Trivia Night Quotes

We rush through our days in such stress and intensity, as if we were here to stay and the serious project of the world depended on us. We worry and grow anxious; we magnify trivia until they become important enough to control our lives. Yet all the time, we have forgotten that we are but temporary sojourners on the surface of a strange planet spinning slowly in the infinite night of the cosmos.

It is against the law to put pretzels in bags in Philadelphia.

That doesn’t sound like a school trivia night,” said Mrs. Patty Ponder to Marie Antoinette. “That sounds like a riot.” The cat didn’t respond. She was dozing on the couch and found school trivia nights to be trivial.

Well,' Rydell said, trying to pick up his end, 'I was watching this one old movie last night-' Sublett perked up. 'Which one?' Dunno,' Rydell said. 'This guy's in L.A. and he's just met this girl. Then he picks up a pay phone, 'cause it's ringing. Late at night. It's some guy in a missile silo somewhere who knows they've just launched theirs at the Russians. He's trying to phone his dad, or his brother, or something. Says the world's gonna end in short order. Then the guy who answered the phone hears these soldiers come in and shoot the guy. The guy on the phone, I mean.' Suhlett closed his eyes, scanning his inner trivia-banks. 'Yeah? How's it end?' Dunno,' Rydell said. 'I went to sleep.

Diamonds aren’t EVERY girl’s best friend… Male penguins propose to females by giving them a pebble. Gentoo Penguins look for the smoothest, shiniest pebble to present to the female he chooses. If she accepts his proposal, she will place the pebble in her nest as a symbol of accepting him as her mate.

Justin Timberlake is the voice of the "I'm Lovin' It" campaign for McDonald’s.

Thousands of people attended Andrew Jackson’s funeral in 1845, including his pet parrot that was removed for allegedly swearing too much.

The two golf balls that Alan Shephard hit on the moon with a six-iron are still there.

The number of jars of Nutella sold in a year could cover The Great Wall of China eight times. Sounds like a delicious idea!

In 1973, the library even added a service called the Hoot Owl Telephonic Reference, which operated from nine P.M. until one A.M., long after the library was closed. Dialing H-O-O-T-O-W-L connected you to a librarian who could find the answer to almost any question. The Hoot Owl slogan was “Win Your Bet Without a Fight.” Apparently, in the late evening, people all over Los Angeles did a lot of betting on trivia such as the correct names of the Seven Dwarves. The service got a call every three minutes, adding up to about thirty-five thousand a year. Hoot Owl was a favorite target of conservative groups, who believed it catered to “hippies and other night people.” But the library persisted, and Hoot Owl operated every weeknight until the end of 1976.

Another quirk of Dad's was that although he could remember an infinite number of intricate surgical maneuvers and enough random details and trivia to run any Jeopardy! champion under the table, he found it patently impossible to remember basic things like phone numbers, appointments, or what in the world he had actually walked into the room to do. To mitigate this flaw, he wrote everything down, usually on whatever was handiest. This left his office looking like the heavens had opened and rained leaves of paper for forty days and forty nights.

Ford and Arthur talking: "This is very, very serious indeed. The Guide has been taken over. It's been bought out." Arthur leapt up. "Oh, very serious," he shouted. "Please fill me in straight away on some corporate publishing politics! I can't tell you how much it's been on my mind of late!" "You don't understand! There's a whole new Guide!" "Oh!" shouted Arthur again. "Oh! Oh! Oh! I'm incoherent with excitement! I can hardly wait for it to come out to find out which are the most exciting spaceports to get bored hanging about in in some globular cluster I've never heard of. Please, can we rush to a store that's got it right this very instant?" Ford narrowed his eyes. "This is what you call sarcasm, isn't it?" "Do you know," bellowed Arthur, "I think it is? I really think it might just be a crazy little thing called sarcasm seeping in at the edges of my manner of speech! Ford, I have had a fucking bad night! Will you please try and take that into account while you consider what fascinating bits of badger-sputumly inconsequential trivia to assail me with next?" ... "Temporal reverse engineering." Arthur put his head in his hands and shook it gently from side to side. "Is there any humane way," he moaned, "in which I can prevent you from telling me what temporary reverse bloody-whatsiting is?" ... "I leaped out of a high-rise office window." This cheered Arthur up. "Oh!" he said. "Why don't you do it again?" "I did." "Hmmm," said Arthur, disappointed. "Obviously no good came of it." ... "What was the self-sacrifice?" "I jettisoned half of a much-loved and I think irreplaceable pair of shoes." "Why was that self-sacrifice?" "Because they were mine!" said Ford, crossly. "I think we have different value systems." "Well, mine's better.

In ancient Egypt, being a servant was not exactly the most appealing job. They were smeared with honey in order to attract flies away from the pharaoh. Their service didn’t end after their pharaoh’s death either. Some pharaoh’s chose to be sealed in their tombs alongside their living servants, pets and concubines.

In the beginning was the dream... In the eternal night where no dawn broke, the dream deepened. Before anything ever was, it had to be dreamed... If we take Nature as the great artist, then all presences in the world have emerged from her mind and imagination. We are children of the earth's dreaming. It's almost as if Nature is in dream and we are her children who have broken through the dawn into time and place. Fashioned in the dreaming of the clay, we are always somehow haunted by that; we are unable ever finally to decide what is dream and what is reality. Each day we live in what we call reality, yet life seems to resemble a dream. We rush through our days in such stress and intensity, as if we were here to stay and the serious project of the world depended on us. We worry and grow anxious - we magnify trivia until they become important enough to control our lives. Yet all the time, we have forgotten that we are but temporary sojourners on the surface of a strange planet spinning slowly in the infinite night of the cosmos... [.....] There is no definitive dividing line between reality and dream. What we consider real is often precariously dream-like. Our grip on reality is tenuous...

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

was no one else there to comfort her. There was only him. The real him. She stepped forward and laid her head against his chest. Samantha: I’ll never forget the moment when Perry and Celeste walked into the trivia night. There was like this ripple across the room. Everyone just stopped and stared. 23. Isn’t this FANTASTIC!” cried Madeline to Chloe as they took their really very excellent seats in front of the giant ice rink. “You can feel the cold from the ice! Brrr! Oh! Can you hear the music? I wonder where the princesses—” Chloe had reached over and placed one hand gently over her mother’s mouth. “Shhh.” Madeline knew she was talking too much because she was feeling anxious and ever so slightly guilty. Today needed to be stupendous to make it worth the rift she’d created between herself and Renata. Eight kindergarten children, who would otherwise be attending Amabella’s party, were here watching Disney On Ice because of Madeline. Madeline looked past Chloe at Ziggy, who was nursing a giant stuffed toy on his lap. Ziggy was the reason they were here today, she reminded herself. Poor Ziggy wouldn’t have been at the party. Dear little fatherless Ziggy. Who was possibly a secret psychopathic bully . . . but still! “Are you taking care of Harry the Hippo this weekend, Ziggy?” she said brightly. Harry the Hippo was the class toy. Every weekend it went home with a different child, along with a scrapbook that had to be returned with a little story about the weekend, accompanied by photos. Ziggy nodded mutely. A child of few words. Jane leaned forward, discreetly chewing gum as always. “It’s quite stressful having Harry to stay. We have to give Harry a good time. Last weekend he went on a roller coaster— Ow!” Jane recoiled as one of the twins, who was sitting next to her and fighting his brother, elbowed her in the back of the head. “Josh!” said Celeste sharply. “Max! Just stop it!” Madeline wondered if Celeste was OK today. She looked pale and tired, with purplish shadows under her eyes, although on Celeste they looked like an artful makeup effect that everyone should try. The lights in the auditorium began to dim, and then went to black. Chloe clutched Madeline’s arm. The music began to pound, so loud that Madeline could feel the vibrations. The ice rink filled with an

Gods in The Lost Hero Aeolus The Greek god of the winds. Roman form: Aeolus Aphrodite The Greek goddess of love and beauty. She was married to Hephaestus, but she loved Ares, the god of war. Roman form: Venus Apollo The Greek god of the sun, prophecy, music, and healing; the son of Zeus, and the twin of Artemis. Roman form: Apollo Ares The Greek god of war; the son of Zeus and Hera, and half brother to Athena. Roman form: Mars Artemis The Greek goddess of the hunt and the moon; the daughter of Zeus and the twin of Apollo. Roman form: Diana Boreas The Greek god of the north wind, one of the four directional anemoi (wind gods); the god of winter; father of Khione. Roman form: Aquilon Demeter The Greek goddess of agriculture, a daughter of the Titans Rhea and Kronos. Roman form: Ceres Dionysus The Greek god of wine; the son of Zeus. Roman form: Bacchus Gaea The Greek personification of Earth. Roman form: Terra Hades According to Greek mythology, ruler of the Underworld and god of the dead. Roman form: Pluto Hecate The Greek goddess of magic; the only child of the Titans Perses and Asteria. Roman form: Trivia Hephaestus The Greek god of fire and crafts and of blacksmiths; the son of Zeus and Hera, and married to Aphrodite. Roman form: Vulcan Hera The Greek goddess of marriage; Zeus’s wife and sister. Roman form: Juno Hermes The Greek god of travelers, communication, and thieves; son of Zeus. Roman form: Mercury Hypnos The Greek god of sleep; the (fatherless) son of Nyx (Night) and brother of Thanatos (Death). Roman form: Somnus Iris The Greek goddess of the rainbow, and a messenger of the gods; the daughter of Thaumas and Electra. Roman form: Iris Janus The Roman god of gates, doors, and doorways, as well as beginnings and endings. Khione The Greek goddess of snow; daughter of Boreas Notus The Greek god of the south wind, one of the four directional anemoi (wind gods). Roman form: Favonius Ouranos The Greek personification of the sky. Roman form: Uranus Pan The Greek god of the wild; the son of Hermes. Roman form: Faunus Pompona The Roman goddess of plenty Poseidon The Greek god of the sea; son of the Titans Kronos and Rhea, and brother of Zeus and Hades. Roman form: Neptune Zeus The Greek god of the sky and king of the gods. Roman form: Jupiter

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Foxy is definitely male despite having a girl’s name. Poor guy.

She's not really your type," Ethan said, leaning against the bar. Liam bristled. "You don't know what my type is. Maybe I've just been killing time, waiting for a woman like Daisy who is beautiful, fiercely smart, funny, kindhearted, loving, and totally dedicated to her family. She's organized and efficient, and she created an entire spreadsheet with a plan to make this marriage authentic. She's got it all under control. And she's going to kill it at quiz night tonight because she has an incredible memory for trivia. She knows how many tamales people ate in San Francisco in 1890." Rainey and Ethan shared a look. "He slept with her.

With your senses hot-wired you become sensitive to trivia. Not helping the mood is almost continual pain and discomfort of some type. An itchy crotch causing severe scratching leading to irritating abrasions was common. Our feet stank and sweated in our boots so the skin peeled off our toes causing ‘foot-rot’, veld sores suppurated and brought the flies to feed on them. We invariably got the ‘runs’ and had sore bums. “That first night back with our arms around our fellow mates and our shrunken belly full of Castle Beer was like a ritual for us; a time to heal the mental wounds of war and remind one another that we loved each other; because only with that special, brotherly bond, we were going to survive what still lay ahead. This war had changed us all forever, for better or worse, we were living in a different world that was shaped by a closeness to violence and quick death that we knew could be coming our way soon. Although we had survived, we had all killed and we had seen, very vividly, how quickly life can end. We had won the last round but there was another coming soon and sudden death could well be our destiny.

But I suppose you can’t go through life thinking ‘what if?’, can you? What is done is done.

Every single person has an individual, unique smell. Identical twins, however, share the same smell.

Renaissance composer Orlando de Lassus was kidnapped three times as a boy because of his beautiful singing voice.

When John Lennon was asked if Ringo Starr was the best drummer in the world he replied “In the world? He’s not even the best drummer in The Beatles!

A woman’s heartbeat is, on average, faster than a man’s by almost eight beats a minute.

Over 50% of the dust in your home is actually dead skin.

It IS possible to sneeze with your eyes open, but in most cases your body’s response to blink kicks in.

Krystian Zimerman, an accomplished Polish pianist is known for traveling with his own Steinway grand piano. He was headed to play at Carnegie Hall shortly after 9/11, but his piano was confiscated at JFK Airport by customs officials because the glue smelled “funny”. They destroyed the instrument.

In 2011, a woman named Aimee Davison purchased a “non-visible” piece of art titled “Fresh Air” for $10,000.

After Leonardo da Vinci's death, King Francis I of France hung the Mona Lisa in his bathroom.

Studies have been shown that people with creative minds find it harder to fall asleep at night and prefer to stay up later.

In July 2016, after a night of drinking with friends, thirty three year old British man Simon Smith changed his name to Bacon Double Cheeseburger.

Surprisingly, the cotton candy machine was invented in 1897, by a dentist. However, cotton candy isn’t a modern invention. It dates back to the 15th century when Italian cooks spun sugar then draped it around wooden broom handles to create sculptures.

Casu marzu is a traditional Sardinian sheep milk cheese that contains live maggots inside.

Popcorn isn’t the most popular movie snack everywhere. In Colombia, dried ants are a popular alternative, while Korean moviegoers enjoy snacking on a bag of dried cuttlefish.

In addition to the 14 chemicals thrown into the mix when making McDonald’s French fries, they are sugar coated before being fried to ensure a golden color.

When Madonna moved to New York City, she was strapped for cash and took a job at Dunkin’ Donuts in Times Square. She got fired on the first day because she squirted jelly on a customer.

Steve Jobs used to relieve stress by soaking his feet in Apple’s company toilets.

Lady Gaga wrote Born This Way in 10 minutes flat, calling it “immaculate conception”.

Adele has to have her social media posts approved by two people before sharing. Apparently, she sent out a few too many drunk tweets and lost the privilege!

At the age of 12, Jay Z shot his drug-addicted brother for stealing money from him.

Will Smith can solve a Rubik’s Cube in under a minute.

Taylor Swift grew up on a Christmas tree farm.

Jackie Chan’s parents were so poor that they had to consider selling him to pay for the $200 hospital bill after he was born through cesarean surgery. His father borrowed the money and ate dog food for two-years to save cash.

Rihanna was an army cadet that trained with the Barbadian military. Fellow singer Shontelle was her drill sergeant.

There is no evidence that Viking helmets ever had horns.

Ronald Reagan was a lifeguard during high school and saved 77 lives. Though locals joke that many of those “survivors” were women faking distress to be rescued by the handsome lifeguard.

According to trainers, a reward for a dog’s good behavior must occur within seconds. Otherwise, a dog may not correlate its good behavior with positive reinforcement.

Lord Byron kept a pet bear in his Trinity College dorm room. He was told that dogs were strictly banned from the campus, so he brought along a different furry friend.

The world’s first recorded speeding ticket was given to Walter Arnold in Kent for going four times the speed limit… at 8 miles per hour.

It became illegal to sell ice-cream sodas on a Sunday in the American town of Evanston during the late 19th century. To get around the problem some traders replaced the soda with syrup and called the dessert an “Ice Cream Sunday.” Today, we cherish them as “Sundaes”.

Kissing after we say “I Do” is not purely out of romance. When ancient Romans reached an agreement, they would kiss to legally seal the contract. The practice was used in marriage contract as well, which has continued into modern times.

In 1847, Dr. Robert Liston performed an amputation in 25 seconds. He operated so quickly that he accidentally amputated his assistant’s fingers as well. Both later died of sepsis, along with a spectator who reportedly died of shock. This resulted in the only known procedure with a 300% mortality rate.

You are 99.9% genetically similar to the person next to you. You also share 60% of your DNA with a banana.

Onion is Latin for “large pearl.” Onions, with their ringed layers, represented eternity and were found in the eyes of King Ramses IV who died in 1160 B.C.

Domestic cats spend over 50% of their lives asleep, but some large cats sleep even more than that. Lions and tigers can sleep up to 20 hours a day.

North American porcupines may have upwards of 30,000 quills on their bodies.

It is incredibly common for humans to be allergic to cats. But interestingly enough, some cats are allergic to humans!

A snail can sleep for three years.

In 1924, A Labrador Retriever was sentenced to life without parole at Eastern State Penitentiary for killing the Governor’s cat.

Jimi Hendrix created the song "Little Wing" in 145 seconds

Rapper NoClue set the world record in 2005 for fastest rapper by rapping 723 syllables in 51.27 seconds.

The national sport of Canada is soccer, not hockey.

Greenland is unable to join FIFA because not enough grass grows there for a soccer field. Due to challenging weather conditions, soccer can only be played four months out of the year.

Stomach acid can dissolve metal.

They may cry constantly, but babies don’t shed tears until they’re at least one month old.

Your pinky finger is small, but mighty. Without it, you would lose 50% of your hand’s strength.

Your left lung is about 10 percent smaller than your right one.

There is a metal band called Hatebeak whose lead singer is an African grey parrot.

Lobster wasn’t always such a delicacy. In the 1800s, feeding lobster to prisoners was considered cruel and unusual punishment. Lobsters were referred to as the “cockroaches of the sea”.

Flamingo tongues were an ancient Roman delicacy.

Ruth Graves Wakefield invented the chocolate chip cookie around 1938. She sold her recipe to Nestle for one dollar and a lifetime supply of chocolate.

Don’t be fooled. Store bought 100% "real" orange juice is 100% artificially flavored.

The most expensive pizza in the world comes from Salerno, Italy and costs $12,000. It takes 72 hours to make.

Doritos were invented at Disneyland.

Americans eat three pounds of peanut butter per person every year. That’s enough peanut butter to coat the floor of the Grand Canyon!

The popsicle was accidentally invented by an 11-year-old in 1905. He mixed sugary soda powder with water and left it out overnight. It was a cold evening, so the mixture froze. He woke up to the discovery and devoured the icy treat by licking it off the wooden stirrer.

Mangoes can get a sunburn.

Cheese is the most stolen food in the world.

This gives turkeys a 360-degree range of vision.

early forms of hockey were played with frozen cow dung for a puck!

Rabbit was, after all, the sort of person—kind, caring, entirely adult—who would come outside to make sure she was okay, if he had witnessed her diving to the sidewalk outside Porter Square’s oldest established watering hole. She’d been inside the Newtowne once or twice. It was your standard townie bar: shouting TVs, glowing blue Keno screens, a dining room on one side and a dark, cozy bar on the other. On a Wednesday night, without any big sporting events, it would be slow and empty, the handful of requisite townies bellied up but none of the students and hipster yuppies who would clog it on trivia nights, the sports fans who preferred the atmosphere—low stakes, low expectations, a relic of another time, like someone’s uncle’s basement—

I’m always so worried about what I think others want and not myself. I want to see you every day and do Zumba classes and go to trivia nights. I want to hang with Camden and Michael and explore new things with you. Moving to a city alone sounds horrible. My parents had been pushing it for so long that lines blurred along the way. What might’ve been my dream turned into theirs, and I let it happen. I needed to figure that out on my own, and I didn’t talk to you about it. I should’ve. I will next time.

The biggest takeaway from my long-distance relationship with Floyd Byars was that I optioned an original screenplay he had co-written with his writing partner, Laurie. Another takeaway was a case of crabs picked up on our only vacation together in Zihuatanejo, Mexico. I noticed a crab in my eyelashes when I was in the airplane bathroom on my way back to JFK. I feared these little critters might be other places as well, so I spent the next four hours squirming in my seat, itchy and miserable. On the taxi ride home, I made the driver stop at an all-night pharmacy so I could buy a bottle of Kwell. But despite the footsies and the crabs, I liked the premise of his (their) Making Mr. Right script.

I stopped being nearly as much fun at parties after I joined the FBI. Trivia nights, though, everybody wants to be on my team.

Muller scanned one scrap of paper after another. Griezman’s output was prodigious. Most of it was normal ass-covering bullshit. Trivia from below to be shoveled up above. Standard practice. Everyone did it. No one ever wanted the buck to stop with him. No one ever wanted to be at an official inquiry, saying, “Yes, it was me who judged it not worth passing on. So it’s all my fault.” There

Used with care, substances that harm neural tissue, such as alcohol, can aid intelligence: you corrode the chromium, giggly, crossword puzzle-solving parts of your mind with pain and poison, forcing the neurons to take responsibility for themselves and those around them, toughening themselves against the accelerated wear of these artificial solvents. After a night of poison. your brain wakes up in the morning saying, “No, I don't give a shit who introduced the sweet potato into North America.

Viscosity

Tonight she'll be with Jeremy, her lieutenant, but she wants to be with Roger. Except that, really, she doesn't. Does she? She can't remember being so confused. When she is with Roger it's all love, but at any distance- any at all, Jack- she finds that he depresses and even frightens her. Why? On top of him in the wild nights riding up and down his cock her axis, trying herself to stay rigid enough not to turn to cream taper-wax and fall away melting to the coverlet coming there's only room for Roger, Roger, oh love to the end of breath. But out of bed, walking talking, his bitterness, his darkness, run deeper than the War, the winter: he hates England so, hates "the System," gripes endlessly, says he'll emigrate when the War's over, stays inside his paper cynic's cave hating himself... and does she want to bring him out, really? Isn't it safer with Jeremy? She tried not to allow this question to often, but it's there. Three years with Jeremy. They might as well be married. Three years ought to count for something. Daily, small stitches and easings. She's worn old Beaver's bathrobes, brewed his tea and coffee, sought his eye across lorry-parks, day rooms and rainy mud fields when all the day's mean, dismal losses could be rescued in the one look- familiar, full of trust, in a season where the word is invoked for quaintness or a minor laugh. And to rip it all out? three years? for this erratic, self-centered- boy, really. Weepers, he supposed to be past thirty, he's years older than she. He ought to've learned something, surely? A man of experience? /// If the rockets don't get her there's still her lieutenant. Damned Beaver/Jeremy IS the War, he is every assertion the fucking War has ever made- that we are meant work and government, for austerity: and these shall take priority over love, dreams, the spirit, the senses and the second-class trivia that are found among the idle and mindless hours of the day... Damn them, they are wrong. They are insane. Jeremy will take her like the Angel itself, in his joyless weasel-worded come-along, and Roger will be forgotten, an amusing maniac, but with no place in the rationalized power-ritual that will be the coming peace. She will take her husband's orders, she will become a domestic bureaucrat, a junior partner, and remember Roger, if at all, as a mistake thank God she did not make... Oh, he feels a raving fit coming on- how the bloody hell can he survive without her? She is the British warm that protects his stooping shoulders, and the wintering sparrow he holds inside his hands. She is his deepest innocence in spaces of bough and hay before wishes were given a separate name to warn they might not come true, and his lithe Parisian daughter of joy, beneath the eternal mirror, forswearing perfumes, capeskins to the armpits, all that is too easy, for his impoverishment and more worthy love. /// Jessica steps away from Roger to blow her nose. The sound is as familiar to him as a bird's song, ip-ip-ip-ip NGUNNGG as the hankerchief comes away..."Oh sooper dooper," she says, "think I'm catching a cold." You're catching the War. It's infecting you and I don't know how to keep it away. Oh, Jess. Jessica. Don't leave me....

Tonight she'll be with Jeremy, her lieutenant, but she wants to be with Roger. Except that, really, she doesn't. Does she? She can't remember being so confused. When she is with Roger it's all love, but at any distance- any at all, Jack- she finds that he depresses and even frightens her. Why? On top of him in the wild nights riding up and down his cock her axis, trying herself to stay rigid enough not to turn to cream taper-wax and fall away melting to the coverlet coming there's only room for Roger, Roger, oh love to the end of breath. But out of bed, walking talking, his bitterness, his darkness, run deeper than the War, the winter: he hates England so, hates "the System," gripes endlessly, says he'll emigrate when the War's over, stays inside his paper cynic's cave hating himself... and does she want to bring him out, really? Isn't it safer with Jeremy? She tried not to allow this question to often, but it's there. Three years with Jeremy. They might as well be married. Three years ought to count for something. Daily, small stitches and easings. She's worn old Beaver's bathrobes, brewed his tea and coffee, sought his eye across lorry-parks, day rooms and rainy mud fields when all the day's mean, dismal losses could be rescued in the one look- familiar, full of trust, in a season where the word is invoked for quaintness or a minor laugh. And to rip it all out? three years? for this erratic, self-centered- boy, really. Weepers, he supposed to be pas thirty, he's years older than she. He ought to've learned something, surely? A man of experience? /// If the rockets don't get her there's still her lieutenant. Damned Beaver/Jeremy IS the War, he is every assertion the fucking War has ever made- that we are meant work and government, for austerity: and these shall take priority over love, dreams, the spirit, the sense and the second-class trivia that are found among the idle and mindless hours of the day... Damn them, they are wrong. They are insane. Jeremy will take her like the Angel itself, in his joyless weasel-worded come-along, and Roger will be forgotten, an amusing maniac, but with no place in the rationalized power-ritual that will be the coming peace. She will take her husband's orders, she will become a domestic bureaucrat, a junior partner, and remember Roger, if at all, as a mistake thank God she did not make... Oh, he feels a raving fit coming on- how the bloody hell can he survive without her? She is the British warm that protects his stooping shoulders, and the wintering sparrow he holds inside his hands. She is his deepest innocence in spaces of bough and hay before wishes were given a separate name to warn they might not come true, and his lithe Parisian daughter of joy, beneath the eternal mirror, forswearing perfumes, capeskins to the armpits, all that is too easy, for his impoverishment and more worthy love. /// Jessica steps away from Roger to blow her nose. The sound is as familiar to him as a bird's song, ip-ip-ip-ip NGUNNGG as the hankerchief comes away..."Oh sooper dooper," she says, "think I'm catching a cold." You're catching the War. It's infecting you and I don't know how to keep it away. Oh, Jess. Jessica. Don't leave me,,,,

She also told me about the night one of her astrophysics friends went to a bar trivia contest where the final question was "What does Kelvin measure?" The winning answer was "heat," but her friend explained that Kelvin measures temperature, not heat, since heat is energy and is measured in energy units like joules or ergs. The astronomer refused to back down, until the battle had to be settled with a chug-off. These astro people are hard-core.

YOU KNOW YOU’RE GETTING OLDER WHEN… … The gleam in your eye is from the sun hitting your bifocals. … You feel like the morning after the night before, except you haven’t been anywhere. … You decide to procrastinate, but then never get around to it. … You look forward to a dull evening. … You sit in a rocking chair but can’t get it going.

A Byzantine historian recorded that in 536 A.D., there was a worldwide dust cloud that blocked out the sun for a year, resulting in widespread famine and disease.

Perhaps desire is overrated! Don't you think? There's a thin line between passion and annihilation, never mind between love and hate.

My job had always been a huge part of who I am, is a huge part of who I am, and I suppose in those first few months of motherhood, after the initial euphoria, the whole 'oh my God, look what I've created' feeling had worn off, I struggled to figure out the woman who was left.

Incorrect: I use to be the most popular guy in school, but now I am the Thursday night trivia king at the local bar. Correct: I used to be the most popular guy in school, but now I am the Thursday night trivia king at the local bar.