Quad God Quotes

There was a young man who said "God Must find it exceedingly odd To think that the tree Should continue to be When there's no one about in the quad." Reply: "Dear Sir: Your astonishment's odd; I am always about in the quad. And that's why the tree Will continue to be Since observed by, Yours faithfully, God.

NO SHORTS or SANDAL!! This for your own protection. Tomorrow's boot camp will be something SPECIAL! Meet in front of the maintenance shed at the north end of the quad at 10 A.M! Latecomers will be left behind and this is a day you will not want to miss! - Adara - I roll my eyes. Besides her overuse of exclamation points and her tendency to yell, the idea that we're doing "something special" in camp tomorrow is not exciting. It's terrifying.

Welcome to gym. Where the quads and glutes and delts and pects, are the gods of brutes and svelte and sex.

You realize that running is something I only do on the treadmill while wearing my sneaks and running gear, correct?” She trots next to me, trying to keep up on feet that are clad in expensive suede boots with a heel as tall as my hand. I walk even faster. “Can’t hear you. Embarrassment is short-circuiting my nervous system.” “If embarrassment is causing your malfunction now, I’d love to know what it was that caused you to run across the quad.” As if she doesn’t know. Before I can respond, though, Tucker shows up on my right. “Where’s the fire?” he drawls. Hope grinds to a halt. “Thank God you caught up with us.” She runs a hand across her forehead in an exaggerated motion. “I’m not cut out for outdoor exertions.

There once was a man who said ‘God Must think it exceedingly odd     If he finds that this tree     Continues to be When there's no one about in the Quad.

Dear Sir, Your astonishment's odd: I am always about in the Quad.     And that's why the tree     Will continue to be, Since observed by Yours faithfully, God.

Every day, he awakens to a tapestry of splendor, cast in the gentle morning glow, while the very essence of the untamed woods - fragrant and ethereal- dances upon the lips of a fresh mountain breeze.

In the wisdom of Celtic shamans, a profound truth resonates; nothing is ever truly lost but transforms, perpetuating the eternal circle of life. As water rises as vapor, it falls as rain. From flames of destruction, new growth emerges. Each essence intricately woven in an endless dance of reincarnation, where shape-shifting and transmutation are natural states of existence.

Who’s Josie?” Alex asked, confused. “Uh . . .” I looked over at Deacon. “You want to do the honors? I know how much you love awkward conversations.” A wide smile broke out across his face. “Of course, especially when I’m not the center of the awkwardness.” Luke snorted. “So!” Deacon clapped his hands together as he faced Alex and Aiden. “Did you guys happen to notice a certain girl out on the quad when you did your magic doorway thing?” Aiden glanced at Alex. She raised a shoulder. “There were a lot of people out there that I hadn’t seen before.” She paused. “I noticed Boobs, though.” I slowly shook my head. “Um, that’s not who I’m talking about. Anyway,” Deacon said, his gray eyes light. “She’s pretty tall. Well, taller than you and everyone is practically taller than you, Alex. Has long blondish-brown hair. Kind of weird hair.” “Awesome hair,” Luke added. Alexander frowned silently. “She does. It’s like an array of colors. One moment it looks completely blonde. The next it’s long brown and then it changes again. It’s very cool,” Deacon continued, and I had to agree with him on that. “And when you see her, you’re going to think, wow, this girl looks familiar. You won’t be able to put a finger on it at first, but it’s going to nag at you and then, when it hits you, you’ll—” “Deacon,” Aiden warned. “Who is Josie?” His brother pouted for a second and then sighed. “Fine. She’s a demigod. Like, a born demigod. Powers unlocked and all, and she’s super-cool and really nice.” His gaze slid over to where I stood and his expression turned sly. “Isn’t that right, Seth?” I eyed him. “Right.” “You’re forgetting the best part.” Solos walked past the couch, sending me a long look. “Which god she came from.” Aiden seemed to get what wasn’t being said first. His eyes closed as he rubbed his fingers along his brow. “Gods.” “What?” Alex looked at him and then at me. “Whose kid is she?” “Apollo’s,” Deacon answered, his smile going up a notch when Alex’s gaze flew to him. “Yep. Josie is Apollo’s daughter.” Her mouth dropped open. “And that kind of makes you and her cousins? I guess?” Luke frowned. “I don’t know what exactly, but it does make you two related. Somehow. I don’t know how, but she does have some of your mannerisms. It gets really weird sometimes.

A limerick by Ronald Knox, with a reply, sets forth Berkeley’s theory of material objects: There was a young man who said, “God Must think it exceedingly odd    If he finds that this tree    Continues to be When there’s no one about in the Quad.” REPLY Dear Sir:    Your astonishment's odd: I am always about in the Quad.    And that’s why the tree    Will continue to be, Since observed by       Yours faithfully,               GOD

Sometimes he stood in the center of the quad, looking at the five huge columns in front of Jesse Hall that thrust upward into the night out of the cool grass; he had learned that these columns were the remains of the original main building of the University, destroyed many years ago by fire. Grayish silver in the moonlight, bare and pure, they seemed to him to represent the way of life he had embraced, as a temple represents a god.

Fynn disguise nobody but Fynn. At the time of writing I have known him for a couple of years. But there is another way in which I have known him all my life. For there is about him that transparent vulnerability which makes for a total and immediate correspondence with anyone who is prepared to throw prejudices to the wind and celebrate life as a lump of mysterious and joyful awe. But all the speculation about a trained scientist or theologian with imaginative leanings and communications was pretty well wide of the mark. Fynn, thank God, was not trained as either of these. Intelligent to the eyelashes and with a gargantuan appetite for knowledge, Fynn was early advised to eschew (may his adviser rest in peace) universities and other institutions for the purveying of processed thought. Some of his most formative thinking took place far from the quads and colleges and punted rivers amongst the small streets, warehouses, and canals of the East End. But with his modest job and his Woolworth's do-it-yourself laboratory he produced thought to which few PhD's have approximated.

My father only saw six months of combat before being taken prisoner. How did they capture him? They were advancing over a frozen lake while the enemy’s artillery shot at the ice. Few made it across, and those who did had just spent their last strength swimming through freezing water; all of them lost their weapons along the way. They came to the shore half-naked. The Finns would stretch out their arms to rescue them and some people would take their hands, while others…many of them wouldn’t accept any help from the enemy. That was how they had been trained. My father grabbed one of their hands, and he was dragged out of the water. I remember his amazement: “They gave me schnapps to warm me up. Put me in dry clothes. They laughed and clapped me on the shoulder, ‘You made it, Ivan!’ ” My father had never been face to face with the enemy before. He didn’t understand why they were so cheerful… The Finnish campaign ended in 1940…Soviet war prisoners were exchanged for Finns. They were marched toward each other in columns. On their side, the Finns were greeted with hugs and handshakes…Our men, on the other hand, were immediately treated like enemies. “Brothers! Friends!” they threw themselves on their comrades. “Halt! Another step and we’ll shoot!” The column was surrounded by soldiers with German Shepherds. They were led to specially prepared barracks surrounded by barbed wire. The interrogations began…“How were you taken prisoner?” the interrogator asked my father. “The Finns pulled me out of a lake.” “You traitor! You were saving your own skin instead of the Motherland.” My father also considered himself guilty. That’s how they’d been trained…There was no trial. They marched everyone out on the quad and read the entire division their sentence: six years in the camps for betraying the Motherland. Then they shipped them off to Vorkuta to build a railway over the permafrost. My God! It was 1941…The Germans were moving in on Moscow…No one even told them that war had broken out—after all, they were enemies, it would only make them happy. Belarus was occupied by the Nazis. They took Smolensk. When they finally heard about it, all of them wanted to go to the front, they all wrote letters to the head of the camp…to Stalin…And in response, they were told, “Work for the victory on the home front, you bastards. We don’t need traitors like you at the front.” They all…Papa…he told me…All of them wept

TWO YEARS AGO I FOUND AN IMAGE OF A KID WITH HER HANDS COVERING HER FACE. A SEATBELT REACHED ACROSS HER TORSO, RIDING UP HER NECK AND A MOP OF BLONDE HAIR STAYED SWEPT, FOR THE MOMENT, BEHIND HER EARS. HER EYES SEEMED CLEAR AND CALM BUT NOT BLANK, THE ROAD BEHIND HER SEEMED THE SAME, I PUT MYSELF IN HER SEAT THEN I PLAYED IT ALL OUT IN MY HEAD. THE CLAUSTROPHOBIA HITS AS THE SEATBELT TIGHTENS, PREVENTING ME FROM EVEN LEANING FORWARD IN MY SEAT, THE PRESSING ON INTERNAL ORGANS. I LEAN BACK AND FORWARD TO RELEASE IT, THEN BACKWARDS AND FORWARD AGAIN. THERE IT IS I GOT FREE. HOW MUCH OF MY LIFE HAS HAPPENED INSIDE OF A CAR? I WONDER IF THE ODDS ARE THAT I'LL DIE IN ONE, KNOCK ON WOOD-GRAIN. SHOULDN'T SPEAK LIKE THAT. WE LIVE IN CARS IN SOME CITIES, COMMUTING ACROSS SPACE EITHER FOR OUR LIVELIHOOD, OR DEVOURING FOSSIL FUELS FOR JOY. IT'S CLOSE TO AS MUCH TIME AS WE SPEND IN OUR BEDS, MORE FOR SOME. THE FIRST TIME I DID SHROOMS, MY MANAGER HAD TO COME RESCUE ME FROM CALTECH'S 'TRIP DAY. AS I GOT INTO HER CAR, I SWEAR TO GOD THE ALUMINUM CENTER CONSOLE IN HER PORSCHE TRUCK LOOKED LIKE IT WAS BREATHING, LIKE THE THROAT OF SOMETHING. ON THE FREEWAY, LEAVING PASADENA, WE SPOKE AND I LOOKED AWAY, OUTSIDE, AT THE WHEELS AND TIRES OF CARS DOING THAT OPTICAL ILLUSION THING THEY DO WHERE IT LOOKS LIKE THEY'RE SPINNING BACKWARDS, WHICH, ACCORDING TO GOOGLE, HAPPENS BECAUSE OUR BRAINS ARE ASSUMING SOMETHING COMPLETELY WRONG AND SHOWING IT TO US. STARING, I WAS TRANSFIXED BY ALL THE INDICATOR LIGHTS OSCILLATING AND THROBBING AGAINST THE WIND. WE DROVE THRU DOWNTOWN LA HEADED WEST, FLYING ON THE SAME FREEWAYS I USED TO RUN OUTTA GAS ON. WELCOMED IN BY THE PERENNIAL CREATURES, IMPERIAL PALM TREES AND CLIMBING VINES LIVING THEIR LIVES OUT JUST OFF THE SHOULDER. THE FEELING OF FAMILIAR ENHANCED, ON THE 10. I USED TO RIDE AROUND IN MY SINEWY CROSSOVER SUV, SMOKE AND LISTEN TO ROUGH MIXES OF MY OLD SHIT BEFORE IT CAME OUT, OR WHATEVER SOMEONE WANTED TO PLAY WHEN THEY HOOKED UP THEIR IPHONE TO THE AUX CORD A FEW YEARS AND A FEW DAILY-DRIVERS LATER I'M NOT DRIVING MUCH ANYMORE, IT'S BEEN A YEAR SINCE I MOVED TO LONDON, AT THE TIME OF WRITING THIS, AND THERE'S NO PRACTICAL REASON TO DRIVE IN THIS CITY. I ORDERED A GT3 RS AND IT'LL KEEP LOW MILES OUT HERE BUT I GUESS IT'S GOOD TO HAVE IN CASE OF EMERGENCY :) RAF SIMONS ONCE TOLD ME IT WAS CLICHE, MY WHOLE CAR OBSESSION MAYBE IT LINKS TO A DEEP SUBCONSCIOUS STRAIGHT BOY FANTASY. CONSCIOUSLY THOUGH, I DON'T WANT STRAIGHT A LITTLE BENT IS GOOD. I FOUND IT ROMANTIC, SOMETIMES, EDITING THIS PROJECT. THE WHOLE TIME I FELT AS THOUGH I WAS IN THE PRESENCE OF A $16M MCLAREN F1 ARMED WITH A DISPOSABLE CAMERA. MY MEMORIES ARE IN THESE PAGES, PLACES CLOSEBY AND LONG ASS-NUMBING FLIGHTS AWAY. CRUISING THE SUBURBS OF TOKYO IN RWB PORSCHES. THROWING PARTIES AROUND ENGLAND AND MOBBING FREEWAYS IN FOUR PROJECT M3S THAT I BUILT WITH SOME FRIENDS. GOING TO MISSISSIPPI AND PLAYING IN THE MUD WITH AMPHIBIOUS QUADS. STREET-CASTING MODELS AT A RANDOM KUNG FU DOJO OUT IN SENEGAL. COMMISSIONING LIFE-SIZE TOY BOXES FOR THE FUCK OF IT SHOOTING A MUSIC VIDEO FOR FUN WITH TYRONE LEBON, THE GENIUS GIANT. TAKING A BREAK-SLASH-RECONNAISSANCE MISSION TO TULUM, MEXICO, ENJOYING SOME STAR VISIBILITY FOR A CHANGE. RECORDING IN TOKYO, NYC, MIAMI, LA, LONDON, PARIS. STOPPING IN BERLIN TO WITNESS BERGHAIN FOR MYSELF, TRADING JEWELS AND SOAKING IN PARABLES WITH THE MANY-HEADED BRANDON AKA BASEDGOD IN CONVERSATION, I WROTE A STORY IN THE MIDDLE-IT'S CALLED 'GODSPEED', IT'S BASICALLY A REIMAGINED PART OF MY BOYHOOD. BOYS DO CRY, BUT I DON'T THINK I SHED A TEAR FOR A GOOD CHUNK OF MY TEENAGE YEARS. IT'S SURPRISINGLY MY FAVORITE PART OF LIFE SO FAR. SURPRISING, TO ME, BECAUSE THE CURRENT PHASE IS WHAT I WAS ASKING THE COSMOS FOR WHEN I WAS A KID. MAYBE THAT PART HAD IT'S ROUGH STRETCHES TOO, BUT IN MY REARVIEW MIRROR IT'S GETTING SMALL ENOUGH TO CONVINCE MYSELF IT WAS ALL GOOD. AND REALLY THOUGH... IT'S STILL ALL GOOD.

Sabel rolled her eyes. “You have the quads of a Greek god.” “With the extra strength Abraxas is building into me, I’ll bet I could deadlift you.” “I would literally faint,” Sabel said. “Literally?” “Absolutely.

Except that she can’t believe that God would be so unfair, letting guy after guy get off scot-free, while saddling girls with either lifelong responsibilities or mortal sins.

Nigga, don’t worry about where the fuck I met my wife. I’m a child of God and God don’t play ‘bout me! So, be yo’ un Godly ass careful,” Gabe said, and Quad was damn near on the floor.

I’m going to pierce those tits and chain you to my cock.” He smirks proudly at the idea, stroking himself as he braces himself on those thick, sculpted quads. “Watch you crawl on the floor beneath me, led by none other than your new god.” He shakes his dick at me. “You’re not piercing my nipples,” I retort, finally finding my voice. Aero grabs the chain connected to the O-ring around my neck and jerks it forward, causing me to gasp. “I didn’t ask for your opinion,” he snarls. “Now get on your stomach and open my mouth for me.

What the fuck do you want?” he asks. “And whose phone are you calling from?” He’s signing while he talks out loud. Logan laughs and pulls me into the frame. “It’s Sean’s.” “What up, Sean?” Paul asks. I wave. “You got any cash?” Logan asks. Paul’s eyes narrow. “Why?” “Sean needs to buy a kiss from his girl.” Paul’s brow rises. “You paying for sex now, dude?” he asks. He holds up his hands when I start to protest. “Not that I think that’s a bad idea or anything. Man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.” I laugh. I can’t help it. “I can’t ask you for money, man. Don’t worry about it. Logan shouldn’t have called you.” But Logan rushes on. “So, you got any money?” he asks. Paul heaves a sigh and empties his pockets. I see a few dollars float around. He yells toward the back of his apartment. “Sam! Matt!” Both brothers walk into the room. “You bellowed?” Matt says. “Asswipe there needs some cash so he can buy a hooker.” He points toward me. “She’s not a hooker,” I protest. But Logan’s laughing like hell by now. And Matt and Sam look amused, too. “Cash?” Logan asks. “Some,” Paul says. “Can you bring it?” “Where?” “To school. To the kissing booth. In the quad.” Paul heaves a sigh. “I’ll be there.” The phone goes dead. “Do you think we’ll have enough?” I’m getting anxious now. “You’ll have more than you thought you did.” Logan claps a hand onto my shoulder and squeezes. God,

There once was a man who said, ‘God must think it exceedingly odd if He finds that this tree continues to be when there’s no one about in the Quad.’ Reply: Dear Sir: ‘Your astonishment’s odd. I am always about in the Quad. And that’s why the tree will continue to be, since observed by, yours faithfully, God.

THE SPIRES OF OXFORD I saw the spires of Oxford   As I was passing by, The gray spires of Oxford   Against the pearl-gray sky. My heart was with the Oxford men   Who went abroad to die. The years go fast in Oxford,   The golden years and gay, The hoary Colleges look down   On careless boys at play. But when the bugles sounded war   They put their games away. They left the peaceful river,   The cricket-field, the quad, The shaven lawns of Oxford,   To seek a bloody sod— They gave their merry youth away   For country and for God. God rest you, happy gentlemen,   Who laid your good lives down, Who took the khaki and the gun   Instead of cap and gown. God bring you to a fairer place   Than even Oxford town. Winifred M. Letts

Let me pray for you," my mother said. I said okay. Her voice steeled up a bit, and she asked God to protect me and walk with me. I didn't close my eyes, just tucked the receiver against my ear and looked out the window. A laughing couple threw snowballs at each other in the quad. When I finally hung up the phone, longing and shame tightened around my stomach like a belt. I thought of something my father had told me last summer. Apparently he'd walked into the kitchen to make himself a plate of something and he found my mother crying near the sink. She was crying over me and my future, as she had before and would again. She could only guess at what made up my life, far away in New England, but she knew it wasn't the life she would have chosen for me. My father could be tender when he needed to be and he said he had calmed her down, poured her a glass of iced tea. When she was feeling better he asked her what she thought I'd do when I finished school. He said she fixed him with those ice-blue eyes of hers and said, “Well, I guess she'll come home and be one of us again.

For by doing these things the gates of hell shall not prevail against you; yea, and the Lord God will disperse the powers of darkness from before you, and cause the heavens to shake for your good, and his name's glory.

6 And I, Enos, knew that God could not lie; wherefore, my guilt was swept away.