Ringmaster Quotes

I am a collection of oddities, a circus of neurons and electrons: my heart is the ringmaster, my soul is the trapeze artist, and the world is my audience. It sounds strange because it is, and it is, because I am strange.

I didn't feel lonely until there was something to yearn for. Loneliness and longing are two sides of the same coin.

Honey, if crazy had a ringmaster, I’d be holding the whip.

Catching sight of the rotund Levaedet Ringmaster striding through the crowds, high above them on his disproportionately long legs, she allows herself a moment to imagine the smell of Candyfloss mingling with toffee apples and salted popcorn; the screams of laughter from the carousel and Ferris wheel...

It was all too easy to make things up, it was like skating on thin ice, it was like doing dainty pirouettes on a brittle crust over water thousands of fathoms deep.

If there's one thing to know about the human body; it's this: the human body has a ringmaster. This ringmaster controls your digestion, your immunity, your brain, your weight, your health and even your happiness. This ringmaster is the gut

We can’t do anything to make up for our transgressions. There must be grace to cover them—no matter what they are or how deep they run within us. Grace has to be stronger.

(…) But I have never known jealousy until I was introduced to it aboard the Etruria. I want to deny it, to pretend I’m some perfect, unfeeling machine who didn’t care, but that’s a vicious lie. I cared. I cared so much I wanted to punch a wall, as senseless and idiotic as that would be. I considered shoving that pompous ass of a ringmaster right off the deck, knowing I’d rejoice in his drowning. It gave me unparalleled pleasure just imagining his demise. You have no idea the strength it takes, shoving that beast inside, remembering that’s not the kind of person I want to be. Not now, or ever. I will not become a monster for you. The kind of love I crave isn’t cruel or possessive. Do not expect me to act either way. I will never beg or use subversive tactics to win your heart. I will earn it because you choose to give it to me of your own free will, or I won’t have it at all. I will never manipulate you. No one should. And if they do? They aren’t worth your time.

Watching Limelight with my mother really brought home to me the brevity of life. I realized in a little while that I would die and leave everything behind. Unlike vain people, I had the ability to think this right through. I had no difficulty in picturing full theatres and cinemas long after myself was gone. Not everybody can do that. Many are so intoxicated with sensual impressions that they're not able to grasp that there is a world out there. And therefore they're not able to comprehend the opposite either - they don't understand that one day the world will end. We, however, are only a few missing heartbeats away from being divorced from humanity forever.

Please,’” Mephistopheles added. When Harry raised a dark brow, the ringmaster elaborated. “If you bid your assistant to do something, have the courtesy of using manners. And have a care about using ‘ain’t’—it’s atrocious and distracts from your skill.” “I ain’t worried about it,” he said. “You shouldn’t be, neither. Who else can do the stunts I pull off?” He exaggeratedly glanced around. “No one, that’s who.” “You might yank rainbow-colored unicorns from purple clouds and I’d be distracted by your horrible grammar.” Mephistopheles smiled. “If not for me, do it for the poor unicorns. Magical creatures deserve proper speech.

A company commander,’ said Dicky Umfraville, when we met later that year, ‘needs the qualifications of a ringmaster in a first-class circus, and a nanny in a large family.

Three things are forever consistent: the passing of time, the rotation of the Earth, and the ringmaster of Vagabond Circus.

Nana was dressed like the ringmaster, which seemed appropriate.

Swayam thought to himself that this marriage was turning out to be a circus with multiple ringmasters.

Ringmaster rubbed his hand over his face. “Why do you have to be so difficult, Simon?” “See previous comment about hatred.” He smiled sweetly.

Vagabond Circus was about change. It moved from place to place, and reconfigured based on available performers. The ringmaster loved that about the circus. “Without change, we are dead,” he often said.

Many of our white brothers misunderstand this fact because many of them fail to interpret correctly the nature of the Negro Revolution. Some believe that it is the work of skilled agitators who have the power to raise or lower the floodgates at will. Such a movement, maneuverable by a talented few, would not be a genuine revolution. This Revolution is genuine because it was born from the same womb that always gives birth to massive social upheavals--the womb of intolerable conditions and unendurable situations. In this time and circumstance, no leader or set of leaders could have acted as ringmasters, whipping a whole race out of purring contentment into leonine courage and action. If such credit is to be given to any single group, it might well go to the segregationists, who, with their callous and cynical code, helped to arouse and ignite the righteous wrath of the Negro.

There are many writing courses, there’s plenty of demand for them. The shortage is having something to write about, and that can’t be taught in schools. There is no course in finding something to write about. Many beginners lacked something as fundamental as experience of life. It’s a postmodern misconception that you can write first and live later. But many young people want to become writers because they want to live like writers. This is putting the cart before the horse. You must live first, and then decide if you have something to say afterwards. Life itself is a determining factor. Writing is the fruit of life. Life isn’t the fruit of writing.

THERE IS NO RINGMASTER OUTSIDE THE CIRCUS Stop looking at the ringmaster and be free of the circus. And a world exists outside the circus. If you are feeling stressed inside the circus, you can join back the jungle. If you are fed up of learning new tricks, join back the jungle. Unfortunately the lion thinks, the real challenge is the circus.

Ми - покоління, яке страждає на марнослів'я. Ми виробляємо більше культурних цінностей, ніж можемо перетравити.

Ми повинні навчитися обирати найвартісніше, і вимикати телевізор, якщо програма нас не цікавить. Тільки тоді ми будемо отримувати від телебачення і радість, і користь.

Шиллер казав, що у грі людина вільна, бо дотримується власних встановлених законів.

learn was the difference between having a dream and cultivating the courage to live it out day after day.” Mable

Tell people when they matter to you. Because someday, when you least expect it, they might be gone.

short. “Pretty nice horse,” she remarked. “Is

The Vagabond Circus was different than all the rest in many ways and the first was it had no clowns. Not a single red, round nose in the whole troupe. Maybe that was the reason that Dave had decided he’d be the silliest ringmaster in all of history. His job was to lead and move the events of the show along but he was less a Master of Ceremony and more a buffer between the jaw dropping acts.

When your mama was the geek, my dreamlets,' Papa would say, 'she made the nipping off of noggins such a crystal mystery that the hens themselves yearned toward her, waltzing around her, hypnotized with longing. "Spread your lips, sweet Lil," they'd cluck, "and show us your choppers!"' This same Crystal Lil, our star-haired mama, sitting snug on the built-in sofa that was Arty's bed at night, would chuckle at the sewing in her lap and shake her head. 'Don't piffle to the children, Al. Those hens ran like whiteheads.' Nights on the road this would be, between shows and towns in some campground or pull-off, with the other vans and trucks and trailers of Binewski's Carnival Fabulon ranged up around us, safe in our portable village. After supper, sitting with full bellies in the lamp glow, we Binewskis were supposed to read and study. But if it rained the story mood would sneak up on Papa. The hiss and tick on the metal of our big living van distracted him from his papers. Rain on a show night was catastrophe. Rain on the road meant talk, which, for Papa, was pure pleasure. 'It's a shame and a pity, Lil,' he'd say, 'that these offspring of yours should only know the slumming summer geeks from Yale.' 'Princeton, dear,' Mama would correct him mildly. 'Randall will be a sophomore this fall. I believe he's our first Princeton boy.' We children would sense our story slipping away to trivia. Arty would nudge me and I'd pipe up with, 'Tell about the time when Mama was the geek!' and Arty and Elly and Iphy and Chick would all slide into line with me on the floor between Papa's chair and Mama. Mama would pretend to be fascinated by her sewing and Papa would tweak his swooping mustache and vibrate his tangled eyebrows, pretending reluctance. 'WellIll . . .' he'd begin, 'it was a long time ago . . .' 'Before we were born!' 'Before . . .' he'd proclaim, waving an arm in his grandest ringmaster style, 'before I even dreamed you, my dreamlets!' 'I was still Lillian Hinchcliff in those days,' mused Mama. 'And when your father spoke to me, which was seldom and reluctantly, he called me "Miss." ' 'Miss!' we would giggle. Papa would whisper to us loudly, as though Mama couldn't hear, 'Terrified! I was so smitten I'd stutter when I tried to talk to her. "M-M-M-Miss . . ." I'd say.' We'd giggle helplessly at the idea of Papa, the GREAT TALKER, so flummoxed. 'I, of course, addressed your father as Mister Binewski.

Our circus caravan. The ringmaster told us to meet him at the gas station if we got lost, but he may have forgotten, or maybe he meant a different gas station. Anyway, we’re lost. Is that food I smell?” “Oh, my dears,” the woman said. “You must come in, poor children. I am Aunty Em. Go straight through to the back of the warehouse, please. There is a dining area.” We thanked her and went inside. Annabeth muttered to me, “Circus caravan?” “Always have a strategy, right?” “Your head is full of kelp.

On your left you can see the Stationary Circus in all its splendor! Not far nor wide will you find dancing bears more nimble than ours, ringmasters more masterful, Lunaphants more buoyant!” September looked down and leftward as best she could. She could see the dancing bears, the ringmaster blowing peonies out of her mouth like fire, an elephant floating in the air, her trunk raised, her feet in mid-foxtrot—and all of them paper. The skin of the bears was all folded envelopes; they stared out of sealing-wax eyes. The ringmaster wore a suit of birthday invitations dazzling with balloons and cakes and purple-foil presents; her face was a telegram. Even the elephant seemed to be made up of cast-off letterheads from some far-off office, thick and creamy and stamped with sure, bold letters. A long, sweeping trapeze swung out before them. Two acrobats held on, one made of grocery lists, the other of legal opinions. September could see Latin on the one and lemons, ice, bread (not rye!), and lamb chops on the other in a cursive hand. When they let go of the trapeze-bar, they turned identical flips in the air and folded out into paper airplanes, gliding in circles all the way back down to the peony-littered ring. September gasped and clapped her hands—but the acrobats were already long behind them, bowing and catching paper roses in their paper teeth.

There is no art form more intrinsically and blatantly American—in its casual violence, its bombastic braggadocio, its virulent jingoism, its populist defiance of respectability, and its intermittently awe-inspiring beauty—than professional wrestling. This lucrative enterprise is not a legitimate competition, but it is indisputably an expression of creativity. Its practitioners have a time-worn saying: “This ain’t ballet.” But it’s not that far from ballet: a kinetic method of storytelling, one that requires tremendous skill (and physical pain) to perform.

... я раптом збагнув, яке коротке життя. Збагнув, що мине небагато часу, і я помру, зникну зі світу. На противагу марнославним людям я сам зумів це усвідомити. Мені неважко було уявити повний глядацький зал у театрі чи кіно через багато-багато років після того, як мене не стане. Не кожному під силу... Багато людей настільки захмелілі від власних чуттєвих сприйняттів, що не в змозі осягти існування цілого світу поза собою. Подібно ж вони не в змозі осягнути й інше - те, що одного чудового дня не стане й Усесвіту. Лише декілька пропущених ударів серця можуть навіки відокремити нас від людства.

Pająk wysnuwa wszystko ze swojego wnętrza. (...) Nie wszyscy pisarze tak robią. Niektórzy są jak mrówki, pozbierają trochę tu, trochę tam, a potem to, czego tak pracowicie naściągali, uważają za swoje dzieło. Krytycy bez obiekcji wierzą, że niemal wszyscy pisarze zaliczają się do tej właśnie kategorii. Chętnie wskazują, że dana książka "zawiera ślady", "czerpie z", "ma dług wdzięczności wobec" pewnych tytułów lub prądów bądź współczesnych, bądź z historii literatury, i to nawet wtedy, gdy rzeczony autor nigdy nie zbliżył się do wspomnianych pozycji. Krytycy jednak przyjmują niemal za pewnik, że wszyscy pisarze są równie uczeni i w równym stopniu pozbawieni fantazji jak oni sami. Wygląda na to, że za aksjomat przyjęto niemożność powstawania jakichkolwiek oryginalnych impulsów, przynajmniej nie jest to możliwe w żadnym małym kraju, a już z pewnością nie w w naszym. Istnieje jednak również trzecia kategoria pisarzy. Ci, którzy korzystali z Pogotowia Autorskiego, byli jak pszczoły. Zlatywali się, żeby zbierać nektar w różanym ogrodzie Pająka, w ten sposób zdobywali surowiec, lecz większość z nich wkładała wiele trudu i wysiłku w jego przerobienie. Przetrawiali zebrany z róż nektar i przetwarzali go na własny miód.

Należymy do gatunku składającego słowa jak ryba ikrę, produkujemy więcej kultury, niż jesteśmy w stanie przetrawić. W ciągu ostatnich lat pedantycznie zwalczaliśmy graffiti na stacjach metra, a jednocześnie wydajemy miliony koron na budowę nowych bibliotek narodowych. Tymczasem zapis pamięci narodowej może przyjąć również formę graffiti. Nietzsche porównał człowieka przejedzonego kulturą do węża, który połknął zająca, a teraz drzemie w słońcu, nie będą w stanie się ruszyć. Czas epigramatów już minął. Na przystani w Bryggen w Bergen znaleziono niewielki kawałeczek drewna z takim oto napisem runicznym: Ingebjørg kochała mnie, kiedy byłem w Stavanger. Fakt ten musiał wywrzeć pewne wrażenie na autorze napisu, podobnie zresztą jak na czytelniku, żyjącym osiemset czy dziewięćset lat później. Dzisiaj oszczędny w słowach autor, chcąc uwiecznić jedną schadzkę z Ingebjørg, dorzuciłby do pamięci potomnych czerystustronicową powieść. Albo też zadręczyłby życie swoim współczesnym wpadającymi w ucho popularnymi piosenkami w stylu 'Nie ma jak z Ingebjørg, nie ma jak z Ingebjørg'. Paradoks polega na tym, że gdyby przez wszystkie osiemset lat napisano równie wiele powieści, jak w latach siedemdziesiątych, to nikt z nas nie byłby w stanie przebrnąć przez tak obfitą tradycję piśmiennictwa i nie dotarłby do prostej, lecz przyjemnej historii o Ingebjørg. (...) Namiętna historia miłośna została odarta ze wszystkiego aż do kości, lecz mimo to niesie za sobą mnóstwo konotacji. Ponadto pewnych rzeczy czytelnik może się domyślić. Dostał do ręki coś, nad czym dalej może pracować jego wyobraźnia. Po czterystustronicowej powieści trudno jest samemu coś wymyślić.

Марія тонко відчувала іронію й метаіронію, а це вже важлива передумова для справжніх стосунків.

Я розумів, що вона може покинути мене будь-якої миті - надто ми були схожі. Мені здавалося, що вона, як і я, ставить високу планку для того, на кого могла би проміняти свою самотність. Я й досі стояв вище цієї планки.

Ми були схожі. Однаково безсоромні в еротичному шаленстві, однаково цинічні в ніжності. Ми були ненаситні, не знали тільки, хто перший покине цю гостину.

...жінка з загадковим єством уміє підтримувати подружні узи.

Неможливо кохати людину, яку знаєш досконало.

... у якій саме сфері він чи вона бажають прославитися - на перше місце ставилася професія. Однак ті часи давно минули. Тепер людина насамперед вирішує, що хоче стати знаменитою, а вже як досягатиме мети - це не важливо. Ще менш важливо, заслуговує ця людина на славу чи ні.

Те, що називається "повагою до себе", тепер годі й надибати - цілком вийшла з моди як чеснота.

Душа - неподільна єдність, монада.

Дехто вважав, що можна спершу писати, а вже потім жити, але це помилкове судження.

Великий письменник ніколи не шукає тем, він пише, бо не може інакше.

Ніцше порівнював людину, пересичену культурою, зі змією, котра проковтнула зайця і дрімає на сонці, не маючи сили навіть поворухнутися.

У своїх працях з естетики Геґель наголошував: що шляхетніше й духовніше мистецтво, то менше потребує фізичної маси.

Пишуть, мабуть, тоді, коли хочуть вилити душу, коли знають слова, які можуть когось розрадити, а не задля самого письма чи ПИСАННЯ.

Я рідко несамовито захоплювався жінками, але якщо вже зустрічав таку виняткову, то не потребував багато часу, щоб її пізнати. Занадто незбагненних чоловіки не люблять.

Хай на мить, але ми вперше поглянули одне одному в вічі, це була наша перша близькість, бо у навіть випадковому схрещенні поглядів є щось інтимне.

Я тішився, що Беата бачить мене наскрізь, відчуття розуміння схоже на відчуття повернення додому.

Випадковістю було принаймні те, що у запальничці скінчився газ, однак ти випадковим не був, ти - немов розгорнена книга, яку я вже почала читати.

Що більше двоє людей мають що сказати одне одному, то повільніше вони йдуть.

Фантазувати напрочуд легко, наче танцювати на тонкій кризі, виробляти карколомні піруети на крихкій плівочці льоду над страхітливою глибінню. Щось холодне й темне завжди-завжди зорить за тобою з безодні.

Самотність і туга - дві частини однієї цілості.

Можна пригадувати настрій від того, що наснилося, не пам'ятаючи самого сну.

Інколи вигляд людини може налякати не згірш за примару - принаймні в тунелі з примарами. Привиди - це фантазія, а коли в фантазію потрапляє щось справжнє, воно може нагнати такого самого жаху, як містична з'ява у світі реальному.

Скаржитися - те саме, що імітувати реальність. Надто банально. Скаржаться або чубляться ті, хто не вміє відстояти себе словом.

...не варто жалкувати за втраченою думкою. Вона - мов риба, яка зірвалася з гачка й пірнула в глибини, щоб одного дня зринути знову, набравшись сили і відваги...

Марнославці, як на мене, поступаються хіба відвертим позерам та егоцентрикам. За ними спостерігати ще цікавіше, ніж за особами, які просто трішки хизуються.

Мені більше подобається розмовляти з відверто пихатими людьми, ніж з тими, котрі намагаються приховувати свою пиху за вдаваною зацікавленістю співрозмовником. Марнославці зі шкіри пнуться, щоб видаватися неймовірно товариськими й дотепними. Вони дуже стараються і, зазвичай, влаштовують справжні вистави.

Часто більше цінується те, що ніколи не повториться, аніж те, що , сподіваєшся, триватиме вічно.

Якщо хтось видає свою писанину за достовірний опис власного життя-буття, то це означає, що його корабель, мабуть, перевернувся догори кілем ще до того, як вирушив у своє ризиковане плавання.

TACO STORM? • FAKE ALIEN INVASION? NUCLEAR BOMB? • ECHO HACKS AND/OR SEDUCES SOMETHING • DEFACE THE FIRE AND ICE (DONGS?) • CATS CATS CATS • GET MOLECH BACK HERE (FART RAY?) • WILL WORKS HIS MAGIC (LIKE IN “THE RINGMASTER”)

My love,” she said softly. “The woman who built me a circus so I could fly. And I have the honor”—she drew in nearer, their dancing forgotten—“of seeing you shine, Ringmaster.

Rin pulled her in, and she held her. In turn, it felt like Ringmaster held that pain for her, in her arms. She held as much as she could. And Jo clung on like she’d been searching for that hug for fifteen years.

One day, the ringmaster's eye fell upon the cage and he asked: "Why?" this perfectly good spot should be left standing there unused. Nobody knew, until one man remembered about the hunger artist. "Are you still fasting?" "Forgive me, everybody. "I've always wanted you to admire my fasting. "But you shouldn't admire it. Because I have to fast. I can't help it." "And why can't you help it?" "Because I couldn't find the food I liked. If I had, I should have stuffed myself life you or anyone else." Those were his last words, but in his dimming eyes remained the firm conviction that he was still continuing to fast. And they buried the hunger artist, straw and all. - A Hunger Artist

[...] I am filled with humanity - so much of it - and yet it doesn't make me more human. I want to feel close to all of you. I don't want to be your god." "That's good, but not really human of you." She chuckled. "Most of us want to play god for others." "Do you?" "No. Not at all. I saw what happened when I played The Sims . I'd be a shit god.

lifeisposi 03/20/2024 PublicSpeaking the ultimate battle between your brain and your vocal cords. It's like your mind turns into a circus ringmaster, juggling sweaty palms, a pounding heart, and a brain that's suddenly gone AWOL. But hey, don’t let those jitters steal the spotlight! With a pinch of humor and a sprinkle of confidence, you can turn that stage fright into a standing ovation. So, take the mic, crack a joke (or two), and show that audience who’s boss.

Public speaking is the ultimate battle between your brain and your vocal cords. It's like your mind turns into a circus ringmaster, juggling sweaty palms, a pounding heart, and a brain that's suddenly gone AWOL. But hey, don’t let those jitters steal the spotlight! With a pinch of humor and a sprinkle of confidence, you can turn that stage fright into a standing ovation. So, take the mic, crack a joke (or two), and show that audience who’s boss.

be on the lookout for chauffeur knowledge. Do not confuse the company spokesperson, the ringmaster, the newscaster, the schmoozer, the verbiage vendor or the cliché generator with those who possess true knowledge. How do you recognise the difference? There is a clear indicator: true experts recognise the limits of what they know and what they do not know. If they find themselves outside their circle of competence, they keep quiet or simply say, ‘I don’t know.’ This they utter unapologetically, even with a certain pride. From chauffeurs, we hear every line except this. See

I leaned in to examine the sketches next to each name. The Ringmaster’s face looked incongruously warm. Beneath his mass of curly, dark hair his eyes were welcoming, his lips carving a smile. In the sketch to the right, the General’s long pale hair was pulled back from her slim face. Her features looked exaggerated: brows arched, cheekbones sharp. Her eyes lacked the animation of the Ringmaster’s. Instead, her expression was appraising, controlled.

The ringmaster’s presence was the sun to Vagabond Circus. His round happy face started each day for most. And his presence marked hope and growth and light.

The ringmaster wasn’t the sneaking type. He bounded out into open spaces welcoming a new experience and all the magic that a new day brought. When he entered a space, people knew it. Felt it. Things shifted. Usually people’s demeanors shifted too.

He was now watching her, his dark eyes filled with an intensity that stilled her breath and made her heart beat faster—just

And that is all it takes for one to gain strength. A clean conscience.

we read a little farther in James, we find that the tongue cannot be tamed (James 3:7 – 8). Every creature, reptile, bird, or animal can be tamed, but not the tongue. Imagine a colossal circus full of every kind of creature: dancing bears, prancing horses — even a ferocious looking feline or two performing tricks or jumping through hoops when their trainers give the signal. But way off in one corner stands a booth with a closed curtain and a sign that reads: “The Utterly Untamable.” Then, at a very strategic time during the spectacular show the ringmaster hushes the audience in order to display this beast that will not bend. When he throws open the concealing curtain, sitting behind it is a woman

The ringmaster cannot be in all three rings at once.

Youth, dumb with embarrassment, breathless with exhibitionism, stuttering with nerves, inarticulate with conceit; the socially flamboyant, the robustly brawny, the crudely uninstructed, the palely epicene; one and all had obediently leapt through the hoop at Sillery's ringmaster behest; one and all submitted themselves to the testing flame of this burning fiery furnace of adolescent experience.

... one shouldn't grieve over a thought that gets away. It's like a fish that gets off the hook and swims down into the depths again, only to return one day even bigger... If, on the other hand, one lands the fish, guts it and chucks it into a plastic bucket, any further development of the fish has clearly been curtailed. Precisely the same can be said of the idea behind a novel once it is written out and set in more or less successful aspic, or even published. Perhaps the world of culture is characterised by too much catch and too little release.

He paced like a caged tiger in the circus, pretending he was still a predator and the ringmaster hadn’t had his teeth pulled and his claws clipped.

don’t know how to love Ryah just a little, so I’d better not love her at all.

During the COVID pandemic, Dr. Fauci served as ringmaster in the engineered demolition of America’s economy. His lockdown predictably shattered the nation’s once-booming economic engine, putting 58 million Americans out of work,43 and permanently bankrupting small businesses, including 41 percent of Black-owned businesses, some of which took generations of investment to build.44

Perhaps it was the use of his first name, but I finally had the ringmaster's full attention.

She sighed. “I’m just tired.” “I know. You stayed awake at my side. I thought for a moment it was out of concern for me, but it was out of your own internal strife. For shame.” “I have to keep your ego in check somehow.” “A fruitless pursuit.

She went about her life trying to be a good person not because God told her to, but because it was just the right thing to do anyway. She never could quite wrap her head around why some people felt they needed the threat of an afterlife of torture to not be complete jackasses to the people around them.

She had never been a gloomy person. There had been some good times aboard Ringmaster, but little out-and-out fun.

They call it 'learned helplessness' finally a phrase after years of study to explain why we stay in hopelessness with men who leave our faces bloody; why we 'let' the cruel fists of a man determined to turn out bodies into a purple storm that began and ended with fingers that disembody our self respect, our courage in that moment, we forget we are somebody. There is a hierarchy to his chaos that one learns to simply accept. There is a beginning to his madness that one knows will eventually end. So like those caged animals they outlawed in circuses, you let the ringmaster be tyrannical even as your own soul winces. Years from now, they will ask you 'Why didn't you leave him?' Because, you will say quietly, he had convinced me I was no longer human.

As soon as Jeremiah saw me, he sprang up. “Ladies and Gentlemen-men-men,” he began dramatically, bowing like a circus ringmaster. “I do believe it is time… for our first belly flop of the summer.” I inched away from them uneasily. Too fast a movement, and it would be all over—they’d chase me then. “No way,” I said. Then Conrad and Steven stood up, circling me. “You can’t fight tradition,” Steven said. Conrad just grinned evilly. “I’m too old for this,” I said desperately. I walked backward, and that’s when they grabbed me. Steven and Jeremiah each took a wrist. “Come on, guys,” I said, trying to wriggle out of their grasp. I dragged my feet, but they pulled me along. I knew it was futile to resist, but I always tried, even though the bottoms of my feet got burned along the pavement in the process. “Ready?” Jeremiah said, lifting me up under my armpits. Conrad grabbed my feet, and then Steven took my right arm while Jeremiah hung on to my left. They swung me back and forth like I was a sack of flour. “I hate you guys,” I yelled over their laughter. “One,” Jeremiah began. “Two,” Steven said. “And three,” Conrad finished. Then they launched me into the pool, clothes and all. I hit the water with a loud smack. Underwater, I could hear them busting up. The Belly Flop was something they’d started about a million summers ago. Probably it had been Steven. I hated it. Even though it was one of the only times I was included in their fun, I hated being the brunt of it. It made me feel utterly powerless, and it was a reminder that I was an outsider, too weak to fight them, all because I was a girl. Somebody’s little sister.

Words can be as tricky as a sneaky magician pulling tricks out of their linguistic hats. But you, my witty friend, you've got the magic decoder ring for patterns! So, let those words try their verbal acrobatics while you're on the lookout for the real patterns that spill the secrets of truth. It's like watching a linguistic circus, and you're the ringmaster of wit!

We get the idea from books and television that the courthouse is a theater, the trial a play. The better analogy is a huge tent with a three-ring circus inside. The judge is the ringmaster, wielding his chair, cracking his whip, forcing the lions onto their haunches in mock-serious poses of respect. We rise when the judge enters and exits, and we beg for permission before we speak. The judge feeds us when we are good, chastises us when we are bad, and either way we bow our heads in meek gratitude.

walls of the Young Adult Room were painted purple and yellow. There were swirly zebra-print rugs on the floor and a lumpy cluster of beanbag chairs. A couple of sofas were designed to look like Scrabble trays, with letter-square pillows. Akimi nudged Kyle in the ribs. “Check it out.” In the far corner stood a carnival ticket booth with a mechanical dummy seated inside. A “Fun & Games” banner hung off the booth’s striped roof. The dummy inside the glass booth? He looked like Mr. Lemoncello. He wasn’t wearing a turban, but the Mr. Lemoncello mannequin reminded Kyle of the Zoltar Speaks fortuneteller booths he’d seen in video game arcades. “That’s not really him, is it?” said Akimi, who was right behind Kyle. “No. It’s a mechanical doll.” The frozen automaton was dressed in a black top hat and a bright red ringmaster jacket. Since the booth had the “Fun & Games” banner, Kyle figured you might have to talk to the dummy to get a game. “Um, hello,” he said. “We’d like to play a board game.” Bells rang, whistles whistled, and chaser lights blinked.

Welcome!” proclaimed, Barrister Homes with the fanfare of a wrinkled ringmaster, his palm frond ears bending like alien tentacles one upwards and one out.

Sometimes it feels like they have taught me more than I have taught them. They have made me a better person. I’m lucky to be their ringmaster.

Once the base was lowered to the bottom, the divers filled critical roles as ringmasters, and one of their first jobs was to guide two dozen steel piles, one by one, into individual “sleeves,” a vertical length of pipe affixed at intervals around the base. The piles themselves were six hundred feet long, seven feet in diameter, and weighed thousands of pounds. Each one had to be carefully dangled from the surface and slid into its designated sleeve. A pile driver, which the divers helped swing into position, hammered the pile into place, nailing the base to the sea floor.

The Church of Contentment and Prosperity Now offering the best stage shows in America declaring peace with the enemies of God. With flashing lights, stage smoke, visualizing tantalizing sights of women dancing on stage, flags waving, artist painting, preachers more like ringmasters of the ventriloquists' dummies taking it all in like a rock 'n' roll show for a fee of actors and celebrities called deacons and elders all in the name of some manmade Jesus!

Some firebreathers have to use props, gasoline, all that extra stuff," explains the Ringmaster. "But not this one. He's real. That's why I gave him the stage name Dragon. "And the clowns? Why do they look so sad?" "Ah, yes. Their girlfriend ran off with the strongman yesterday." "Their girlfriend?" "Yes, she was a contortionist. And clowns share everything.

Nanny Piggins was very prudish about gambling because the Ringmaster had once bet that if he tampered with the trajectory of her cannon, he could blast her over the top of the Eiffel Tower. Of course Nanny Piggins had triumphantly sailed over the famous French landmark, but she was very cross to pass the Jules Verne restaurant at the top and not be able to stop for a slice of cake. She had been against gambling ever since.

For better life quality of citizens, The country does not need a leader who has charisma. There is a Difference between Head of Nation and Ringmaster The country needs a leader who has qualifications, education, knowledge, and understanding of humanity.

Every time you touch me, it feels like the world is ending. Just in a really good way.

The ringmaster strode into my room and settled on the bed as if he were the high king of the Fairy claiming his throne.

But critics often assume that all writers are as educated and bereft of fantasy as they are themselves.