Rival Sons Quotes

Yeah. You treat him like a son or a soldier, instead of like a brother. He wants you to like him and admire him and love him. Maybe in that order.

At last, Sturmhond straightened the lapels of his teal frock coat and said, “Well, Brekker, it’s obvious you only deal in half-truths and outright lies, so you’re clearly the man for the job.” “There’s just one thing,” said Kaz, studying the privateer’s broken nose and ruddy hair. “Before we join hands and jump off a cliff together, I want to know exactly who I’m running with.” Sturmhond lifted a brow. “We haven’t been on a road trip or exchanged clothes, but I think our introductions were civilized enough.” “Who are you really, privateer?” “Is this an existential question?” “No proper thief talks the way you do.” “How narrow-minded of you.” “I know the look of a rich man’s son, and I don’t believe a king would send an ordinary privateer to handle business this sensitive.” “Ordinary,” scoffed Sturmhond. “Are you so schooled in politics?” “I know my way around a deal. Who are you? We get the truth or my crew walks.” “Are you so sure that would be possible, Brekker? I know your plans now. I’m accompanied by two of the world’s most legendary Grisha, and I’m not too bad in a fight either.” “And I’m the canal rat who brought Kuwei Yul-Bo out of the Ice Court alive. Let me know how you like your chances.” His crew didn’t have clothes or titles to rival the Ravkans, but Kaz knew where he’d put his money if he had any left. Sturmhond clasped his hands behind his back, and Kaz saw the barest shift in his demeanor. His eyes lost their bemused gleam and took on a surprising weight. No ordinary privateer at all. “Let us say,” said Sturmhond, gaze trained on the Ketterdam street below, “hypothetically, of course, that the Ravkan king has intelligence networks that reach deep within Kerch, Fjerda, and the Shu Han, and that he knows exactly how important Kuwei Yul-Bo could be to the future of his country. Let us say that king would trust no one to negotiate such matters but himself, but that he also knows just how dangerous it is to travel under his own name when his country is in turmoil, when he has no heir and the Lantsov succession is in no way secured.” “So hypothetically,” Kaz said, “you might be addressed as Your Highness.

En el setenta y cinco aniversario, como recordatorio a los rebeldes de que ni siquiera sus miembros más fuertes son rivales para el poder del Capitolio, los tributos elegidos saldrán del grupo de los vencedores.

Admiral Dahlgren’s twenty-one-year-old son, Ulric, had lost a leg at Gettysburg. When he appeared at a Washington party, he was surrounded by pretty girls. They stayed by his side all night, refusing to dance, in tribute to the handsome colonel who had been known as an expert waltzer.

When the boy was grown and out hunting, the goddess brought Callisto before him, intending to have him shoot his mother, in ignorance, of course. But Zeus snatched the bear away and placed her among the stars, where she is called the Great Bear. Later, her son Arcas was placed beside her and called the Lesser Bear. Hera, enraged at this honor to her rival, persuaded the God of the Sea to forbid the Bears to descend into the ocean like the other stars. They alone of the constellations never set below the horizon.

At Abraham's burial, his two most prominent sons, rivals since before they were born, estranged since childhood, scions of rival nations, come together for the first time since they were rent apart nearly three-quarters of a century earlier. The text reports their union nearly without comment. "His sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah, in the field of Ephron son of Zohar the Hittite, facing Mamre, in the field that Abraham had bought from the Hittites." But the meaning of this moment cannot be diminished. Abraham achieves in death what he could never achieve in life: a moment of reconciliation between his two sons, a peaceful, communal, side-by-side flicker of possibility in which they are not rivals, scions, warriors, adversaries, children, Jews, Christians, or Muslims. They are brothers. They are mourners. In a sense they are us, forever weeping for the loss of our common father, shuffling through our bitter memories, reclaiming our childlike expectations, laughing, sobbing, furious and full of dreams, wondering about our orphaned future, and demanding the answers we all crave to hear: What did you want from me, Father? What did you leave me with, Father? And what do I do now?

En las alturas, la Nobleza y el Poder; abajo, el Comercio y el Dinero; dos esferas sociales que en todas partes son perpetuamente enemigas; por ello es difícil adivinar cuál de las dos ciudades odiaba más a su rival.

I learn I prefer Bernini’s recalcitrant rival, an ex-pupil named Francesco Borromini, a stonecutter’s son, introverted, suicidal, insanely gifted. Bernini is polished, urbane, in love with the human body; Borromini is touchy,

Genesis, in fact, is in various ways almost nearer the New Testament than the Old, and some of its topics are barely heard again till their implications can fully emerge in the gospel. The institution of marriage, the fall of man, the jealousy of Cain, the judgment of the flood, the imputed righteousness of the believer, the rival sons of promise and of the flesh, the profanity of Esau, the pilgrim status of God’s people, are all predominantly New Testament themes.

Para los buenos, dice, la adversidad es un entrenamiento. Séneca traza una analogía con un luchador que se beneficia de enfrentarse a rivales duros y que se atrofia y pierde sus habilidades si los desafíos a los que se enfrenta son de poca monta.

And so the Cross effects a twofold disclosure: it discloses the Trinity and it discloses sin for what it is, namely, the elder brother’s refusal of the Trinitarian love, that mutual love of the Father and Son that is the Holy Spirit. Unable to bear the rival story—sin, after all, cannot afford to know its own nature, for that is already repentance—a sinful world reacts with violence, and so in that very act confirms the truth of the story it violently resists. Denys Turner—Julian of Norwich, Theologian, 134

Visenya and Rhaenys, took a special delight in arranging these matches. Through their efforts, young Ronnel Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, took a daughter of Torrhen Stark of Winterfell to wed, whilst Loren Lannister’s eldest son, heir to Casterly Rock, married a Redwyne girl from the Arbor. When three girls, triplets, were born to the Evenstar of Tarth, Queen Rhaenys arranged betrothals for them with House Corbray, House Hightower, and House Harlaw. Queen Visenya brokered a double wedding between House Blackwood and House Bracken, rivals whose history of enmity went back centuries, matching a son of each house with a daughter of the other to seal a peace between them. And when a Rowan girl in Rhaenys’s service found herself with child by a scullion, the queen found a knight to marry her in White Harbor, and another in Lannisport who was willing to take on her bastard as a fosterling.

Il avait la douleur de remarquer qu'en parlant, elle faisait des découvertes dans son cœur. Le malheur de la jalousie ne peut aller plus loin. Soupçonner qu'un rival est aimé est déjà bien cruel, mais se voir avouer en détail l'amour qu'il inspire par la femme qu'on adore est peut-être le comble des douleurs.

Two years before, a rival claimant to the throne had assassinated the then reigning king and his sons, and since then, bloody war and tumult had raged. The new king was a powerful man, and had a great following of the worst and most self-seeking of the people. Neighboring countries had interfered for their own welfare's sake,

Who would attack Astapor?” Ser Jorah asked. “Meereen and Yunkai are rivals but not enemies, the Doom destroyed Valyria, the folk of the eastern hinterlands are all Ghiscari, and beyond the hills lies Lhazar. The Lamb Men, as your Dothraki call them, a notably unwarlike people.” “Yes,” she agreed, “but north of the slave cities is the Dothraki sea, and two dozen mighty khals who like nothing more than sacking cities and carrying off their people into slavery.” “Carrying them off where? What good are slaves once you’ve killed the slavers? Valyria is no more, Qarth lies beyond the red waste, and the Nine Free Cities are thousands of leagues to the west. And you may be sure the sons of the harpy give lavishly

So time drew on to the War of the Ring, and the sons of Denethor grew to manhood. Boromir, five years the elder, beloved by his father, was like him in face and pride, but in little else. Rather he was a man after the sort of King Eärnur of old, taking no wife and delighting chiefly in arms; fearless and strong, but caring little for lore, save the tales of old battles. Faramir the younger was like him in looks but otherwise in mind. He read the hearts of men as shrewdly as his father, but what he read moved him sooner to pity than to scorn. He was gentle in bearing, and a lover of lore and of music, and therefore by many in those days his courage was judged less than his brother’s. But it was not so, except that he did not seek glory in danger without a purpose. He welcomed Gandalf at such times as he came to the City, and he learned what he could from his wisdom; and in this as in many other matters he displeased his father. ‘Yet between the brothers there was great love, and had been since childhood, when Boromir was the helper and protector of Faramir. No jealousy or rivalry had arisen between them since, for their father’s favour or for the praise of men. It did not seem possible to Faramir that anyone in Gondor could rival Boromir, heir of Denethor, Captain of the White Tower; and of like mind was Boromir. Yet it proved otherwise at the test. But of all that befell these three in the War of the Ring much is said elsewhere.

Our rival interrogation team is the Pubyok, named after the "floating wall" defenders that saved Pyongyang from invaders in 1136. There are only a dozen or so left, old men with silver crewcuts who walk in a row like a wall and truly believe they can float, stealthy as ghosts, from one citizen to the next, interrogating them as the wind interrogates the leaves.

June, I'm the son of the President of the United States. Prince Henry is a figurehead of the British Empire. You can't just call him my 'archnemesis,'" Alex says. He returns to his donut, chewing thoughtfully and adds, "'Archnemesis' implies he's actually a rival to me on any level and not, you know, a stuck-up product of inbreeding who probably jerks off to photos of himself.

Les hommes sont comme les herbes et le plantes des champs : les espèces vénéneuses poussent à côté des espèces guérisseuses, et les plantes comestibles à côté de celles qui ne le sont pas. Chez tous les hommes, à part les sages ou les saints, on trouve un trait commun : chacun est porté à dénigrer son ennemi ou son adversaire et à le présenter comme un vaurien. Pourtant, bien peu se rendent compte qu'en diminuant la valeur de leur rival, ils ne font que minimiser leur propre valeur.

WOMEN Well, I'll relate a rival fable just to show to you A different point of view: There was a rough-hewn fellow, Timon, with a face That glowered as through a thorn-bush in a wild, bleak place. He too decided on flight, This very Furies' son, All the world's ways to shun And hide from everyone, Spitting out curses on all knavish men to left and right. But though he reared this hate for men, He loved the women even then, And never thought them enemies. WOMAN O your jaw I'd like to break. MAN

Sonia Gandhi and her son play an important part in all of this. Their job is to run the Department of Compassion and Charisma and to win elections. They are allowed to make (and also to take credit for) decisions which appear progressive but are actually tactical and symbolic, meant to take the edge off popular anger and allow the big ship to keep on rolling. (The best example of this is the rally that was organised for Rahul Gandhi to claim victory for the cancellation of Vedanta’s permission to mine Niyamgiri for bauxite—a battle that the Dongria Kondh tribe and a coalition of activists, local as well as international, have been fighting for years. At the rally, Rahul Gandhi announced that he was “a soldier for the tribal people”. He didn’t mention that the economic policies of his party are predicated on the mass displacement of tribal people. Or that every other bauxite “giri”—hill—in the neighbourhood was having the hell mined out of it, while this “soldier for the tribal people” looked away. Rahul Gandhi may be a decent man. But for him to go around talking about the two Indias—the “Rich India” and the “Poor India”—as though the party he represents has nothing to do with it, is an insult to everybody’s intelligence, including his own.) The division of labour between politicians who have a mass base and win elections, and those who actually run the country but either do not need to (judges and bureaucrats) or have been freed of the constraint of winning elections (like the prime minister) is a brilliant subversion of democratic practice. To imagine that Sonia and Rahul Gandhi are in charge of the government would be a mistake. The real power has passed into the hands of a coven of oligarchs—judges, bureaucrats and politicians. They in turn are run like prize race-horses by the few corporations who more or less own everything in the country. They may belong to different political parties and put up a great show of being political rivals, but that’s just subterfuge for public consumption. The only real rivalry is the business rivalry between corporations.

...The underlying motive for the French wars [of 1562-1598] was not religious, but dynastic. By the mid-16th century, the Valois family of kings, who had ruled France since 1328, was losing its grasp on political power. Valois King Henry II died in 1559, leaving four sons, all too young or too feeble to rule alone, and three rival noble families, all eager to seize power. One, the Guise (who had married into the royal family), were Catholic; their enemies, the Bourbon and the (more moderate) Montmerency, were Protestant. The Bourbon, in particular, were supported by the many small local Protestant churches that had been set up in France by supporters of Calvin's teachings. Unlike Protestants in England or Germany, they were not controlled by powerful rulers or city councils; some were prepared to use violence and other forms of lawlessness to further Protestant reform. Concerned by this threat to public order, and continuing the Valois' kings generally hostile policy toward reform, in 1562 the Guise ordered the massacre of 74 Protestants at a church service.

And he was right. Because Carlos De Vil’s brain, by way of comparison, was almost as big as Cruella De Vil’s fur-coat closet. That’s what Carlos tried to tell himself, anyway, especially when people were making him run the tombs. His first class today was Weird Science, one he always looked forward to. It was where he’d originally gotten the idea to put his machine together, from the lesson on radio waves. Carlos was not the only top student in the class—he was tied, in fact, with the closest thing he had to a rival in the whole school: the scrawny, bespectacled Reza. Reza was the son of the former Royal Astronomer of Agrabah, who had consulted with Jafar to make sure the stars aligned on more than one nefarious occasion, which was how his family had found their way to the Isle of the Lost with everyone else. Weird Science was the class where Carlos always worked the hardest. The presence of Reza, who was every bit as competitive in science lab as he was, only made Carlos work that much harder. And as annoying as everyone found Reza to be—he always had to use the very biggest words for everything, whether they were used correctly and whether he was inserting a few extra syllables where they might or might not belong—he was still smart. Very smart. Which meant Carlos enjoyed besting him. Just the other week they had been working on a special elixir, and Reza had been annoyed that Carlos had figured out the secret ingredient first. Yeah, Reza was almost as smart as he was irritating. Even now he was raising his hand, waving it wildly back and forth. Their professor, the powerful sorcerer Yen Sid,

I have to let go of all comparison, all rivalry and competition, and surrender to the Father’s love. This requires a leap of faith because I have little experience of non-comparing love. I can only remain in the resentful complaint that results from my comparisons. In the light of God I can finally see my neighbor as my brother, as the one who belongs as much to God as I do. But outside of God’s house, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives, lovers and friends become rivals and even enemies; each perpetually plagued by jealousies, suspicions, and resentments.

Séneca traza una analogía con un luchador que se beneficia de enfrentarse a rivales duros y que se atrofia y pierde sus habilidades si los desafíos a los que se enfrenta son de poca monta. El luchador solo pone a prueba su habilidad cuando pelea con un verdadero adversario, y un combate difícil no es más que un entrenamiento para desarrollar sus capacidades. Las adversidades de la vida funcionan de un modo parecido; nos permiten desplegar nuestras virtudes y las curten para que mejoremos. Si lo vemos así, estaremos encantados de recibir la adversidad cuando se presente

Jesus had been born during the reign of the emperor Augustus (r. 31 BCE–14 CE), who had brought peace to a war-weary world by defeating rival Roman warlords and declaring himself sole ruler of the Roman Empire. The ensuing peace seemed little short of miraculous, and throughout his far-flung domains, Augustus was hailed as “son of God” and “savior.” But the Pax Romana was enforced pitilessly by an army that was the most efficient killing machine the world had yet seen; the slightest resistance met with wholesale slaughter. Crucifixion, an instrument of state terror inflicted usually on slaves, violent criminals, and insurgents, was a powerful deterrent.

Las dos buenas hermanas La Lujuria y la Muerte son dos amables muchachas, pródigas en besos y ricas en salud, cuyo vientre siempre virgen y cubierto de harapos pese al cultivo eterno, jamás fructificó. Al poeta siniestro, enemigo de las familias, favorito del infierno, cortesano de rentas escasas, tumbas y burdeles muestran bajo sus enramadas un lecho que nunca frecuentó el remordimiento. Y la caja de muerto y la alcoba fecundas en blasfemias por turno nos ofrecen, como dos buenas hermanas, terribles placeres y espantosas dulzuras. Lujuria de brazos inmundos, ¿cuándo quieres enterrarme? Y tú, Muerte, su rival en atractivos, ¿cuándo vendrás a injertar en sus mirtos infectos tus oscuros cipreses?

No, Emily--- it was you I worried about. From the first rumors I heard of you, of your cleverness, your high regard for my silly son, I knew you were the real threat. Mortals always are, aren't they? If you read the stories. The arrogant faerie prince who can make gold from straw is always undone by the humble miller's daughter, not some powerful rival of his own stature." My stomach grew queasy. I had never felt so out of my depth when conversing with one of the Folk, not even the snow king of Ljosland. Wendell had been right, but it was no comfort to know that his stepmother had been afraid of me. I am used to being underestimated by the Folk--- nothing could be more dangerous than the opposite.

El afecto, ya lo dije, no se da importancia. La caridad —decía san Pablo— no es engreída. El afecto puede amar lo que no es atractivo: Dios y sus santos aman lo que no es amable. El afecto «no espera demasiado», hace la vista gorda ante los errores ajenos, se rehace fácilmente después de una pelea, como la caridad sufre pacientemente, y es bondadoso y perdona. El afecto nos descubre el bien que podríamos no haber visto o que, sin él, podríamos no haber apreciado. Lo mismo hace la santa humildad. Pero si nos detuviéramos sólo en estas semejanzas, podríamos llegar a creer que este afecto no es simplemente uno de los amores naturales sino el Amor en sí mismo, obrando en nuestros corazones humanos y cumpliendo su ley. ¿Tendrían razón entonces los novelistas ingleses de la época victoriana, al decir que es suficiente este tipo de amor? ¿Son «los afectos caseros», cuando están en su mejor momento y en su desarrollo más pleno, lo mismo que la vida cristiana? La respuesta a estas preguntas, lo sé con seguridad, es decididamente No. No digo solamente que esos novelistas escribieron a veces como si nunca hubieran conocido ese texto evangélico sobre el «odiar» a la esposa y a la madre y aun la propia vida —aunque, por supuesto, sea así—, sino que la enemistad entre los amores naturales y el amor de Dios es algo que un cristiano procura no olvidar. Dios es el gran Rival, que en cualquier momento me puede robar —al menos a mí me parece un robo— el corazón de mi esposa, de mi marido o de mi hija.

El ciudadano medio, que trabaja, vuelve a casa cansado y quiere tan solo estar un rato con su familia, recibe únicamente lo que le llega en esos cinco minutos de telediario. Los temas principales que dan vida a las «noticias del día» deciden qué pensamos del mundo y cómo lo pensamos. (...) El problema de las televisiones y, en general, de todos los medios de comunicación es que son tan grandes, influyente e importantes que han empezado a construir un mundo propio. Un mundo que poco tiene que ver con la realidad. Pero, por otro lado, estos medios no están interesados en reflejar la realidad del mundo, sino en competir entre ellos. Una cadena televisiva, o un periódico, no puede permitirse carecer de la noticia que posee su rival directo. Así, todos ellos acaban observando no la vida real, sino a la competencia.

Consider for a few moments the enormous aesthetic claim of its chief contemporary rival—what we may loosely call the Scientific Outlook, 1 the picture of Mr. [H. G.] Wells and the rest. Supposing this to be a myth, is it not one of the finest myths which human imagination has yet produced? The play is preceded by the most austere of all preludes: the infinite void, and matter restlessly moving to bring forth it knows not what. Then, by the millionth millionth chance—what tragic irony—the conditions at one point of space and time bubble up into that tiny fermentation which is the beginning of life. Everything seems to be against the infant hero of our drama—just as everything seems against the youngest son or ill-used stepdaughter at the opening of a fairy tale. But life somehow wins through. With infinite suffering, against all but insuperable obstacles, it spreads, it breeds, it complicates itself, from the amoeba up to the plant, up to the reptile, up to the mammal. We glance briefly at the age of monsters. Dragons prowl the earth, devour one another, and die. Then comes the theme of the younger son and the ugly duckling once more. As the weak, tiny spark of life began amidst the huge hostilities of the inanimate, so now again, amidst the beasts that are far larger and stronger than he, there comes forth a little naked, shivering, cowering creature, shuffling, not yet erect, promising nothing, the product of another millionth millionth chance. Yet somehow he thrives. He becomes the Cave Man with his club and his flints, muttering and growling over his enemies’ bones, dragging his screaming mate by her hair (I never could quite make out why), tearing his children to pieces in fierce jealousy till one of them is old enough to tear him, cowering before the horrible gods whom he created in his own image. But these are only growing pains. Wait till the next act. There he is becoming true Man. He learns to master Nature. Science comes and dissipates the superstitions of his infancy. More and more he becomes the controller of his own fate. Passing hastily over the present (for it is a mere nothing by the time scale we are using), you follow him on into the future. See him in the last act, though not the last scene, of this great mystery. A race of demigods now rules the planet—and perhaps more than the planet—for eugenics have made certain that only demigods will be born, and psychoanalysis that none of them shall lose or smirch his divinity, and communism that all which divinity requires shall be ready to their hands. Man has ascended his throne. Henceforward he has nothing to do but to practise virtue, to grow in wisdom, to be happy. And now, mark the final stroke of genius. If the myth stopped at that point, it might be a little bathetic.

Conclusión A lo largo de estas páginas, hemos visto cómo se desarrollan los procesos perversos en algunos contextos, pero es evidente que nuestra lista no es exhaustiva y que estos fenómenos van más allá del mundo de la pareja, de la familia o de la empresa. Los volvemos a encontrar en todos los grupos en donde los individuos pueden establecer rivalidades, especialmente en las escuelas y en las universidades. La imaginación humana no tiene límites cuando pretende aniquilar la buena imagen que el otro tiene de sí mismo; sirve para enmascarar las propias debilidades y para colocarse en una posición de superioridad. La cuestión del poder atañe a toda la sociedad. En todas las épocas ha habido seres carentes de escrúpulos, calculadores y manipuladores, y para los que el fin justifica los medios. Sin embargo, la multiplicación actual de los actos de perversidad en las familias y en las empresas es un indicador del individualismo que domina en nuestra sociedad. En un sistema que funciona según la ley del más fuerte, o del más malicioso, los perversos son los amos. Cuando el éxito es el valor principal, la honradez parece una debilidad y la perversidad adopta un aire de picardía. Con el pretexto de la tolerancia, las sociedades occidentales renuncian poco a poco a sus propias prohibiciones. Pero, al aceptar demasiado, como lo hacen las víctimas de los perversos narcisistas, permiten que se desarrollen en su seno los funcionamientos perversos. Numerosos dirigentes o políticos, que ocupan no obstante una posición de modelo para la juventud, no muestran ninguna preocupación moral a la hora de liquidar a un rival o de mantenerse en el poder. Algunos de ellos abusan de sus prerrogativas y utilizan presiones psicológicas, y razones y secretos de Estado, para proteger su vida privada. Otros se enriquecen gracias a una delincuencia astuta hecha de abusos de bienes sociales, de estafas o de fraudes fiscales. La corrupción se ha convertido en una moneda corriente. Ahora bien, basta con que un grupo, una empresa o un gobierno cuenten con uno o con varios individuos perversos para que todo el sistema se vuelva perverso. Si esta perversión no se denuncia, se extiende subterráneamente mediante la intimidación, el miedo y la manipulación. Efectivamente, para atar psicológicamente a un individuo, basta con inducirlo a la mentira o a ciertos compromisos para convertirlo en cómplice del proceso perverso. Sin ir más lejos, ésta es la base del funcionamiento de la mafia o de los regímenes totalitarios. Tanto en las familias como en las empresas y los Estados, los perversos narcisistas se las arreglan para atribuir a los demás los desastres que provocan, se presentan luego como salvadores y se hacen así con el poder. En lo sucesivo, para mantenerse en él, les basta con no tener escrúpulos. La historia nos ha mostrado hombres que se niegan a reconocer sus propios errores, que no asumen sus responsabilidades, y que falsean las cosas y manipulan la realidad a fin de borrar las huellas de sus fechorías. Más allá del aspecto individual del acoso moral, se nos plantean dilemas más generales. ¿Cómo restablecer el respeto entre los individuos? ¿Qué límites debemos poner a nuestra tolerancia? Si los individuos no pueden detener por sí mismos estos procesos destructivos, la sociedad deberá intervenir y establecer una legislación. Recientemente, se ha presentado un proyecto de ley que proponía instituir un delito de novatada para reprimir cualquier acto degradante y humillante en el ámbito escolar y socioeducativo. Si no queremos que nuestras relaciones humanas acaben completamente reglamentadas por leyes, es esencial prevenir a los niños.

Feminist theory sometimes portrays men as being united with all other men in their common purpose of oppressing women. But the evolution of human mating suggests that this scenario cannot be true, because men and women compete primarily against members of their own gender. Men strive to control resources mainly at the expense of other men. Men deprive other men of their resources, exclude other men from positions of status and power, and derogate other men in order to make them less desirable to women. Indeed, the fact that nearly 70 percent of all homicides are inflicted by men on other men reveals the tip of the iceberg of the cost of competition to men. The fact that men on average die years earlier than women in every culture is further testimony to the penalties men pay for this struggle with other men. Women do not escape damage inflicted by members of their own sex. Women compete with each other for access to high-status men, have sex with other women’s husbands, and lure men away from their wives. Mate poaching is a ubiquitous sexual strategy of our species. Women slander and denigrate their rivals and are especially harsh toward women who pursue short-term sexual strategies. Women and men are both victims of the sexual strategies of their own gender and so can hardly be said to be united with their own gender for some common goal. Moreover, both men and women benefit from the strategies of the opposite sex. Men lavish resources and protection on certain women, including their wives, their sisters, their daughters, and their mistresses. A woman’s father, brothers, and sons all benefit from her selection of a mate who is flush with abundance. Contrary to the view that men or women are united with all members of their own sex for the purpose of oppressing the other sex, each individual shares key interests with particular members of each sex and is in conflict with other members of each sex. Simple-minded views of a same-sex conspiracy have no foundation in reality.

There is no question that the Deep South seceded and fought the civil war to defend slavery. And its leaders made no secret of this motive. Slavery they argued Ad nauseam was the foundation for a virtuous biblically sanctioned social system superior to that of the free states. When 19th century deep southerners spoke of defending their “traditions”, “heritage”, and way of life they proudly identified the enslavement of others as the center piece of all three. Indeed, many of their leaders even argued that all lower class people should be enslaved regardless of race for their own good. In response to Yankee and midland abolitionist the Deep South’s leaders developed an elaborate defense for human bondage. James Henry Hammond, former governor of South Carolina, published a seminal book arguing that enslaved laborers where happier, fitter and better looked after than their free counter parts in Brittan and the North, who were ruthlessly exploited by industrial capitalists. Free societies were therefore unstable as there was always a danger that the exploited would rise up creating a fearful crisis in republican institutions. Salves by contrast were kept in their place by violent means and denied the right to vote, resist or testify, ensuring the foundation of every well designed and durable republic. Enslavement of the white working class would be in his words a most glorious act of emancipation. Jefferson’s notion all men are created equal, he wrote, was ridiculously absurd. In the deep southern tradition, Hammond’s republic was modeled on those of ancient Greece and Rome. Featuring rights and democracy for the elite, slavery and submission for inferiors. It was sanctioned by the Christian god whose son never denounced the practice in his documented teachings. It was a perfect aristocratic republic, one that should be a model for the world. George Fitzhugh endorsed and expanded upon Hammond’s argument to enslave all poor people. Aristocrats, he explained, were really the nations Magna Carta because they owned so much and had the affection which all men feel for what belongs to them. Which naturally lead them to protect and provide for wives, children and slaves. Fitzhugh, whose books were enormously popular declared he was quite as intent on abolishing free society as you northerners are on abolishing slavery.

A few years ago, a couple of young men from my church came to our home for dinner. During the course of the dinner, the conversation turned from religion to various world mythologies and we began to play the game of ‘Name That Character.” To play this game, you pick a category such as famous actors, superheroes or historical characters. In turn, each person describes events in a famous character’s life while everyone else tries to guess who the character is. Strategically you try to describe the deeds of a character in such a way that it might fit any number of characters in that category. After three guesses, if no one knows who your character is, then you win. Choosing the category of Bible Characters, we played a couple of fairly easy rounds with the typical figures, then it was my turn. Now, knowing these well meaning young men had very little religious experience or understanding outside of their own religion, I posed a trick question. I said, “Now my character may seem obvious, but please wait until the end of my description to answer.” I took a long breath for dramatic effect, and began, “My character was the son of the King of Heaven and a mortal woman.” Immediately both young men smiled knowingly, but I raised a finger asking them to wait to give their responses. I continued, “While he was just a baby, a jealous rival attempted to kill him and he was forced into hiding for several years. As he grew older, he developed amazing powers. Among these were the ability to turn water into wine and to control the mental health of other people. He became a great leader and inspired an entire religious movement. Eventually he ascended into heaven and sat with his father as a ruler in heaven.” Certain they knew who I was describing, my two guests were eager to give the winning answer. However, I held them off and continued, “Now I know adding these last parts will seem like overkill, but I simply cannot describe this character without mentioning them. This person’s birthday is celebrated on December 25th and he is worshipped in a spring festival. He defied death, journeyed to the underworld to raise his loved ones from the dead and was resurrected. He was granted immortality by his Father, the king of the gods, and was worshipped as a savior god by entire cultures.” The two young men were practically climbing out of their seats, their faces beaming with the kind of smile only supreme confidence can produce. Deciding to end the charade I said, “I think we all know the answer, but to make it fair, on the count of three just yell out the answer. One. Two. Three.” “Jesus Christ” they both exclaimed in unison – was that your answer as well? Both young men sat back completely satisfied with their answer, confident it was the right one…, but I remained silent. Five seconds ticked away without a response, then ten. The confidence of my two young friends clearly began to drain away. It was about this time that my wife began to shake her head and smile to herself. Finally, one of them asked, “It is Jesus Christ, right? It has to be!” Shaking my head, I said, “Actually, I was describing the Greek god Dionysus.

El hombre de Buenos Aires tiene la pretensión de ser el primero de América en elegancia. Se enardece y se aplaca con la misma facilidad y tiene más imaginación que su rival. Los primeros poetas que conoció América nacieron en Buenos Aires: Varela, Lafinur, Domínguez y Mármol son poetas porteños. El hombre de Montevideo es menos poético, más calmo; más firme en sus resoluciones, en sus proyectos. Si su rival pretende ser el primero en elegancia, él cree ser el primero en valentía. Entre sus poetas se encuentran los nombres de Hidalgo, de Berro, de Figueroa, de Juan Carlos Gómez. Por su parte, las mujeres de Buenos Aires tienen la pretensión de ser las más bellas mujeres de la América meridional, desde el estrecho de Lemaire[5] hasta las riberas del Amazonas. ¿Queréis saber los nombres de las que reclaman el cetro de la belleza del otro lado del Atlántico, oh despreocupadas parisienses que creéis que no puede haber mujer más hermosa más allá de la barrera de Versailles o de Fontainebleau? Pues bien, ellas son, para Buenos Aires, las señoras Agustina Rosas, Pepa Lavalle y Martina Linche[6] . Puede ser, en efecto, que el rostro de las mujeres de Montevideo sea menos deslumbrante que el de sus vecinas, pero sus formas son maravillosas, y sus pies, sus manos, sus torneadas figuras parecen haber sido pedidas en préstamo directamente a Sevilla o a Granada, pues hay allí una variedad que, en muchos casos, llega a la perfección. Y Montevideo, la ciudad europea, os mostrará con orgullo a Matilde Stewart, a Nazarea Rucker y a Clementina Batlle, es decir, tres tipos, o más bien dicho tres modelos de raza: raza escocesa, raza alemana, raza catalana. Así pues, hay entre ambos países: Rivalidad de coraje y de elegancia para los hombres. Rivalidad de belleza, de gracia y de formas para las mujeres. Rivalidad de talentos para los poetas, esos hermafroditas de la sociedad, irritables como los hombres, caprichosos como las mujeres, y, con todo eso, inocentes casi siempre, como los niños. Había, pues, como se ve, por todo lo que venimos diciendo, causas suficientes de ruptura entre Artigas y Alvear, entre los hombres de Montevideo y los de Buenos Aires.

When he was six, Victor had made a card for his father’s birthday. On heavy drawing paper, he had written in big, multicolored letters: i love you dad. Now all that was past, over and done with. Bruno knew that things would only get worse, that they would move from mutual indifference to loathing. In a couple of years his son would try to go out with girls his own age; the same fifteen-year-old girls that Bruno lusted after. They would come to be rivals—which was the natural relationship between men. They would be like animals fighting in a cage; and the cage was time.

I only want her to feel safe. No’just with me, but with all of us.” Marcum smiled thoughtfully from behind the desk. “She will, son. It will simply take time.”He sipped at his whisky, studying his son closely for a long while. “Are ye willin’to wait?” From what his father told him, it could be years before Laurin felt safe enough to allow him entry into her heart. Years. “It be true, that I be no’gettin’any younger,”he answered. “None of us are,”Marcum replied dryly. There was not another young lass on their island, within their clan, who had ever made his heart thrum so feverishly against his chest. Laurin’s beauty, her smile, were rivaled by none. From the first moment he’d set eyes on her, he simply knew. Knew to his bones, that she was the one. He’d settle for no other. “Aye, I can wait. As long as she needs.” Marcum quirked a questioning brow. “Years if need be?” He gave a curt nod of his head before downing the last of his whisky. “A lifetime if she needs it.

Los celosos son los que más fácilmente perdonan, bien lo saben las mujeres. Son capaces de perdonar (tras una escena violenta, cierto) la traición casi flagrante, los abrazos y los besos que han visto por sus propios ojos, con tal que sea la última vez, que el rival desaparezca, yéndose al fin del mundo, o que ellos puedan irse con la mujer amada a un lugar donde el otro no pueda encontrarlos. Naturalmente,

Desde el máximo líder hacia abajo, todos los responsables políticos se rodean de gente peor que ellos por miedo a acercar a rivales con criterio para criticar a sus superiores y disputarles el puesto, para el que unos y otros se saben no legitimados. Así se forma el reino de la impostura. Así, aceptando este proceso, se abre la puerta a la servidumbre.Y a la dependencia del capricho de gentes que se saben en cargos a los que jamás habrían accedido por méritos propios y que sólo tienen dos objetivos, que son garantizarse el favor del superior y aprovechar al máximo su poder e influencia en beneficio propio.

The naïve person has accepted thoughts, teachings, and beliefs, predominantly in the name of religion of one’s birth, while subjecting such to little or no thought, questioning or validation. As a result, many carry, and pass on seeds of truth, half-truths, falsehoods, deceptions or outright lies! While it cannot be overly emphasized that the religion of one's birth may not necessarily be the true one, the onus lies on each individual to diligently dig, as it were, until finding, a narrow gate beyond which is a narrow path, and a cramped road, the true one that leads to life, characterized by truth, and walk there upon. Only then, shall one be considered to have acted wisely; as haven given thought to the words of the wisest son who ever lived. A son who was subjected to a rival contention and mockery, and whom unbelievers seduced by a godlike one deny and chose instead to fall for a lie, even lies, from the father of all lies." Inspiration, Matthew 7:13, 14; Isaiah 14:14; John 3:16; John 8:44; Matthew 4:6, Mathew 27:40, “Mankind’s Search for God”.

elite SWAT-like ERU, prompting John Glynn’s frantic call. Another man was dressed in drag, complete with make-up and a wig. Ireland is a country which has dealt with large-scale terrorism in the past, but this invariably involved attacks on the security forces, particularly in Northern Ireland. It has also seen its fair share of gangland assassinations, but these were always carried out with as few witnesses around as possible. This was something else entirely. One criminal gang, the Hutches, had launched a brazen military-style attack on a rival criminal group, the Kinahan cartel. The dead man, drug dealer David Byrne, was a senior figure within the latter outfit. One of the injured men, Sean McGovern, was a lower-ranking cartel member while the other, Aaron Bolger, was a hanger-on. The real target, however, was Daniel Kinahan, the son of Christy Kinahan, and one of the leaders of the Kinahan drugs and arms cartel. When the gunmen entered the front door of the hotel, Daniel

It became forbidden to use rational thought. Early Church leader Tertullian, advocating faith rather than rational thought said, “The son of god died: It must needs be believed because it is absurd”. He (Christ) was buried and rose again: it is certain because it is impossible”. Early Catholic leaders consciously proscribed and established as heretical any thinking that might incite challenge. Theodosius I, Emperor of Byzantium issued an edict allowing worship only of the Christian father and son, banning the worship of any deities or pagan ideas, in 389 CE. The writings of the early Church fathers were thus left undisputed by rival philosophies and in time they came to have the same weight as the Bible itself. All of this was revealed “truth”. It is of great importance to understand that most of what has passed down to Christians as “sin” especially sexual sin, had nothing to do with the man called Christ or even of the books (new testament) written by those who never knew him (Mark 60 CE., Mathew 90 CE, Luke 90 CE., John 90 CE.). Instead these views of sin and what it was to be Christian came from a few influential fathers of the early Church, writing as the Roman empire died.Augustine, the greatest early Christian “thinker” of them all said: “This is the disease of curiosity… It is this which drives us to try and discover the secrets of nature, those secrets which are beyond our understanding, which can avail us nothing and which man should not wish to learn.” With these words, Augustine set the spirit and tone for the Dark Ages to come. Early Church fathers greatly feared any challenge to their ideas. Their fear of knowledge led to a shutting down of all free thought. Bishops deliberately outlawed and declared heretical any thoughts that might lead to a more open minded atmosphere. They strove to codify as fact, a narrow interpretation of the gospels. To do so they altered some gospels and outlawed hundreds of others to project the particular “truth” they had chosen. Their thought centered on sin, the depravity of sex and the merit of suffering as much as Christ. Since Christian fathers had little interest in the vast wealth of learning compiled by the pagan Greeks and Romans, they simply stopped copying and disseminating these works and substituted a carefully edited and selected group of books to comprise the Bible. Almost the only other learning that was supported were the works of the early Church fathers designating a selected and censored Christianity.

Debido a que operan en mercados en los que inicialmente no hay rivales, los innovadores de valor disfrutan de un extraordinario crecimiento. Hablemos de Starbucks, que transformó un producto funcional (café) en otro emocional con su cadena de «oasis inducidos por la cafeína» y que ofrece lugares de reunión chic, relajación y bebidas creativas a base de café. Starbucks opera con unos márgenes que son unas cinco veces superiores a la media del sector.

Gujarat's temple of Somnath [...] had been fortified in 1216 to protect it from attacks by Hindu rulers in neighbouring Malwa. Recorded instances of Indian kings attacking the temples of their political rivals date from at least the eighth century, when Bengali troops destroyed what they thought was the image of Vishnu Vaikuntha, Kahsmir's state deity under King Lalitaditya (r. 724-60). In the early ninth century Govinda III, a king of the Deccan's Rashtrakuta dynasty (753-982), invaded and occupied Kanchipuram in the Tamil country. Intimidated by this action, the king of nearby Sri Lanka sent Govinda several (probably Buddhist) images that the Rashtrakuta king then installed in Śiva temple in his capital. At about the same time the Pandya King Śrimara Śrivallabha (r. 815-62) also invaded Sri Lanka and took back to his capital at Madurai, in India's extreme south, a golden Buddha image -- a symbol of the integrity of the Sinhalese state -- that had been installed in the island kingdom's Jewel Palace. In the early tenth century, King Herambapala of north India's Pratihara dynasty (c.750-1036) seized a solid-gold image of Vishnu Vaikuntha when he defeated the king of Kangra, in the Himalayan foothills. By mid-century the same image had been seized from the Pratiharas by the Chandela King Yasovarman (r. 925-45), who installed it in the Lakshmana Temple of Khajuraho, the Chandelas' capital in north-central India. In the mid eleventh century the Chola King Rajadhiraja (r. 1044-52), Rajendra's son, defeated the Chalukyas and raided their capital, Kalyana, in the central Deccan plateau, taking a large black stone door guardian to his capital in Tanjavur, where it was displayed as a trophy of war. In the late eleventh century, the Kashmiri King Harsha (r. 1089-1111) raised the plundering of enemy temples to an institutionalized activity. In the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries, kings of the Paramara dynasty (800-1327) attacked and plundered Jain temples in Gujarat. Although the dominant pattern here was one of looting and carrying off images of state deities, we also hear of Hindu kings destroying their enemies' temples. In the early tenth century, the Rashtrakuta monarch Indra III (r. 914-29) not only demolished the temple of Kalapriya (at Kalpi near the Jammu river), patronized by the Rashtrakutas' deadly enemies the Pratiharas, but took special delight in recording the fact.

When the emperor Diocletian retired in 305, however, Constantine son of Constantius Chlorus rushed his legions down from Britain to join in the struggle for power. He also displayed a ruthless cunning in working to secure his title. He married the daughter of Diocletian’s co-emperor, Maximian, then in 310 had his father-in-law arrested and strangled. The next year he allied himself with one rival, Licinius, in order to declare war on the other, Maximian’s son, Maxientius.

Their campaign was “a vastly more complex and strategic assault on the United States than was initially understood,” the Senate Intelligence Committee reported in October 2019. The IRA reached tens of millions of voters. It connected with at least 126 million Americans on Facebook, 20 million people on Instagram, and 1.4 million on Twitter. This generated 76 million interactions on Facebook and 187 million engagements on Instagram; its Twitter accounts were retweeted by Trump, his sons, and his closest aides, among countless others, including some forty American journalists. The IRA’s posts and ripostes to support Trump—2,563 on Facebook, 13,106 on Instagram, 430,185 on Twitter—far exceeded its messages against his rivals. It uploaded more than a thousand videos to YouTube. It spent roughly $15 million all told, and it paid about one hundred Americans who organized forty different political protests across the United States.

Sideline Story By Barbara Dooley, Georgia Grits When you have a lot of children, and we had four, you get worn slap out. By the time the last baby arrives, you just let them do just about whatever they want. We had a rule that our first son, Daniel, could not go to the sidelines with his father, who was the head coach at the University of Georgia at the time, until he was ten years old. Our youngest son, Derek, got this chance a lot sooner. When Derek was five, Georgia played our biggest in-state rival, Georgia Tech, in Atlanta on Thanksgiving night. We spent Thanksgiving without the coach, then drove to Atlanta for the game. When we got to the hotel, Derek immediately asked his father if he could sit on the sidelines. Feeling guilty about Thanksgiving, Vince compromised and told him that if we were beating Tech by a large score at the end of the third quarter he could go down on the sidelines. There were two rules: he could not get near the team, and he could not get near Dad! At family prayers, Derek prayed, “…and Jesus please let us be beating Tech by a big enough score that I can get to the sidelines.” At the end of the third quarter the score was 42--0, and I thought that was a reasonable lead to take him down to the sidelines. By the time we got to the fence, Tech had scored and it was 42--7. By the time I got him over the fence, it was 42--14. By the time I got back to my seat, it was 42--21 and Derek Dooley was pulling on his dad’s pants leg. That night in the hotel, we put the children down in their room and turned out the lights. We went to our adjoining room and Vince turned out the light. I knew, womanly instinct, that something major was about to be said. I just lay there as still as I could, waiting. Finally he said, “Barbara, the strangest thing happened tonight on the sideline. Tech had the ball going down the field to score and Derek was pulling on my pants leg. I pushed him away, anything to get him to turn loose of my leg. Finally when Tech scored, I looked down and said, ‘Derek, what do you want?’ I was ready for anything except for what he said. He looked up at me with his big brown eyes and said, “Daddy, don’t worry about a thing. Jesus is just having a little fun.

El verdadereo rival, las fronteras contenedoras, no son más que uno mismo. Siempre y solo el yo que está ahí, en la pista, y allí se le debe combatir y se le debe llevar a la mesa para fijar los terminos. El chico rival del otro lado de la red no es el enemigo: es más bien tu pareja en el baile. Él te sirve de excusa u ocasión para afrontar al yo. Y tu eres la ocasión de él. (…) Intentas liquidar y trascender al yo limitado cuyos limites son los que hacen posible ese deporte en primer lugar. Es trágico y triste y caótico y hermoso. Toda la vida es igual, como ciudadanos del Estado humano: los limites animados están dentro para ser eliminados y llorados una y otra vez.

Tercero, acorrálala –imagina a todos los rivales que puedas arrinconados a base de alabanzas condenatorias que queden grabadas en la cabeza de los consumidores–. Por ejemplo, en 2010, Steve Jobs acorraló a Google cuando la gente se quejaba de que Apple controlaba en exceso las aplicaciones compatibles con el iPhone, comparándolo con lo abierto que era el sistema operativo del Android de Google. Lo que dijo fue: «La gente que quiera porno puede comprarse un Android». Dicho de otro modo, acorraló los teléfonos Android identificándolos como el dispositivo para la gente que quiere mirar porno. El iPhone de Apple, en cambio, era un dispositivo limpio y controlado para personas que no son pervertidas.

I’m not sorry when Hedeon Markov interrupts us, accompanied by his son Kristoff, his daughter Evalina, and her fiancé Donovan Dryagin. The Markovs are one of the only families who supported me during my bloody battle with my rival Remizov. The Markovs’ loyalty will not be forgotten—they will always have a place at my table.

Among Morgan’s many “loads” at the time was a scheme to create a huge international shipping syndicate that could stabilize trade and yield huge returns from the lucrative transatlantic routes. By June of 1902 he had purchased Britain’s prestigious White Star Line for $32 million and combined it with other shipping acquisitions to form a trust called the International Mercantile Marine. In 1904 Morgan installed White Star Line’s largest shareholder, forty-one-year-old J. Bruce Ismay, son of the line’s late founder, as president of the IMM. The second-largest shareholder was Lord William J. Pirrie, the chairman of Harland and Wolff, the Belfast shipbuilders responsible for the construction of White Star’s ships. Pirrie had been the chief negotiator with Morgan’s men and was placed on the board of the new trust. The British government had acceded to Morgan’s flexing of American financial muscle in the acquisition of White Star but had also provided loans and subsidies to the rival Cunard Line for the building of the world’s largest, fastest liners, Lusitania and Mauretania—with the proviso that they be available for wartime service. By the summer of 1907, the Lusitania had made its record-breaking maiden voyage, and Pirrie and Ismay soon hatched White Star’s response. They would use Morgan’s money to build three of the world’s biggest and most luxurious liners. Within a year Harland and Wolff had drawn up plans for two giant ships, and by mid-December the keel plate for the first liner, the Olympic, had been laid. On March 31, 1909, the same was done for a sister ship, to be called Titanic. A third, named Britannic, was to be built later.

It's daughters playing soccer with the children of the rival group, sons marrying outsiders, aunts trading with longstanding enemies, and individuals of all backgrounds sharing a market, hospital, school, or art center with the people they've been told to hate. In their day-to-day lives, ordinary people often engage in actions that observers view as banal and unimportant, when in fact these everyday acts help establish relationships that can prevent local outbreaks of violence and, at times, serve as the basis to deal with conflict.

La jalousie! "Othello n'est pas jaloux, il est confiant", a remarqué Pouchkine, et cette remarque à elle seule témoigne de l'intelligence hors du commun de notre grand poète. Othello a juste l'âme anéantie, tout son univers s'est retourné, parce que son idéal est mort. Mais Othello n'ira pas se cacher, espionner, ou épier: il est confiant. Au contraire, c'est lui qu'il faut mettre sur la piste, pousser, exciter au prix d'efforts extrêmes, pour qu'il commence juste à se douter de la trahison. Tel n'est pas le jaloux véritable. On ne peut même pas s'imaginer la honte et la déchéance morale que le jaloux est capable d'accepter sans le moindre remords de conscience. Et ce n'est pourtant pas que tous les jaloux soient des âmes sales ou viles. Au contraire, en ayant le coeur noble, un amour pur, plein d'esprit et de sacrifice, on peut en même temps se cacher sous les tables, acheter les pires crapules et vivre dans la saleté la plus répugnante en espionnant et en écoutant aux portes. Othello n'aurait jamais pu accepter la trahison - non pardonner, mais accepter le fait - quoique son âme fût incapable de colère et innocente comme celle d'un enfant. Un vrai jaloux, c'est autre chose: on a du mal à imaginer tout ce que à quoi un vrai jaloux peut cohabiter, ce qu'il peut accepter, ce qu'il est capable de pardonner! Ce sont d'ailleurs les jaloux qui pardonnent plus vite que les autres, et toutes les femmes le savent. Le jaloux, très rapidement (après bien sûr, une scène effrayante au début), peut et est capable de pardonner, par exemple, une trahison presque prouvée, des étreintes et des baisers qu'il aura vus lui-même, si, par exemple, au même moment, il aura pu se persuader, d'une façon ou d'une autre, que c'était "pour la dernière fois" et que le rival disparaîtra dorénavant, qu'il partira au bout du monde, ou que, lui-même, il emmènera celle qu'il aime quelque part où le rival ne pourra plus jamais revenir. Il va de soi que la réconciliation ne dure qu'une heure, parce que, quand bien même le rival aurait réellement disparu, lui-même, dès le lendemain, il s'en fabriquera un autre, un nouveau, et il sera jaloux de ce nouveau. Et on pourrait croire que si, dans votre amour, vous avez besoin d'épier, alors, que vaut-il, cet amour, s'il lui faut tant de sentinelles? Mais c'est bien cela que le vrai jaloux ne sera jamais en état de comprendre, et pourtant, je vous jure, il existe des jaloux qui sont des coeurs sublimes...

In that moment, I felt Puck truly die, as Robin Goodfellow of the woods rose up and took his place. I smiled broadly as I turned to face the owner of the voice. Ash. Ice-boy. Son of Mab. Former prince of the Unseelie Court. Lots of names, but they all belonged to my greatest friend, and greatest rival, in all of Faery. He swept through the doorway in his long black coat, icy blade glittering blue at his side. Like his broody kid, he was dressed in stark black, from his shirt to his pants to his boots, but his dark hair and silver eyes gave him a dangerous edge that even Keirran could not match. I saw Coaleater take a step back and Nyx staring at him with a mix of curiosity and wary awe. I snorted under my breath. Ice-boy did have that effect on pretty much everyone. After the kings and queens, he was one of the strongest faeries in the entire Nevernever, and he had that presence that turned people into slack-jawed zombies for a moment of two. Except me. I was pretty much immune to the ice-boy effect. In fact, I'd made it my personal vendetta to get under his icy cold skin as much as possible, just to remind him that his natural awe didn't work on everyone. "Well, look who decided to join the party," I drawled as Ash strode to Meghan's side. Anger and resentment still simmered, but I tamped them down. Now was not the time for a Goodfellow prank, not in the middle of the Iron Palace, surrounded by Iron Knights, with the Iron Queen in the very same room. The best laid pranks always took a little time. "Always appearing at the most dramatic moment, ice-boy. Tell me, were you just lurking outside the door waiting for the perfect setup?

« Sois plus gentille avec moi, la prochaine fois ! » s’exclama-t-il en s’approchant d’elle. Il l’envoûtait totalement, « Je suis certain qu’on pourrait vraiment bien s’amuser tous les deux, mais seulement si tu as apprends à être gentille… » murmura-t-il dans le creux de son oreille avant de s’éloigner et de la laisser seule contre le tronc d’arbre.

Pensemos de nuevo en cómo esto nos permite pensar en nuestro cerebro de una manera nueva; es decir, cómo el esquema de un equipo de rivales nos permite abordar misterios que serían inexplicables si adoptamos el punto de vista tradicional de los programas de ordenador o de la inteligencia artificial. Consideremos el concepto de secreto. Lo más importante que sabemos de los secretos es que mantenerlos no es saludable para el cerebro.46 El psicólogo James Pennebaker y sus colegas estudiaron qué ocurría cuando las víctimas de violación y de incesto, por vergüenza o por sentimiento de culpa, decidían guardar el secreto. Tras años de estudio, Pennebaker concluyó que «el acto de no comentar ni confiar a nadie el hecho podía llegar a ser más dañino que el hecho mismo per se».47 Él y su equipo descubrieron que cuando los sujetos confesaban o escribían acerca de sus secretos más profundos, su salud mejoraba, se reducía su número de visitas al médico y había decrementos mesurables en sus niveles de hormonas del estrés.48 Los resultados son bastante claros, pero hace algunos años comencé a preguntarme cómo comprender estos descubrimientos desde la perspectiva de la ciencia del cerebro. Y eso me llevó a una cuestión que, me di cuenta, nadie había abordado en la literatura científica: ¿qué es, neurobiológicamente, un secreto? Imaginemos que construimos una red nerviosa artificial de millones de neuronas interconectadas: ¿qué aspecto tendría un secreto? ¿Podría una tostadora, con sus partes interconectadas, guardar un secreto? Poseemos marcos de referencia científicos útiles para comprender la enfermedad de Parkinson, la percepción del color y la sensación de

Rhys smiled a bit, but the amusement died as he said, 'Tamlin was younger than me- born when the War started. But after the War, when he'd matured, we got to know each other at various court functions. He...' Rhys clenched his jaw. 'He seemed decent for a High Lord's son. Better than Beron's brood at the Autumn Court. Tamlin's brothers were equally as bad, though. Worse. And they knew Tamlin would take the title one day. And to a half-breed Illyrian who'd have to prove himself, defend his power, I saw what Tamlin went through... I befriended him. Sought him out whenever I was able to get away from the war camps or court. Maybe it was pity, but... I taught him some Illyrian techniques.' 'Did anyone know?' ... 'Cassian and Azriel knew,' Rhys went on. 'My family knew. And disapproved.' His eyes were chips of ice. 'But Tamlin's father was threatened by it. By me. And because he was weaker than both me and Tamlin, he wanted to prove to the world that he wasn't. My mother and sister were to travel to the Illyrian war-camp to see me. I was supposed to meet them halfway, but I was busy training a new unit and decided to stay.' My stomach turned over and over and over, and I wished I had something to lean against as Rhys said, 'Tamlin's father, brothers, and Tamlin himself set out into the Illyrian wilderness, having heard from Tamlin- from me- where my mother and sister would be, that I had plans to see them. I was supposed to be there. I wasn't. And they slaughtered my mother and sister anyway.' I began shaking my head, eyes burning. I didn't know what I was trying to deny, or erase, or condemn. 'It should have been me,' he said, and I understood- understood what he'd said that day I'd wept before Cassian in the training pit. 'They put their heads in boxes and sent them down the river- to the nearest camp. Tamlin's father kept their wings as trophies. I'm surprised you didn't see them pinned in the study.' I was going to vomit; I was going to fall to my knees and weep. ... Rhys merely continued. 'When I heard, when my father heard... I wasn't wholly truthful to you when I told you Under the Mountain that my father killed Tamlin's father and brothers, I went with him. Helped him. We winnowed to the edge of the Spring Court that night, then went the rest of the way on foot- tot he manor. I slew Tamlin's brothers on sight. I held their minds, and rendered them helpless while I cut them into pieces, then melted their brains inside their skulls. And when I got to the High Lord's bedroom- he was dead. And my father... my father had killed Tamlin's mother as well.' I couldn't stop shaking my head. 'My father had promised not to touch her. That we weren't the kind of males who would do that. But he lied to me, and he did it, anyway. And then he went for Tamlin's room.' I couldn't breathe- couldn't breathe as Rhys said, 'I tried to stop him. He didn't listen. He was going to kill him, too. And I couldn't... After all the death, I was done. I didn't care that Tamlin had been there, had allowed them to kill my mother and sister, that he'd come to kill me because he didn't want to risk standing against them. I was done with death. So I stopped my father before the door. He tried to go through me. Tamlin opened the door, saw us- smelled the blood already leaking into the hallway. And I didn't even get to say a word before Tamlin killed my father in one blow.' 'I felt the power shift to me, even as I saw it shift to him. And we just looked at each other, as we were both suddenly crowned High Lord- and then I ran.' He'd murdered Rhysand's family. The High Lord I'd loved- he'd murdered his friend's family, and when I'd asked how his family died, he'd merely told me a rival court had done it. Rhysand had done it, and- 'He didn't tell you any of that.

Rhys smiled a bit, but the amusement died as he said, 'Tamlin was younger than me- born when the War started. But after the War, when he'd matured, we got to know each other at various court functions. He...' Rhys clenched his jaw. 'He seemed decent for a High Lord's son. Better than Beron's brood at the Autumn Court. Tamlin's brothers were equally as bad, though. Worse. And they knew Tamlin would take the title one day. And to a half-breed Illyrian who'd had to prove himself, defend his power, I saw what Tamlin went through... I befriended him. Sought him out whenever I was able to get away from the war camps or court. Maybe it was pity, but... I taught him some Illyrian techniques.' 'Did anyone know?' ... 'Cassian and Azriel knew,' Rhys went on. 'My family knew. And disapproved.' His eyes were chips of ice. 'But Tamlin's father was threatened by it. By me. And because he was weaker than both me and Tamlin, he wanted to prove to the world that he wasn't. My mother and sister were to travel to the Illyrian war-camp to see me. I was supposed to meet them halfway, but I was busy training a new unit and decided to stay.' My stomach turned over and over and over, and I wished I had something to lean against as Rhys said, 'Tamlin's father, brothers, and Tamlin himself set out into the Illyrian wilderness, having heard from Tamlin- from me- where my mother and sister would be, that I had plans to see them. I was supposed to be there. I wasn't. And they slaughtered my mother and sister anyway.' I began shaking my head, eyes burning. I didn't know what I was trying to deny, or erase, or condemn. 'It should have been me,' he said, and I understood- understood what he'd said that day I'd wept before Cassian in the training pit. 'They put their heads in boxes and sent them down the river- to the nearest camp. Tamlin's father kept their wings as trophies. I'm surprised you didn't see them pinned in the study.' I was going to vomit; I was going to fall to my knees and weep. ... Rhys merely continued. 'When I heard, when my father heard... I wasn't wholly truthful to you when I told you Under the Mountain that my father killed Tamlin's father and brothers, I went with him. Helped him. We winnowed to the edge of the Spring Court that night, then went the rest of the way on foot- to the manor. I slew Tamlin's brothers on sight. I held their minds, and rendered them helpless while I cut them into pieces, then melted their brains inside their skulls. And when I got to the High Lord's bedroom- he was dead. And my father... my father had killed Tamlin's mother as well.' I couldn't stop shaking my head. 'My father had promised not to touch her. That we weren't the kind of males who would do that. But he lied to me, and he did it, anyway. And then he went for Tamlin's room.' I couldn't breathe- couldn't breathe as Rhys said, 'I tried to stop him. He didn't listen. He was going to kill him, too. And I couldn't... After all the death, I was done. I didn't care that Tamlin had been there, had allowed them to kill my mother and sister, that he'd come to kill me because he didn't want to risk standing against them. I was done with death. So I stopped my father before the door. He tried to go through me. Tamlin opened the door, saw us- smelled the blood already leaking into the hallway. And I didn't even get to say a word before Tamlin killed my father in one blow.' 'I felt the power shift to me, even as I saw it shift to him. And we just looked at each other, as we were both suddenly crowned High Lord- and then I ran.' He'd murdered Rhysand's family. The High Lord I'd loved- he'd murdered his friend's family, and when I'd asked how his family died, he'd merely told me a rival court had done it. Rhysand had done it, and- 'He didn't tell you any of that.

Lo primero que divisa y enfoca son los dos grandes: Napoleón en Europa, Bolívar en América. El contraste, a pesar del esquematismo con que se les trata, es estupendo, restallante: “Napoleón no suspiraba por su Córcega, ni de General, ni de Cónsul, ni de Cónsul Vitalicio, ni de Emperador, ni de yerno de emperador; sólo pensaba en su monarquía universal. Bolívar, nunca olvidó a su Caracas; en Venezuela valía por su propia persona; de haberse separado del servicio, habría dejado de ser Presidente y General, sin desmedro; Caracas, entre las ciudades de América, ¡no era retiro oscuro para un Libertador!”. Napoleón ”se infló y se elevó como un globo; al faltarle el gas, fue a caer en un islote”. Bolívar quiso hacer en América lo que no entendían todos; así se produjeron sus émulos, sus rivales, sus enemigos; sus paisanos lo proscribieron, “y ya con un pie en el barco, lo reclamó Santa Marta, pero fue para enterrarlo”. Francia, al cabo de veinte años –no se lo permitieron antes los ingleses– fue llorando a sacar los huesos de su emperador y se los llevó a París. Venezuela, al cabo de doce, se acuerda de los de Bolívar. “Napoleón tenía y tiene más amigos en Francia, que Bolívar en América”. Conclusión clara, a la que llega Rodríguez: Bolívar, como calidad de espíritu y esencia de ideales, muy superior a Napoleón; pero el pueblo francés, más noble con su héroe que el venezolano.

Will told his rival that "if you ever do that again, I'll hurt you." The next day Will had a third playhouse almost two-thirds constructed when Steve once again pushed it over. The fight that followed found Will once again on his back, pinned down by Steve Gobel. This time he resorted to a small pocket knife he carried and slashed Steve on the thigh. It was not a serious wound by any means, but it did draw blood, as well as Steve's anguished cry that he had been "killed." The other pupils and the teacher came running, and Will decided he'd better make himself scarce. He fled to a wagon train led by John R. Willis, for whom he had herded cattle. When he told Willis what had happened, the wagon master hid the boy in one of his wagons. Soon Steve, his father, an elder brother, and the local constable came to arrest Will Cody. Willis, a Philadelphia lawyer at heart, demanded to see a warrant. When the constable admitted he didn't have one, Willis told him that he thought it was overdoing it to arrest a boy for what was only play. Will was safe-for the moment-but he was afraid to return to school. Willis suggested that young Cody accompany him on the wagon train, which was headed for Fort Kearny, a trip of some forty days, by which time the excitement ought to have cooled down. Will's mother consented to the trip, not without some foreboding; she feared that her son might be attacked by Indians. Cody wrote of this first trip across the plains that "it proved a most enjoyable one for me, although no incidents worthy of note occurred along the way." John Willis disagreed with Cody about the lack of incidents. Forty years later Buffalo Bill's Wild West played Memphis on October 4, 1897, and Willis, now a judge in Harrisburg, Arkansas, wanted to see it. Unfortunately, he missed the show, but he wrote Cody the following letter: "Dear Old Friend it has been a long time since I have herd from you.... I would like very much to shake your hand, Billy, and talk over the old grand hours you rode at my heels on the little gray mule while I was killing Buffalo. oh them were happy days. of course you recollect the time the Buffalo ran through the train and stampeded the teams and you stoped the stampede.

Las personas son solo personas, y cargan con sus propios miedos, sueños, deseos, daños y errores. No puedo esperar que otra persona me haga sentir completa; debo encontrarlo por mi cuenta.

Creo que no te das cuenta de lo fuerte que eres, porque a veces la fuerza no son espadas y acero y fuego, como nos hacen creer tan a menudo. A veces se encuentra en los sitios tranquilos y sosegados.

La tensión es constante; la reconciliación, periódica. Apolo y Dioniso no son dioses rivales u opuestos. Para los antiguos griegos, se encontraban entrelazados en el mundo natural. Ambos son hijos de Zeus. Apolo es el dios del Sol, del pensamiento y la claridad, y apela al orden, la prudencia y la pureza. Dioniso es el dios del vino y la danza, del caos y lo irracional, y apela a emociones e instintos telúricos y a cierta violencia primordial. Desde el punto de vista de las artes, Apolo es la escultura y la proporción arquitectónica, mientras que Dioniso es la música arrebatadora. Desde la perspectiva filosófica india, el primero representaría el espíritu original, un principio masculino e inmutable, vacío de contenido, que se recrea en el segundo, la naturaleza creativa, el principio femenino cuya fecundidad despliega y repliega el mundo.

Creo que todos llevamos una armadura. Creo que los que no lo hacen son unos necios que se arriesgan a sufrir el dolor de los bordes afilados del mundo, una y otra vez. Pero si algo he aprendido de esos necios es que ser vulnerable es una fortaleza que la mayoría de nosotros teme.

Se enfrascó con su eterno rival, Antonio Nariño, en una guerra estúpida. El uno abogaba por una nación con un centro que debía ser Santafé y enaltecía el poder popular. El otro proponía un manojo de provincias federadas manejadas por los ricos de cada región. Ambos ensangrentaron al país en un momento en que cualquier advenedizo les hubiera aconsejado defenderse juntos contra la reconquista. Desde ambas personalidades proviene la inmadurez ideológica, el engaño permanente, el exagerado narcisismo local que ha caracterizado al circo deplorable de la política colombiana. Ellos, Nariño y Torres, son el alfa de la hecatombe

It was not long before Pisistratus fell from grace again. The problem was the arrangement with Megacles. He did not want to imperil the succession of his legitimate sons by new rivals, so, to avert the risks of pregnancy, he avoided ordinary sexual intercourse with his new wife and penetrated her up the anus.

The scene of the Epic is the ancient kingdom of the Kurus which flourished along the upper course of the Ganges; and the historical fact on which the Epic is based is a great war which took place between the Kurus and a neighbouring tribe, the Panchalas, in the thirteenth or fourteenth century before Christ. According to the Epic, Pandu and Dhrita-rashtra, who was born blind, were brothers. Pandu died early, and Dhrita-rashtra became king of the Kurus, and brought up the five sons of Pandu along with his hundred sons. Yudhishthir, the eldest son of Pandu, was a man of truth and piety; Bhima, the second, was a stalwart fighter; and Arjun, the third son, distinguished himself above all the other princes in arms. The two youngest brothers, Nakula and Sahadeva, were twins. Duryodhan was the eldest son of Dhrita-rashtra and was jealous of his cousins, the sons of Pandu. A tournament was held, and in the course of the day a warrior named Karna, of unknown origin, appeared on the scene and proved himself a worthy rival of Arjun. The rivalry between Arjun and Karna is the leading thought of the Epic, as the rivalry between Achilles and Hector is the leading thought of the Iliad. It is only necessary to add that the sons of Pandu as well as Karna, were, like the heroes of Homer, god-born chiefs. Some god inspired the birth of each. Yudhishthir was the son of Dharma or Virtue, Bhima of Vayu or Wind, Arjun of Indra or Rain-god, the twin youngest were the sons of the Aswin twins, and Karna was the son of Surya the Sun, but was believed by himself and by all others to be the son of a simple chariot-driver. The portion translated in this Book forms Sections cxxxiv. to cxxxvii. of Book i. of the original Epic in Sanscrit (Calcutta edition of 1834).

Marie est la « servante du Seigneur », la servante par excellence, ce qui indique une similitude annonciatrice de la fonction du Prophète de l’islâm. Ce caractère servitorial est lié au symbolisme du voile. Selon Michel Vâlsan : « La Réalité muhammadienne constitue le mystère du Verbe suprême et universel, car elle est en même temps la Théophanie intégrale (de l’Essence, des Attributs et des Actes) et son occultation sous le voile de la Servitude absolue et totale ». C’est parce qu’elle est la servante parfaite que Marie est toujours voilée, aussi bien dans ses apparitions que dans les représentations de l’Art sacré, notamment celui des icônes. Comme elle est, par ailleurs, le modèle de toutes les vertus, l’Eglise aurait été bien inspirée de reconnaître que l’attachement islamique au port du voile pouvait constituer un exemple pour les femmes catholiques. Les querelles et les résistances modernes sur ce point sont révélatrices d’un état d’esprit antitraditionnel. Ibn Arabî enseigne que le statut subordonné de la femme exprime, non pas un abaissement, mais au contraire sa supériorité spirituelle sur l’homme qui, créé directement à l’image de Dieu, a tendance à oublier sa servitude et à se poser en rival de son Créateur . Toute forme traditionnelle est fondée sur une alliance impliquant une soumission à la volonté divine ; c’est ce qu’indique parfaitement le terme « islam » qui apparaît, par là même, comme une désignation de la Tradition universelle. Au lieu de reconnaître cette signification traditionnelle du voile de Marie, l’Église, sur cette question comme sur beaucoup d’autres, donne l’impression de suivre l’air du temps et, sans doute pour mieux se démarquer de l’islâm, d’encourager les femmes catholiques, en particulier les souveraines, à se montrer tête nue ailleurs qu’au Vatican. L’enseignement de saint Paul est cependant fort clair, et semblable à celui de l’islam : « Femmes, soyez soumises à vos maris, comme il se doit dans le Seigneur » (Col, 3, 18) ; « Je ne permets pas à la femme d’enseigner ni de faire la loi à l’homme. Qu’elle se tienne tranquille. C’est Adam en effet qui fut formé le premier, Eve ensuite. Et ce n’est pas Adam qui se laissa séduire » (I Tim, 2, 12-13).

Los quince pases previos La posesión del balón solo es un instrumento, una herramienta, no es un objetivo ni un fin en sí mismo. El técnico lo explica así: «Si no hay una secuencia de quince pases previos es imposible realizar bien la transición entre ataque y defensa. Imposible. Lo importante no es tener el balón, ni pasárselo muchas veces, sino hacerlo con una intención. Los porcentajes de posesión de balón que se manejan o el número de pases que da un equipo o un jugador no tienen la menor importancia: lo que importa es la intención con la que se dan, lo que buscaban al hacerse, lo que pretende un equipo cuando tiene el balón en su poder. ¡Esto es lo que importa! »Tener el balón es importante si vas a dar quince pases seguidos en el centro del campo a fin de ordenarte tú y, paralelamente, desordenar al contrario. ¿Cómo lo desordenas? A base de dar esos pases con velocidad, con intención y con un sentido concreto. Con esa secuencia de quince pases, juntas a la mayoría de tus hombres, aunque también tienes que dejar a algunos de ellos muy separados y alejados entre sí para ensanchar al equipo contrario. Y mientras das esos 15 pases y te ordenas, el rival te persigue por todas partes, buscando quitarte el balón y, sin darse cuenta, se ha desorganizado por completo. »Si pierdes el balón, si te lo quitan en un momento dado, el jugador que lo consiga probablemente estará solo y rodeado de tus jugadores, que lo recuperarán con facilidad o, como mínimo, impedirán que el equipo rival pueda construir una transición rápida. Esos quince pases previos son los que imposibilitan la transición del contrario».

This was the first example of another interesting pattern in Elizabeth’s life. Lacking parents, lacking close family, unmarried as she would remain, and childless too, Elizabeth when queen surrounded herself with brilliant men, loyal advisors and favourites whom she made as close as family to her. When they became too old, as did William Cecil, Lord Burghley, or died, like Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, she took on their sons.

Catherine’s motto could well have been that genius is a long patience. With the successive reigns of her sons came her chance to show the world how they had underestimated this disregarded queen. What Catherine lacked in beauty she made up for in intelligence, cunning and family ambition.

Again starting with an unusual Y-chromosome, they noticed its occurrence in a related set of surnames that were linked to branches of the Ui Neill, the clan that had held the High Kingship at Tara, and had expelled the Dál Riata to Argyll. The Ui Neill equivalent of Somerled was Niall Noigiallach, better known as Niall of the Nine Hostages, who lived in the second half of the fourth century AD. This was a time when the Romans were beginning to withdraw from mainland Britain. According to legend, Niall raided and harassed western Britain and specialized in capturing and then ransoming high-ranking hostages, hence his soubriquet. His most famous captive was one Succat, who went on to become St Patrick. Niall’s military exploits carried him over the sea to Scotland, where he fought the Picts who were trying to retake the recent Irish colonies of Dalriada. It was during a raid even further afield, in France, that an arrow from the bow of an Irish rival killed Niall on the banks of the River Loire in AD 405. Niall was succeeded in the High Kingship by his nephew, Dathi, his father’s brother’s son. This was typical of the Gaelic tradition of derbhfine, the rules of inheritance that chose the new king from among the direct male relatives of the old. This served to ensure the patrilineal inheritance of the High Kingship itself

Near a stone house, bleached and weathered from salt and the sun, stood an old abandoned school. At its foot, before the house and the school, a rolling vineyard spread out. The boy walked through the vineyard every day on his way back from the school. That day, when Antonio ran to his father, not suspecting the upheaval in his young life, he’d learned from the village teacher about the crusades, religion, ethnicity, and some wicked people, as his classmate had called them. The little boy ran, full of questions, and shouted from a distance: − Father, I’m happy that we live in Sicily! − Why, my son? − We have no wars, no fighting, and if someone attacks us, we have many dangerous people who will protect us from all evils! Aldo took a long stick with a cloth on top, which he used to cool the fruits in the vineyard, turned it on end and drew two circles in the dry soil. He drew a flower in one circle and a sword in the other. Looking at the boy, he asked: − These are the heads of two rivals. Which adversary is good and which is evil? − I don’t know ‒ the little boy replied, knowing that his father was presenting him with a new riddle. − Both opponents are good. One knows his power and the other doesn’t. − But how can a good adversary wield a sword? − One day you’ll understand.

The one that many are fighting is not the true God, but the false idea of God that they have formed: a God who protects the rich, who only asks and demands, who is envious of our progress in well-being, who constantly observes our sins from above to enjoy the pleasure of punishing them! ... God is not like that, but is at once good and just; father also to prodigal sons; not wanting us poor and wretched, but great, free, creators of our own destiny. Our God is so far from being man’s rival that He wanted man as a friend, calling him to share in His own divine nature and in His own eternal happiness. And it is not true that He makes excessive demands of us; on the contrary, He is satisfied with little, because He knows very well that we do not have much ... This God will become more and more known and loved, by everyone, including those who reject Him today, not because they are wicked (they may be better than either of us), but because they look at Him from a mistaken point of view! Do they continue not to believe in Him? Then He answers: I believe in you![99] God

Yet already there was tension at his court. During the wars against Mecca, Aisha, looking for a lost necklace, became separated from her husband in the desert until rescued by a young man who returned her to the Prophet. She was accused of adultery. The loudest accuser was Muhammad’s son-in-law Ali. Aisha was supported by her rival Zaynab and Muhammad ultimately believed Aisha, but this was just the beginning of the feud that still divides the Islamic world.

Pero me doy cuenta de que las personas son solo personas, y cargan con sus propios miedos, sueños, deseos, daños y errores. No puedo esperar que otra persona me haga sentir completa; debo encontrarlo por mi cuenta.

At times … I wish I could meet in a duel the man who killed my father and razed our home, expelling me into a narrow country. And if he killed me, I’d rest at last, and if I were ready— I would take my revenge! * But if it came to light, when my rival appeared, that he had a mother waiting for him, or a father who’d put his right hand over the heart’s place in his chest whenever his son was late even by just a quarter-hour for a meeting they’d set— then I would not kill him, even if I could. * Likewise … I would not murder him if it were soon made clear that he had a brother or sisters who loved him and constantly longed to see him. Or if he had a wife to greet him and children who couldn’t bear his absence and whom his gifts would thrill. Or if he had friends or companions, neighbors he knew or allies from prison or a hospital room, or classmates from his school … asking about him and sending him regards. * But if he turned out to be on his own— cut off like a branch from a tree— without a mother or father, with neither a brother nor sister, wifeless, without a child, and without kin or neighbors or friends, colleagues or companions, then I’d add not a thing to his pain within that aloneness— not the torment of death, and not the sorrow of passing away. Instead I’d be content to ignore him when I passed him by on the street—as I convinced myself that paying him no attention in itself was a kind of revenge.