Richter Paul Quotes

Music is the moonlight in the gloomy night of life.

Paradise is always where love dwells.

Do not wait for extraordinary circumstances to do good action; try to use ordinary situations.

A man never discloses his character so clearly as when he descibes another's

A timid person is frightened before a danger, a coward during the time, and a courageous person afterward.

Courage consists, not in blindly overlooking danger, but in seeing and conquering it.

Pemalu adalah orang yang takut sebelum bahaya datang. Pengecut adalah orang yang takut ketika bahaya datang. Dan pemberani baru takut setelah bahaya lewat.

One learns taciturnity best among people without it, and loquacity among the taciturn.

From dreams of bliss shall men awake one day, but not to weep: the dreams remain; they only break the mirror of their sleep.

Fine minds are seldom fine souls.

We cannot easily discover our real character from a friend. He is a mirror on which the warmth of our breath impedes the clearness of reflection.

From dreams of bliss shall men awake One day, but not to weep: The dreams remain: they only break The mirror of the sleep.

Die deutsche Sprache ist die Orgel unter den Sprachen.

the opium-eater cannot present himself in the character of l'Allegro: even then, he speaks and thinks as becomes Il Penseroso.

The past and future are veiled; but the past wears the widow's veil; the future, the virgin's.

Ich will mich deutlicher erklären, setzen die Deutschen hinzu, wenn sie sich deutlich erklärt haben.

The Fates and Furies, as well as the Graces and Sirens, glide with linked hands over life.

A man never reveals his character more vividly than when portraying the character of another.

Дългата надежда е по-сладка от бързия сюрприз.

Дайте ни най-добрите майки, и ние ще станем най-добрите хора.

On this account I feel always, on a Saturday night, as though I also were released from some yoke of labour, had some wages to receive, and some luxury of repose to enjoy. For the sake, therefore, of witnessing, upon as large a scale as possible, a spectacle with which my sympathy was so entire, I used after, on Saturday nights, after I had taken opium, to wander forth, without much regarding the direction or the sistance, to all the markets, and other parts of London, to which the poor resort on a Saturday night, for laying out their wages. Many a family party, consisting of a man, his wife, and sometimes one or two of his children, have I listened to, as they stood consulting on their ways and means, or the strength of their exchequer, or the price of household articles. Gradually I became familiar with their wishes, their difficulties, and their opinions. Sometimes there might be heard murmers of discontent: but far oftener expressions on the countenance, or uttered in words, of patience, hope, and tranquillity. And taken generally, I must say, that, in this point at least, the poor are far more philosophic than the rich - that they show a more ready and cheerful submission to what they consider as irremediable evils, or irreparable losses. Whenever I saw occasion, or could do it without appearing to be intrusive, I joined their parties; and gave my opinion upon the matter in discussion, which, if not always judicious, was always received indulgently. If wages were a little higher, or expected to be so, or the quartern loaf a little lower, or it was reported that onions and butter were expected to fall, I was glad: yet, if the contrary were true, I drew from opium some means of consoling myself. For opium (like the bee, that extracts its materials indiscriminately from roses and from the soot of chimneys) can overrule all feelings into a compliance with the master key. Some of these rambles lead me to great distances: for an opium-eater is too happy to observe the motion of time.

What’s your name?’ Richter asked, his voice quiet and controlled. ‘Murphy. Mike Murphy.’ The response came through clenched teeth as the wounded man clutched at his shattered shoulder. ‘Well, Mike, here’s the bad news. Some of us in British Intelligence,’ Richter said, echoing Murphy’s remarks, ‘don’t have scruples and don’t give a flying fuck for anybody’s rules. But what I don’t do is tell lies, so you’re getting the same two you doled out to Stein there.’ Richter altered his aim slightly and shot Murphy in the stomach. The assassin howled with pain and doubled up, falling to the ground. Richter stepped closer and ten seconds later Murphy fell silent permanently as Richter’s last bullet blew off the top of his head

Schneider nodded grimly and stepped forward but, even as he did so, the other officer rapped sharply on the door of the apartment. The result was immediate. A three-round burst from an automatic weapon tore right through the thin wooden door and hit him full in the chest, smashing him back against the opposite wall, where he collapsed in a crumpled heap

Schneider looked them over and then issued his final orders. Each officer carried either a SiG 550 assault rifle or a Remington 870 multi-purpose pump-action shotgun, which would have been Richter’s own choice as a close-quarter combat weapon, plus a 9-millimetre SiG P220 semi-automatic pistol in a belt holster

What makes old age so sad is, not that our joys but that our hopes cease.

...when any one explains himself guardedly, nothing is more uncivil than to put a new question.

The best moments of a visit are those which again and again postpone its close.

No longer Byronized, Margaret read Schiller, Novalis, Jean Paul Richter, and above all Goethe. “It seems to me as if the mind of Goethe had embraced the universe,” she wrote to James. “He

Sobald wir anfangen zu leben, drückt oben das Schicksal den Pfeil des Todes aus der Ewigkeit ab - er fliegt so lange, als wir atmen, und wenn er ankommt, hören wir auf.

The guardian angels of life fly so high as to be beyond our sight, but they are always looking down upon us. -Jean Paul Richter

like to thank the many people who have assisted and supported me in this work. First, thanks to the Johns Hopkins University Press and its editors, who have believed in me from the fi rst: thanks to Anders Richter, who shepherded me through the publication of the fi rst edition, and to Jacqueline Wehmueller, who inherited me from Andy after his retirement and encouraged me to write a second and now a third edition of the book. She has been a constant and steadfast source of inspiration and support for this and many other projects. Immeasurable thanks is owed to my teachers and mentors at Johns Hopkins, Paul R. McHugh and J. Raymond DePaulo, and to my psychiatric colleagues (from whom I never stop learning), especially Jimmy Potash, Melvin McInnis, Dean MacKinnon, Jennifer Payne, John Lipsey, and Karen Swartz. Thanks to Trish Caruana, LCSW, and Sharon Estabrook, OTR, for teaching me the extraordinary importance of their respective disciplines, clinical social work and occupational therapy, to the comprehensive treatment of persons with mood disorders. And thanks, of course, to my partner, Jay Allen Rubin, for much more than I could ever put into words. x ■ pre face

Golfo

Now, we can do this the hard way or the easy way,’ he said. ‘The easy way is for you to simply turn around and walk out of the terminal with the two of us.’ Holbeche lowered his head, then reached inside his jacket and pulled out a 9-millimetre Glock 26 subcompact pistol. He aimed the weapon directly at Simpson’s stomach and smiled bitterly. ‘Did you really think you could get onto an aircraft carrying that?’ Simpson asked, apparently unfazed by the threat. ‘With my diplomatic passport and a carry permit issued by the Metropolitan Police, it wouldn’t have been difficult,’ Holbeche said. ‘Now get the hell out of my way, Simpson.’ ‘I’m sorry, Holbeche, but you’re going nowhere.

Two other men appeared behind Simpson, each holding a semi-automatic pistol aimed at the Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service. A couple of passengers standing nearby suddenly noticed the drawn weapons, and a woman began screaming. Instantly, it seemed, chaos erupted in that particular section of the terminal. People were running and shouting, desperate to get away from these armed men standing near the Air France desk. But Holbeche, Simpson and the two other men remained stationary, seemingly oblivious to what was going on all around them. Holbeche ignored the two armed men confronting him, and stared only at Simpson. ‘I’ve had a good run, Richard,’ he said. ‘Twenty-odd years — nearly a quarter of a century — working my way up through the ranks in the service, and at the same time cementing my position as the most important single asset the SVR has ever had. Did you know that they’ve already made me an honorary general at Yasenevo?’ ‘But now it’s all over,’ Simpson snapped. ‘You’ve nowhere to go.

Simpson shook his head. ‘As I said to Richter only last week, the days when traitors to Britain could get just a slap on the wrist are over, at least as far as I’m concerned. After we’ve questioned you and we’ve milked you dry, I’ll make sure that you die, and preferably painfully. You’re a dead man walking, Holbeche. You just don’t know how long you’ve got left.’ Holbeche shook his head. ‘That’s never going to happen, Simpson. You know it and I know it.’ Quite deliberately, he raised the Glock to point it at Simpson’s head, and the beginnings of a smile appeared on his face. The two men behind Simpson fired instantly, the two shots so close together that they sounded almost like a single report

can’t guarantee how long all

The weapon was one of the variants of the standard SAS sniper rifle, the British-made Accuracy International PM — Precision Marksman — or L96A1. Designed for covert operations, the rifle Dekker had chosen was the AWS, or Arctic Warfare Suppressed, model. The name was a hangover from the days when the manufacturer produced a modified version for the Swedish armed forces, a move which spawned several different models generically known as the AW range. The stainless-steel barrel was fitted with an integrated suppressor which reduced the sound of a shot to about that of a standard .22 rifle. It was a comparatively short-range weapon, because of the subsonic ammunition, effective only to about three hundred yards in contrast to other versions and calibres of the rifle, some of which were accurate at up to a mile. Both the stock, its green polymer side panels already attached, and the barrel were a tight fit in the case, each lying diagonally across its interior. He pulled them both out, fitted and secured the barrel, and lowered the bipod legs mounted at the fore-end of the machined-aluminium chassis to support it, while he completed the assembly. Then he took a five-round magazine out of the recess in the briefcase, along with an oblong cardboard box containing twenty rounds of 7.62 x 51-millimetre rifle ammunition.

Before leaving Hammersmith, Dekker and Simpson had discussed what type of bullet should be used. ‘It all depends,’ Dekker had said, ‘on whether you want me to stop this guy dead, literally, or just stop him. If I use a hollow-point or a dumdum bullet, at the ranges you’re talking about, a hit anywhere on the torso is going to kill him pretty much instantly.’ Simpson had shaken his head. ‘If we need him dead, you can put a bullet through his head, right? No, just use standard copper-jacketed rounds, and hopefully there’ll be enough left of him to talk to us afterwards.’ Dekker took five rounds out of the box and loaded the magazine, then pressed it into the slot in front of the trigger guard. The last item was the scope. The normal sight used on the AW rifle was from the Schmidt and Bender PMII range, but Dekker preferred something slightly different. He’d chosen a huge Zeiss telescopic sight that offered variable magnification, and incorporated a laser sighting attachment which would project a spot of red laser light directly onto the target, but he probably wouldn’t need to use that, not at this range.

The G450 was approaching take-off speed just as the helicopter drew alongside, some fifty metres clear, on the left side of the runway. Richter didn’t hesitate. As the Gulfstream accelerated, he pointed the minigun straight at it, aimed for the centre of mass and squeezed the trigger. The General Electric M134 minigun fires six thousand rounds a minute in its normal configuration, an almost continuous stream of bullets pouring out of the six rotating barrels. Richter’s aim was initially a little off, the first bullets passing over and beyond the Gulfstream, but he immediately corrected. The stream of 7.62-millimetre ammunition ripped through the thin and relatively delicate skin of the passenger cabin, moving down and forwards, tearing a ragged line through the metal that almost bisected the aircraft

In the cabin, the four Americans stared in horrified disbelief as the bullets howled through the fuselage, obliterating everything they hit. O’Hagan tore off his seat belt and rushed over to one of the port-side windows to look out. The Bell 212 was flying parallel, only yards away. In the open cabin door, an ugly black weapon was pointing directly at him. O’Hagan instantly recognized the minigun — and then the face of the man behind it. ‘That fucking Richter,’ he screamed, as the jet began to break up around him. In the cockpit, Sutter and Haig became aware of an increase in noise and vibration, but couldn’t immediately identify the cause. Haig called out ‘V2 — rotate,’ and Sutter eased back on the control column. Just as he did so, the stream of bullets from the minigun reached the cockpit, killing both men instantly.

On the far side of the square, a dark-coloured saloon suddenly appeared, one occupant visible behind the wheel, and it raced across to the fallen man. As it stopped, the car was directly broadside on to Dekker’s position, offering too good an opportunity to miss. He sighted again, the AWS sniper rifle cracked twice more, and both the tyres on the near side of the car blew in quick succession. ‘Now get going, Paul,’ he muttered, and quickly started to disassemble his weapon and pack it away

No bloody option. You any good with a rifle?’ ‘Not as good as you are. But I can drive.’ ‘You might have to, then,’ Dekker said tightly. ‘Let’s put some distance between us and them. While I do that, get that rifle assembled, just in case we have to shoot our way out of this.’ Richter unsnapped the catches on the case Dekker had laid on the floor in front of the rear seats, and took out the weapons’ component parts. He’d never seen this particular model before, but he was familiar with rifles from his military career. Within a couple of minutes he’d assembled the rifle, attached the telescopic sight, and loaded a full magazine of subsonic 7.62-millimetre ammunition. ‘Mean piece of kit,’ he remarked. ‘Ideal tool for the job,’ Dekker said, ‘and that’s the point.

Der Geist der Zeit, von welchem jeder durch seinen einzelnen sich rein zu halten glaubt, besteht ja aus nichts als vielen einzelnen Geistern; und jeder ist früher der Schüler als der Lehrer des Jahrhunderts, wie früher ein Sohn als ein Vater; nur aber daß, weil wir die Farbe des säkularischen Geistes bloß in großen Massen spüren, jene uns aus den einzelnen Wesen, woraus sie allein zusammenfließt, verschwindet; wie ein einziges, aus dem grauen Welt-Meer geschöpftes Glas Wasser rein und hell zu sein scheint.

Sprecht nicht: wir wollen leiden; denn ihr müßt. Sprecht aber: wir wollen handeln; denn ihr müßt nicht.

The rapid, but uniform motions of the heavenly bodies, serve well enough to typify the grand and continuous motions of the Miltonic mind. But the wild, giddy, fantastic, capricious, incalculable, springing, vaulting, tumbling, dancing, waltzing, caprioling, pirouetting, sky-rocketing of the chamois, the harlequin, the Vestris, the storm-loving raven — the raven? no, the lark (for often he ascends " singing up to heaven's gates," but like the lark he dwells upon the earth), in short, of the Proteus, the Ariel, the Mercury, the monster — John Paul, can be compared to nothing in heaven or earth, or the waters under the earth, except to the motions of the same faculty as existing in Shakspere.

Сам поэт должен научиться писать свои вещи в перевёрнутом виде, чтобы только в зеркале искусства, претерпев ещё одно обращение, становился разборчив и удобочитаем его почерк.

Фантазия европейца так портится с каждым веком, что в конце концов станет невозможным не быть бесконечно тонким, когда не понимаешь, о чём речь.

..einmal ein Reich-Abschied von 1577 den guten Frauen das körperliche Springen verbot..

Durch den Nachgeschmack des vergangenen und den Vorgeschmack des zukünftigen Leidens überfüllen wir den Kelch des Augenblickes selbst.