "I know just the thing." A hint of her old self peeked through her eyes. A moment later the first bars of "Safety Dance" hummed from the strings. I bit my lip trying not to giggle. Together the two of us broke out in lopsided chorus as I twirled about her. Ignoring the stares of the elves, we strutted up the center of the caravan, Brystion trailing behind us bemusedly.

You do not understand. Over there, they want to help us. If they make a home for children, refugees from Europe, they feel that they are doing something worth while. And they are.

Our business was done at the river's brink;

She could tell he was wavering and had to suppress a grin. “And horses eat grass, right? She’ll find plenty of that along the road.” “I’ve been around horses, some. Not much, but enough to know they need more than just grass.” “How do wild horses survive, then?”  Justin swore under his breath and turned the wagon around. “I’m going to the goddamn feed store.” As he walked away, she heard him mutter, “. . . Pied Piper of the Apocalypse . . .

it was incredible that this thing should be happening to him. It was what he had read of and had found some difficulty in crediting. It was what they were supposed to do to Jews in concentration camps. It could not be true.

He met the femme de chambre upon the landing. ‘I have made up my mind,’ he said heavily. ‘La petite Rose may come with us to England; I will take her to her father. She must be ready to start to-morrow morning, at seven o’clock.

A placard nailed upon a post, CHIEN MECHANT, warned him, but did not warn the children. The dog, an enormous brindled creature, leaped out at them to the limit of his chain, raising a terrific clamour. The children scattered back,

Americans are like that.’ The other stared at him incredulously. ‘It would cost a great deal of money to provide for a child, perhaps for years. One does not do that lightly for a foreign child of which one knows nothing.’ ‘It’s just the sort of thing they do do,’ said the old man. ‘They would pour out their money in a cause like that.

When I peeked out the window into the yard, there was Kurt with some kind of contraption on his head that resembled a tin-foil hat, sneaking around the yard followed by a half a dozen laughing toddlers. Kurt had that million-dollar grin on his face and I could tell he was definitely in nirvana. I guess you could say he was the Pied Piper of compassion.

Double-Dip Recession: rich people have taken all the money and are making up excuses for why everyone else ain't got none.

I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,” he said, “from whence cometh my help.

She's like the Pied Piper of Manhattan--with road rage." - Madhattan Mystery

Was it Mother Time? Rip Van Wrinkles? Old Woman River? Lady MacDeath?” “Not even close,” Mother Goose said. “They called me the Pied Piper!” Mother

You see, I’d created this character for myself. This self-deprecating Pied Piper of a young guy. Then I became that.

Damn his lying kises and magic fingers, too! He'd strummed her like the sweetest guitar, and, fool that she was, she'd followed his Pied Piper's tune!

Beware actors who can be anyone they wish to be; they are in fact no one at all, cold and empty, though they can be pied pipers to the masses.

He was just entering the club ahead of me, a tall and rather emaciated man of about seventy, a little unsteady on his feet. He tripped over the doormat as he went in and stumbled forward; the hall porter jumped out and caught him by the elbow.

Desperately trying to remember her manners, she curtseyed and murmured, "Your Grace." The smile lines at his eyes deepened subtly. "You appear to be in need of rescue. Why don't you come inside with me, away from this riffraff? The duchess is eager to meet you." As Pandora hesitated, thoroughly intimidated, he assured her. "I'm quite trustworthy. In fact, I'm very nearly an angel. You'll come to love me in no time." "Take heed," Lord St. Vincent advised Pandora sardonically, fastening the loose sides of his vest. "My father is the pied piper of gullible women." "That's not true," the duke said, "The non-gullible ones follow me as well." Pandora couldn't help chuckling. She looked up into silvery-blue eyes lit with sparks of humor and playfulness. There was something reassuring about his presence, the sense of a man who truly liked women. When she and Cassandra were children, they had fantasized about a handsome father who would lavish them with affection and advice, and spoil them just a little, but not too much. A father who might have let them stand on his feet to dance. This man looked very much like the one Pandora had imagined. She moved forward and took his arm. "How was your journey, my dear?" the duke asked as he escorted her into the house. Before Pandora could reply, Lord St. Vincent spoke from behind them. "Lady Pandora doesn't like small talk, Father. She would prefer to discuss topics such as Darwin, or women's suffrage." "Naturally an intelligent young woman would wish to skip over mundane chitchat," the duke said, giving Pandora such an approving glance that she fairly glowed. "However," he continued thoughtfully, "most people need to be guided into a feeling of safety before they dare reveal their opinions to someone they've only just met. There's a beginning to everything, after all. Every opera has its prelude, every sonnet its opening quatrain. Small talk is merely a way of helping a stranger to trust you, by first finding something you can both agree on." "No one's ever explained it that way before," Pandora said with a touch of wonder. "It actually makes sense. But why must it be so often about weather? Isn't there something else we all agree on? Runcible spoons- everyone likes those, don't they? And teatime, and feeding ducks." "Blue ink," the duke added. "And a cat's purr. And summer storms- although I suppose that brings us back to weather." "I wouldn't mind talking about weather with you, Your Grace," Pandora said ingenuously. The duke laughed gently. "What a delightful girl.

Tell us,’ she said gently. ‘Would you like to grow up with horses? Or would you rather buy things and sell them for a profit?’ After all, she thought, it would be difficult for him to go against the characteristics of his race. ‘Would you rather do that?’ The boy looked up at her. ‘I want to learn to shoot with a rifle from a very long way away,’ he said, ‘because you can do that from the hills when they are on the road. And I want to learn to throw a knife hard and straight. That is best in the darkness, in the narrow streets, because it does not make a noise.

Slowly the banners of the sunset city gave up their crimson and gold; slowly the conqueror's pageant faded out. Twilight crept over the valley and the little group grew silent. Walter had been reading again that day in his beloved book of myths and he remembered how he had once fancied the Pied Piper coming down the valley on an evening just like this. He

The important prizes can't be won by individuals, only by us all.

him." "Oh, I wish we had the old days back again," exclaimed Jem. "I'd love to be a soldier—a great, triumphant general. I'd give EVERYTHING to see a big battle." Well, Jem was to be a soldier and see a greater battle than had ever been fought in the world; but that was as yet far in the future; and the mother, whose first-born son he was, was wont to look on her boys and thank God that the "brave days of old," which Jem longed for, were gone for ever, and that never would it be necessary for the sons of Canada to ride forth to battle "for the ashes of their fathers and the temples of their gods." The shadow of the Great Conflict had not yet made felt any forerunner of its chill. The lads who were to fight, and perhaps fall, on the fields of France and Flanders, Gallipoli and Palestine, were still roguish schoolboys with a fair life in prospect before them: the girls whose hearts were to be wrung were yet fair little maidens a-star with hopes and dreams. Slowly the banners of the sunset city gave up their crimson and gold; slowly the conqueror's pageant faded out. Twilight crept over the valley and the little group grew silent. Walter had been reading again that day in his beloved book of myths and he remembered how he had once fancied the Pied Piper coming down the valley on an evening just like this. He began to speak dreamily, partly because he wanted to thrill his companions a little, partly because something apart from him seemed to be speaking through his lips. "The Piper is coming nearer," he said, "he is nearer than he was that evening I saw him before. His long, shadowy cloak is blowing around him. He pipes—he pipes—and we must follow—Jem and Carl and Jerry and I—round and round the world. Listen— listen—can't you hear his wild music?" The girls shivered. "You know you're only pretending," protested Mary Vance, "and I wish you wouldn't. You make it too real. I hate that old Piper of yours." But Jem sprang up with a gay laugh. He stood up on a little hillock, tall and splendid, with his open brow and his fearless eyes. There were thousands like him all over the land of the maple. "Let the Piper come and welcome," he cried, waving

This may have been what John and I were brought together for,’ she said. ‘In thirty years the world may need one of these little ones.’ She paused. ‘It may be Ronnie or it may be Willem, or it may be little Pierre who does great things for the world,’ she said. ‘But when that happens, monsieur, it will be because I met your son to show him Paris, and we fell in love.

If the solution to a problem creates another problem, then it is better to call it a ‘Circular Problem’! Say, the pied piper of Hamelin has freed the city from the rats, but he has caused serious water pollution by leaving the rats into the river where they have died, rotten and mixed up with the water! Apparently, the problem of the city is solved but water gets polluted and another problem arises. So, it is a ‘Circular Problem’!

A little boy of five or six was standing there, in fact, utterly motionless. He was dressed in grey, grey stockings above the knee, grey shorts, and a grey jersey. He was standing absolutely still, staring down the road towards them. His face was a dead, greyish white in colour. Howard caught his breath at the sight of him, and said very softly: ‘Oh, my God!’ He had never seen a child looking like that, in all his seventy years. He crossed quickly over to him,

Paisley was a Pied Piper agitator who liked to lead his followers through Catholic neighborhoods, sparking riots wherever he went. In his basso profundo, he would expound about how Catholics were scum, how they “breed like rabbits and multiply like vermin.” He was a flamboyantly divisive figure, a maestro of incitement. In fact, he was so unsympathetic, so naked in his bigotry, that some republicans came to feel that on balance, he might be good for their movement.

Setting aside the puppet shows, the only thing that matters is who will be ruling, who will have the keys to the cash register, and how they're going to split up other people's money among themselves. On their way to the booty they'll spruce everything up, which is badly needed. New Scoundrels will appear, new leaders, and a whole choir of jnnocents with no memory will come out into the streets, ready to believe whatever they want or need to believe. They'll follow whichever Pied Piper flatters them most and promises them some shotty paradise... This is what it is... with its highs and lows, and it's only as good as it gets, which is better than nothing. There are those who see it coming and go far away... And there are those of us who stay with our feet stuck in the mud, because anyhow we don't have anywhere better to go. But don't worry about the circus. We've now come to the clown acts, and the trapeze artists will take a while to arrive.

We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

Twilight crept over the valley and the little group grew silent. Walter had been reading again that day in his beloved book of myths and he remembered how he had once fancied the Pied Piper coming down the valley on an evening just like this. He began to speak dreamily, partly because he wanted to thrill his companions a little, partly because something apart from him seemed to be speaking through his lips. "The Piper is coming nearer," he said, "he is nearer than he was that evening I saw him before. His long, shadowy cloak is blowing around him. He pipes—he pipes—and we must follow—Jem and Carl and Jerry and I—round and round the world. Listen— listen—can't you hear his wild music?" The girls shivered. "You know you're only pretending," protested Mary Vance, "and I wish you wouldn't. You make it too real. I hate that old Piper of yours." But Jem sprang up with a gay laugh. He stood up on a little hillock, tall and splendid, with his open brow and his fearless eyes. There were thousands like him all over the land of the maple. "Let the Piper come and welcome," he cried, waving his hand. "I'LL follow him gladly round and round the world." THE END

Why do we learn things we'll never use? Why are we taught f(x+y) = f(x) + f(y)? Why are we made to memorize the decline and fall or royal dynasties but not stories of people who've experienced and overcome heartbreak? Why do we answer dozens of questions about the layers of the earth but not of what lies within ourselves? Why do we break down the cellular anatomies of amoebas and plankton but not the anatomy of pain? Why are we told to win, before we're told to overcome ourselves? Why are we lectured on English and French grammar, before we can learn what it is we really need to hear in life? Why are we taught to compete, not cooperate? Why are we forced to compare and ask, what grade did you get, what place did you finish in, whose clothes are you wearing, where did you go to school, where do you work? Why does not being at the top automatically mean you've failed? Why do we feel the need to look good on paper, and who decides what's written on this "paper"? Why can't everyone just be left alone? Why can't everyone just stop running? Who is making us feel more shame with every ounce of envy? Who is this elusive Pied Piper at the head of the pack, luring everyone with his pipe? And just who and where am I?

I spent most of the afternoon tempering the new batch of couverture and working on the window display. A thick covering of green tissue paper for the grass. Paper flowers- daffodils and daisies, Anouk's contribution- pinned to the window frame. Green-covered tins that had once contained cocoa powder, stacked up against each other to make a craggy mountainside. Crinkly cellophane paper wraps it like a covering of ice. Running past and winding into the valley, a river of blue silk ribbon, upon which a cluster of houseboats sits quiet and unreflecting. And below, a procession of chocolate figures, cats, dogs, rabbits, some with raisin eyes, pink marzipan ears, tails made of licorice-whips, with sugar flowers between their teeth... And mice. On every available surface, mice. Running up the sides of the hill, nestling in corners, even on the riverboats. Pink and white sugar coconut mice, chocolate mice of all colors, variegated mice marbled through with truffle and maraschino cream, delicately tinted mice, sugar-dappled frosted mice. And standing above them, the Pied Piper resplendent in his red and yellow, a barley-sugar flute in one hand, his hat in the other. I have hundreds of molds in my kitchen, thin plastic ones for the eggs and the figures, ceramic ones for the cameos and liqueur chocolates. With them I can re-create any facial expression and superimpose it upon a hollow shell, adding hair and detail with a narrow-gauge pipe, building up torso and limbs in separate pieces and fixing them in place with wires and melted chocolate.... A little camouflage- a red cloak, rolled from marzipan. A tunic, a hat of the same material, a long feather brushing the ground at his booted feet. My Pied Piper looks a little like Roux, with his red hair and motley garb.

Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

Walter looked about him lingeringly and lovingly. This spot had always been so dear to him. What fun they all had had here lang syne. Phantoms of memory seemed to pace the dappled paths and peep merrily through the swinging boughs–Jem and Jerry, bare-legged, sunburned schoolboys, fishing in the brook and frying trout over the old stone fireplace; Nan and Di and Faith, in their dimpled, fresh-eyed childish beauty; Una the sweet and shy, Carl, poring over ants and bugs, little slangy, sharp-tongued, good-hearted Mary Vance–the old Walter that had been himself lying on the grass reading poetry or wandering through palaces of fancy. They were all there around him–he could see them almost as plainly as he saw Rilla–as plainly as he had once seen the Pied Piper piping down the valley in a vanished twilight. And they said to him, those gay little ghosts of other days, "We were the children of yesterday, Walter–fight a good fight for the children of today and tomorrow.

The impossible class. — Poor, happy and independent! — these things can go together; poor, happy and a slave! — these things can also go together — and I can think of no better news I could give to our factory slaves: provided, that is, they do not feel it to be in general a disgrace to be thus used, and used up, as a part of a machine and as it were a stopgap to fill a hole in human inventiveness! To the devil with the belief that higher payment could lift from them the essence of their miserable condition I mean their impersonal enslavement! To the devil with the idea of being persuaded that an enhancement of this impersonality within the mechanical operation of a new society could transform the disgrace of slavery into a virtue! To the devil with setting a price on oneself in exchange for which one ceases to be a person and becomes a part of a machine! Are you accomplices in the current folly of the nations the folly of wanting above all to produce as much as possible and to become as rich as possible? What you ought to do, rather, is to hold up to them the counter-reckoning: how great a sum of inner value is thrown away in pursuit of this external goal! But where is your inner value if you no longer know what it is to breathe freely? if you no longer possess the slightest power over yourselves? if you all too often grow weary of yourselves like a drink that has been left too long standing? if you pay heed to the newspapers and look askance at your wealthy neighbour, made covetous by the rapid rise and fall of power, money and opinions? if you no longer believe in philosophy that wears rags, in the free-heartedness of him without needs? if voluntary poverty and freedom from profession and marriage, such as would very well suit the more spiritual among you, have become to you things to laugh at? If, on the other hand, you have always in your ears the flutings of the Socialist pied-pipers whose design is to enflame you with wild hopes? which bid you to be prepared and nothing further, prepared day upon day, so that you wait and wait for something to happen from outside and in all other respects go on living as you have always lived until this waiting turns to hunger and thirst and fever and madness, and at last the day of the bestia triumphans dawns in all its glory? In contrast to all this, everyone ought to say to himself: ‘better to go abroad, to seek to become master in new and savage regions of the world and above all master over myself; to keep moving from place to place for just as long as any sign of slavery seems to threaten me; to shun neither adventure nor war and, if the worst should come to the worst, to be prepared for death: all this rather than further to endure this indecent servitude, rather than to go on becoming soured and malicious and conspiratorial!

The impossible class. Poor, happy and independent! — these things can go together; poor, happy and a slave! — these things can also go together — and I can think of no better news I could give to our factory slaves: provided, that is, they do not feel it to be in general a disgrace to be thus used, and used up, as a part of a machine and as it were a stopgap to fill a hole in human inventiveness! To the devil with the belief that higher payment could lift from them the essence of their miserable condition I mean their impersonal enslavement! To the devil with the idea of being persuaded that an enhancement of this impersonality within the mechanical operation of a new society could transform the disgrace of slavery into a virtue! To the devil with setting a price on oneself in exchange for which one ceases to be a person and becomes a part of a machine! Are you accomplices in the current folly of the nations the folly of wanting above all to produce as much as possible and to become as rich as possible? What you ought to do, rather, is to hold up to them the counter-reckoning: how great a sum of inner value is thrown away in pursuit of this external goal! But where is your inner value if you no longer know what it is to breathe freely? if you no longer possess the slightest power over yourselves? if you all too often grow weary of yourselves like a drink that has been left too long standing? if you pay heed to the newspapers and look askance at your wealthy neighbour, made covetous by the rapid rise and fall of power, money and opinions? if you no longer believe in philosophy that wears rags, in the free-heartedness of him without needs? if voluntary poverty and freedom from profession and marriage, such as would very well suit the more spiritual among you, have become to you things to laugh at? If, on the other hand, you have always in your ears the flutings of the Socialist pied-pipers whose design is to enflame you with wild hopes? which bid you to be prepared and nothing further, prepared day upon day, so that you wait and wait for something to happen from outside and in all other respects go on living as you have always lived until this waiting turns to hunger and thirst and fever and madness, and at last the day of the bestia triumphans dawns in all its glory? In contrast to all this, everyone ought to say to himself: ‘better to go abroad, to seek to become master in new and savage regions of the world and above all master over myself; to keep moving from place to place for just as long as any sign of slavery seems to threaten me; to shun neither adventure nor war and, if the worst should come to the worst, to be prepared for death: all this rather than further to endure this indecent servitude, rather than to go on becoming soured and malicious and conspiratorial!

John Piper:“The greatest enemy of hunger for God is not poison but apple pie. It is not the banquet of the wicked that dulls our appetite for heaven, but endless nibbling at the table of the world. It is not the X-rated video, but the prime-time dribble of triviality we drink in every night. For all the ill that Satan can do, when God describes what keeps us from the banquet table of his love, it is a piece of land, a yoke of oxen, and a wife (Luke 14:18-20). The greatest adversary of love to God is not his enemies but his gifts. And the most deadly appetites are not for the poison of evil, but for the simple pleasures of earth. For when these replace an appetite for God himself, the idolatry is scarcely recognizable, and almost incurable” (A Hunger for God [Wheaton:Crossway, 1997], 14). “Open wide your mouth and I will fill it.

As the music of the Pied Piper called the rats to their doom, so the beat of sexual satisfaction called us to its hallowed doors.

To be precise, I’d say you’re in the village of Hamlin. To be realistic, I’d say you’re exactly where you need to be.

I slid out of the car. "I bring gross undead creatures of the night," I said, by way of explanation. "A lot of them." "What the hell?" Quinn asked, even as he winked a hello at Hunter. I was pretty sure that Quinn could be dismembered and still manage to flirt. And for Hunter, he'd find a way to flirt even if he was full on dead and not just plain old undead. "With Solange out of town, I'm the new undead Pied Piper," I replied, limping closer. Her vampire pheromones had been so strong back when she was possessed that humans had trailed after her, begging to be bitten. So much more hygienic than Hel-Blar. I missed her desperately, even now, facing down danger. Especially now. Facing down danger was something we did together. "Why are you limping?" Nicholas demanded. "I broke my ass," I replied. "Now focus." I pointed at Quinn sternly, knowing very well he was about to make some remark about my ass. "Shut it." "What?" He asked innocently.

You are a ghost, like you were a ghost before because you were never here, but everywhere at once, i wish i could talk like my eyes can see, word you with what i smell, knock your socks off with aromas of a tiny metropolis tourists only catch glimpses of at the Wharf. A thousand LSD trips and middle-aged folks remembering Timothy Leary playing like a Pied Piper leading them all off to jump off the pier.

Everyone wants to love and be loved.

Trump is the Pied Piper of ignorance and bigotry.

Symphony of Destruction by: Megadeth 1992 "You take a mortal man And put him in control Watch him become a god Watch peoples heads a 'roll A 'roll, a 'roll Just like the pied piper Led rats through the streets We dance like Marionettes Swaying to the symphony of destruction Acting like a robot It's metal brain corrodes You try to take its pulse Before the head explodes Explodes, explodes Just like the pied piper Led rats through the streets We dance like Marionettes Swaying to the symphony Just like the pied piper Led rats through the streets We dance like Marionettes Swaying to the symphony Swaying to the symphony of destruction The earth starts to rumble World powers fall A warring for the heavens A peaceful man stands tall Tall, tall Just like the pied piper Led rats through the streets We dance like Marionettes Swaying to the symphony Just like the pied piper Led rats through the streets We dance like Marionettes Swaying to the symphony Swaying to the symphony of destruction" Interesting....

Critics have deplored various trends in masa-oriented programming – from the ‘soap epidemic’ (David 2001c[2000]) to ‘pied piper’ game shows (Coronel 2006a; Doyo 2006) to the ‘pornography of poverty’ (Devilles 2008) – that entertains rather than educates or informs poor viewers.

I finished the sonata and to my surprise the next piece was Saint-Saëns’s Danse Macabre, an unusual choice I thought. I began to play. I thought of Pietro who had always brought something indescribably spine-chilling into the playing of this piece. He said that when he played it, he saw the musician as a kind of pied piper who, instead of luring children into the mountain side, brought people out of their graves to dance round the piper…in the dance of death.

Manson was often made out as an artful seeker—“an evil Pied Piper,” as one paper put it, with reserves of obscure power.

This co-op model was rare, and its pied piper was a man named Sonny Meyerhoeffer.

The vast majority of People live far removed from nature— And destroy it every chance they get, the loons, Grandmother huffed. People like cement and electronics and quick things and they've done fantastic—stuff—with it. But Pipers are different: we take our time. Magic is often found in the moments spent with something. The quietness around it. The effort put into it.

In solitude, I learnt, my Heart has wings, Caged, held hostage by unvarying routine, Locked with treasure chest of my dreams, In this break, song of freedom it sings. Cage is broken, the chest now opens, The Heart has taken a giant leap, Carrying my dreams on its wings, Flies, flies, n it flies, the sky beckons. So strange are the ways of Thee, Didn't hear, when heart was with me, Now that it's flying, it's song so clear, Closed eyes, I follow, Pied Piper for me!

Una bala soberana Por ejemplo, el 20 de abril de 2001, la Fuerza Aérea del Perú derribó un avión misionero al confundirlo con un transporte de drogas. En el aeroplano estaban el piloto Kevin Donaldson y una familia misionera: Jim y Verónica Bowers y sus dos hijos, Charity de siete meses y Cory de seis años de edad. Verónica tenía sentada a Charity en su regazo en la parte trasera del Cessna 185. Cuando las balas rociaron la avioneta, una de ellas entró por la espalda de Verónica, atravesándola a ella y a su bebita. Ambas murieron. El piloto, con las rodillas destrozadas, logró estrellar el aeroplano contra un río, y los otros tres ocupantes sobrevivieron. Siete días después en el funeral en Fruitport, Michigan, Jim Bowers ofreció este testimonio y explicó por qué la soberanía de Dios en las muertes de su esposa y su hija era la roca debajo de sus pies. Por encima de todo, quiero dar gracias a Dios. Él es un Dios soberano. Ahora me doy más cuenta de eso… Algunos de ustedes se podrían preguntar: «¿Por qué agradecer a Dios?»… ¿Podría esto ser realmente el plan de Dios para Roni y Charity; ¿el plan divino para Cory, nuestra familia y yo? Me gustaría decirles por qué lo creo.[4] Jim siguió dando quince razones. En ese contexto, afirmó: «Roni y Charity murieron al instante a causa de la misma bala. (¿Diría usted que esa es una bala perdida?). No alcanzó a Kevin, quien estaba enfrente de Charity; se alojó en Charity. Esa fue una bala soberana». Sin embargo, ¿qué pasó con los pilotos peruanos de combate? ¿No tenían ellos voluntad? ¿No cometieron equivocaciones o, quizás, hasta pecaron contra una inocente familia misionera? Jim Bowers afirmó: «Aquellas personas que hicieron eso simplemente fueron usadas por Dios. Créanlo o no, yo lo creo. Ellos fueron usados por Él, por el Señor, para lograr el propósito divino en esto, quizás

He’s too fresh,” said Mrs. Wiggins. “I can’t abide a fresh duck.” “You said the other day you couldn’t abide a bashful duck,” Jinx said. “Make up your mind, cow.” “I can’t stand either of ’em,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “This Edward seems to be two ducks, and I don’t like either of them.

It is not a bad thing to desire our own good. In fact, the great problem of human beings is that they are far too easily pleased. They don’t seek pleasure with nearly the resolve and passion that they should. And so they settle for mud pies of appetite instead of infinite delight.

wrung were yet fair little maidens a-star with hopes and dreams. Slowly the banners of the sunset city gave up their crimson and gold; slowly the conqueror's pageant faded out. Twilight crept over the valley and the little group grew silent. Walter had been reading again that day in his beloved book of myths and he remembered how he had once fancied the Pied Piper coming down the valley on an evening just like this. He began to speak dreamily, partly because he wanted to thrill his companions a little, partly because something apart from him seemed to be speaking through his lips. "The Piper is coming nearer," he said, "he is nearer than he was that evening I saw him before. His long, shadowy cloak is blowing around him. He pipes—he pipes—and we must follow—Jem and Carl and Jerry and I—round and round the world. Listen— listen—can't you hear his wild music?" The girls shivered. "You know you're only pretending," protested Mary Vance, "and I wish you wouldn't. You make it too real. I hate that old Piper of yours." But Jem sprang up with a gay laugh. He stood up on a little hillock, tall and splendid, with his open brow and his fearless eyes. There were thousands like him all over the land of the maple. "Let the Piper come and welcome," he cried, waving his hand. "I'LL follow him gladly round and round the world.

Her brother really was devastatingly handsome in a disheveled, wise-ass sort of way. Females followed him around like he was the Pied Piper of sex. Sydney constantly cautioned him about his choice in women and using protection. After all, he came from wealth. That made him ripe pickings to be some money hungry girl's sugar daddy. Especially since he went through those women like toilet paper.

When is there a boy, even in these materialistic times, to whom the call of the wild and the open road does not appeal? Maybe it is the primitive instinct, anyway it is there. With that key a great door may be unlocked, if it is only to admit fresh air and sunshine into lives that were otherwise grey. The heroes of the wild, the frontiersmen and explorers, the rovers of the seas, the airmen of the clouds, are pied pipers to the boys. Where they lead the boys will follow and these will dance to their tune when it sings the song of manliness and pluck, of adventure and high endeavors of efficiency and skill, of cheerful sacrifice of self for others. There's meat in this for the boy. There's soul in it.

Everywhere we walked we got plenty of attention due to the camera and sound men. The locals love to get on camera. I walked down the street feeling like the Pied Piper. At

Are you sure? You sound afraid.” Said the Pied Piper to his subjects.

Sexist Dave suggested dancing girls in skimpy outfits and everyone said that was fine.

Like the Pied Piper, the street entertainer carries his own mystique which cannot easily be transferred to the stage. He seems to have escaped reality, to perform in a time and space where he doesn't necessarily belong.

The travel sites all describe Luxembourg as a fairy tale come to life, but it feels less like a Grimm land of trolls and big bad wolves, and more like Disneyland Paris. Luxembourg is the wealthiest country in all of Europe, and the Old City is overrun by the tax-sheltered children of eBay and Skype executives, moving in Pied Piper phalanxes with their phones out and thumbs flying—casting spells out into the ethernet." (from "The Unchangeable Spots of Leopards: A Novel (Ala Notable Books for Adults)" by Kristopher Jansma)

He's like the pied piper, drawing me in just to lead me to my death or something.

When working on other commitments, "the work that needs to be made" is relentlessly harassing me, whispering in my ear about what I am SUPPOSED to be creating RIGHT NOW, as it attempts to lure me away, like the Pied Piper.

The greatest enemy of hunger for God is not poison but apple pie. It is not the banquet of the wicked that dulls our appetite for heaven, but endless nibbling at the table of the world. It is not the X-rated video, but the prime-time dribble of triviality we drink in every night. For all the ill that Satan can do, when God describes what keeps us from the banquet table of his love, it is a piece of land, a yoke of oxen, and a wife. The greatest adversary of love to God is not his enemies but his gifts. And the most deadly appetites are not for the poison of evil, but for the simple pleasures of earth. For when these replace an appetite for God himself, the idolatry is scarcely recognizable, and almost incurable. Jesus said some people hear the word of God, and a desire for God is awakened in their hearts. But then, “as they go on their way they are choked with worries and riches and pleasures of this life.” In another place he said, “The desires for other things enter in and choke the word, and it becomes unfruitful.” “The pleasures of this life” and “the desires for other things”—these are not evil in themselves. These are not vices. These are gifts of God. They are your basic meat and potatoes and coffee and gardening and reading and decorating and traveling and investing and TV-watching and Internet-surfing and shopping and exercising and collecting and talking. And all of them can become deadly substitutes for God.

Dear Mr. Vice-President, have you ever seriously wondered whether the Pied-piper may be suffering from health issues, such as early dementia or other cognitive impairments (due to pre-existing conditions such as head injury, brain tumor, cerebral artery aneurysm, or silent stroke)? Do you consider the President an imperfect vessel?

Magazine Street was a sea of green. Piper reveled in the pleasure and satisfaction of having finished the scene in her first feature film as she made her way through the crowds and watched the floats decorated by New Orleans marching clubs. The float riders threw carrots, potatoes, moon pies, and beads to the onlookers gathered on the sidewalk. Pets joined in the festivities as well, sporting leprechaun attire and green-tinted fur. Under a bright sun and a clear blue sky, families and friends were gathered for the opportunity to celebrate one of the biggest street parties of the year. Some set up ladders along the parade route, climbing atop for the best views. Others scaled trees and found perches among the branches. "Hey, mister, throw me something!" yelled a man next to Piper. Waving hands rose in the air as a head of cabbage came hurtling from the float. Everyone in the crowd lunged for it. The person who snagged it was roundly congratulated for the catch. "What's with the cabbage?" Piper asked the man standing next to her. "They aren't supposed to throw them, just hand them out. Somebody could get hurt by one of those things." The man shrugged. "But the tradition is to cook them for dinner on St. Patrick's Day night.

They stilled the looms on which they had woven the most beautiful carpets and the finest, softest shawls the world had ever seen, and ran gnarled, wondering fingers over the smooth barrels of Kalashnikovs that the strangers who visited them allowed them to touch. They followed the new Pied Pipers up into the high meadows and alpine glades where training camps had been set up. Only after they had been given guns of their own, after they had curled their fingers around the trigger and felt it give, ever so slightly, after they had weighed the odds and decided it was a viable option, only then did they allow the rage and shame of the subjugation they had endured for decades, for centuries, to course through their bodies and turn the blood in their veins into smoke.

Either a man had been to charm school and acquired the Pied Piper effect or he had not.

What magical star had Colin been born under, that he always knew what to say? He was the pied piper, leaving nothing but happy hearts and smiling faces in his wake.

Link could be another child in the house, ramping Callan up until she couldn’t get either of them to listen or settle down. But if he was Peter Pan, he was also the Pied Piper, even if he didn’t know it. Even if he wouldn’t take the role seriously.

when an honest-to-God succu-bitch (succubus who was also part witch, yet total bitch) and her evil minions tried to kill me and my best friends. The skank had some sort of magik va-jay-jay that apparently ensnared men with ease. Part of me was jealous. The other was thankful it wasn’t catching. I didn’t need or want my vag acting like the Pied Piper.

It's as if every classroom has its own pied piper luring children away from their parents, from their own desires—from whatever they'd known to be true before entering that school building. Who gave them the right to access our minds? Why did they think they had that authority? We were innocent children!

Umbrellas made vain attempts to withhold the deluge;

Once we lost Clive the Glide it was all over.

We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.5

was for a fleeting instant the pachyderm Pied Piper.

হ্যামিলনের বাঁশিওয়ালা শহরটাকে ইঁদুরমুক্ত করেছে ঠিকই, কিন্তু ইঁদুরগুলোকে নদীতে ফেলে মারাত্মক পানি দূষণ ঘটিয়েছে কারণ সেগুলো পানিতে মরে, পচে একাকার হয়ে গিয়েছে!

Indeed, the pied piper of Hamelin has freed the city from the rats, but he has caused serious water pollution by leaving the rats into the river where they have died, rotten and mixed up with the water!

একটি সমস্যার সমাধান যদি আরেকটি সমস্যার সৃষ্টি করে, তখন তাকে ‘ঘূর্ণায়মান সমস্যা’ বলে ডাকাই শ্রেয়! যেমন, হ্যামেলিনের বাঁশিওয়ালা শহরটাকে ইঁদুরমুক্ত করেছে ঠিকই, কিন্তু ইঁদুরগুলোকে নদীতে ফেলে মারাত্মক পানি দূষণ ঘটিয়েছে কারণ সেগুলো পানিতে মরে, পচে একাকার হয়ে গিয়েছে! দৃশ্যত শহরের সমস্যা মিটেছে কিন্তু পানি দূষিত হয়ে আরেকটি সমস্যার সৃষ্টি হয়েছে। তাই এটি একটি ‘ঘূর্ণায়মান সমস্যা’!

one of the beach bunnies who followed Cable around like he was the Pied Piper of sex and satisfaction.

Capitalism always needs a hero. It needs a Pied Piper who can rally others into living better lives. Capitalism always has a star fronting it. It needs a Pied Piper exhorting everyone to pretty themselves up. Oh, play the pipe, Pied Piper! Play us the pipe! It's in the back of the pack where the chase and competition begin. The pushing, the shoving, and the stampeding occur at the back. None of the rats can ever overtake Pied Piper.

Humans are strange creatures indeed, I thought to myself. They can only rest once they've compared themselves to someone else and confirmed what they thought to be true. They 're following the tunes of the Pied Piper, but they're in denial.

I couldn't help but think that the world is indeed as he had described, with everyone stomping on each other, trying to pull ahead and leaving the others in the dust. It's the rats that kill each other as they scramble along; the Pied Piper never turns around. To him, it doesn't matter whether they're great rats, lean rats, gay, young, friskier; they're just rats. No matter how much the rats compete, they'll always be rats. Rats who believe they're practicing majority rule.