Tablet Man Quotes

My son, do not forget my teaching, But let your heart keep my commandments; For length of days and years of life And peace they will add to you. Do not let kindness and truth leave you; Bind them around your neck, Write them on the tablet of your heart. So you will find favor and good repute In the sight of God and man. Trust in the Lord with all your heart And do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, And He will make your paths straight.

In spite of all the refinements of civilization that conspired to make art--the dizzying perfection of the string quartet or the sprawling grandeur of Fragonard's canvases--beauty was savage. It was as dangerous and lawless as the earth had been eons before man had one single coherent thought in his head or wrote codes of conduct on tablets of clay. Beauty was a Savage Garden.

But where was God now, with heaven full of astronauts, and the Lord overthrown? I miss God. I miss the company of someone utterly loyal. I still don't think of God as my betrayer. The servants of God, yes, but servants by their very nature betray. I miss God who was my friend. I don't even know if God exists, but I do know that if God is your emotional role model, very few human relationships will match up to it. I have an idea that one day it might be possible, I thought once it had become possible, and that glimpse has set me wandering, trying to find the balance between earth and sky. If the servants hadn't rushed in and parted us, I might have been disappointed, might have snatched off the white samite to find a bowl of soup. As it is, I can't settle, I want someone who is fierce and will love me until death and know that love is as strong as death, and be on my side for ever and ever. I want someone who will destroy and be destroyed by me. There are many forms of love and affection, some people can spend their whole lives together without knowing each other's names. Naming is a difficult and time-consuming process; it concerns essences, and it means power. But on the wild nights who can call you home? Only the one who knows your name. Romantic love has been diluted into paperback form and has sold thousands and millions of copies. Somewhere it is still in the original, written on tablets of stone. I would cross seas and suffer sunstroke and give away all I have, but not for a man, because they want to be the destroyer and never the destroyed.

Beyond the tablet of stone, the papyrus scroll or parchment roll, human life has become the articulate voice of God. Jesus is the crescendo of God’s conversation with humankind; he gives context and content to the authentic thought. Everything that God had in mind for man is voiced in him. Jesus is God’s language.

A man's body is as the shell, or the tablet, of his soul, as he is reserved or ingenuous, overflowing or self-contained.

Fire, the inner fire, is the most potent of all force, for it overcometh all things, and penetrates to all things of the earth. Man

Complaints about the demise of society and the “youth of today” also tend to be timeless. Consider this pronouncement, inscribed on an Assyrian tablet circa 2800 B.C.: Our earth is degenerate these days . . . bribery and corruption abound, children no longer obey their parents, every man wants to write a book, and the end of the world is evidently approaching.

Consider this pronouncement, inscribed on an Assyrian tablet circa 2800 B.C.: Our earth is degenerate these days . . . bribery and corruption abound, children no longer obey their parents, every man wants to write a book, and the end of the world is evidently approaching.

Look for the copper tablet-box, Undo its bronze lock, Open the door to its secret, Lift out the lapis lazuli tablet and read it, The story of that man, Gilgamesh, who went through all kinds of sufferings.

They were probably reading on their tablets,” said Nina loyally. She loved her e-reader, too. “Yes, I know,” said the man. “But I couldn’t see. I couldn’t see what they were reading or ask them if it was good, or make a mental note to look for it later. It was as if suddenly, one day, all the books simply disappeared.

Sorry." he said, rubbing his temples. "Do you have any Tylenol?" "Nope, sorry. Your doctor's appointment is today right?" "Yeah." "Here take this." Jenna rummaged in her purse and took out two tablets. Robbie squinted at them, then tossed them down with the rest of his soda. "What was that?" "Cyanide." said Sharon, and we laughed. "Actually, it was Midol." Jenna said. Matt whooped with laughter as Robbie gaped at her in dismay. "It'll really help." Jenna insisted. "It's what I take for my headaches." "Oh man." Robbie shook his head. I was almost doubled over with laughter. "Look at it this way," said Cal brightly. "You won't get that awful bloated feeling." "You'll feel pretty all day." suggested Matt, laughing so hard, he had to wipe his eyes.

There are many forms of love and affection, some people can spend their whole lives together without knowing each other's names. Naming is a difficult and time-consuming process; it concerns essences, and it means power. But on the wild nights who can call you home? Only the one who knows your name. Romantic love has been diluted into paperback form and has sold thousands and millions of copies. Somewhere it is still in the original, written on tablets of stone. I would cross seas and suffer sunstroke and give away all I have, but not for a man, because they want to be the destroyer and never the destroyed. That is why they are unfit for romantic love. There are exceptions and I hope they are happy. The unknownness of my needs frightens me. I do not know how huge they are, or how high they are, I only know that they are not being met.

She was taking a round of medications, a mystical wheel, the ritualistic design of the hours and days in tablets and capsules, in colors, shapes and numbers.

There should be a burnished tablet let into the ground on the spot where some courageous man first ate Stilton cheese, and survived.

Let us watch these mighty ones as they pass silently by. First, Orpheus, playing upon the seven stringed lyre of his own being, the music of the spheres. Then Hermes, the thrice greatest, with his emerald tablet of divine revelation. Through the shades of the past we dimly see Krishna, the illuminated, who on the battlefield of life taught man the mysteries of his own soul. Then we see the sublime Buddha, his yellow robe not half so glorious as the heart it covered, and our own dear Master, the man Jesus, his head surrounded with a halo of Golden Flame, and his brow serene with the calm of mastery. Then Mohammed, Zoroaster, Confucius, Odin, and Moses, and others no less worthy pass by before the eyes of the student They were the Sons of Flame. From the Flame they came, and to the Flame they have returned. To us they beckon, and bid us join them, and in our robes of self-earned glory to serve the Flame they love. They were without creed or clan; they served but the one great ideal. From the same place they all came, and to the same place they have returned. There was no superiority there. Hand in hand they labor for humanity. Each loves the other, for the power that has made them masters has shown them the Brotherhood of all life.

Although he was a young and virile man at 37, he was not inexhaustible. In addition to food and drink, he had better lay in a couple thousand tablets of viagra. The drug would probably remain potent if he vacuum packed the pills in groups of 10 and kept them in a freezer. That would work unless civilization completely collapsed and power companies were unable to function. Fortunately, Jim had a propane-powered backup generator with half a dozen tanks of fuel already on hand. If Henry added to the propane supply, and he used the generator only for essential maintenance like keeping the viagra freezer operating in warm weather, he would be happy here on the farm for a looong, looong time. Unless, even now, dead Jim was out there in the generator shed sabotaging the machinery.

3 Let not mercy and truth forsake thee; bind them about thy neck; write them upon the tablet of thine heart: 4 So shalt thou find grace and good favour in the sight of God and man.

Just like whiskey, the marsh dwellers bootlegged their own laws-not like those burned onto stone tablets or inscribed on documents, but deeper ones, stamped in their genes. Ancient and natural, like those hatched from hawks and doves. When cornered, desperate or isolated, man reverts to those instinct that aim straight at survival. Quick and just. They will always be the trump card because they are passed on more frequently from one generation to the next than the gentler genes It is not a morality, but simple math. Among themselves doves fight as often as hawks.

What we finally do, out of desperation ... is go on an impossible, or even forbidden, journey or pilgrimage, which from a rational point of view is futile: to find the one wise man, whomever or wherever he may be; and to find from him the secret of eternal life or the secret of adjusting to this life as best we can.

When we speak of ‘populism’ today,1 we sometimes mean nothing more than a politics that is audible as well as intelligible to the man in the street – or, to be precise, the man and woman slumped on their sofa, their attention skipping fitfully from flat-screen TV to laptop to smartphone to tablet and back to television, or the man and woman at work, sitting in front of desktop PCs but mostly exchanging suggestive personal messages on their smartphones.

Let not  c steadfast love and  d faithfulness forsake you;          e bind them around your neck;          f write them on the tablet of your heart. 4    So you will  g find favor and  h good success [1]         in the sight of God and man.

It is to be regretted that no mental method of daguerreotype or photography has yet been discovered by which the characters of men can be reduced to writing and put into grammatical language with an unerring precision of truthful description. How often does the novelist feel, ay, and the historian also and the biographer, that he has conceived within his mind and accurately depicted on the tablet of his brain the full character and personage of man, and that nevertheless, when he flies to pen and ink to perpetuate the portrait, his words forsake, elude, disappoint, and play the deuce with him, till at the end of a dozen pages the man described has no more resemblance to the man conceived than the signboard at the coner of the street has to the Duke of Cambridge?

Around three a.m. he feels a presence in the room. He sees, for the pulse of a moment, a figure at the foot of his bed, against the wall or painted onto it perhaps, not quite discernible in the darkness of foliage beyond the candlelight. He mutters something, something he had wanted to say, but there is silence and the slight brown figure, which could be just a night shadow, does not move. A poplar. A man with plumes. A swimming figure. And he would not be so lucky, he thinks, to speak to the young sapper again. He stays awake in any case this night, to see if the figure moves towards him. Ignoring the tablet that brings painlessness, he will remain awake till the light dies out and the smell of candle smoke drifts into his room and into the girl's room farther down the hall. If the figure turns around there will be paint on his back, where he slammed in grief against the mural of trees. When the candle dies out he will be able to see this. His hand reaches out slowly and touches his book and returns to his dark chest. Nothing else moves in the room. [298]

Just as a spring, through the continual pressure of a foreign body, at last loses its elasticity, so does the mind if it has another person’s thoughts continually forced upon it. And just as one spoils the stomach by overfeeding and thereby impairs the whole body, so can one overload and choke the mind by giving it too much nourishment. For the more one reads the fewer are the traces left of what one has read; the mind is like a tablet that has been written over and over. Hence it is impossible to reflect; and it is only by reflection that one can assimilate what one has read if one reads straight ahead without pondering over it later, what has been read does not take root, but is for the most part lost. Indeed, it is the same with mental as with bodily food: scarcely the fifth part of what a man takes is assimilated; the remainder passes off in evaporation, respiration, and the like.

It needs scarcely to be told, with what feelings, on the eve of a Nantucket voyage, I regarded those marble tablets, and by the murky light of that darkened, doleful day read the fate of the whalemen who had gone before me. Yes, Ishmael, the same fate may be thine. But somehow I grew merry again. Delightful inducements to embark, fine chance for promotion, it seems—aye, a stove boat will make me an immortal by brevet. Yes, there is death in this business of whaling—a speechlessly quick chaotic bundling of a man into Eternity. But what then? Methinks we have hugely mistaken this matter of Life and Death. Methinks that what they call my shadow here on earth is my true substance. Methinks that in looking at things spiritual, we are too much like oysters observing the sun through the water, and thinking that thick water the thinnest of air. Methinks my body is but the lees of my better being. In fact take my body who will, take it I say, it is not me. And therefore three cheers for Nantucket; and come a stove boat and stove body when they will, for stave my soul, Jove himself cannot.

To promote trade along these routes, Mongol authorities distributed an early type of combined passport and credit card. The Mongol paiza was a tablet of gold, silver, or wood larger than a man’s hand, and it would be worn on a chain around the neck or attached to the clothing. Depending on which metal was used and the symbols such as tigers or gyrfalcons, illiterate people could ascertain the importance of the traveler and thereby render the appropriate level of service. The paiza allowed the holder to travel throughout the empire and be assured of protection, accommodations, transportation, and exemption from local taxes or duties.

1 One went to the door of the Beloved and knocked. A voice asked: “Who is there?” He answered: “It is I.” The voice said: “There is no room here for me and thee.” The door was shut. After a year of solitude and deprivation this man returned to the door of the Beloved. He knocked. A voice from within asked: “Who is there?” The man said: “It is Thou.” The door was opened for him. 2 The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere, they’re in each other all along. 3 Love is from the infinite, and will remain until eternity. The seeker of love escapes the chains of birth and death. Tomorrow, when resurrection comes, The heart that is not in love will fail the test. 4 When your chest is free of your limiting ego, Then you will see the ageless Beloved. You can not see yourself without a mirror; Look at the Beloved, He is the brightest mirror. 5 Your love lifts my soul from the body to the sky And you lift me up out of the two worlds. I want your sun to reach my raindrops, So your heat can raise my soul upward like a cloud. 6 There is a candle in the heart of man, waiting to be kindled. In separation from the Friend, there is a cut waiting to be stitched. O, you who are ignorant of endurance and the burning fire of love– Love comes of its own free will, it can’t be learned in any school. 7 There are two kinds of intelligence: one acquired, as a child in school memorizes facts and concepts from books and from what the teacher says, collecting information from the traditional sciences as well as from the new sciences. With such intelligence you rise in the world. You get ranked ahead or behind others in regard to your competence in retaining information. You stroll with this intelligence in and out of fields of knowledge, getting always more marks on your preserving tablets. There is another kind of tablet, one already completed and preserved inside you. A spring overflowing its springbox. A freshness in the center of the chest. This other intelligence does not turn yellow or stagnate. It’s fluid, and it doesn’t move from outside to inside through conduits of plumbing-learning. This second knowing is a fountainhead from within you, moving out.

But such is the nature of man that as soon as you begin to force him to do a thing, from that moment he begins to seek ways by which he can avoid doing the thing you are trying to force upon him. A man with malaria parasites in his blood is a danger to his companions. To kill all the parasites, he was then required to continue doses of quinine a week or ten days after his fever. When the convalescing men were given their daily dose of quinine they would manage to throw their tablets out of the dispensary window. The old turkey-gobbler pet of the hospital gobbled up all the tablets he could find. He became so dissipated he finally developed a species of blindness caused by too much quinine. I cannot vouch for this, but I was often twitted with this story as an illustration of how the men were treating prophylactic quinine.

Be thou not proud, Oh Man! in thy wisdom; discourse with the ignorant, as well as the wise.

The forms that ye create by brightening thy vision, are truly effects that follow thy cause. Man

Romantic love has been diluted into paperback form and has sold thousands and millions of copies. Somewhere it is still in the original, written on tablets of stone. I would cross seas and suffer sunstroke and give away all I have, but not for a man, because they want to be the destroyer and never the destroyed. That is why they are unfit for romantic love. There are exceptions and I hope they are happy. The unknownness of my needs frightens me. I do not know how huge they are, or how high they are, I only know that they are not being met.

Observe! I hold the magic tablet of truth! You are Monster; I am Man. Each is alone; each sees dawn and dusk; each feels pain and pain's ease. Why should one be victor and the other victim? We will never agree; never shall you know gain by the toil of man! Submit to the what-must-be! If you fail to heed, then you must taste a bitter brew and never again walk the sands of dark Sigil.

Once, he told them the truth. Chiseled a single commandment upon a slab of stone: That is how to live: in the choosing. There are no rules but those you make for yourself. The man to whom he’d entrusted the tablet promptly shattered it, chiseled ten precise commands upon two stone slabs and carried them down a mountain with the pomp and circumstance of a prophet. Religious wars ravaged that world ever since.

I leaned against the SUV he was working on. “So….” “So?” he asked, looking back down at the tablet. “How rich are we?” He snorted. “Get back to work.” And I was going to do just that, except that Kelly Bennett decided to appear right at that moment. Wearing a deputy’s uniform. Tight green pants with a tan button-up shirt that pulled against his torso. He had a mic clipped near his shoulder and a black utility belt around his waist. He wasn’t carrying a gun, but I barely noticed because at that exact moment, I discovered my legs decided to quit working and I tripped and fell into the side of the SUV. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at me. “Sorry,” I said quickly, using the SUV to pull myself back up. And immediately hit the top of my head on the open hood. “Son of a bitch.” “What are you doing?” Gordo asked slowly. I laughed wildly. “Nothing! It’s nothing. Just… don’t even worry about it.” He turned toward the front of the garage. “Oh no,” he said when he saw who was standing there. “Not this again.” He pointed the tablet at Kelly. “I swear to god, if I find an animal carcass brought here at any point, I will make both your lives a living hell. Do you understand me? I’m getting too old for this shit.” “I can’t believe we have to watch this all over again,” Chris said to Tanner. “It was bad enough the first time. Remember when Robbie figured out that he wanted to put himself all over Kelly?” “Yeah,” Tanner said. “How could I forget? We had to tell Ms. Martin that her side mirror was broken by accident instead of telling her the truth, that Robbie got a weird wolf boner and forgot his own strength.” “Maybe it’ll be like it was with Ox and Joe,” Rico said, tapping a socket wrench against his hand. “Mini muffins, you know? I ate, like, ten of them.” Chris looked scandalized. “You did what? That was one of their mystical moon magic presents! You don’t touch another man’s mystical moon magic present, Rico. They could have killed you, or worse, gotten confused and made you their mate.” He frowned. “Are there werewolf threesomes? That sounds complicated. Too many limbs. I don’t know anything about being a wolf.

Blood that was warm has now run cold bled every day have hearts become old Telling I am the story of my past and of the ghosts at which it is aghast Life as a child was a wonderful rhapsody Free from the fetters of rational prosody Naively making brute reality a parody Revelling in a soul filled with life's melody Poverty struck and child became destitute wailing and whimpering like a wretched prostitute Of pleasure and pain does a society constitute for Man is not for God to substitute Life is a parody of paradoxical Irony Fate rules not without a touch of Tyranny While the rich belch on their goblets of honey the wretched etch on the tablets of agony

Man learns through experience, and the spiritual path is full of different kinds of experiences. He will encounter many difficulties and obstacles, and they are the very experiences he needs to encourage and complete the cleansing process.

Once, in front of an assembled group, he asked a tank grenadier, who had only been with us three days, if he had been able to ‘integrate’ himself yet. The young soldier, who came from Upper Silesia, and spoke German in a rather humorous and twisted form, looked at the Old Man in a rather quizzical manner, but then, seemingly having understood, answered, ‘I don’t know yet, Herr Oberleitnand!’ We could see that the Old Man had not expected this answer. He therefore asked: ‘Why not? You’ve been here with us for three days!’ ‘Jawoll, Herr Oberleitnand!’ answered the man. ‘But I only got my first black crap tablet two hours ago!’ The entire group just howled with laughter! The soldier thought the Old Man had asked him if the charcoal tablets had helped his diarrhoea. The Old Man laughed with us of course, but he didn’t realise that we were laughing over the delightfully down-to-earth answer to the posh way the question was put to him. The Old Man had of course only wanted to know if the soldier had found himself at ease in our group.

How often does the novelist feel, ay, and the historian also and the biographer, that he has conceived within his mind and accurately depicted on the tablet of his brain the full character and personage of a man, and that nevertheless, when he flies to pen and ink to perpetuate the portrait, his words forsake, elude, disappoint, and play the deuce with him, till at the end of a dozen pages the man described has no more resemblance to the man conceived than the sign-board at the corner of the street has to the Duke of Cambridge.

Know, O man, that Light is thine heritage. Know that darkness is only a veil. Sealed in thine heart is brightness eternal, waiting the moment of freedom to conquer, waiting to rend the veil of the night. Some I found who had conquered the ether. Free of space were they while yet they were men. Using the force that is the foundation of ALL things, far in space constructed they a planet, drawn by the force that flows through the ALL; condensing, coalescing the ether into forms, that grew as they willed. Outstripping in science, they, all of the races, mighty in wisdom, sons of the stars. Long time I paused, watching their wisdom. Saw them create from out of the ether cities gigantic of rose and gold. Formed forth from the primal element, base of all matter, the ether far flung. Far in the past, they had conquered the ether, freed themselves from the bondage of toil; formed in heir mind only a picture and swiftly created, it grew. Forth then, my soul sped, throughout the Cosmos, seeing ever, new things and old; learning that man is truly space-born, a Sun of the Sun, a child of the stars.

books are the voices of the dead. They are a main instrument of communion with the vast human procession of the other world. They are the allies of the thought of man. They are in a certain sense at enmity with the world. Their work is, at least, in the two higher compartments of our threefold life. In a room well filled with them, no one has felt or can feel solitary. Second to none, as friends to the individual, they are first and foremost among the compages, the bonds and rivets of the race, onward from that time when they were first written on the tablets of Babylonia and Assyria, the rocks of Asia minor, and the monuments of Egypt, down to the diamond editions of Mr. Pickering and Mr. Frowde.

In spite of all the refinements of civilization that conspired to make art—the dizzying perfection of the string quartet or the sprawling grandeur of Fragonard’s canvases—beauty was savage. It was as dangerous and lawless as the earth had been eons before man had one single coherent thought in his head or wrote codes of conduct on tablets of clay. Beauty was a Savage Garden.

Most parents would not allow more than one daughter to remain unmarried. So if one daughter had already declared herself a spinster, her sister had to conduct a marriage ceremony with a dead man, called marrying a tablet, to retain her independence. These women later told historians that “it was not so easy to find an unmarried dead man to marry,” so when one did become available, they vied with one another “to be the one who would get to marry him.

The extraterrestrials Aryan from Adelbaran told Maria that they were here before, thousands of years ago. And people took them for gods. They descended in the Near East and created colonies. They also told her about the Nordics, the Lyrans, the Igigi and the Anunnaki who created us genetically in their Chimiti. This, seems to correspond to numerous texts and epics found on clay tablets in Mesopotamia and Phoenicia, as well as in Ugaritic myths and Biblical texts.

PROVERBS 3  yMy son, do not forget my teaching, zbut let your heart keep my commandments, 2 for  alength of days and years of life and  bpeace they will add to you. 3 Let not  csteadfast love and  dfaithfulness forsake you; ebind them around your neck; fwrite them on the tablet of your heart. 4 So you will  gfind favor and  hgood success [1] in the sight of God and man. 5  iTrust in the LORD with all your heart, and  jdo not lean on your own understanding. 6 In all your ways  kacknowledge him, and he  lwill make straight your paths. 7  mBe not wise in your own eyes; nfear the LORD, and turn away from evil. 8 It will be  ohealing to your flesh [2] and prefreshment [3] to your bones. 9 Honor the LORD with your wealth and with  qthe firstfruits of all your produce; 10 then your  rbarns will be filled with plenty, and your vats will be bursting with wine. 11  sMy son, do not despise the LORD’s discipline or be weary of his reproof, 12 for the LORD reproves him whom he loves, as  ta father the son in whom he delights.

When he returned to the Annex, James found Drew hunched at the keyboard of what served as his computer, Audrey peering over his shoulder at the screen. As usual, the casing was off the tower and a jumble of wires and computer innards spilled out onto the floor. The man had at least half a dozen high-powered laptops to his name, James knew, not to mention the tablets and the smart phones that weighed down his pockets like spare change. But when performance mattered, Drew headed straight to his desktop Frankenstein.

Into that existential vacuum rushes our wishes and doubts, our longings and regrets, for the father-that-was and the father-that-might-have-been. Though mine had not been a cold and distant man like his, we were brothers in that one instance: Our fathers had bequeathed us nothing but memories. A fire had stripped me of all tangible tokens, save my little hat; Alistair Warthrop had taken most of what had belonged to Pellinore. What remained of them was simply us, and when we departed, so would they. We were the tablets upon which their lives were writ.

Eric Steele was strapped in and rubbing a rag over his father’s 1911. Demo had brought the pistol with the rest of Steele’s gear on board the C-17. In the cockpit, the pilot pushed the throttle forward, shoving Steele back in his seat. He barely noticed because he was thinking about the first time his father let him hold the pistol. It had felt so heavy in his hands back then. So much I never got to ask him. He ran his thumb over the spot where the serial number should have been. It was silver and all traces of the file marks were smoothed out by years of use. The pistol was one of John Moses Browning’s masterpieces, the same design that the American infantryman had carried in the Battle of Belleau Wood, Iwo Jima, Korea, and Vietnam. It was the only thing he had to remind him of the father he never really knew. Steele had made the pistol his own by modifying it to shoot 9mm, adding a threaded barrel, and installing suppressor sights, which were taller than the factory ones. It was his gun now, and he slipped it away before taking an amphetamine tablet out of his pocket and downing it with a sip of water.

He who by progress has grown from the darkness, lifted himself from the night into light, free is he made of the Halls of Amenti, free of the Flower of Light and of Life. Guided he then, by wisdom and knowledge, passes from men, to the Master of Life. There he may dwell as one with the Masters, free from the bonds of the darkness of night. Seated within the flower of radiance sit seven Lords from the Space-Times above us, helping and guiding through infinite Wisdom, the pathway through time of the children of men. Mighty and strange, they, veiled with their power, silent, all-knowing, drawing the Life force, different yet one with the children of men. Different, and yet One with the Children of Light. Custodians and watchers of the force of man’s bondage, ready to loose when the light has been reached. First and most mighty, sits the Veiled Presence, Lord of Lords, the infinite Nine, over the other from each the Lords of the Cycles; Three, Four, Five, and Six, Seven, Eight, each with his mission, each with his powers, guiding, directing the destiny of man. There sit they, mighty and potent, free of all time and space.

Just like their whiskey, the marsh dwellers bootlegged their own laws—not like those burned onto stone tablets or inscribed on documents, but deeper ones, stamped in their genes. Ancient and natural, like those hatched from hawks and doves. When cornered, desperate, or isolated, man reverts to those instincts that aim straight at survival. Quick and just. They will always be the trump cards because they are passed on more frequently from one generation to the next than the gentler genes. It is not a morality, but simple math. Among themselves, doves fight as often as hawks.

Just like their whiskey, the marsh dwellers bootlegged their own laws- not like those burned onto stone tablets or inscribed on documents, but deeper ones, stamped in their genes. Ancient and natural, like those hatched from hawks and doves. When cornered, desperate, or isolated, man reverts to those instincts that aim straight at survival. Quick and just. They will always be the trump cards because they are passed on more frequently from one generation to the next than the gentler genes. It is not a morality, but simple math. Among themselves, doves fight as often as hawks.

They will begin by taking the State and the manners of men, from which, as from a tablet, they will rub out the picture, and leave a clean surface. This is no easy task. But whether easy or not, herein will lie the difference between them and every other legislator,—they will have nothing to do either with individual or State, and will inscribe no laws, until they have either found, or themselves made, a clean surface. They will be very right, he said. Having effected this, they will proceed to trace an outline of the constitution? No doubt. And when they are filling in the work, as I conceive, they will often turn their eyes upwards and downwards: I mean that they will first look at absolute justice and beauty and temperance, and again at the human copy; and will mingle and temper the various elements of life into the image of a man; and this they will conceive according to that other image, which, when existing among men, Homer calls the form and likeness of God. Very true, he said. And one feature they will erase, and another they will put in, until they have made the ways of men, as far as possible, agreeable to the ways of God? Indeed, he said, in no way could they make a fairer picture. And

It was then that I noticed a piece of marble lying on a table at home. When I asked my father about it, he explained that he had found it on the site where the National Socialists had burned down the largest Viennese synagogue. He had taken the piece home because it was a part of the tablets on which the Ten Commandments were inscribed. One gilded Hebrew letter was engraved on the piece; my father explained that this letter stood for one of the Commandments. Eagerly I asked, “Which one is it?” He answered, “Honor thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long upon the land.” At that moment I decided to stay with my father and my mother upon the land, and to let the American visa lapse. VIKTOR E. FRANKL Vienna, 1992

His intercession was not only solidarity but identification with us: he bears all of us in his Body. And thus his whole life as a man and as Son is a cry to God’s heart; it is forgiveness, but forgiveness that transforms and renews. I think we should meditate upon this reality. Christ stands before God and is praying for me. His prayer on the Cross is contemporary with all human beings, contemporary with me. He prays for me; he suffered and suffers for me; he identified himself with me, taking our body and the human soul. And he asks us to enter this identity of his, making ourselves one body, one spirit with him because from the summit of the Cross he brought, not new laws, tablets of stone, but himself, his Body and his Blood, as the New Covenant.

The only manifestation of communal spirit to be seen at present is the herd instinct at work. Human beings fly into each other's arms because they are afraid of each other - the masters afraid for themselves. They are a community composed entirely for themselves! And why are they afraid? Man is only afraid when he is not attuned to himself. They are afraid because they have never made themselves known to themselves. They are a community composed entirely of men who are afraid of the unknown element within themselves! They are all conscious of the fact that the laws of life they have inherited are no longer valid, that they are living according to archaic tablets of the law, that neither their religion nor customs are adapted to our present-day needs.

Count,’ said Mrs. Leo Hunter. ‘Mrs. Hunt,’ replied the count. ‘This is Mr. Snodgrass, a friend of Mr. Pickwick’s, and a poet.’ ‘Stop,’ exclaimed the count, bringing out the tablets once more. ‘Head, potry — chapter, literary friends — name, Snowgrass; ver good. Introduced to Snowgrass — great poet, friend of Peek Weeks — by Mrs. Hunt, which wrote other sweet poem — what is that name? — Fog — Perspiring Fog — ver good — ver good indeed.’ And the count put up his tablets, and with sundry bows and acknowledgments walked away, thoroughly satisfied that he had made the most important and valuable additions to his stock of information. ‘Wonderful man, Count Smorltork,’ said Mrs. Leo Hunter. ‘Sound philosopher,’ said Mr. Pott. ‘Clear-headed, strong-minded person,’ added Mr. Snodgrass.

Thallus, you faggot, softer than rabbitfur, or goosedown, or a sweet little earlobe, or an old man's listless dick, lying in cobwebs and neglect. And yet, when the full moon shows the other guests starting to nod and yawn, you're grabbier than a plunging hurricane. Give me back my housecoat, which you pounced on, and my good Spanish flax table napkins, and the painted boxwood writing tablets, which you keep on display, jerk, like they were heirlooms, unstick them from your claws and give them back or I'll use a whip to scribble some really embarrassing lines, hot as the iron that brands disgrace on a common thief, on your woolsoft sides and dainty little hands. You'll get excited in a brand new way, your head will spin like a boat caught out on the open sea when the winds go mad.

The reader may ask me why I did not try to escape what was in store for me after Hitler had occupied Austria. Let me answer by recalling the following story. Shortly before the United States entered World War II, I received an invitation to come to the American Consulate in Vienna to pick up my immigration visa. My old parents were overjoyed because they expected that I would soon be allowed to leave Austria. I suddenly hesitated, however. The question beset me: could I really afford to leave my parents alone to face their fate, to be sent, sooner or later, to a concentration camp, or even to a so-called extermination camp? Where did my responsibility lie? Should I foster my brain child, logotherapy, by emigrating to fertile soil where I could write my books? Or should I concentrate on my duties as a real child, the child of my parents who had to do whatever he could to protect them? I pondered the problem this way and that but could not arrive at a solution; this was the type of dilemma that made one wish for “a hint from Heaven,” as the phrase goes. It was then that I noticed a piece of marble lying on a table at home. When I asked my father about it, he explained that he had found it on the site where the National Socialists had burned down the largest Viennese synagogue. He had taken the piece home because it was a part of the tablets on which the Ten Commandments were inscribed. One gilded Hebrew letter was engraved on the piece; my father explained that this letter stood for one of the Commandments. Eagerly I asked, “Which one is it?” He answered, “Honor thy father and thy mother that thy days may be long upon the land.” At that moment I decided to stay with my father and my mother upon the land, and to let the American visa lapse.

It seemed that Watkins wanted Indians both to disappear and to love him for making them disappear. And now that Thomas had read as much of The Book of Mormon as he could stay awake for, he understood why this man was completely dismissive of treaty law. In Watkins’s religion, the Mormon people had been divinely gifted all of the land they wanted. Indians weren’t white and delightsome, but cursed with dark skin, so they had no right to live on the land. That they had signed legal treaties with the highest governmental bodies in the United States was also nothing to Watkins. Legality was second to personal revelation. Everything was second to personal revelation. And Joseph Smith’s personal revelation, all written down in The Book of Mormon, was that his people alone were the best and should possess the earth. “Who would ever believe that cockeyed story about the peep stone, the vision in the bottom of the hat, the golden tablets? This whole book was an excuse to get rid of Indians,” said Thomas.

It was now 1952, so some of the claims had been held by a string of disconnected, unrecorded persons for four centuries. Most before the Civil War. Others squatted on the land more recently, especially after the World Wars, when men came back broke and broke-up. The marsh did not confine them but defined them and, like any sacred ground, kept their secrets deep. No one cared that they held the land because nobody else wanted it. After all, it was wasteland bog. Just like their whiskey, the marsh dwellers bootlegged their own laws—not like those burned onto stone tablets or inscribed on documents, but deeper ones, stamped in their genes. Ancient and natural, like those hatched from hawks and doves. When cornered, desperate, or isolated, man reverts to those instincts that aim straight at survival. Quick and just. They will always be the trump cards because they are passed on more frequently from one generation to the next than the gentler genes. It is not a morality, but simple math. Among themselves, doves fight as often as hawks.

We should do this on computer," she said, chalking it carefully for the eighty-ninth time. "With a drawing pad." "Nonsense. You're lucky I don't make you inscribe it with a stylus on a wax tablet, like the old days," Myrnin snorted. "Children. Spoiled children, always playing with the shinest toy." "Computers are more efficient!" "I can perform calculations on that abacus faster than you can solve them on your computer," Myrnin sneered. Okay, now he was pissing her off. "Prove it!" "What?" "Prove it." She backed off on her tone, but Myrnin wasn't looking angry; he was looking strangely interested. He stared at her for a second in silence, and then he got the biggest, oddest smile she'd ever seen on the face of a vampire. "All right," he said. "A contest. Computer versus abacus." She wasn't at all sure now that was a good idea, even if it had been her idea, essentially. "Um -- what do I win?" More importantly, what do I lose? Making bargains was a way of life in Morganville, and it was a lot like making deals with man-eating fairies. Better be careful what you ask for. "Your freedom," he said solemnly. His eyes were wide and guileless, his too-young face shining with honesty. "I will tell Amelie you were not suited to the work. She'll let you go about your life, such as it is." Good prize. Too good. Claire swallowed hard. "And if I lose?" "Then I eat you," Myrnin said.

Sumerian culture -- the society based on me -- was another manifestation of the metavirus. Except that in this case, it was in a linguistic form rather than DNA." "Excuse me," Mr. Lee says. "You are saying that civilization started out as an infection?" "Civilization in its primitive form, yes. Each me was a sort of virus, kicked out by the metavirus principle. Take the example of the bread-baking me. Once that me got into society, it was a self-sustaining piece of information. It's a simple question of natural selection: people who know how to bake bread will live better and be more apt to reproduce than people who don't know how. Naturally, they will spread the me, acting as hosts for this self-replicating piece of information. That makes it a virus. Sumerian culture -- with its temples full of me -- was just a collection of successful viruses that had accumulated over the millennia. It was a franchise operation, except it had ziggurats instead of golden arches, and clay tablets instead of three-ring binders. "The Sumerian word for 'mind,' or 'wisdom,' is identical to the word for 'ear.' That's all those people were: ears with bodies attached. Passive receivers of information. But Enki was different. Enki was an en who just happened to be especially good at his job. He had the unusual ability to write new me -- he was a hacker. He was, actually, the first modern man, a fully conscious human being, just like us. "At some point, Enki realized that Sumer was stuck in a rut. People were carrying out the same old me all the time, not coming up with new ones, not thinking for themselves. I suspect that he was lonely, being one of the few -- perhaps the only -- conscious human being in the world. He realized that in order for the human race to advance, they had to be delivered from the grip of this viral civilization. "So he created the nam-shub of Enki, a countervirus that spread along the same routes as the me and the metavirus. It went into the deep structures of the brain and reprogrammed them. Henceforth, no one could understand the Sumerian language, or any other deep structure-based language. Cut off from our common deep structures, we began to develop new languages that had nothing in common with each other. The me no longer worked and it was not possible to write new me. Further transmission of the metavirus was blocked." "Why didn't everyone starve from lack of bread, having lost the bread-making me?" Uncle Enzo says. "Some probably did. Everyone else had to use their higher brains and figure it out. So you might say that the nam-shub of Enki was the beginnings of human consciousness -- when we first had to think for ourselves. It was the beginning of rational religion, too, the first time that people began to think about abstract issues like God and Good and Evil. That's where the name Babel comes from. Literally it means 'Gate of God.' It was the gate that allowed God to reach the human race. Babel is a gateway in our minds, a gateway that was opened by the nam-shub of Enki that broke us free from the metavirus and gave us the ability to think -- moved us from a materialistic world to a dualistic world -- a binary world -- with both a physical and a spiritual component.

You love each other no matter how insane the other person makes you. It's matching the insanities that makes a marriage work. For example, I'm not allowed to purchase curtains or furniture without measuring first. And he can never find anything. Ever. My favorite is the time he only looked in one of his jeans pockets for his keys. After about an hour I made him check his pockets again. Both pockets. And there they were. When I asked him why he didn't check both pockets the first time, he said he always only puts them in one pocket so why look in the other. Once he caught me at Trader Joe's shaking a bottle of calcium tablets near my ear telling the man behind the counter, “They don't sound small.” And that confirmed all his suspicions that I was insane. And when I ask him for help with the crossword and he doesn't know the answer I get furious and call him a dummy.

Do not let kindness and truth leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart. So you will find favor and good repute in the sight of God and man” (Proverbs 3:3–4).

Our earth is degenerate in these latter days; bribery and corruption are common; children no longer obey their parents; every man wants to write a book, and the end of the world is evidently approaching.”—From an ancient Assyrian tablet.

Amos Bronson Alcott was another author of Concord, a sweet philosopher whom I shall ever remember with deepest gratitude as the only person who in my early youth ever imagined any literary capacity in me (and in that he was sadly mistaken, for he fancied I would be a poet). I have read very faithfully all his printed writings, trying to believe him a great man, a seer; but I cannot, in spite of my gratitude for his flattering though unfulfilled prophecy, discover in his books any profound signs of depth or novelty of thought. In his Tablets are some very pleasant, if not surprisingly wise, essays on domestic subjects; one, on "Sweet Herbs," tells cheerfully of the womanly care of the herb garden, but shows that, when written—about 1850—borders of herbs were growing infrequent.

MEN OF ACTION ARE FAVORED BY THE GODDESS OF GOOD LUCK     The Five Laws of Gold     "A bag heavy with gold or a clay tablet carved with words of wisdom; if thou hadst thy choice, which wouldst thou choose?"     By the flickering light from the fire of desert shrubs, the sun-tanned faces of the listeners gleamed with interest.     "The gold, the gold," chorused the twenty-seven.

Do ghosts have to be forgiven? All I remember of the funeral is, 'Your husband was a brilliant man.' Was that all the comfort that I had to draw on? I wanted to announce, 'Yes he was a brilliant man and now like all the great minds he is dead.' Sometimes I cry myself to sleep, sniffling, stifling my sobs in my pillows. Sometimes I fall asleep the minute my head hits the pillow and find my arms reaching across the other side of the bed for Kenny so I can whisper sweet nothings in his ear as he falls asleep. I reached out for the bottle of sleeping tablets on my bedside table and swallowed them one by one.

Of the Russian exiles, Lenin is the last I should have picked as a man of destiny. [Angelica] Balabanoff says that she cannot remember where she first met Lenin and that even when she became conscious of his existence he made no impression upon her. Many others would say the same, but I remember vividly my first meeting with him. It was at dinner in a small Greek restaurant in Soho, not far from the house which bears the tablet commemorating the fact that Karl Marx once lived there. I met him again at Stuttgart, [at the International Socialist Congress] in 1907. In the meantime he had acquired the reputation of being a brilliant student of Marxian economics, a dangerous antagonist in all intra-party controversies and a master of revolutionary tactics and sectarian conspiracies. At the conference he was usually surrounded by a small group of whispering disciples. … Some of Lenin's enemies believed that he was a paid emissary of the Russian police. His tactics and the dissensions which he promoted among the Russian socialists aroused suspicion. He was a fanatic, a disorganizer, a sectarian, who gave no indication in pre-war days of having the qualities of a national leader. He won his battles but they were always directed against his comrades.

SLOWLY THE BOY SPUN the dial. He heard organ music playing on the Salt Lake City station. Then rhumba music. A swing band. An ad for Dr. Fisher’s tablets for intestinal sluggishness. “Folks,” a man asked, “do you feel headachy and pepless in the morning?” “Nope,” said the boy.

The cause of death is astounding, however. You’ll be surprised when you hear it. The man didn’t die as a result of his injuries.’ ‘Surprise me, Doctor. I’m waiting.’ ‘Heroin,’ Dr Schwartz said simply. ‘Heroin?’ ‘Respiratory failure, caused by an overdose of diacetylmorphine; that is, heroin.’ ‘The cough medicine?’ Schwartz nodded. ‘Cough tablets for morphine addicts. It used to be prescribed as an anti-asthmatic. Until people realised it was addictive.

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At a key point in the letter James told his readers: “You do not have because you do not ask God” (4:2). Prayer makes a difference. Your prayer makes a difference. “The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective” (5:16). One of the most successful advertising campaigns of recent years came from a regional airline in the US during the run-up to Christmas. They set up a “virtual Santa” in the departure lounge of a domestic flight. Passengers would scan their boarding pass, activating a screen featuring Santa (located somewhere else and with access to their flight details), who would then ask them what they wanted for Christmas before sending them on their way. Unbeknownst to the passengers, employees from the airline then went out to local malls to purchase and wrap the very things the passengers had asked for—everything from new socks to a widescreen TV. When the passengers arrived at their destination, their gifts arrived along with their luggage at the baggage belt. Many stood in disbelief when they realised what had happened. Needless to say, the video recording their reactions went viral, providing the airline with way more publicity and goodwill than a standard commercial would have generated. But after the warm glow from watching it subsided, I had one thought in my mind: The guy who only asked for socks must be kicking himself. Once he’d realised what had happened, surrounded by people with expensive cameras and tablets, he must have felt a little foolish clutching a pair of socks. If only he had known. If only he had asked. James does not want us to make the same mistake. The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective. It is real. Things actually happen. God answers. How foolish we are not to pray far more than we do. How foolish, at the end of the day, aware of all that we could have had, to be left clutching the equivalent of a pair of socks that we never even realised we would get. Not every Christian can be a great theologian, preacher, missionary or evangelist. But every Christian can be a great and effective pray-er.

Let’s go inside,” his father said, standing. “We stay out much longer, one of us is going to get misty and say, ‘Wanna play catch?’ ” Myron bit off a laugh and followed him inside. Mom came home not long after that, lugging two bags of food as though they were stone tablets. “Everybody hungry?” she called out. “Starving,” Dad said. “I’m so hungry I could eat a vegetarian.” “Very funny, Al.” “Or even your cooking …” “Ha-ha,” Mom said. “… though I’d prefer the vegetarian.” “Stop it, Al, I’m going to phlegm up, you keep making me laugh like this.” Mom dropped the bags onto the kitchen counter. “See, Myron? It’s a good thing your mother is shallow.” “Shallow?” Myron asked. “If I judged a man on brains or sense of humor,” Mom continued, “you’d have never been born.” “Right-o,” Dad said with a hearty smile. “But one look at your old man in a bathing suit and whammo—all mine.” “Oh please,” Mom said. “Yes,” Myron said. “Please.” They

[It was felt that nothing could more palpably represent the man, and this quotation has consequently been inscribed upon the tablet erected to his memory near his grave in Westminster Abbey. It was noticed some time after selecting it that Livingstone wrote these words exactly one year before his death, which, as we shall see, took place on the 1st May, 1873.]

The driver set a brisk, professional pace, and the city fell behind them. In the front seat, Ben-Meir studied a map of the area on a tablet computer. “This is useless—he could have gone anywhere.” He addressed Radko’s partner, Stanev, who’d been their primary shooter. “You are certain you hit him?” “No doubt,” the man said. “I saw him react. He was limping afterward.” Ben-Meir stared at the empty map display. He removed his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took out his phone. He placed a call that was picked up immediately.

Max had left a week’s supply of foul-smelling dog food and two pages of instructions about doggie daycare. Neve had expected advice about dog-walking, worming tablets and the vet’s emergency phone number, but it turned out that Max had a very dim view of her dog-sitting abilities: • Do NOT let him in your bedroom. • It also goes without saying that he is NOT to sleep on your bed. • Do NOT let him in the bathroom. He’ll try to drink out of the toilet bowl. • Do NOT feed him at the table. He eats dog food not human food. • And do NOT give him chocolate. I’m serious. Human chocolate can make dogs very ill. Have left a bag of liver treats instead. • He doesn’t like old men, especially if they have walking sticks or zimmer frames. • He doesn’t like balloons, carrier bags or kites. • Also avoid small children. • A small child trying to fly a kite, while holding a balloon and a carrier bag in their other hand would just about finish him off. By the time Neve went to bed that night, Keith had stayed in the bathroom while she had a shower (and tried to get in the cubicle to drink the water), because he’d barked and scrabbled at the door so hard, she’d feared for her paintwork. He’d also had a piece of steamed haddock from her plate because she hadn’t been able to eat dinner without his nose in her crotch and his paw prodding her leg until she fed him. Neve had secretly suspected that Keith wouldn’t have so many emotional issuesif Max refused to indulge him, but it turned out that she was the softest of soft touches, unable to wield any sort of discipline or say, ‘No, Keith, you have to sleep in the lounge,’ in an authoritative voice. She’d lasted five minutes until the sound of Keith whimpering and howling and generally giving the impression that he was being tortured had forced her into the living room to pick up his bed, and his toys and his water bowl. But if he had to sleep in her room, then he could do it in his own bed, Neve reasoned as she sat up, eyes fixed on Keith. Every time she took her gaze off him and tried to read, he’d dive out of his bed and start advancing towards her. ‘Back to your basket, you wicked boy,’ she’d say and he’d slink away, eyes downcast, only to be given away by the joyous wag of his stumpy tale, as if it was the best gameever. It was inevitable – as soon as Neve turned out the light, there was a scrabble of claws on the wooden floor, then a dead weight landed on her feet. ‘Bad dog,’ she snapped, but they could both tell her heart wasn’t in it. Besides, if Keith stayed at the bottom of the bed, he could double up as a hot-water bottle. Keith had other ideas. He wriggled up the bed on his belly as if he was being stealthy and settled down next to Neve, batting his paws against her back until she was shoved right over and he could put his head on her pillow and pant hot doggy breath against her face. ‘Celia was right,’ Neve grumbled. ‘You are a devil dog.

Afghanistan, Jews lived in the towns of Balkh and Ghazni during the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries.19 One Ghazni ruler, Sultan Mahmud (998–1030), assigned a Jew named Isaac to administer his lead mines and melt ore for him. Another Afghan Jewish community lived in Firoz Koh, in the central mountain district. The town and its inhabitants–both Muslims and Jews–were later wiped out during the Mongol invasion of Afghanistan in 1222, but some twenty tablets with Hebrew writing were discovered there in the 1920s. Jews also lived under Muslim rule in the Afghan cities of Kabul and Kandahar. A tombstone near Kabul, dated 1365, was erected in memory of a Jewish man named Moses ben Ephraim Bezalel, apparently a

And the fact that she probably despised me again which was a hard, jagged pill to swallow. Like one of those round, uncoated pain killer tablets that always got stuck in your throat – who made that shit anyway? Satan?

That Major, Liam is it?” The SecDef spoke up, “He’s trending.” “He’s what?” “Look at this,” The SecDef slid a tablet across the table to the President. Givens lifted it up, looking at the picture on it, of the man standing in front of an explosion with a Marine Kevlar helmet sitting crookedly on his head and a rifle balanced on one shoulder. “The

That Major, Liam is it?” The SecDef spoke up, “He’s trending.” “He’s what?” “Look at this,” The SecDef slid a tablet across the table to the President. Givens lifted it up, looking at the picture on it, of the man standing in front of an explosion with a Marine Kevlar helmet sitting crookedly on his head and a rifle balanced on one shoulder. “The memes are basically making themselves at this point.” Givens rolled his eyes, “Oh lord.” “That’s the upside. Russia and China, among others, have started counter-memes already.

The poem embodies the beliefs of the Babylonians and Assyrians concerning the origin of the universe; it describes the coming forth of the gods from chaos, and tells the story of how the forces of disorder, represented by the primeval water-gods Apsû and Tiamat, were overthrown by Ea and Marduk respectively, and how Marduk, after completing the triumph of the gods over chaos, proceeded to create the world and man. The poem is known to us from portions of several Assyrian and late-Babylonian copies of the work, and from extracts from it written out upon the so-called "practice-tablets," or students' exercises, by pupils of the Babylonian scribes. The Assyrian copies of the work are from the great library which was founded at Nineveh by Ashur-bani-pal, king of Assyria from B.C. 668 to about B.C. 626; the Babylonian copies and extracts were inscribed during the period of the kings of the

Breaking the sabbath renounced the whole covenant relationship with God. To profane the Sabbath by performing even the slightest physical work was to deny all of the vows taken at Mount Sinai. It was an action equivalent to a man deliberately spitting in God’s face and then, in defiant self-sufficiency and rebellion, breaking the most important law of the covenant by walking away and picking up some sticks or doing some other physical work.

First, even though the law, as codified covenant terms, has a historical beginning at Sinai, the underlying principles all of those laws, except the sabbath, were already revealed to man through the original creation. Neither knowledge of God and his character, nor the reality of known sin began at Sinai. Secondly, even though the law, viewed as a covenant document, ended when Christ established the New Covenant, the unchanging ethical elements that underlie the commandments written on the tables of stone are just as binding on us to day as they were on an Israelite.

All I can add in my loneliness is, may Heaven's rich blessing come down on everyone, American, English, or Turk, who will help to heal the open sore of the world." [It was felt that nothing could more palpably represent the man, and this quotation has consequently been inscribed upon the tablet erected to his memory near his grave in Westminster Abbey. It was noticed some time after selecting it that Livingstone wrote these words exactly one year before his death, which, as we shall see, took place on the 1st May, 1873.]

Beauty wasn’t the treachery he imagined it to be, rather it was an uncharted land where one could make a thousand fatal errors, a wild and indifferent paradise without signposts of evil or good. In spite of all the refinements of civilization that conspired to make art—the dizzying perfection of the string quartet or the sprawling grandeur of Fragonard’s canvases—beauty was savage. It was as dangerous and lawless as the earth had been eons before man had one single coherent thought in his head or wrote codes of conduct on tablets of clay. Beauty was a Savage Garden.

As they moved on he was offered some STP, a powerful hallucinogenic which had become infamous after five thousand high-dosage tablets had been given away weeks earlier at the Summer Solstice Celebration in Golden Gate Park. The delayed onset of its effects meant a number of users had taken extra hits and ended up in hospital.302 Harrison declined the STP, but his response was seen as a snub. ‘I could see all the spotty youths,’ he recalled, ‘but I was seeing them from a twisted angle. It was like the manifestation of a scene from an Hieronymus Bosch painting, getting bigger and bigger, fish with heads, faces like vacuum cleaners coming out of shop doorways… They were handing me things – like a big Indian pipe with feathers on it, and books and incense – and trying to give me drugs. I remember saying to one guy: “No thanks, I don’t want it.” And then I heard his whining voice saying, “Hey, man – you put me down.” It was terrible. We walked quicker and quicker through the park and in the end we jumped in the limo, said, “Let’s get out of here,” and drove back to the airport.’303 The crowd began to grow hostile as they returned to the limousine, and those outside began rocking the vehicle as their faces pressed against the windows. The narrow escape increased Harrison’s resolve to move away from LSD. ‘That was the turning point for me – that’s when I went right off the whole drug cult and stopped taking the dreaded lysergic acid. I had some in a little bottle – it was liquid. I put it under a microscope, and it looked like bits of old rope. I thought that I couldn’t put that into my brain any more.

That is why you must above all lovingly study the holy scriptures, why your soul must be illuminated by divine utterances, why the dark shadows of the devil have to be dispersed by the flash of God’s word; for the devil is quick to flee from the soul which is illuminated by divine speech, which is always occupied with heavenly thoughts, in which God’s word, whose force the evil spirit is unable to endure, is constantly present. For that reason the blessed apostle compared it to a sword when listing the arms for use in the war of the spirit (Eph.6.17). It is perfectly safe, however, for the mind to become accustomed to differentiating between one thought and another - always subject, of course, to careful and watchful control - and, at the first stirring of the mind, either to approving or to disapproving of what it is thinking, so that it either nourishes good thoughts or immediately destroys bad ones. In this lie the source of good and the origin of sin, and thought is the beginning of every great offense in the heart, painting every single deed on the tablet of the heart, as it were, before doing it; for every deed and every word, whichever it may be, is laid out for inspection in advance and its future is decided by thoughtful consideration. You can see what a brief moment sometimes separates a man’s thinking each thought and his putting that thought into action, nor is anything at all done by the tongue or the hand or other limbs, unless thoughts have previously dictated it; hence the Lord also says in the gospel: Out of the heart of man come evil thoughts, adultery, fornication, murder, theft, false witness, greed, evil, trickery, unchastity, the evil eye, blasphemy, pride, folly. These are what defile men (Mt.15.19,20)

Oh my God.” Hazel tapped around the tablet with a trembling finger, shaking her head. “The internet is so vast, one of the greatest resources humankind has ever seen, but trust a man to go straight for the porn.

You've got your alien abduction. Bigfoot abduction. Men in black. Genie wish gone awry. Interdimensional portal. Cursed Mesopotamian tablet. Sewer monster. Lake monster. Sea monster. Swamp monster. Killer clowns. Time paradox. Cults—you've got death cults, demon cults, occult cults, new age cults, basically any kind of cult. Witches. The giant Pacific octopus. Trapped on a ghost ship. Possessed. Possessed by a ghost ship—could happen. Knocked unconscious by genetically engineered mushroom spores. Genetically modified insect swarm. Genetically modified alligator. Lots of potential in the genetically modified space overall, really. Fell in a vat of invisible paint. Stolen by time thieves. Shrink ray on the highest setting. Unexpected wicker man festival. Psychically scrubbed from memory so you forget them as soon as you aren't looking at them. Mole men. Lizard men. Giant carnivorous pitcher plant. Giant carnivorous catfish. Bears. Got lost in Finland. Went hiking. Trapped in a TV show. Trapped in a haunted painting. Trapped in a mirror. Trapped in a snow globe. Trees. Not sure how they'd be involved but I always feel like we underestimate them. Moth man. Time loop. Wild hunt. Tax fraud. I could keep going.

Our earth is degenerate in these latter days: bribery and corruption are common; children no longer obey their parents; every man wants to write a book, and the end of the world is evidently approaching. Assyrian tablet, c. 2,800 BC

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10.I do not forget GOD’S LAWS. I let my heart keep His commands. I have length of days, long life, and peace. Mercy and truth do not forsake me. They are bound to my neck and written on the tablet of my heart. I find favor and high esteem in the sight of GOD and man. I am surrounded by divine favor. THE LORD will perfect me (Prov. 3:1-4; Psa. 138:8).

You speak about this word rights as though you understand the word rights, show me what rights were born with man, show me what tablet they are written on, where nature has decreed it is so. She goes to speak but he is moving out of the seat towards her and she is afraid to look into his eyes, is arrested by his stink, the admixture of food and cigarettes and something malodorous that comes from under the skin, she knows what it is, this stench that sets free her terror. You call yourself a scientist and yet you believe in rights that do not exist, the rights you speak of cannot be verified, they are a fiction decreed by the state, it is up to the state to decide what it believes or does not believe according to its needs, surely you understand this.

Question 5. Is the moral law which you say was the substance of the Old Covenant from Mount Sinai, done away to believers in the New Covenant as it was a rule of life, etc.? Answer. Doubtless it is done away to believers, and that, firstly, as it was a covenant from Mount Sinai, and secondly a ministry of Moses. 1. That it was and is done away to believers is evident, Romans 7:4-6, where the apostle said, Wherefore my brothers ye also are become dead to the law, etc. and But now we are delivered from the law, that being dead wherein we were held, etc. This was the moral law, for it was that law that discovered sin, even that sin forbidden in that moral law, Thou shall not covet. Ye are not under the law but under grace (chapter 6:14). That very law written on tablets of stone is said to be done away with (2 Cor. 3:7 & 11) and abolished (verse 13); and if any will say it is the ministration that is done away and not the rule, I say it must be done away as it was then a rule, without which the ministration could not cease. It was its being given as a rule that made it a ministration. Therefore I say, that it is done away, first as it was a covenant from Mount Sinai, so it is clear turned out and has no place in the gospel, even as Hagar, the Old Covenant in an allegory must be thrown out of Abraham's house (Gen. 21:10; Gal. 4:22-30): Cast out the bondwoman and her son, for the son of the bondwoman shall not be heir with the son of the free woman. So that, when the free woman is come to be fruitful, the bondwoman with her son must be cast out. So likewise, Hebrews 12:18-24: We are not come to the mount that might not [ed: word absent in Scripture] be touched, that is, to Mount Sinai, but ye are come unto Mount Sion and to Jesus the mediator of the New Covenant, all of which demonstrates that the law as it was a covenant, from Mount Sinai, is done away to believers. 2. As it was a ministration by Moses, so it is done away with and abolished, and is not to be preached or received (as in the hand of Moses) as it was ministered forth, received and obeyed in the Old Covenant. For it was ministered then on life and death, and was (through man's weakness) a ministration of death and not of life. So that I understand all those expressions to relate to those particulars, when the Scripture says that the law is abolished and done away, that believers are dead to it, delivered from it, are not under it, and the bondwoman must be cast out with her son. And yet believers are not without law to God but under the law of Christ, yea and that under the moral law. But as given from Mount Zion, ministered forth in the hand of Christ, not in the hand of Moses, for if we take it from Moses we must be Moses' disciples. But if from Christ, as given forth in the gospel account, then we are Christ's disciples indeed, and receive it in power (from Christ, the minister and mediator) to live to God according to it, not for righteousness unto justification. But Jesus Christ having fulfilled all its righteousness, having born the curse for us. It is a rule of righteousness, of conversation to the honor of Him that has done all for us in point of justification to eternal life. And so it is become a law of love, a royal law of liberty to all that are by faith in the New Covenant, and a law to which every believer is duty bound to Jesus Christ, to own as His precious rule of life to honor Him by it, as it is given forth by Him in the gospel and not in any other way.

I think I just stopped seeing books around,” the man went on. “You know, on the bus, everyone used to read books. But then they were fiddling with their phones or those big phones, I don’t know what they’re called.” “They were probably reading on their tablets,” said Nina loyally. She loved her e-reader, too. “Yes, I know,” said the man. “But I couldn’t see. I couldn’t see what they were reading or ask them if it was good, or make a mental note to look for it later. It was as if suddenly, one day, all the books simply disappeared.

the counter, and I couldn’t stop smiling, sneaking sideway glances, seeing his eyes on me as I shopped. Waiting in line at the cash register, a woman bought butter and flour. The man in front of me said, “Francis, cash my check for me.” I watched as Francis counted out Company scrip to the miner in return, knowing that in the end, King Coal owned the Kentucky working man. Francis gave him a friendly goodbye and reached over to take a bite of something from a bowl, trying to get in his own dinner break during a busy day. I plunked down an apple and a bag of oats, a fat writing tablet, and a package of envelopes. Pulling out the paycheck, I handed it to him. He sat down the bowl he was eating from and pushed it aside. “What’s this?” He was tanned and looked fit from the early spring sunshine,

He uttered that title with sarcastic exaggeration. Marduk could physically crush him, but the satan had all the legal power to cast Marduk into Tartarus if he made a wrong move. Tartarus was the lowest most impenetrable region of Sheol the underworld. Then the Son of Man said, “But Yahweh Elohim’s portion will be his people. Jacob will be his heritage. He will have a people of his own inheritance.” There it is, thought Marduk. The qualification. The tiny little print at the bottom of the covenant tablet that indicated Yahweh Elohim’s selfish grab for glory. But wait a minute. He only gets one nation of people? The satan articulated what Marduk and everyone else was thinking, “Who exactly is Jacob? And what will be his people’s allotted heritage of land?” The Son of Man said, “That will be revealed in due time. They will be a people of my choosing, a remnant who will inherit the land that they will ultimately conquer.

Enoch stood. He carried with him a tablet and dove right into his rebuttal. “The testimony we have just heard from the Accuser has several half-truths in it, or as I would more accurately define them, lies.” Enoch read from the clay tablet in his hand. “Yahweh Elohim did not say that the couple could not touch the tree, he said that they could not eat of it. That is an exaggeration of the command to make the Creator appear excessive and overbearing. Secondly, it was not ‘the tree of knowledge’ that was forbidden, it was the ‘tree of the knowledge of good and evil.’ Yahweh Elohim was not forbidding knowledge to humanity, he was commanding reliance upon him as their ultimate authority to define good and evil. And we are right back to ultimate authorities that I spoke of earlier. Yahweh Elohim is the only ground of morality that can justify the Accuser’s own attack on morality.” Enoch paused for a moment in thought, then said, “It would not surprise me if one day, the serpent will have effectively convinced the masses with more of these kinds of distortions. I can imagine him twisting the ‘forbidden fruit’ into sex, and turning Yahweh Elohim into a cosmic killjoy prude who just wants to keep people from having fun.” Enoch launched into his conclusion, “No, the forbidden fruit is the essence of freedom. The Accuser would have us believe that boundaries of protection are actually restrictions of oppression; that rules repress human potential and laws take away freedom. He and his Watchers argue that freedom is the ability to do whatever one wants without an external code imposed upon them. Let each man be a law unto himself. Yet, look around the earth below to see the consequences of such ideas. Humans have achieved the self-determination from the knowledge of good and evil and in so doing have become slaves to their own lusts. Prisoners of their desire. They claim to be free, but they are everywhere in chains of their own making. Only in the boundaries of a loving Creator can humanity be free. Is a fish out of the water free? Is a bird out of the sky free? Only in fulfilling our god-given purpose can mankind experience the liberty of obedience. Disobedience is not enlightenment, it is pure blindness; it is not freedom, it is slavery.” Enoch stood for a moment as his words sank into his own soul. He realized that he had fought God’s purpose for himself so many years — that he prayed when he should have fought, fought when he should have prayed, and too often exhibited the ultimate sin of spiritual pride. Enoch fell to his knees and wept in repentance before Yahweh Elohim.

Just like their whiskey, the marsh dwellers bootlegged their own laws – not like those burned onto stone tablets or inscribed on documents, but deeper ones, stamped in their genes. Ancient and natural, like those hatched from hawks and doves. When cornered, desperate, or isolated, man reverts to those instincts that aim straight at survival. Quick and just. They will always be the trump cards because they are passed on more frequently from one generation to the next than the gentler genes. It is not a morality, but simple math. Among themselves, doves fight as often as hawks.