Raleigh Quotes

Tell me why the stars do shine, Tell me why the ivy twines, Tell me what makes skies so blue, And I'll tell you why I love you. Nuclear fusion makes stars to shine, Tropisms make the ivy twine, Raleigh scattering make skies so blue, Testicular hormones are why I love you.

I wish I loved the human Race, I wish I loved its silly face, and when I'm introduced to one, I wish I thought "what jolly fun"!

When you fall in love with a work of art, you’d die to meet the artist. I am a student of the galleries of Pacific sunsets, full moon rises on the ocean, the clouds from an airplane, autumn forests in Raleigh, first fallen snows. And I’m dying to meet the artist.

Who did she know in Raleigh who took the time off to fix a house? Or read Whitman or Eliot, finding images in the mind, thoughts of the spirit? Or hunted dawn from the bow of a canoe? These weren't the things that drove society, but she felt they shouldn't be treated as unimportant. They made living worthwhile.

But Love is a durable fire in the mind ever burning Never sick, never old, never dead From itself, never turning.

Romance goes like this: Boy gets girl. Boy loses girl. Boy gets girl again. The end. It can't be any other way.

The world itself is but a large prison, out of which some are daily led to execution.

I wish I loved the Human Race; I wish I loved its silly face; I wish I liked the way it walks; I wish I liked the way it talks; And when I’m introduced to one, I wish I thought “What Jolly Fun!

I hear Raleigh's new accounting business isn't doing well. Maybe up in New York or somewhere it's a good thing, but in Jackson, Mississippi, people just don't care to do business with a rude, condescending asshole.

When I write, I can be heard. And known. But nobody has to look at me. Nobody has to see me at all.

Ms. Kendrick, are you listening to me?” Headmaster Raleigh asked. Not in the least. “Yes, sir.” The sir seemed to appease him somewhat.

All we are, all we can be, are the stories we tell," he says, and he is talking as if he is talking only to me. "Long after we are gone, our words will be all that is left, and who is to say what really happened or even what reality is? Our stories, our fiction, our words will be as close to truth as can be. And no one can take that away from you.

Why do people want everyone to act just like they do? Talk like they do. Look like they do. Act like they do. And if you don't— If you don't, people make the assumption that you do not FEEL what they feel. And then they make the assumption— That you must not feel anything at all.

And then, just as quickly, the clouds returned, leaving us to walk by faith, not by sight.

With a hand on the back of his neck, Raleigh pulled him down until their foreheads touched. “I love you. I want to suffocate you in your sleep with your pillow sometimes, but I love you.” Steven chuckled and nipped Raleigh’s full bottom lip. “I love you too, Cony.” Running his fingers through the back of the thick black hair, Steven urged Raleigh forward. “Please don’t murder me in my sleep.” Their lips met.

There was a pretty fair bike shop in McLean, and Bernstein drove there to kill a couple of hours and look halfheartedly for a replacement for his beloved Raleigh. But his mind was on Jeb Magruder. He had picked up a profoundly disturbing piece of information that day: Magruder was a bike freak. Bernstein had trouble swallowing the information that a bicycle nut could be a Watergate bugger.

Fain would I climb, yet fear I to fall.

Sir Walter Raleigh had envisioned: “Whosoever commands the seas commands the trade of the world; whosoever commands the trade of the world commands the riches of the world.

What is our life? A play of passion. Our mirth the music of division. Our mother's wombs the tyring houses be, Where we are drest for this short Comedy. Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is, That sits and marks still who doth act amiss, Our graves that hide us from the searching sun, Are like drawn curtains when the play is done. Thus march we playing to our latest rest, Only we die in earnest, that's no jest.

Even such is Time * Even such is Time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with earth and dust; Who in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days: But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust. Sir Walter Raleigh (1554-1618) *These lines are said to have been composed by Sir Walter Raleigh on the night before his execution.

And what people see the most is his silence, because some kinds of silence is actually visible.

Courage is contagious: When one person of courage stands up, others are affected and stand up with him

I wish I loved the Human Race; I wish I loved its silly face; I wish I liked the way it walks; I wish I liked the way it talks: And when I’m introduced to one I wish I thought What Jolly Fun! —Sir Walter A. Raleigh

I am reminded that I no longer have to wonder, or look back at what was left behind. Because I know who and what I am, and I know where I am going. And I know that when I finally get there, you'll be coming to join me. Because we'll always wind up at the same place when the sun goes down for good, Raleigh. We are all together in this incomprehensible wait.

But really, if you ask me, there is only one kid of plot. One. Stuff happens. That's it.

Sometimes there is nothing to hold me together.

False love, desire, and beauty frail, adieu! Dead is the root whence all these fancies grew.

Inde genus durum sumus, experiensque laborum, Et documenta damus qua simus origine nati. Or, as Raleigh rhymes it in his sonorous way,— “From thence our kind hard-hearted is, enduring pain and care, Approving that our bodies of a stony nature are.

Back at the office, Woodward went to the rear of the newsroom to call Deep Throat. Bernstein wished he had a source like that. The only source he knew who had such comprehensive knowledge in any field was Mike Schwering, who owned Georgetown Cycle Sport Shop. There was nothing about bikes - and, more important, bike thieves - that Schwering didn't know. Bernstein knew something about bike thieves: the night of the Watergate indictments, somebody had stolen his 10-speed Raleigh from a parking garage. That was the difference between him and Woodward. Woodward went into a garage to find a source who could tell him what Nixon's men were up to. Bernstein walked into a garage to find an eight-pound chain cut neatly in two and his bike gone. -- Carl Bernstein, Bob Woodward

There are many, many different worlds to live in. And sometimes there is no connection from one to another.

PASSIONS are likened best to floods and streams: The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb;

On the East Coast, sunrise will steal the breath right out of your body.

I was terrified of him but at the same time wanted him to desire me. I wanted him to care for me and protect me.

My past might be the scattered shrapnel of a detonated grenade, but Raleigh is the truth of my Now.

Raleigh

The Wood is that that makes the gallows tree; The Weed is that that strings the hangman's bag; The Wag, my pretty knave, betokens thee.

Thou may be sure that he who will tell thee of thy faults is thy friend, for he ventures thy dislike and doth hazard thy hatred.

Alex isn’t safe enough to be right for me, and I’m not whole enough to be right for him, either. That’s really all there is to it.

I wrapped my arms around him, threading my fingers through his hair, wanting to be as close as humanly possible to this person I loved so much.

I have provided a possible explanation for Antiochus's insane foolhardiness when left in command of the Athenian Fleet, because Thucidides's bald account is so unbelievable (unless one assumes that both Antiochus and Alkibiades were mentally defective) that any explanation seems more likely than none. Alkibiades himself is an enigma. Even allowing that no man is all black and all white, few men can ever have been more wildly and magnificently piebald. Like another strange and contradictory character Sir Walter Raleigh, he casts a glamour that comes clean down the centuries, a dazzle of personal magnetism that makes it hard to see the man behind it. I have tried to see. I have tried to fit the pieces into a coherent whole; I don't know whether I have been successful or not; but I do not think that I have anywhere falsified the portrait.

Will read a poem by Sir Walter Raleigh at his grandmother's funeral. "Pondering the joys we had, listen & keep very still. If the lowing from the hill or the tolling of the bell do not serve to break the spell, listen: you may be allowed to hear my laughter from a cloud.

I imagine us being together. I imagine having you to myself, that you were mine. It's so easy to picture walking down the hallway at Raleigh with your hand in mine because I know it would be easy. It would be so much fucking better because I wouldn't be alone anymore. I could fall in love with you, Alex. I could see myself doing that.” I nod, trying not to stumble over the terrifying words. “It wouldn’t take much

It was a boy with a clean record, a winning smile and a glorious halo who broke me. Ironically, it’s the boy with the rap sheet, a body full of ink and the dangerous glint in his eye who’s putting me back together.

Even such is Time, which takes in trust Our youth, our joys, and all we have, And pays us but with age and dust; Who in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days.

When the grand twelve million jury of our sins and sinful fury, 'Gainst our souls black verdicts give, Christ pleads his death, and then we live. Be thou my speaker, taintless pleader, unblotted lawyer, true proceeder.

Our taste must always be, more or less, the victim of our limitations, but we should beware of glorying in it, and, above all, we should beware of mistaking the aversions of timidity and sensibility for critical judgments.

Thou mayest be sure that he that will in private tell thee of thy faults is thy friend, for he adventures thy dislike and hazards thy hatred; for there are few men that can endure it, every man for the most part delighting in self-praise, which is one of the most universal fallies that bewitcheth mankind

These were such friendly people, they didn't notice how crabby we were, and before you knew it everyone was as happy as they were.

Know how to live with the time that is given you.

You’re the most beautiful fucking thing I have ever witnessed with my own two eyes. I am watching you just as much as you’re watching me…and I don’t trust myself to look away.

Old elbows," she told me. "A woman's elbows always give her age away.

It occurred to me that a lot of beauty has to do with believing it yourself. That half of what we see is just the way it is presented.

A professional man of letters, especially if he is much at war with unscrupulous enenemies, is naturally jealous of his privacy... so it was, I think, with Dryden.

Give me a man who whistles while he works.

Because it was a selfish prayer, and selfish prayers don't get answered.

It's not about what makes you feel better or worse. If it's the right thing to do and you know it, you should do it.

Anger sends out a strange energy, like a force field in a science fiction movie. It repels. It destroys.

And broken things can be fixed.

Modesty is good. But take your credit. You can't always count on other people to offer it.

You can not know any better and still know you don't like something" -Ruby

July 3, 1981 Raleigh There is a new cancer that strikes only homosexual men. I heard about it on the radio tonight.

removed Raleigh’s laptop, and put it on the desk.

the fear inspired by the contents of Raleigh’s laptop is sharper than it’s been in months.

Shakespeare was not even able to perform a function that we consider today as perfectly normal and ordinary a function as reading itself. He could not, as the saying goes, “look something up.” Indeed the very phrase—when it is used in the sense of “searching for something in a dictionary or encyclopedia or other book of reference”—simply did not exist. It does not appear in the English language, in fact, until as late as 1692, when an Oxford historian named Anthony Wood used it. Since there was no such phrase until the late seventeenth century, it follows that there was essentially no such concept either, certainly not at the time when Shakespeare was writing—a time when writers were writing furiously, and thinkers thinking as they rarely had before. Despite all the intellectual activity of the time there was in print no guide to the tongue, no linguistic vade mecum, no single book that Shakespeare or Martin Frobisher, Francis Drake, Walter Raleigh, Francis Bacon, Edmund Spenser, Christopher Marlowe, Thomas Nash, John Donne, Ben Jonson, Izaak Walton, or any of their other learned contemporaries could consult.

You know how they say there's only one thing in the universe that's constant?' Jonas started. 'Change. Change is the only constant in the universe. And left alone, all things return to chaos.

Sir Walter Raleigh is more safely enshrined in the memory of mankind because he set his cloak for the Virgin Queen to walk on than because he carried the english name to undiscovered countries.

Stories abound of Waters confirming black and white children together in the Cathedral of the Sacred Heart in Raleigh, of his insisting on having white and black acolytes at masses at which he presided, and of his requiring the diocesan newspaper to cover the activities of black Catholics and their parishes with as much interest as they covered those of white Catholics in the diocese.

What was costly was not the shot but coming back without good pictures to choose from. The light was perfect, orange gray, casting long shadows. The city seemed to reveal more the darker it got.

Boys are not supposed to cry. Because when they do, things get worse. Then suddenly you have two problems. You have whatever it was that made you cry in the first place, and then you also have the problem that you are a boy crying. And someone is bound to let you know this is worse. So now you have two problems.

Some people, like teachers and librarians and other adults, like to say that names are not important. Like sticks and stones. But they are wrong. Every word you choose means something you think it means, and more.

I am like a leaf on a river, riding along the top of the water, not quite floating, not quite drowning. So I can't stop, and I can't control the direction I am going. I can feel the water, but I never know which way I am heading. But I might feel lucky this day and avoid the sticks and branches scratching and pulling at me.

But just because you can't see something doesn't mean it's not there. And just because you don't remember something doesn't mean you don't miss it. And just because you are used to something doesn't mean it's normal" -Ruby

She crooks an eyebrow at me, and I mirror her expression, making her smile. Fuck. Me. Dead. I made her smile. … God, how am I ever going to be worthy of this girl? I have no clue, but I'm gonna figure it out if it kills me.

Just…stop. Quit hiding from the hard stuff. I’m not fucking hiding from it. Not anymore. If you can’t just be real for one second, then I’ll do it for the both of us. My life is a fucking mess right now. I have so much shit going on, and I’ve been trying my best to forget that you even exist, but I can’t, okay? I like you. I care about you.

She holds the bills between her fingers. Her training tells her to be polite, but his self-satisfied largesse irritates her. "What does the gentleman think I will do with his extra baht?" she asks. "Buy a pretty piece of jewelry? Take myself out to dinner? I am property, yes? I am Raleigh's." She tosses the money at his feet. "It makes no difference if I am rich or poor. I am owned." The man pauses, one hand on the sliding door. "Why not run away, then?" "To where?

Break you?” he whispers. “I don’t break the things I love, Argento. I fix them. I repair them. I treasure them. I do ridiculous, insane, very illegal things to make sure I don’t lose them. I sure as hell don’t break them. I also do not wear boots.

In a lethal, floating chess game, these pieces were deployed around the globe to achieve what Sir Walter Raleigh had envisioned: “Whosoever commands the seas commands the trade of the world; whosoever commands the trade of the world commands the riches of the world.

Is this the part where you pretend you’re late for something, make your excuses and you leave?” I whisper. Alex huffs out a shallow, soft burst of laughter. “No, Dolcezza. This is the part when I realize you’ve stolen my fucking soul and I have no chance of ever getting it back.

The better country club operated on the principle that Raleigh mattered, that its old families were fine ones, and that they needed a place where they could enjoy one another’s company without being pawed at. Had we not found this laughable, our country club might have felt desperate.

Well, the earring tells us he was bohemian,” she explained. “An earring on a man meant the same then as it does now—that the wearer was a little more fashionably racy than the average person. Drake and Raleigh were both painted with earrings. It was their way of announcing that they were of an adventurous disposition.

I'm constantly having to give people geography and history lessons on how my grandmother's hometown is 65 percent Afro-Puerto Rican, on how the majority of slaves were dropped off in the Caribbean and Latin America, on how just because our Black comes with bomba and mofongo doesn't mean it isn't valid. And it seems I'm always defending the parts of me that I've inherited from my mother: the roots that come from this country, the facts that Aunt Sarah tells me about our people in the Raleigh area, the little sayings she slips into her emails that I know come from her mother, and her mother's mother, and her mother's mother's mother, to the first African mother who touched foot on this here land. The same wisdom I whisper to Babygirl every now and then, a reminder of where, and who, we are from. This stuff is complicated. But it's like I'm some long-division problem folks keep wanting to parcel into pieces, and they don't hear me when I say: I don't reduce, homies. The whole of me is Black. The whole of me is whole.

Your life is fucked up, too. But I see you, Silver. I see you looking at me, and I can feel the want in you. This playing around, tiptoeing around the truth is just fucking…it's fucking pointless. You like me, too. You care about me, too. You don't know why yet, but I can show you. I'm a risk. I'm a danger. I'm not a fucking safe bet by anyone's standards. But I can be good for you if you let me. At least I think I can. You're the first fucking person in this entire world who’s ever made me want to fucking try.

It is said that Deucalion and Pyrrha created men by throwing stones over their heads behind them:— Inde genus durum sumus, experiensque laborum, Et documenta damus qua simus origine nati. Or, as Raleigh rhymes it in his sonorous way,— "From thence our kind hard-hearted is, enduring pain and care, Approving that our bodies of a stony nature are.

When two people are destined in heaven to be together, they are complete, and the repairing of the world can begin

When Alex Moretti looks at you, you feel your soul laid bare, and it’s the most disturbing, thrilling thing I’ve ever experienced.

Don’t you dare let me go. Loving you is the only thing that makes any sense right now.

...but I think when you are trying so hard to hide your own truth, it's hard to see anyone else's." -Ruby

Anderson forces a laugh. "Of course." He smiles, but inside he is seething. He'll have to deal with Raleigh. And now perhaps Carlyle as well. He's been sloppy. He eyes the ngaw with disgust. He's been waving his latest interest in front of everyone. Grahamites, even, and now this. It's too easy to get comfortable. To forget all the lines of exposure. And then one day in a bar, someone slaps you in the face.

If I thought it felt good to come home to the place I loved and find that it waited for me, it was nothing compared to the feeling of returning to a God who loved me and who waited for me. That was home, true home.

He that doth not as other men do, but endeavoureth that which ought to be done, shall thereby rather incur peril than preservation; for whoso laboureth to be sincerely perfect and good shall necessarily perish, living among men that are generally evil.

Why the hell would I intrigue you, for Christ’s sake?” He doesn’t miss a beat. “Because you’re still standing. Because, after everything you went through, you didn’t fucking break.” He’s so close to me now. Closer than he’s ever been before. I’m unsteady on my feet, and my heart is rioting against my ribs, as though it’s trying to break free from its cage and flee the scene of a crime. “Strength is drawn to strength, Silver, and I think there’s a chance that you might be the strongest person I have ever met.

We have, then, three Books wholly and one partially written before, and two after, the Preface; and only one of the first four is consistent with it, while the two later are entirely in agreement with it. In the first group, the adventure which fits into the scheme in the Letter is the first of all, which is a significant fact. If Spenser were somewhat hastily reconstructing his scheme he would naturally test its coherence with what he had already written in the first Book and perhaps re-write certain passages. He may have forgotten the details of Books II and III or Raleigh's urgency may have left no time for the adjustment of the details. These discrepancies are all connected with the twelve days' Feast and Gloriana's appointment of the knights, and this part may well have been suggested by Raleigh. He probably intended the poem not only to make Spenser's fortune at court but also to reinstate himself in the Queen's favour. In the circumstances he would wish to make the reference to the Queen as clear and as flattering as possible.

It’s better for you if we’re not seen together anyway.” “What makes you think that?” “…I’m the pariah of Raleigh High. Sitting anywhere with me is the quickest, most efficient way to commit social suicide. I am broken, Alex.” … “It’s okay to be broken. You have every right to be. Just don’t let them keep on breaking you. That’s not how you win this particular game.” I wrench my hand free. “This isn’t a fucking game.” Looking around the parking lot, as if seeing his surroundings for the very first time. “Of course it is,” he says. “This is high school, Silver. This is the biggest game there is.

He became the only person I’ve ever encountered who moved from France to North Carolina in order to learn more about food. He enrolled at North Carolina State in Raleigh and got his master’s degree in the science of pickle and sauerkraut fermentation. He went on to get his doctorate there, married a food scientist he met in class, and followed her to Madison, Wisconsin, when she went to work at the Oscar Mayer meat company. Madison is also home to a Danisco unit that produces hundreds of megatons of bacteria cultures for fermented dairy products, including yogurt. Barrangou took a job there as a research director in 2005.3

All, or the greatest part of men that have aspired to riches or power, have attained thereunto either by force or fraud, and what they have by craft or cruelty gained, to cover the foulness of their fact, they call purchase, as a name more honest. Howsoever, he that for want of will or wit useth not those means, must rest in servitude and poverty.

SHAKESPEARE What is a man, If his chief good and market of his time Be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more (Hamlet) There is no one kind of Shakespearean hero, although in many ways Hamlet is the epitome of the Renaissance tragic hero, who reaches his perfection only to die. In Shakespeare's early plays, his heroes are mainly historical figures, kings of England, as he traces some of the historical background to the nation's glory. But character and motive are more vital to his work than praise for the dynasty, and Shakespeare's range expands considerably during the 1590s, as he and his company became the stars of London theatre. Although he never went to university, as Marlowe and Kyd had done, Shakespeare had a wider range of reference and allusion, theme and content than any of his contemporaries. His plays, written for performance rather than publication, were not only highly successful as entertainment, they were also at the cutting edge of the debate on a great many of the moral and philosophical issues of the time. Shakespeare's earliest concern was with kingship and history, with how 'this sceptr'd isle' came to its present glory. As his career progressed, the horizons of the world widened, and his explorations encompassed the geography of the human soul, just as the voyages of such travellers as Richard Hakluyt, Sir Walter Raleigh, and Sir Francis Drake expanded the horizons of the real world.

I was recently on a plane from Raleigh to Boston when I overheard a conversation between two women in the seats behind me that captured the national mood perfectly. An older woman with a Boston accent remarked, “It’s gone to shit. Everything’s gone to shit. The economy is terrible. Crime is crazy—I mean, I just go to work and come home and I don’t even go out.” The younger woman, who had a Southern accent, sighed knowingly. “It makes you wonder if you want to bring a child into this world,” she said. These were women who could afford airplane tickets. They were traveling between two affluent cities during a period of historically low crime rates in the richest nation during the wealthiest period of the history of the world. Clearly, it didn’t feel that way.

There were absolutely amazing photographs everywhere, on everyone's Facebook page and everyone's iPhone and Instagram, just floating around in cyberspace for eternity. People took hundreds and thousands of digital pictures; one or two, even twenty or a hundred, were bound to be great. All anyone had to do was click through them all and post the ones they liked, deleting the rest. But using film meant you never knew what was going to be a good picture, let alone a great one, until you were standing there looking at a contact sheet with a magnifying glass and deciding which to print. Maybe nobody cared anymore, but then again, writers probably felt the same way when word processors were invented. Anyone with a story and a keyboard could write their memoir now, write the great American novel, or tweet a 140-character trope that gets retweeted and it read by hundreds of people every hour of every day.

Isn't this grand? Here I am, a nobody from a nowhere town in North Carolina, and now I've seen Richmond and Washington City both. Who'd've figured I'd travel so far? Must be close to two hundred miles down to Rivington." Caudell nodded. The army had expanded his life. Before the war, outside of a couple of trips to Raleigh, he'd spent his whole life inside Nash County. Now he'd been in several different states and even though recalling it still came hard sometimes-a for eign country: the United States. Whether in a foreign country or not, Washington was still the source of traditions he held dear, as London once might have been to an early Carolina colonist. ...The ordinary folk of Washington City did better at taking their occupiers in stride. Their principal complaint against the rebels was that they had too little money, and that in Confederate currency. Lee had issued an order that made the locals take Southern money in exchange for goods and services, but he could not

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