Reconnaissance Quotes

Okay, this is the wisdom. First, time spent on reconnaissanse is never wasted. Second, almost anything can be improved with the addition of bacon. And finally, there is no problem on Earth that can't be ameliorated by a hot bath and a cup of tea.

Time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted.

Mavis' bear sailed through the air in Cassie's room, falling onto the bed. 'What's he in aid of?' 'He's reconnaissance expert. He wouldn't hear of me enterin' potential hostile ground without testin' for fire. Has his sacrifice been in vain?

Covert Operations Report At approximately 0900 hours on Saturday, October 14, Operative Morgan was given a stern lecture by Agent Townsend, a tracking device by Agent Cameron, and a very scary look from Operative Goode. (She also got a tip that her bra strap was showing from Operative McHenry.) The Operative then undertook a basic reconnaissance mission inside a potentially hostile location. (But it wasn't as hostile as Operative Baxter was going to be if everything didn't go according to plan.)

I saw the Emperor – this world-soul – riding out of the city on reconnaissance. It is indeed a wonderful sensation to see such an individual, who, concentrated here at a single point, astride a horse, reaches out over the world and masters it.

Callan sucked in a breath. As a sniper, he’d been trained by the Marines to know and recognize moments.  Moments when all the training—his focused mind, muscle memory, weapon knowledge . . .  When all the preparation—target reconnaissance, angle of attack, position scouting . . .  When all the setup—hidden amid the terrain, barrel aimed, trajectory known . . .  When everything came together in one crucial moment—when the sniper squeezed the trigger and took his shot.

Then Drago began the deliberate, precise, business-like process of killing.  A knee-buckling burst of fire and flash laid waste to men and material within seconds.  A Panhard vehicle to Silva’s left simply disappeared in an explosion that spraying metal parts willy-nilly in every direction in a spread so thorough that Drago thought they were under fire, and he yelled at his men to respond.  Another blast destroyed a six-wheeled reconnaissance vehicle, but it didn’t break it apart; it simply expanded as if swollen or bloated, like an air mattress or inflatable toy, though it still had weight and quickly collapsed over its own suspension.  Some trucks were overturned; a Jeep flipped end-over-end.  None were left unscathed.  In short order, what had been ten or twelve vehicles were reduced to a single steaming and smoking pile of metal.

My capacity for invention is flash hot stark, I thought. Sucker sunshade. Disembodied radar-reconnaissance. Not to mention Bitter Chocolate Death and Killer Zebras. Pity about the rest of me.

Take your time. Stay away from the easy going. Never take the same way twice. Gunny Arndt's rules for successful reconnaissance; Guadalcanal 1942

We need you to do some reconnaissance. A simple flyby over our ranch. All you have to do is count the cars and tell us how many men you see hanging around the property.” Kai shook his head without a moment’s hesitation. “Not even if you fed me your firstborn, still wet and screaming.” I blinked, but for a long moment, his words made no sense. Not the refusal. The part about cannibalizing my theoretical future child. “Well, isn’t that…gruesome? Who are you, Rumpelstiltskin?” Kai frowned, as if I made no sense to him. “No thunderbird would claim a name so senselessly flamboyant.

Betsy: You gentlemen stand around and look tough while I do an astral reconnaissance. Fantomex: I confess to feeling inferior in the company of such a gifted telepath. But for you, Warren, to be so.. dependent. It must be emasculating. Warren: Oh yeah, it's a real hardship. Worst part is all the sex it leads to. Terrible stuff to endure.

Comic books, movies, radio programmes centered their entertainment around the fact of torture. With the clearest of consciences, with a patriotic intensity, children dreamed, talked, acted orgies of physical abuse. Imaginations were released to wander on a reconnaissance mission from Cavalry to Dachau. European children starved and watched their parents scheme and die. Here we grew up with toy whips. Early warning against our future leaders, the war babies.

And then I picked up the nearest object-a shoe-and threw it at Jack's head. "What are you doing in here, you little weasle?" He picked up my shoe from where it had clattered to the floor after hitting the door behind him. "How do you walk in these heels?" He sat and removed his own shoe,trying to jam his foot into my purple sling-back. I stalked over and yanked it awway. "What are you, five? Answer my question." He looked up at me, impossibly big blue eyes wide with innocence. "I thought we were friends, after you made me strip and all." "I'm calling Raquel." "Fine,fine. I was just doing some reconnaissance?" "Reconnaissance?" "Oh,sorry,that's a big word,isn't it? It means I was scoping the scene, getting the-" "I know what it means! What,is IPCA investigating me now? Screw them, they can forget about any help from-" "Do you ever let anyone else finish a sentence?" He smiled at my glare, flashing his dimples. "That's more like it. You're much prettier when you aren't talking. True of most people, I've found. Anyhow, I needed to see the address Raquel gave me so that I could find it again.

Le seul chemin qui mène à la délivrance passe par la découverte et la reconnaissance du caractère unique de son identité.

Parle, n'aie pas honte de ce que tu ressens, exprime tes doutes, tes peurs. Dis à ceux que tu aimes ce que tu as dans le cœur, ils te seront à jamais reconnaissants.

Il y a des époques fatales où la prière, cet hymne naturel que Dieu a mis au fond du cœur de l’homme, devient suspecte aux yeux des hommes, car la prière est un acte d’espoir ou de reconnaissance.

It would be stupid for me to attempt to return to Society without basic reconnaissance.” “That is a term usually reserved for military conflict.” She raised a brow. “It is London in season. You think I am not at war?

Mes mots à moi sont liberté et harmonie. Ils guident mes pas et suffisent à mon bonheur. Ta soif de pouvoir et de reconnaissance n'est pas destinée à être étanchée. Elle ne peut qu'entraîner ton malheur et la perte de ceux qui te côtoieront.

all i know about the bible is that wherever it goes there's trouble. the only time i ever heard of it being useful was when a stretcher bearer i was with at the battle of dundee told me that he'd once gotten hit by a mauser bullet in the heart, only he was carrying a bible in his tunic pocket and the bible saved his life. he told me that ever since he'd always carried a bible into battle with him and he fled perfectly safe because god was in his breast pocket. we were out looking for a sergeant of the worcesters and three troopers who were wounded while out on a reconnaissance and were said to be holed up in a dry donga. in truth, i think my partner felt perfectly safe because the boer mausers were estimated by the british artillery to be accurate to eight hundred yards and we were at least twelve hundred yards from enemy lines. alas, nobody bothered to tell the boers about the shortcomings of their brand-new german rifle and the mauser bullet hit him straight between the eyes...which goes to prove, you can always depend on british army information not to be accurate, the boers to be deadly accurate, and the bible to be good for matters of the heart but hopeless for those of the head, and finally, that god is in nobody's pocket.

But as I stood across from Archer, I couldn't forget that I was completely, stupidly in love with the one person I could never have. The laughter died on my lips, and I dashed at my eyes with the back of my hand. "I need to get back," I said. "Right," he replied. He was still holding his sword in his right hand, and he twirled the hilt, the point sratching the wooden floor. "So this is it. We're done." "Yeah," I said, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat. "And I have to say, the world's first and last Eye-demon reconnaissance mission went pretty well." It was a struggle to meet his eyes, but I managed it. "Thank you." He shrugged, his dark gaze full of something I couldn't quite read. "We were a good team." "We were." In more ways than one, I thought. Which is why this sucked so bad. I stepped back. "Anyway, I should go. See ya,Cross." Then I laughed, only it sounded suspiciously like another sob. "Except I won't, will I So I guess I should say goodbye." I felt like I was about to shatter into a million tiny shards, like the mirrors I'd broken with Dad. "okay, well, best of luck with the whole Eye thing, then. Try not to kill anyone I know." I turned away, but he reached out and caught my wrist. I could feel my pulse hammering under his fingers. "Mercer, that day in the cellar..." He searched my face, and I could sense him struggling for what he wanted to say. Then finally, "I didn't kiss you back because I had to. I kissed you because I wanted to." His eyes dropped to my lips,and it was like the whole world had shrunk to just me and him and the shaft of light between us. "I still want to," he said hoarsely. He tugged my wrist and pulled me into his arms. My brain registered the sound of his sword clattering to he ground as his other hand came up to grab the back of my neck, but once his lips were on mine, everything else faded away. I clutched at his shoulders, raising up on my tiptoes, and kissed him with everything I had in me. As the kiss deepened, we held each other tighter, so I didn't know if the pounding heartbeat I felt was mine or his. How stupid,I thought dreamily, to have ever thought I could give this up. Not just the kissing, although, as Archer's hands cupped my face, I had to admit that part was pretty awesome. But all of it: joking with him and working beside him. Being with a guy who was my friend and could still make me feel like this.

À l'age adulte, l'amitié se construit sur une forme de reconnaissance, de connivence: un territoire commun. Mais il me semble aussi que nous recherchons chez l'autre quelque chose qui n'existe en nous-même que sous une forme mineure, embryonnaire ou contrariée. Ainsi, avons-nous tendance à nous lier avec ceux qui ont su développer une manière d'être vers laquelle nous tendons sans y parvenir.

Lance rolled his eyes. “I’m already sorrier than you could possibly imagine. Now you promise me you won’t interfere, or mention it to anyone, or poke your nose in, or follow Mr. Traynor along the street when he comes into town,...” Lily snorted. “As if I would tell anyone! You think I want it spread around that my son’s into puppy play?” Lance felt his temper supernova. Yes, that was really quite an interesting sensation, the way the cells inside his chest spontaneously burst into flame. “I AM NOT INTO PUPPY PLAY! AND HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW THAT TERM?” Lily waved her hand as if he was being silly. “Please. Like I was born fifty years old.” “I want to be stricken dead. Right now,” Lance groaned and hid his face. “Oh, all right. Fine! You’re doing some reconnaissance in your dog form, and that’s all it is, and it’s none of my business, and I’ve always been a virgin. You and your brothers and sister were all conceived by supernatural means. Happy?

merchants who financed this expedition viewed it as a reconnaissance mission rather than a trading venture and little cargo was loaded on board the ships. Instead, all available space was converted into living space for the large number of men on board, a necessary feature of long voyages into the unknown. Many would die on the outward trip and for those that survived there was a cornucopia of tropical diseases awaiting them on their arrival in the East

My thought for today is something which I found in Epicurus (yes, I actually make a practice of going over to the enemy’s camp – by way of reconnaissance, not as a deserter!). ‘A cheerful poverty,’ he says, ‘is an honourable state.’ But if it is cheerful it is not poverty at all. It is not the man who has too little who is poor, but the one who hankers after more. What difference does it make how much there is laid away in a man’s safe or in his barns, how many head of stock he grazes or how much capital he puts out at interest, if he is always after what is another’s and only counts what he has yet to get, never what he has already. You ask what is the proper limit to a person’s wealth? First, having what is essential, and second, having what is enough.

Evaluation of enemy strength is not an absolute, but a matter of piecing together scraps of reconnaissance and intelligence to form a picture, if possible a picture to fit preconceived theories or to suit the demands of a particular strategy. What a staff makes out of the available evidence depends upon the degree of optimism or pessimism prevailing among them, on what they want to believe or fear to believe, and sometimes upon the sensitivity or intuition of an individual.

Ils t'identifient, ils te reconnaissent. Ils ne savent pas que ces simples saluts, ces seuls sourire, ces signes de tête indifférents sont tous ce qui chaque jour te sauve.

Orthodox science today attempts to be free not only of values but also of emotions. As youngsters would say, it tries to be "cool".

L'amour chez l'homme n'est rien d'autre que la reconnaissance pour le plaisir donné.

J'avais passé un quart d'heure avec mes enfants. Et ça a duré des mois qu'elle se plaignait que j'avais aucune reconnaissance. Les Blancs, c'est un vrai chagrin, dit Sofia.

On n'est jamais quitte envers ceux qui nous ont obligés, dit Dantès, car lorsqu'on ne leur doit plus l'argent, on leur doit la reconnaissance.

While they are busy with reconnaissance, focus on exploitation. PS : reconnaissance is an ESSENTIAL phase.

Because this story struck me as extraordinary, and it still does. Once upon a time there was a man in a spacesuit in a secret reconnaissance plane reading The Once and Future King, that great historical epic, that comic, tragic, romantic retelling of the Arthurian legend that tussles with questions of war and aggression, and might, and right, and the matter of what a nation is or might be.

Il parvint à la reconnaitre au milieu du tumulte et, à travers les larmes de sa douleur irrémédiable de mourir sans elle, la regarda une dernière fois, pour toujours et à jamais, avec les yeux les plus lumineux, les plus tristes et les plus reconnaissants qu'elle lui eut vus en un demi-siècle de vie commune, et il réussit à lui dire dans un dernier souffle: << Dieu seul sait combien je t'ai aimée >>

La chose dont je parle ici a une parenté avec le style, mais ne se ramène pas au seul style. C'est la griffe particulière et reconnaissable entre toutes qu'un écrivain appose à tout ce qu'il écrit. Ce n'est pas le talent. Le talent, ça court les rues. Mais un écrivain qui a une façon spéciale de voir les choses et qui donne une forme artistique à cette manière de voir est un écrivain qui a des chances de durer.

There was a legend on the road that the Mormon Tabernacle in Salt Lake City was a veritable storehouse of gold, silver, and precious stones and it was this that lured Smiler back to that city. At that time a high adobe wall surrounded the block on which stood the Tabernacle and the then unfinished Mormon Temple. We looked it over for several days and nights but could get nothing tangible to work on. Sunday we attended services and the plate was to be seen, silver and gold; more than we could carry away if we got it. At last we decided to go over the wall and give the place a good reconnaissance. If it looked feasible we could get a couple of other idle burglars and give it a thorough looting. On top of the wall we pulled up our light ladder and placed it inside. Smiler went down first. I barely had my feet off the ladder when a dozen men rose up out of the shrubbery armed with shotguns, and surrounded us. We stood still by the wall. One of them spoke, sternly, evenly: “Go back over that wall.” Little we knew the Mormons. We went up the ladder, pulled it up, and went down and away. When Smiler’s good humor returned he held up his hand. “Kid, I’ll never try to rob another Mormon. I’ll go to work first.

Quand on aime, quand on ressent de l’amour, que ce soit pour un être humain, un animal, une fleur ou un coucher du soleil, on est porté au-delà de soi. Nos désirs, nos peurs et nos doutes se dissipent. Nos besoins de reconnaissance s’évanouissent. On ne cherche plus à se comparer, à exister plus que les autres. Notre âme s’élève tandis que nous sommes tout entier emplis de ce sentiment, de cet élan du cœur qui s’étend alors naturellement pour embrasser tous les êtres et toutes les choses de la vie.

The better I understood my education, the angrier I became that most working-class and poor people are denied one. Why are the children of doctors, lawyers, and engineers taught the mysteries of existence while the children of janitors and waitresses are taught fear? I developed a preoccupation with my own inadequacies, aided by a few professors of elitism. To combat my growing anxiety, I began to envision myself a class spy. I would soak up all of the information they could give me and run reconnaissance for my team.

Et maintenant, dit l'homme inconnu, adieu bonté, humanité, reconnaissance... adieu à tous les sentiments qui épanouissent le coeur! ... Je me suis substitué à la Providence pour récompenser les bons... que le Dieu vengeur me cède sa place pour punir les méchants!" (p. 396)

On ne meurt point pour des moutons, no pour des chèvres ni pour des demeures ni pour des montagnes. Car les objets subsistent sans que rien leur soit sacrifié. Mais on meurt pour sauver l'invisible nœud qui les noue et les change en domaine, en empire, en visage reconnaissable et familier.

On ne meurt point pour des moutons, ni pour des chèvres ni pour des demeures ni pour des montagnes. Car les objets subsistent sans que rien leur soit sacrifié. Mais on meurt pour sauver l'invisible nœud qui les noue et les change en domaine, en empire, en visage reconnaissable et familier.

In September 1973, a former government official in Laos, Jerome Doolittle, wrote in the New York Times: The Pentagon's most recent lies about bombing Cambodia bring back a question that often occurred to me when I was press attache at the American Embassy in Vietnam, Laos. Why did we bother to lie? When I first arrived in Laos, I was instructed to answer all press questions about our massive and merciless bombing campaign in that tiny country with: "At the request of the Royal Laotian Government, The United States is conducting unarmed reconnaissance flights accompanied by armed escorts who have the right to return if fired upon." This was a lie. Every reporter to whom I told knew it was a lie. Hanoi knew it was a lie. The International Control Commission knew it was a lie. . . . After all , the lies did serve to keep something from somebody, and the somebody was us.

For months now she’s been fantasizing about being more than she is, but it isn’t coming true. What if she could step into the fast, fast world without being missed? What she wants now, more than anything, is a placeholder, someone to keep her life intact while she goes on a little reconnaissance trip.

J'avais eu peur en effet de mourir dans les geôles colonialistes sans laisser à l'Algérie, à mes frères musulmans, une technique de renaissance, tant je les voyais sacrifier leurs meilleurs moyens et le meilleur de leur temps à des futilités. On verra comment le "patrimoine" algérien m'en récompensera.

But, you will say, what a dreadful person you are, with your impossible religious notions and idiotic scruples. If my ideas are impossible or idiotic then I would like nothing better than to be rid of them. But this is roughly the way I actually see things. In Le philosophe sous les toits by Souvestre you can read what a man of the people, a simple craftsman, pitiful if you will, thinks of his country: ‘Tu n’as peut-être jamais pensé á ce que c’est la patrie, reprit-il, en me posant une main sur l’épaule; c’est tout ce qui t’entoure, tout ce qui t’a élevé et nourri, tout ce que tu as aimé. Cette campagne que tu vois, ces maisons, ces arbres, ces jeunes filles qui passent lá en riant, c’est la patrie! Les lois qui te protégent, le pain qui paye ton travail, les paroles que tu échanges, la joie et la tristesse qui te viennent des hommes et des choses parmi lesquels tu vis, c’est la patrie! La petite chambre oú tu as autrefois vu ta mere, les souvenirs qu’elle t’a laisses, la terre oú elle repose, c’est la patrie! Tu la vois, tu la respires partout! Figure toi, tes droits et tes devoirs, tes affections et tes besoins, tes souvenirs et ta reconnaissance, réunis tout ça sous un seul nom et ce nom sera la patrie.

Spy planes, drone aircraft, satellites with cameras that can see from three hundred miles what you can see from a hundred feet. They see and they hear. Like ancient monks, you know, who recorded knowledge, wrote it painstakingly down. These systems collect and process. All the secret knowledge of the world.

Give me four days so that my planes can fly, so that my fighter bombers can bomb and strafe, so that my reconnaissance may pick out targets for my magnificent artillery. Give me four days of sunshine to dry this blasted mud, so that my tanks roll, so that ammunition and rations may be taken to my hungry, ill-equipped infantry. I need these four days to send von Rundstedt and his godless army to their Valhalla. I am sick of this unnecessary butchering of American youth, and in exchange for four days of fighting weather, I will deliver You enough Krauts to keep Your bookkeepers months behind in their work. “Amen.

Comme beaucoup de gens élevés trop strictement par leurs parents, Henri de Longueville avait acquis avec l'argent et la reconnaissance sociale la vanité d'être vulgaire. Il la goûtait comme une friandise, comme un plaisir défendu qu'il ne se refusait jamais, un désagrément qu'il imposait aux autres avec délectation.

Whenever you are conducting reconnaissance, you can safely assume that your opponent is conducting their own reconnaissance against you. If your opponent is monitoring and recording what you do in every situation, then you should make it your priority to feed them as much false information about your fencing as possible.

Almost fifty years later, some members of the Resistance group with whom Beckett had gone out on sorties towards the end of hostilities did not know that he had been active earlier with another Resistance group in Paris or that, after the war, he had received the Croix de Guerre and the Médaille de la Reconnaissance for his contribution there.

the group listed dangerous insufficiencies that DARPA had to shore up at once: “Inadequate nuclear, BW, CW [biological weapon, chemical weapon] detection; inadequate underground bunker detection; limited secure, real-time command and control to lower-echelon units [i.e., getting the information to soldiers on the ground]; limited ISR [intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance] and dissemination; inadequate mine, booby trap and explosive detection capabilities; inadequate non-lethal capabilities [i.e., incapacitating agents]; inadequate modeling/simulation for training, rehearsal and operations; no voice recognition or language translation; inadequate ability to deal with sniper attacks.

Ah ! nos ancêtres connaissaient bien le cœur humain et leurs institutions sont vraiment sages ! Elles méritent l'admiration et la reconnaissance de tous les amis de l'humanité. Plus j'apprendrai la civilisation moderne, plus ma passion pour nos vieilles institutions augmentera : car elles seules réalisent ce qu'elles promettent : la paix et l'égalité.

My thought for today is something which I found in Epicurus (yes, I actually make a practice of going over to the enemy’s camp – by way of reconnaissance, not as a deserter!). ‘A cheerful poverty,’ he says, ‘is an honourable state.’ But if it is cheerful it is not poverty at all. It is not the man who has too little who is poor, but the one who hankers after more.

out as reconnaissance and sabotage actions. This was including the destruction of foreign command posts and communications systems for foreign nuclear guidance programs. And much like the U.S. Special Forces, the Spetsnaz underwent exhaustive psychological and physical training, eventually being left to operate autonomously for days or weeks at a time. As they were now.

Les murs s’effritent : l’actualité force les portes du temple, la liberté des Modernes s’invite dans les cours de récréation et des salles de classe, le présent ne s’oublie jamais, les envies de la vie envahissant l’institution, la société, avec ses codes, ses modes, ses marques, ses emblèmes, ses objets fétiches, ses signes d’appartenance et de reconnaissance, déferle à l’école. (p49)

Ainsi donc, il veut que, convertis au Seigneur, nous redevenions comme des enfants qui reconnaissent leur véritable père, régénérés qu'ils sont par l'eau du baptême, autre création dans la création.

Either it was general reconnaissance ahead of a further incursion at a future date, in which case it had likely involved cameras and thermal imaging and ground-penetrating radar, or it was the actual search for Keever itself, which they had long predicted would include the air, in which case it would involve pretty much the same technology, but it would find nothing either, because of the hogs.

With the launch of Sputnik 7 in 1957 the Soviet Union had scored the first victory in what would be a three–decade space race. But in the crucial area of photographic reconnaissance satellites, it was the United States that jumped ahead, even if its success was not trumpeted. It was an advantage the United States never relinquished, always remaining ahead in crucial areas of reconnaissance satellite technology.

Il n'y avait rien de très distingué dans tout ceci. Ce n'était pas une belle famille ; ils n'étaient pas bien habillés ; leurs souliers étaient loin d'être imperméables ; leur garde-robe était limitée ; et Peter savait peut-être, à coup sûr même, à quoi ressemblait une boutique de prêteur sur gages, à l'intérieur. Mais ils étaient heureux, reconnaissants, contents les uns des autres et trouvaient satisfaction dans le moment présent.

Tous les hommes reconnaissent le droit à la révolution, c’est-à-dire le droit de refuser fidélité et allégeance au gouvernement et le droit de lui résister quand sa tyrannie ou son incapacité sont notoires et intolérables.

Bad luck," he commiserated. "Afraid I can't do that, either, Freddie, Dad's sending me to recon. That's food reconnaissance," he added to Lulu and Sophie. "There's a chef in a restaurant in Stoke Newington he wants me to check out before anyone else gets to him." He looked at Lulu. "Come with me," he said. From the corner of her eye, Lulu saw Sophie's hand snake to grab Charlie's wrist-- she avoided looking at Sophie's expression. "Don't you want to take your sites?" she asked coldly.

Un couple véritable est un couple dans lequel l´homme est reconnaissant à la femme de l´aider à assumer la part féminine de lui-même et la femme reconnaissante à l´homme de l´aider à faire grandir sa part masculine. Tant que les hommes nieront leur part féminine et que les femmes en feront autant à cause des idées prévalant dans la société, la vie de couple sera aussi compromise qu´elle l´est aujourd´hui: une espérance jamais satisfaite, des amours qui se brisent, des malentendus, des querelles, d´intenses souffrances.

Elle souriait quelques fois, arrêtant sur lui ses yeux, une minute. Alors, il sentait ses regards pénétrer son âme, comme ces grands rayons de soleil qui descendent jusqu’au fond de l’eau. Il l’aimait sans arrière-pensée, sans espoir de retour, absolument ; et, dans ces muets transports, pareils à des élans de reconnaissance, il aurait voulu couvrir son front d’une pluie de baisers. Cependant, un soufflant intérieur l’enlevait comme hors de lui ; c’était une envie de se sacrifier, un besoin de dévouement immédiat, et d’autant plus fort qu’il ne pouvait l’assouvir.

It gives him an eerie feeling to sit in London reading about streets - Waalstraat, Buitengracht, Buitencingel - along which he alone, of all the people around him with their heads buried in their books, has walked. But even more than by accounts of old Cape Town is he captivated by stories of ventures into the interior, reconnaissances by ox-wagon into the desert of the Great Karoo, where a traveller could trek for days on end without clapping eyes on a living soul. Zwartberg, Leeuwrivier, Dwyka: it is his country, the country of his heart, that he is reading about.

to do with the map. Still, better safe than sorry. He stuck the map and the letter back into the envelope and put it in his inside pocket. A quick reconnaissance revealed the cottage had a back door leading to a tiny yard which in turn gave on to a narrow lane that led back towards the river. Far less chance of being spotted than if he went out the front door. In less than a minute, he was walking along the bank of the Coquet, a man with nothing more on his mind than a riverside stroll on a pleasant morning. Nobody would have guessed how bitter was his disappointment. 50 2018 – Edinburgh

The northern end of the Maginot Line was many kilometers away. The bulk of the French forces were positioned along that line, waiting for a frontal German attack that Luc now realized would never come. The Nazis had achieved what the generals and politicians in Paris said was impossible. They had carefully navigated their way through the Ardennes. They had used the trees as cover to keep French reconnaissance planes from spotting them. And now they were launching a devilishly clever sneak attack. They were outflanking the French forces. They were about to skirt right around them and attack them from behind.

You need a battle plan,” Matt advised. “I never left the base without detailed reconnaissance and a battle plan. It’s why I came home alive.” Tate chuckled in spite of himself. “She’s a woman, not an enemy stronghold.” “That’s what you think,” Matt said, pointing a spoon in the other man’s direction before he lowered it into his cup. “Most women are enemy strongholds,” he added, with a wicked glance at his smiling wife. “You have to storm the gates properly.” “He knows all about storming gates, apparently,” Leta said with faint sarcasm. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be expecting a grandchild…” She gasped and looked at Matt. “A grandchild. Our grandchild,” she emphasized with pure joy. Matt glanced at Tate. “That puts a whole new face on things, son,” he said, the word slipping out so naturally that it didn’t even seem to surprise Tate, who smiled through his misery. “You go to Tennessee and tell Cecily she’s marrying you,” Leta instructed her son. “Sure,” Tate said heavily. “After all the trouble I’ve given her in the past weeks, I’m sure she can’t wait to rush down the aisle with me.” “Honey catches more flies than vinegar,” Matt said helpfully. “If I go down there with any honey, I’ll come home wearing bees.” Leta chuckled. “You aren’t going to give up?” Matt asked. Tate shook his head. “I can’t. I have to get to her before Gabrini does, although I’m fairly sure he has no more idea where she really is than I did until today. I just have to find a new approach to get her back home. God knows what.” He sipped more coffee and glanced from one of his parents to the other. He felt as if he belonged, for the first time in his life. It made him warm inside to consider how dear these two people suddenly were to him. His father, he thought, was quite a guy. Not that he was going to say so. The man was far too arrogant already.

L'Amour qui n'est pas un mot Mon Dieu jusqu'au dernier moment Avec ce coeur débile et blême Quand on est l'ombre de soi-même Comment se pourrait-il comment Comment se pourrait-il qu'on aime Ou comment nommer ce tourment Suffit-il donc que tu paraisses De l'air que te fait rattachant Tes cheveux ce geste touchant Que je renaisse et reconnaisse Un monde habité par le chant Elsa mon amour ma jeunesse O forte et douce comme un vin Pareille au soleil des fenêtres Tu me rends la caresse d'être Tu me rends la soif et la faim De vivre encore et de connaître Notre histoire jusqu'à la fin C'est miracle que d'être ensemble Que la lumière sur ta joue Qu'autour de toi le vent se joue Toujours si je te vois je tremble Comme à son premier rendez-vous Un jeune homme qui me ressemble M'habituer m'habituer Si je ne le puis qu'on m'en blâme Peut-on s'habituer aux flammes Elles vous ont avant tué Ah crevez-moi les yeux de l'âme S'ils s'habituaient aux nuées Pour la première fois ta bouche Pour la première fois ta voix D'une aile à la cime des bois L'arbre frémit jusqu'à la souche C'est toujours la première fois Quand ta robe en passant me touche Prends ce fruit lourd et palpitant Jettes-en la moitié véreuse Tu peux mordre la part heureuse Trente ans perdus et puis trente ans Au moins que ta morsure creuse C'est ma vie et je te la tends Ma vie en vérité commence Le jour que je t'ai rencontrée Toi dont les bras ont su barrer Sa route atroce à ma démence Et qui m'as montré la contrée Que la bonté seule ensemence Tu vins au coeur du désarroi Pour chasser les mauvaises fièvres Et j'ai flambé comme un genièvre A la Noël entre tes doigts Je suis né vraiment de ta lèvre Ma vie est à partir de toi

...the great experiences which form him, arise out of the discontinuity and disharmony between man and the world. Particularly in great personalities, we see how much of their beauty and excellence is really due to trials suffered earlier at the hands of the world. Beauty--as many have recognized--is pain suffered and transformed. Because the animal is adapted to its environment, it is denied the possibility of developing inward maturity and greatness. As an individual creature it cannot grow beyond the limits of its kind; and again, at death, it falls back with its capacities into the group Ego, from which its soul was something like an offshoot or a patrol sent out on reconnaissance.

Ce ne sont pas les êtres bien portants, sûrs d’eux-mêmes, gais, fiers et joyeux qui aiment vraiment, – ils n’ont pas besoin de cela ! Quand ils acceptent d’être aimés, c’est d’une façon hautaine et indifférente, comme un hommage qui leur est dû. Le don d’autrui n’est pour eux qu’une simple garniture, une parure dans leurs cheveux, un bracelet à leur poignet, et non le sens et le bonheur de leur existence. Seuls ceux que le sort a désavantagés, les humiliés, les laids, les déshérités, les réprouvés, on peut les aider par l’amour. Et quand on leur consacre son existence, on les dédommage seulement de ce dont la vie les a privés. Et eux seuls savent aimer et se laisser aimer comme il faut : humblement et avec reconnaissance.

Combien de parents ont-ils oublié d’être amoureux pour éviter les turbulences préjudiciables à leur vie de famille ? Ainsi, nombre de couples apaisés, pacifiés, parce que l’état amoureux s’est estompé, deviennent parents. Pourtant, en reconnaissant la séparation de corps, ils pourraient poursuivre la douce relation amicale et parentale et redécouvrir les contrées de l’amour. Il faut pour cela affirmer clairement que la sexualité n’a pas nécessairement lieu d’être entre les conjoints et qu’elle peut exulter ailleurs. […] Ainsi est-il possible de continuer à vivre ensemble, sans se détester, sans avoir besoin de se quitter dans le conflit, la douleur et la rancune. Il est possible d’être amis et parents, mais aussi amants ailleurs.

Fin de l'Histoire (...) La panne du négatif, la fin de la dialectique, le renoncement au labeur technicien et à son inlassable souci de métamorphoser le donné, annonçaient-ils une humanité oisive mais heureuse, presque opulente, qui, en échange de son désir, de sa passion de la reconnaissance et des rivalités mimétiques qui allaient avec, se voyait libérée de ce que Marx appelait "le royaume de la nécessité" et, donc, de ses besoins ? Elle signifie, ici, une terre en friche et vouée à la vermine, les récoltes qui pourrissent, la fange dans les champs, les hommes affamés - elle signifie, non plus l'oisiveté, mais la misère : non plus l'opulence, mais le dénuement ; non plus la satisfaction mais l'empire absolu du besoin. (ch. 25 Hegel et Kojève africains)

I remember." I nod. Wanting to say: I remember everything-all of it-the question is: Do you? But instead, I stare down at my feet, smiling stupidly. Everything I do around him is stupid. Some Seeker I've turned out to be. Attempting to redeem myself,say something normal,not let on that I already know he's employed here-thanks to the raven who allowed me to spy on him earlier,I say, "So,I guess you hang out here a lot then?" He pushes a hand through his hair, as his eyes-the color of aquamarines-glide down the length of me.And damn if I can't feel their trajectory. It's like showering in a stream of warm, molten honey-dripping from the top of my forehead all the way down to my feet. "I guess you could say that," he says,voicelow and deep. "More than most, anyway." He waves a damp towel, tugs on the string of his apron, and I blush in reply. The sight of it reminding me of what I saw in the alleyway-watching him lean against the wall,his face so soft anddreamy I longed to touch him-kiss him-like I did in the dream. I study him closely,seeking traces of recognition, remembrance-some small token of evidence to assure me that, as odd as it seems,that kiss in the cave was as real as it felt-but coming up empty. "So,how long have you worked here?" I ask, returning to the topic at hand. My gaze drifting over the black V-necked T-shirt skimming the sinuous line of his body-telling myself it's all part of my reconnaissance,my need to gather as uch information as I can about him and his kin. But knowing that's not really it.The truth is,I like looking at him, being near him. "I guess you could say somewhere between too long and not long enough-depending on the state of my wallet." His laugh is good-natured and easy-the kid that starts at the belly and trips all the way up. "It's pretty much the only decent game in town." He shrugs. "One way or another,you end up working for the Richters,and believe me, this is one of the better gigs." I peer at him closely,remembering what Cade said when I was here via the raven. How he referred to him by another name. "You're not a Richter?" I ask,holding my breath in my cheeks.Despite what Paloma told me, I need to hear it from him,confirm that he doesn't identify with their clan. "I go by Whitefeather," he says,gaze steady and serious. "I was raised by my mom,didn't even know the Richters when I was a kid." Despite getting the answer I wanted, I frown in return. His being a Richter was a good reason to avoid him-without it,I'm out of excuses. "Is that okay?" He dips his head toward mine,his mouth tugging at the side. "You seem a little upset by the news." I shake my head,break free of my reverie, and say, "No-not at all. Believe me,it's more like a relief." I meet his gaze,seeing the way it narrows in question. "Guess I'm not a big fan of your brother," I add,watching as he throws his head back and laughs,the sight of that long,glorious column of neck forcing me to look away,it's too much to take. "If it makes you feel any better, most of the time I'd have to agree." He returns to me,the warmth of his gaze solely reponsible for the wave of comfort that flows through me.

Pourquoi respecterais-je l'être humain quand il me méprise ? Qu'il vive donc en harmonie avec moi. S'il y consentait, loin de lui nuire, je lui ferais tout le bien possible, et c'est avec des larmes de joie que je lui témoignerais ma reconnaissance. Mais cela ne peut être. Les sentiments des humains de dressent comme une barrière pour empêcher un tel accord. Jamais pourtant je ne me soumettrai à un aussi abject esclavage. Je me vengerai du tord que l'on me fait. Si je ne puis inspirer l'amour, eh bien, j'infligerai la peur, et cela principalement à vous, mon ennemi par ecellence. Parce que vous êtes mon créateur, je jure de vous exécrer à jamais. Prenez garde ! Je me consacrerai à votre destruction, et je ne serai satisfait que lorsque j'aurai plongé votre coeur dans la désolation, lorsque je vous aurai fait maudire le jour où vous êtes né.

In spite of this firestorm, and even with Israel’s extensive aerial surveillance capabilities and its many hundreds of agents and spies planted in Lebanon16 (the war took place before the age of the reconnaissance drone), not one of the PLO’s several functioning underground command and control posts or its multiple communications centers, was ever hit. Nor was a single PLO leader killed in the attacks, although many civilians died when the Israeli air force missed its targets. This is surprising, given just how extensive were Israel’s efforts to liquidate them.17 Israel’s leaders were clearly unconcerned about killing civilians trying to do so: after an air attack in July 1981 destroyed a building in Beirut with heavy civilian casualties, Begin’s office had stated that “Israel was no longer refraining from attacking guerrilla targets in civilian areas.”18

In their offices in the top floor of the Rookery, Daniel Burnham, forty-three, and his partner, John Root, newly forty, felt the electricity more keenly than most. They had participated in secret conversations, received certain assurances, and gone so far as to make reconnaissance forays to outlying parts of the city. They were Chicago’s leading architects: They had pioneered the erection of tall structures and designed the first building in the country ever to be called a skyscraper; every year, it seemed, some new building of theirs became the tallest in the world. When they moved into the Rookery at La Salle and Adams, a gorgeous light-filled structure of Root’s design, they saw views of the lake and city that no one but construction workers had seen before. They knew, however, that today’s event had the potential to make their success so far seem meager

C’est à cause de ça que l’arbre te fascine, ou t’étonne, ou te repose, à cause de cette évidence insoupçonnée, insoupçonnable, de l’écorce et des branches, des feuilles. C’est à cause de cela, peut-être, que tu ne te promènes jamais avec un chien, parce que le chien te regarde, te supplie, te parle. Ses yeux mouillés de reconnaissance, ses airs de chien battu, ses gambades de chien joyeux, t’obligent sans cesse à lui conférer l’ignoble statut de la bête domestique. Tu ne peux rester neutre en face d’un chien, pas plus qu’en face d’un homme. Mais tu ne dialogeras jamais avec un arbre. Tu ne peux pas vivre en face d’un chien parce que le chien, à chaque instant, te demandera de le faire vivre, de le nourrir, de le flatter, d’être homme pour lui, d’être son maître, d’être le dieu tonnant ce nom de chien qui le fera aussitôt s’aplatir. Mais l’arbre ne te demande rien. Tu peux être Dieu des chiens, Dieu des chats, Dieu des pauvres, il te suffit d’une laisse, d’un peu de mou, de quelque fortune, mais tu ne seras jamais maître de l’arbre. Tu ne pourras jamais que vouloir devenir arbre à ton tour.

The shoot-to-kill order came through at zero one fifteen, relayed over a satellite radio. It’d been just three hours since the two-man reconnaissance team had reported the sighting. They lay in a shallow dugout on a windblown ridge, the leeward slope falling away steeply to an impassable boulder field. A desert-issue tarp all but covered the hole, protected from view on the flanks by thorny scrub. Shivering, they blew into their bunched trigger-finger mitts. The daytime temperature had dropped twenty degrees or more, and fine sleet was melting on their blackened faces. Darren Proctor extended the folded stock of his L115A3 sniper rifle. He split the legs of the swivel bi-pod and aligned the swivel cheek piece with the all-weather scope. Flipping open the lens cap, he glassed the terrain cast a muted green by the night vision. The tree line was sparse, a smattering of pines and cedars shuddering in the biting wind. Glimpsing movement on a scree slope fifty metres or so beyond, he focused in. The eyes of a striped hyena shone like glow sticks. He watched as the scavenger ripped at the carcass of an ibex or wild sheep. A second later it sniffed the air, ears pricked, and scampered off.

All I know about the Bible is that wherever it goes there’s trouble. The only time I ever heard of it being useful was when a stretcher bearer I was with at the battle of Dundee told me that he’d once gotten hit by a Mauser bullet in the heart, only he was carrying a Bible in his tunic pocket and the Bible saved his life. He told me that ever since he’d always carried a Bible into battle with him and he felt perfectly safe because God was in his breast pocket. We were out looking for a sergeant of the Worcesters and three troopers who were wounded while out on a reconnaissance and were said to be holed up in a dry donga. In truth I think my partner felt perfectly safe because the Boer Mausers were estimated by the British artillery to be accurate to 800 yards and we were at least 1,200 yards from enemy lines. Alas, nobody bothered to tell the Boers about the shortcomings of their brand new German rifle and a Mauser bullet hit him straight between the eyes.’ He puffed at his pipe. ‘Which goes to prove, you can always depend on British army information not to be accurate, the Boers to be deadly accurate, the Bible to be good for matters of the heart but hopeless for those of the head and, finally, that God is in nobody’s pocket.

Damn it, Sir, I can’t fight a shadow. Without Your cooperation from a weather standpoint, I am deprived of accurate disposition of the German armies and how in the hell can I be intelligent in my attack? All of this probably sounds unreasonable to You, but I have lost all patience with Your chaplains who insist that this is a typical Ardennes winter, and that I must have faith. “Faith and patience be damned! You have just got to make up Your mind whose side You are on. You must come to my assistance, so that I may dispatch the entire German Army as a birthday present to your Prince of Peace. “Sir, I have never been an unreasonable man; I am not going to ask You to do the impossible. I do not even insist upon a miracle, for all I request is four days of clear weather. “Give me four days so that my planes can fly, so that my fighter bombers can bomb and strafe, so that my reconnaissance may pick out targets for my magnificent artillery. Give me four days of sunshine to dry this blasted mud, so that my tanks roll, so that ammunition and rations may be taken to my hungry, ill-equipped infantry. I need these four days to send von Rundstedt and his godless army to their Valhalla. I am sick of this unnecessary butchering of American youth, and in exchange for four days of fighting weather, I will deliver You enough Krauts to keep Your bookkeepers months behind in their work. “Amen.

Sans doute, l’amitié, l’amitié qui a égard aux individus, est une chose frivole, et la lecture est une amitié. Mais du moins c’est une amitié sincère, et le fait qu’elle s’adresse à un mort, à un absent, lui donne quelque chose de désintéressé, de presque touchant. C’est de plus une amitié débarrassée de tout ce qui fait la laideur des autres. Comme nous ne sommes tous, nous les vivants, que des morts qui ne sont pas encore entrés en fonctions, toutes ces politesses, toutes ces salutations dans le vestibule que nous appelons déférence, gratitude, dévouement et où nous mêlons tant de mensonges, sont stériles et fatigantes. De plus, – dès les premières relations de sympathie, d’admiration, de reconnaissance, – les premières paroles que nous prononçons, les premières lettres que nous écrivons, tissent autour de nous les premiers fils d’une toile d’habitudes, d’une véritable manière d’être, dont nous ne pouvons plus nous débarrasser dans les amitiés suivantes ; sans compter que pendant ce temps-là les paroles excessives que nous avons prononcées restent comme des lettres de change que nous devons payer, ou que nous paierons plus cher encore toute notre vie des remords de les avoir laissé protester. Dans la lecture, l’amitié est soudain ramenée à sa pureté première. Avec les livres, pas d’amabilité. Ces amis-là, si nous passons la soirée avec eux, c’est vraiment que nous en avons envie. Eux, du moins, nous ne les quittons souvent qu’à regret. Et quand nous les avons quittés, aucune de ces pensées qui gâtent l’amitié : Qu’ont-ils pensé de nous ? – N’avons-nous pas manqué de tact ? – Avons-nous plu ? – et la peur d’être oublié pour tel autre. Toutes ces agitations de l’amitié expirent au seuil de cette amitié pure et calme qu’est la lecture. Pas de déférence non plus ; nous ne rions de ce que dit Molière que dans la mesure exacte où nous le trouvons drôle ; quand il nous ennuie nous n’avons pas peur d’avoir l’air ennuyé, et quand nous avons décidément assez d’être avec lui, nous le remettons à sa place aussi brusquement que s’il n’avait ni génie ni célébrité. L’atmosphère de cette pure amitié est le silence, plus pur que la parole. Car nous parlons pour les autres, mais nous nous taisons pour nous-mêmes. Aussi le silence ne porte pas, comme la parole, la trace de nos défauts, de nos grimaces. Il est pur, il est vraiment une atmosphère. Entre la pensée de l’auteur et la nôtre il n’interpose pas ces éléments irréductibles, réfractaires à la pensée, de nos égoïsmes différents. Le langage même du livre est pur (si le livre mérite ce nom), rendu transparent par la pensée de l’auteur qui en a retiré tout ce qui n’était pas elle-même jusqu’à le rendre son image fidèle, chaque phrase, au fond, ressemblant aux autres, car toutes sont dites par l’inflexion unique d’une personnalité ; de là une sorte de continuité, que les rapports de la vie et ce qu’ils mêlent à la pensée d’éléments qui lui sont étrangers excluent et qui permet très vite de suivre la ligne même de la pensée de l’auteur, les traits de sa physionomie qui se reflètent dans ce calme miroir. Nous savons nous plaire tour à tour aux traits de chacun sans avoir besoin qu’ils soient admirables, car c’est un grand plaisir pour l’esprit de distinguer ces peintures profondes et d’aimer d’une amitié sans égoïsme, sans phrases, comme en soi-même.

It had had a fragrant element, reminding him of a regular childhood experience, a memory that reverberated like the chimes of a prayer bell inside his head. For a few moments, he pictured the old Orthodox church that had dominated his remote Russian village. The bearded priest was swinging the elaborate incense-burner, suspended from gold-plated chains. It had been the same odour. Hadn’t it? He blinked, shook his head. He couldn’t make sense of that. He decided, with an odd lack of enthusiasm, that he’d imagined it. The effects of the war played tricks of the mind, of the senses. Looking over his shoulder, he counted all seven of his men as they emerged from the remnants of the four-storey civic office building. A few muddied documents were scattered on the ground, stamped with the official Nazi Party eagle, its head turned to the left, and an emblem he failed to recognize, but which looked to him like a decorative wheel, with a geometrical design of squares at its centre. Even a blackened flag had survived the bomb damage. Hanging beneath a crumbling windowsill, the swastika flapped against the bullet-ridden façade, the movement both panicky and defiant, Pavel thought. His men were conscripts. A few still wore their padded khaki jackets and mustard-yellow blouses. Most, their green field tunics and forage caps. All the clothing was lice-ridden and smeared with soft ash. Months of exposure to frozen winds had darkened their skins and narrowed their eyes. They’d been engaged in hazardous reconnaissance missions. They’d slept rough and had existed on a diet of raw husks and dried horsemeat. Haggard and weary now, he reckoned they’d aged well beyond their years.

Les billes, je les aime tant et j'en ai tant gagné que je pourrais m'en emplir la bouche et tout le cordon intestinal, n'être plus qu'un bonhomme de billes : j'en ai plusieurs trousses que je décharge le soir dans une boîte à chaussures. Quand ce n'est pas la saison du scoubidou et de la cocotte-surprise, et je me rejette dans la bataille. Je suis devenu le boss des billes, c'est moi qui ai lancé la bille à cent, une trouvaile : mes rivaux ne pratiquent que la bille à dix. Chaque matin j'emporte une trousse vide, une trousse à demi pleine, et dans mes poches quelques calots qui comptent pour dix. J'ai mon emplacement réservé, juste à droite de la porte qui mène du préau à la cour, tout contre le mur il y a dans le sool gris comme un minuscule coquetier qui semble taillé tout exprès pour que j'y mette ma bille, j'ai mon créneau, je le paye en billes, et j'ai mes employés qui surveillent les joueurs. Je calcule la distance qui doit être appropriée à un tel lot : elle doit rendre la bille pratiquement invisible. Les billes pleuvent, je vérifie que ma petite bille ne bouge pas, je la fixe pour l'en empêcher. Pendant ce temps-là mes employés ramassent les billes et en remplissent une de mes deux trousses ouvertes par terre, je les surveille à peine, je les paye trop bien. Personne ne gagne. Quand mes deux trousses et toutes mes poches sont pleines à craquer, et que les poches de mes employés sont aussi pas mal remplies, je retire ma bille adorée. Je fais toujours avant de disparaître une petite distribution gratuite, pour apaiser ceux qui se sont sauvagement dépossédés ans cette mise insensée, je les fais courir en envoyant les grappes de billes à pleines mains le plus loin possible. J'aime qu'après cela, on me regarde avec reconnaissance.

J'ai appris des autochtones américains que nous prouvons seulement notre appartenance à l'endroit où nous vivons sur terre en utilisant notre maison avec soin, sans la détruire. J'ai appris qu'on ne peut pas se sentir chez soi dans son corps, qui est la maison la plus authentique de chacun, quand on souhaite être ailleurs, et qu'il faut trouver par soi-même le lieu où l'on est déjà dans le monde naturel environnant. J'ai appris que dans mon travail de poète et de romancier il n'existe pas pour moi de chemin tracé à l'avance, et que j'écris le mieux en puisant dans mon expérience d'adolescent imitant les autochtones et partant vers une contrée où il n'y a pas de chemin. J'ai appris que je ne peux pas croire vraiment à une religion en niant la science pure ou les conclusions de mes propres observations du monde naturel. J'ai appris que regarder un pluvier des hautes terres ou une grue des ables est plus intéresant que de lire la meilleure critique à laquelle j'ai jamais eu droit. J'ai appris que je peux seulement conserver mon sens du caractère sacré de l'existence en reconnaissant mes propres limites et en renonçant à toute vanité. J'ai appris qu'on ne peut pas comprendre une autre culture tant qu'on tient à défendre la sienne coûte que coûte. Comme disaient les Sioux, "courage, seule la Terre est éternelle". Peu parmi les cent millions d'autres espèces sont douées de parole, si bien que nous devons parler et agir pour les défendre. Que nous ayons trahi nos autochtones devrait nous pousser de l'avant, tant pour eux que pour la terre que nous partageons. Si nous ne parvenons pas à comprendre que la réalité de la vie est un agrégat des perceptions et de la nature de toutes les espèces, nous sommes condamnés, ainsi que la terre que déjà nous assassinons.

I've asked a number of analytic metaphysicians whether they can distinguish their enterprise from naïve naïve naive auto-anthropology of their clan, and have not received any compelling answers. The alternative is sophisticated naïve anthropology (both auto- and hetero-)-- the anthropology that reserves judgment about whether any of the theorems produced by the exercise deserve to be trusted--and this is a feasible and frequently valuable project. I propose that this is the enterprise to which analytic metaphysicians should turn, since it requires rather minimal adjustments to their methods and only one major revision of their raison d'être : they must rollback their pretensions and acknowledge that their research is best seen as a preparatory reconnaissance of the terrain of the manifest image, suspending both belief and disbelief the way anthropologists do when studying an exotic culture: let's pretend for the nonce that the natives are right, and see what falls out. Since at least a large part of philosophy’s task, in my vision of the discipline, consists in negotiating the traffic back and forth between the manifest and scientific images, it is a good idea for philosophers to analyze what they are up against in the way of focus options before launching into their theory-building and theory-criticizing. One of the hallmarks of sophisticated naïve anthropology is its openness to counterintuitive discoveries. As long as you're doing naïve anthropology, counterintuitiveness (to the natives) counts against your reconstruction; when you shift gears and begin asking which aspects of the naïve “theory” are true, counterintuitiveness loses its force as an objection and even becomes, on occasion, a sign of significant progress. In science in general, counterintuitive results are prized, after all.

En ce qui concerne l’arabe et le berbère, je ne dirai qu’une chose : j’estime qu’un berbère qui ne connaît pas l’arabe, ne connaît pas le Maroc et l’arabe qui ne sait pas le berbère, non plus. Quant à l’origine des uns et des autres, et puisqu’on parle beaucoup ces derniers temps d’ADN, je voudrais déplorer le fait que chez nous, on a l’esprit insuffisamment scientifique pour remettre en cause des données historiques héritées, qu’on s’en tient à ce qui a été dit il y a mille ans. Or, je peux vous dire que les civilisations berbère et égyptienne ont une même origine, le centre du Grand Sahara. Quand je travaillais sur le dictionnaire berbère (j’y ai consacré 27 ans de ma vie), il y a eu une racine berbère qui m’a intriguée. Il s’agit d’un verbe, Sko, qui veut dire dans tous les dialectes berbères, « bâtir », sauf chez les touaregs où il veut dire « enterrer ». Or, c’est de notoriété publique, le touareg est un isolant linguistique, conservateur, qui peut porter les traces d’une signification originelle. Petit à petit, j’ai réuni suffisamment d’éléments pour affirmer qu’à l’époque des hordes dans le Grand Sahara, on a commencé à enterrer les morts. Puis, les gens n’étant pas sédentarisés, on a été obligés de construire un édifice reconnaissable sur chaque tombe. Par ce détail linguistique, je suis arrivé à l’hypothèse de l’origine historique commune, saharienne, des Berbères et des Egyptiens. Quand j’ai exposé ma thèse à l’Académie Royale du Maroc, elle a été accueillie très froidement. Mais une anthroplogue américaine qui menait une recherche sur les deux civilisations puis un livre paru en 2000 2 ont corroboré mon propos et montré qu’au moment de la désertification, les populations ont émigré vers l’Ouest (le Maghreb) et l’Est (l’Egypte) au plus proche des points d’eau 3, avec une particularité bovine du côté du Nil et une orientation pastoraliste ovine du côté du Maghreb. [Interview Economia, Octobre 2010]

Bien sûr l'homme se transforme en ce qu'il fait, bien sûr. Mais cette ˝vie de substitution˝ constitue-t-elle, dans l'énigme de la vie, ce grand malheur que nous sommes tentés d'y voir ? Ne serait-ce pas l'Ange de Dieu ou Dieu lui-même qui nous guette au coin de la rue, qui nous a abordés un jour sans que nous le reconnaissions ? Et cette vie ne serait-elle pas apres tout la seule vraie ? / ■ Kdybych byl někdy v životě měl ctižádost překladatele, mohl bych být – možná, možná, kdo ví – spokojen. Kdybych byl býval někdy v životě měl ctižádost překladatele… Ale takhle… Samozřejmě že se člověk promění v to, co dělá, samozřejmě. Ale je „náhradní život“ v té nevysvětlitelné záhadě života vůbec vždycky tak velké neštěstí, za jaké je člověk považuje? Není to anděl boží nebo Bůh čekající za rohem, který k nám přistoupil a kterého jsme nepoznali, vlastně on ten pravý? Absolutní odvaha a absolutní pokora nejsou v rozloze jediného života tak neslučitelné věci. (konec sešitu 34)

Katherine couldn’t have cared less about furniture or ceramics at that moment, but she felt glad that she was not the only one in London appalled by what the Lord Mayor had unleashed. She took a deep breath, then quickly explained what she and Bevis had heard in the Engineerium about MEDUSA and the next step in Crome’s great plan, the attack on the Shield-Wall. “But that’s terrible!” they whispered when she had finished. “Shan Guo is a great and ancient culture, Anti-Traction League or no Anti-Traction League. Batmunkh Gompa can’t be blown up …!” “Think of all those temples!” “Ceramics!” “Prayer-wheels …” “Silk paintings …” “F-f-furniture!” “Think of the people!” said Katherine angrily. “We must do something!” “Yes! Yes!” they agreed, and then all looked sheepishly at her. After twenty years of Crome’s rule they had no idea how to stand up to the Guild of Engineers. “But what can we do?” asked Pomeroy at last. “Tell people what is happening!” urged Katherine. “You’re Acting Head Historian. Call a meeting of the Council! Make them see how wrong it is!” Pomeroy shook his head. “They won’t listen, Miss Valentine. You heard the cheering last night.” “But that was only because Panzerstadt-Bayreuth had been going to eat us! When they learn that Crome plans to turn his weapon on yet another city …” “They’ll just cheer all the louder,” sighed Pomeroy. “He has packed the other Guilds with his allies, anyway,” observed Dr. Karuna. “All the great old Guildsmen are gone; dead or retired or arrested on his orders. Even our own apprentices are as besotted with old-tech as the Engineers, especially since Crome foisted his man Valentine on us as Head Historian…. Oh, I mean no offense, Miss Katherine….” “Father isn’t Crome’s man,” said Katherine angrily. “I’m sure he’s not! If he knew what Crome was planning he would never have helped him. That’s probably why he was packed off on this reconnaissance mission, to get him out of the way. When he gets home and finds out he’ll do something to stop it. You see, it was he who found MEDUSA in the first place. He would be horrified to think of it killing

But states have difficulty evaluating cybersecurity threats. If a state does detect an intrusion in one of its vital networks and if that intrusion looks to be from another state, what should the state suffering the intrusion conclude? On the one hand, it might be a defensive-minded intrusion, only checking out the intruded-upon state’s capabilities and providing reassuring intelligence to the intruding state. This might seem unsettling but not necessarily threatening, presuming the state suffering the intrusion was not developing capabilities for attack or seeking conflict. On the other hand, the intrusion might be more nefarious. It could be a sign of some coming harm, such as a cyber attack or an expanding espionage operation. The state suffering the intrusion will have to decide which of these two possibilities is correct, interpreting limited and almost certainly insufficient amounts of data to divine the intentions of another state. Thus Chapter Four’s argument is vitally important: intrusions into a state’s strategically important networks pose serious risks and are therefore inherently threatening. Intrusions launched by one state into the networks of another can cause a great deal of harm at inopportune times, even if the intrusion at the moment of discovery appears to be reasonably benign. The intrusion can also perform reconnaissance that enables a powerful and well-targeted cyber attack. Even operations launched with fully defensive intent can serve as beachheads for future attack operations, so long as a command and control mechanism is set up. Depending on its target, the intrusion can collect information that provides great insight into the communications and strategies of policy-makers. Network intrusions can also pose serious counterintelligence risks, revealing what secrets a state has learned about other states and provoking a damaging sense of paranoia. Given these very real threats, states are likely to view any serious intrusion with some degree of fear. They therefore have significant incentive to respond strongly, further animating the cybersecurity dilemma.

By the time Jessica Buchanan was kidnapped in Somalia on October 25, 2011, the twenty-four boys back in America who had been so young during the 1993 attack on the downed American aid support choppers in Mogadishu had since grown to manhood. Now they were between the ages of twenty-three and thirty-five, and each one had become determined to qualify for the elite U.S. Navy unit called DEVGRU. After enlisting in the U.S. Navy and undergoing their essential basic training, every one of them endured the challenges of BUDS (Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL) training, where the happy goal is to become “drownproofed” via what amounts to repeated semidrowning, while also learning dozens of ways to deliver explosive death and demolition. This was only the starting point. Once qualification was over and the candidates were sworn in, three-fourths of the qualified Navy SEALS who tried to also qualify for DEVGRU dropped out. Those super-warriors were overcome by the challenges, regardless of their peak physical condition and being in the prime of their lives. This happened because of the intensity of the training. Long study and practice went into developing a program specifically designed to seek out and expose any individual’s weakest points. If the same ordeals were imposed on captured terrorists who were known to be guilty of killing innocent civilians, the officers in charge would get thrown in the brig. Still, no matter how many Herculean physical challenges are presented to a DEVGRU candidate, the brutal training is primarily mental. It reveals each soldier’s principal foe to be himself. His mortal fears and deepest survival instinct emerge time after time as the essential demons he must overcome. Each DEVGRU member must reach beyond mere proficiency at dealing death. He must become two fighters combined: one who is trained to a state of robotic muscle memory in specific dark skills, and a second who is fluidly adaptive, using an array of standard SEAL tactics. Only when he can live and work from within this state of mind will he be trusted to pursue black operations in every form of hostile environment. Therefore the minority candidate who passes into DEVGRU becomes a member of the “Tier One” Special Mission Unit. He will be assigned to reconnaissance or assault, but his greatest specialty will always be to remain lethal in spite of rapidly changing conditions. From the day he is accepted into that elite tribe, he embodies what is delicately called “preemptive and proactive counterterrorist operations.” Or as it might be more bluntly described: Hunt them down and kill them wherever they are - and is possible, blow up something. Each one of that small percentage who makes it through six months of well-intended but malicious torture emerges as a true human predator. If removing you from this world becomes his mission, your only hope of escaping a DEVGRU SEAL is to find a hiding place that isn’t on land, on the sea, or in the air.

J’ai d’ailleurs un ami qui, ces jours-ci, m’a affirmé que nous ne savons même pas être paresseux. Il prétend que nous paressons lourdement, sans plaisir, ni béatitude, que notre repos est fiévreux, inquiet, mécontent ; qu’en même temps que la paresse, nous gardons notre faculté d’analyse, notre opinion sceptique, une arrière-pensée, et toujours sur les bras une affaire courante, éternelle, sans fin. Il dit encore que nous nous préparons à être paresseux et à nous reposer comme à une affaire dure et sérieuse et que, par exemple, si nous voulons jouir de la nature, nous avons l’air d’avoir marqué sur notre calendrier, encore la semaine dernière, que tel et tel jour, à telle et telle heure, nous jouirons de la nature. Cela me rappelle beaucoup cet Allemand ponctuel qui, en quittant Berlin, nota tranquillement sur son carnet. « En passant à Nuremberg ne pas oublier de me marier. » Il est certain que l’Allemand avait, avant tout, dans sa tête, un système, et il ne sentait pas l’horreur du fait, par reconnaissance pour ce système. Mais il faut bien avouer que dans nos actes à nous, il n’y a même aucun système. Tout se fait ainsi comme par une fatalité orientale. Mon ami a raison en partie. Nous semblons traîner notre fardeau de la vie par force, par devoir, mais nous avons honte d’avouer qu’il est au-dessus de nos forces, et que nous sommes fatigués. Nous avons l’air, en effet, d’aller à la campagne pour nous reposer et jouir de la nature. Regardez avant tout les bagages rien laissé de ce qui est usé, de ce qui a servi l’hiver, au contraire, nous y avons ajouté des choses nouvelles. Nous vivons de souvenirs et l’ancien potin et la vieille affaire passent pour neufs. Autrement c’est ennuyeux ; autrement il faudra jouer au whist avec l’accompagnement du rossignol et à ciel ouvert. D’ailleurs, c’est ce qui se fait. En outre, nous ne sommes pas bâtis pour jouir de la nature ; et, en plus, notre nature, comme si elle connaissait notre caractère, a oublié de se parer au mieux. Pourquoi, par exemple, est-elle si développée chez nous l’habitude très désagréable de toujours contrôler, éplucher nos impressions – souvent sans aucun besoin – et, parfois même, d’évaluer le plaisir futur, qui n’est pas encore réalisé, de le soupeser, d’en être satisfait d’avance en rêve, de se contenter de la fantaisie et, naturellement, après, de n’être bon à rien pour une affaire réelle ? Toujours nous froisserons et déchirerons la fleur pour sentir mieux son parfum, et ensuite nous nous révolterons quand, au lieu de parfum, il ne restera plus qu’une fumée. Et cependant, il est difficile de dire ce que nous deviendrions si nous n’avions pas au moins ces quelques jours dans toute l’année et si nous ne pouvions satisfaire par la diversité des phénomènes de la nature notre soif éternelle, inextinguible de la vie naturelle, solitaire. Et enfin, comment ne pas tomber dans l’impuissance en cherchant éternellement des impressions, comme la rime pour un mauvais vers, en se tourmentant de la soif d’activité extérieure, en s’effrayant enfin, jusqu’à en être malade, de ses propres illusions, de ses propres chimères, de sa propre rêverie et de tous ces moyens auxiliaires par lesquels, en notre temps, on tâche, n’importe comment, de remplir le vide de la vie courante incolore. Et la soif d’activité arrive chez nous jusqu’à l’impatience fébrile. Tous désirent des occupations sérieuses, beaucoup avec un ardent désir de faire du bien, d’être utiles, et, peu à peu, ils commencent déjà à comprendre que le bonheur n’est pas dans la possibilité sociale de ne rien faire, mais dans l’activité infatigable, dans le développement et l’exercice de toutes nos facultés.

Mais ce n'est pas tout encore: l'aumône individuelle établit des liens précieux entre le riche et le pauvre. LE premier s'intéresse par le bienfait même au sort de celui dont il a entrepris de soulager la misère; le second, soutenu par des secours qu'il n'avait pas droit d'exiger et que peut-être il n'espérait pas obtenir, se sent attiré par la reconnaissance. Un lien moral s'établit entre ces deux classes que tant d'intérêts et de passions concourent à séparer, et, divisées par la fortune, leur volonté les rapproche; il n'en est point ainsi dans la charité légale...Loin de tendre à unir dans un même peuple ces deux nations rivales qui existent depuis le commencement du monde et qu'on appelle les riches et les pauvres, elle brise le seul lien qui pouvait s'établir entre elles, elle les range chacune sous sa bannière; elle les compte et, les mettant en présence, elle les dispose au combat.

Empathy and integration permit effective cultural intelligence, which is to say, becoming able to understand how the society works. In Fourth Generation war, virtually all useful intelligence is human intelligence (HUMINT). Often, such HUMINT must both be gathered and acted on with stealth techniques, where the state’s actions remain invisible to the local population. As in Third Generation war (maneuver warfare), the tactical level in Fourth Generation conflicts is reconnaissance-driven, not intelligence-driven. The information state militaries need will almost always come from below, not from higher-level headquarters.

The boundary between the Fifth and Sixth Panzer Armies bisected the 14th Cavalry Group area by an extension south of Krewinkel and Manderfeld. North of the line elements of the 3d Parachute Division, reinforced by tanks, faced two platoons of Troop C, 18th Cavalry Squadron, two reconnaissance platoons and one gun company of the 820th Tank Destroyer Battalion, plus the squadron and group headquarters at Manderfeld. South of the boundary the 294th and 295th Regiments of the 18th Volks Grenadier Division, forty assault guns, and a reinforced tank destroyer battalion faced Troop A and one platoon of Troop C, 18th Cavalry Squadron. On no other part of the American front would the enemy so outnumber the defenders at the start of the Ardennes counteroffensive.

C’est la Rose en ville où on droit faire la reconnaissance

the first and foremost step towards a victorious landing was to upset the equilibrium of the Turk so that he should be unable to concentrate either his mind or his men to meet our main attacks…. Prudence here is entirely out of place. There will be and can be no reconnaissances, no half measures, no tentatives. At a given moment we must stake everything on the one hazard.

Il serait temps d'en finir avec ce paternalisme dégueulasse de l'intellectuel blanc «de gauche» qui cherche à exister auprès de «pauvres malheureux sous-éduqués». Moi, qui suis éduqué, évidemment, je comprends que Charlie Hebdo fait de l'humour, puisque, d'une part, je suis très intelligent et, d'autre part, c'est ma culture. Mais, par respect pour vous, qui n'avez pas encore découvert le second degré, je fustigerai solidairement ces dessins islamophobes que je ferai semblant de ne pas comprendre. Je me mettrai à votre niveau pour vous montrer que je vous aime… Et s'il faut que je me convertisse à l'Islam pour être encore plus proche de vous, je le ferai! Ces démagogues ridicules ont juste un énorme besoin de reconnaissance et un formidable fantasme de domination à assouvir.

C’est la Rose en ville où on droit faire la reconnaissance scrupuleuse.

Find the enemy. Don't let the enemy find you. Reconnaissance! Reconnaissance! Reconnaissance!

The fighter pilots thought they were the real heroes, but our missions required guts and skill: the soldiers and bush reconnaissance troops, referred to as recces, held us in the highest esteem. Our squadron’s pilots had saved many lives, picking up the seriously wounded in the most difficult of places, in small clearings in the bush never intended for the use of winged aircraft, braving ground fire and surface-to-air missiles.

Quand apparaissent les premiers textes, tout modestes qu’ils soient, des formes sont lisibles, ou reconnaissables sur le parchemin, le soleil de l’écriture, en son aurore, éteint les étoiles de la reconstruction. La mise en écrit du français n’est toutefois pas tenue pour une étape ni une rupture : le français est finalement « attesté », on possède enfin quelques documents sur l’état de langue, ce qui assoit les hypothèses. Tout au plus on le signale en note, et on convoque les philologues. Car pour la linguistique historique, ces documents ne sont pas fiables. Copiés, recopiés, filtrés par les habitudes latines des scribes, ces textes ne renvoient pas directement à la langue de la pratique quotidienne (et le moyen qu’ils le fissent ?), à cette parole vraie que la linguistique historique incessamment recherche. Il convient donc de critiquer ces documents, de leur faire rendre raison de la parole enfouie qu’ils recèlent, de faire surgir ce qui, parfaitement et originellement, fut. C’est le travail de la philologie, archéologie de l’origine, qui vient curieusement reconstruire là où l’on pouvait enfin se passer de reconstruction