Wen Quotes

Expectations are a funny thing,” Wen said. “When you’re born with them, you resent them, fight against them. When you’ve never been given any, you feel the lack of them your whole life.

You were right, Sadie Wen. I am completely, helplessly obsessed with you.

I think you're obsessed with me, Sadie Wen.

She looked so cute wen she was apologizing that Helen couldn't even pick up a grudge, let alone carry one.

these random unkind moment that catch you wen you least expect them.

The first words that are read by seekers of enlightenment in the secret, gong-banging, yeti-haunted valleys near the hub of the world, are when they look into The Life of Wen the Eternally Surprised. The first question they ask is: 'Why was he eternally surprised?' And they are told: 'Wen considered the nature of time and understood that the universe is, instant by instant, recreated anew. Therefore, he understood, there is in truth no past, only a memory of the past. Blink your eyes, and the world you see next did not exist when you closed them. Therefore, he said, the only appropriate state of the mind is surprise. The only appropriate state of the heart is joy. The sky you see now, you have never seen before. The perfect moment is now. Be glad of it.' The first words read by the young Lu-Tze when he sought perplexity in the dark, teeming, rain-soaked city of Ankh-Morpork were: 'Rooms For Rent, Very Reasonable.' And he was glad of it.

The ‘Three Tumors’ is the nickname given to the three heavenly officials who don’t have a good rep but have a good relationship with each other, and they are Ming Guan, Ling Wen, and my brother. ‘I can’t believe it’s not Xie Lian, Xie Lian, and Xie Lian.’ Xie Lian thought.

Everyone is born creative; everyone is given a box of crayons in kidergarten. Then wen you hit puberty they take te crayons away and replace them with dry, uninspiring books on agebra, history, ect. Being suddenly hit years later with the 'creative bug' is just a wee voice telling you, 'I'd like my crayons back, please.

The place I go when I feel trapped inside myself. When I'm terrified that all my happiest moments belong to the past. Wen my body is humming with too much of something, or aching from too little, and life stretches out ahead of me like a threat.

But perhaps all monsters were heroes in their own eyes.

Wen Yuan held him in one hand and a wooden sword in the other, wearing the grass butterfly on his head, 'Brother Xian, would Brother Rich ever come here again?' Wei WuXian bursted, 'Who’s Brother Rich?' Wen Yuan answered seriously, 'The rich brother is Brother Rich.' Wei WuXian, 'Then what about me?' As expected, Wen Yuan answered, 'You are Brother Xian. Brother Poor.

When people dis fantasy—mainstream readers and SF readers alike—they are almost always talking about one sub-genre of fantastic literature. They are talking about Tolkien, and Tolkien's innumerable heirs. Call it 'epic', or 'high', or 'genre' fantasy, this is what fantasy has come to mean. Which is misleading as well as unfortunate. Tolkien is the wen on the arse of fantasy literature. His oeuvre is massive and contagious—you can't ignore it, so don't even try. The best you can do is consciously try to lance the boil. And there's a lot to dislike—his cod-Wagnerian pomposity, his boys-own-adventure glorying in war, his small-minded and reactionary love for hierarchical status-quos, his belief in absolute morality that blurs moral and political complexity. Tolkien's clichés—elves 'n' dwarfs 'n' magic rings—have spread like viruses. He wrote that the function of fantasy was 'consolation', thereby making it an article of policy that a fantasy writer should mollycoddle the reader. That is a revolting idea, and one, thankfully, that plenty of fantasists have ignored. From the Surrealists through the pulps—via Mervyn Peake and Mikhael Bulgakov and Stefan Grabiński and Bruno Schulz and Michael Moorcock and M. John Harrison and I could go on—the best writers have used the fantastic aesthetic precisely to challenge, to alienate, to subvert and undermine expectations. Of course I'm not saying that any fan of Tolkien is no friend of mine—that would cut my social circle considerably. Nor would I claim that it's impossible to write a good fantasy book with elves and dwarfs in it—Michael Swanwick's superb Iron Dragon's Daughter gives the lie to that. But given that the pleasure of fantasy is supposed to be in its limitless creativity, why not try to come up with some different themes, as well as unconventional monsters? Why not use fantasy to challenge social and aesthetic lies? Thankfully, the alternative tradition of fantasy has never died. And it's getting stronger. Chris Wooding, Michael Swanwick, Mary Gentle, Paul di Filippo, Jeff VanderMeer, and many others, are all producing works based on fantasy's radicalism. Where traditional fantasy has been rural and bucolic, this is often urban, and frequently brutal. Characters are more than cardboard cutouts, and they're not defined by race or sex. Things are gritty and tricky, just as in real life. This is fantasy not as comfort-food, but as challenge. The critic Gabe Chouinard has said that we're entering a new period, a renaissance in the creative radicalism of fantasy that hasn't been seen since the New Wave of the sixties and seventies, and in echo of which he has christened the Next Wave. I don't know if he's right, but I'm excited. This is a radical literature. It's the literature we most deserve.

You can achieve everything in this world, but if it’s for someone else, it’s pointless. Live for yourself.

Maybe part of fighting the unhappiness in this world is to seize happiness when we can.

I was surrounded by heaven. The sun, the moon, the earth, and all those living stars. They wen't static like in pictures taken from impossibly far away- they breathed, they glowed. They were future and past, possibility and memory. They were beautiful. "I never knew there were so many," I whispered. We are merely pieces of a grander design, even more insignificant than I imagined. When the earth ceases to be, all those stars will shine on. Out deaths will mean nothing to them. "I feel so small." No one replied. I wondered as I watched the stars, really seeing them for the fist time, whether they could see me, too.

In the face of fear, one could choose to run, or to rise.

It was the books I started reading. It was the music I started listening to. It was the television I started watching. I found myself thinking again. I tried to stop because it was only causing pain. I couldn't. Wen all this is in your head it has to come out into your life. If it doesn't, you get crushed. I'm not going to get crushed.

I never meant to hurt anyone. Perhaps monsters never meant to hurt others, either. Perhaps monsters didn't even know they were monsters.

Wen considered the nature of time and understood that the universe is, instant by instant, re-created anew. Therefore, he understood, there is, in truth, no Past, only a memory of the Past. Blink your eyes, and the world you see next did not exist when you closed them. Therefore, he said, the only appropriate state of the mind is surprise. The only appropriate state of the heart is joy. The sky you see now, you have never seen before. The perfect moment is now. Be glad of it.

Then the other door opened. I wen't rigid. If I had thought Reth's was beautiful, it was nothing to this soul. It filled the night with light, dancing and rippling like the reflection on a pond. I hadn't seen many souls, but I knew this one was special. I wanted it. I needed it.

I suppose we are all heroes in our own eyes, and monsters in the eyes of those who are different.

With Wei WuXian dragging him and Wen Yuan clinging to his leg, Lan WangJi was finally shoved into a restaurant.

I can build a hyperphase jump gate, I'm sure I could have figured sex out. Insert Tab M into Slot F. Repeat until done.

If I could do girlhood again, I’d ask to be scarier. Less whimpering—more pyromaniac urges, more flirting with kerosene.

What is China but a people and their stories?

Choices were for those with privilege and power. When you had none, all you could do was survive.

Bast crouched down and began making weird chittering noises. Uh-oh. She was imitating birds. I'd seen enough cats do this when they were stalking. Suddenly my own obituary flashed in my head: Carter Kane, 14, tragically died in Paris wen he was eaten by his sister's cat, Muffin.

What could he say? That, back then, I wasn't caught by the Wen Sect because I wanted to go back to Lotus Pier to retrieve my parents' corpses. That, at the town we passed on our way, when you were buying food, a group of Wen Sect cultivators caught up. That, I discovered them early and left where I sat, hiding at the corner of the street and didn't get caught, but they were patrolling the streets and would soon run into you outside. That this was why I ran out and distracted them. But just like how the past Wei Wuxian couldn't tell him the truth of giving him his golden core, the current Jiang Cheng wasn't able to say anything either.

If you asked me how I felt when they told me I would marry Wen Fu, I can say only this: It was like being told I had won a big prize. And it was also like being told my head was going to be chopped off. Something between those two feelings.

Grief is for the survivors, and I think that, rather than living my life in pain, I would live it in laughter and love. To the fullest.

This world was neither just nor kind nor good, and you chose to keep fighting or to surrender.

But, in this world, life is a masquerade. Everyone wears masks.

When Jesus was born, he was already the son of God. I was the daughter of someone who ran away, a big disgrace. And when Jesus suffered, everyone worshipped him. Nobody worshipped me for living with Wen Fu. I was like that wife of Kitchen God. Nobody worshipped me either. He got all the excuses. He got all the credit. She was forgotten.

He wrote her name in wine. So she showered his soul in stardust.

And news flash- not speaking your language- in their own country- doesn't make anyone less intelligent than you

Lord Chi Wen thought three times before taking any action. When the Master heard this, he said: Twice is plenty enough.

Wen das Wort nicht schlägt, den schlägt auch der Stock nicht.

I couldn’t be Pillar without you, and I still can’t. We’ve both hurt each other because we were too stubborn about what we expected, and we paid badly for that. But what’s the point of life if we give up on the people we love?” He enfolded her into his arms and stroked her smooth hair. He kissed her on the forehead and cheeks and mouth. “Wen, will you be my Pillarman?

All love stories have much in common. I wen through the same thing at one point in my life. But that's not what I remember. What I remember is that love returned in the form of another man, new hopes, and new dreams.

Fear is dangerous, not the tarot. The tarot represents the spectrum of the human condition, the good, the evil, the light, and the dark. Do not fear the darker aspects of the human condition. Understand them. The tarot is a storybook about life, about the greatness of human accomplishment, and also the ugliness we are each capable of.

Just because you have a scar doesn’t mean you have something wrong with you, Wen.

That is because you don't yet know how to deal with time," said Wen. "But I will teach you to deal with time as you would deal with a coat, to be worn when necessary and discarded when not." "Will I have to wash it?" said Clodpool. Wen gave him a long, slow look. "That was either a very complex piece of thinking on your part, Clodpool, or you were just trying to overextend a metaphor in a rather stupid way. Which, do you think, it was?" Clodpool looked at his feet. Then he looked at the sky. Then he looked at Wen. "I think I am stupid, master." "Good," said Wen. "It is fortuitous that you are my apprentice at this time, because if I can teach you, Clodpool, I can teach anyone.

We cannot own each other, Bo. We can only offer what is ours to give.

Well it's like eating at my mom's you get what's being served and if you don't like it they still make you eat it

Hy gododin catann hue Hud a lledrith mal wyddan Gaunce ae bellawn wen cabri Varigal don Fincayra Dravia, dravia Fincayra (Talking trees and walking stones, Giants are the island's bones. While this land our dance still knows, Varigal crowns Fincayra. Live long, live long Fincayra.

When you walk into a room, you have the grace and gravitas of an empress, and I swear, even the Deities must pause to look at you.

understand now that rejecting their wishes is not the same as rejecting them.

You focused on the battle and lost sight of the war.

Only loss can teach us the true worth of things.” Linn’s clothes rustled as she knelt before Ana and grasped her hands. “There is nothing we can do but go on, one day at a time. We live in their memory, taking the breaths they cannot draw again, catching the warmth of the sunlight that they were meant to feel.

Sometimes, Linn thought, bravery was not loud, or grand, or brilliant as the blaze of a thousand fires. Sometimes it was quite. Unremarkable. Unknown. The resilient wend of water through rocks, year after year after year.

I love you, Lily. Everything you are. I love you." I know those words get thrown around a lot, especially by teenagers. A lot of times prematurely and without much merit. But when he said them to me, I knew he wasn't saying it like he was in love with me. It wasn't that kind of "I love you." Imagine the people you meet in your life. There are so many. They come in like waves, trickling in and out with the tide. Some waves are much bigger and make more of an impact than others. Sometimes the waves bring with them things from deep in the bottom of the sea and they leave those things tossed on the shore. Imprints against the grains of sand that prove the waves had once been there, long after the tide recedes. That was what Atlas was telling me wen he said "I love you." He was letting me know that I was the biggest wave he'd ever come across. And I brought so much with me that my impression would always be there, even when the tide rolled out.

Tarot helps us look within ourselves to understand our emotions, the reasoning behind our words and conduct, and the source of our conflicts.

Tarot is a practice rich with history and cultural knowledge. It is a science of the mind.

Speaking of which, I also met a teenager that could command silver butterflies around on Mount Yu Jun. Does anyone know who that was?” The lively, bustling chaotic spirit communication array suddenly fell silent the moment those words were out. This kind of reaction, Xie Lian had seen it coming and so he just waited patiently. After a while, Ling Wen finally asked, “Your Highness Crown Prince, what did you just say?” Mu Qing coldly answered for him, “He just said, he met Hua Cheng.” Finally obtaining the name of that red-clothed young man, Xie Lian was ineffably in a good mood. He smiled and said, “So his name is Hua Cheng? Hm, this name suits him quite well.

Master, what is the difference between a humanistic, monastic system of belief in which wisdom is sought by means of an apparently nonsensical system of questions and answers, and a lot of mystic gibberish made up on the spur of the moment?" Wen considered this for some time, and at last said: "A fish!" And Clodpool went away, satisfied.

Never be ashamed of being a learner: Jesus was one at twelve years of age; wen He was found in the temple, He was "sitting in the midst of the teachers, both listening to them, and asking them questions" (Luke 2:46).

This isn’t one of the fairy-tale stories you read in your childhood, where the hero always wins in the end. You’ll have many battles to fight, and you won’t win them all. And at the end of every single day, you’ll always face the same choice: keep fighting, or give up.

Was there a word to describe grief so deep that it cleaved you apart, carved a hole inside of you and left you hollow?

Why give me honey when you knew my future was diabetic?

We are but dust and stars.

If I am not the hunter, then I become the hunted.

Is that hood always part of your outfit?” “Is ignorance always part of your outfit?

I wish I wen' spend less time being haunted and mo' time facing my pain, so dat way--me an' her--we could have been living wit' his memories instead of hiding from dem.

And the old King said - Wen You want Something, all the Universe conspires in helping You to achieve it !!!- The Alchemist

Gazing at Wen’s lovely, trusting face, he was struck with remorse that he couldn’t, even with the consuming love he felt for her, promise not to break her heart.

Hwoinch!’ said Hen Wen.

He’s leaving with Sadie Wen: his co-conspirator, his co-captain, his rival, his life’s great defining question and answer.

In a conquered land, the only way to win was to survive.

You want me to be the monster? I'll be the monster.

Don’t go where I can’t follow.

There is good and bad in everything, Ana. And it is the good of this world that makes it worth saving.

And in every iteration of my imagination, Sòng Lián, I am with you.

I know how it feels, to be trapped. But if there is anything I have learned, it is that you can always make a choice.

I don't care what baggage they dragged over the ocean. They have no right to make me carry it the rest of my life.

Power is always borrowed, never created.

We will pick our way through the shards of broken objects folly leaves behind. And some of what breaks will be very beautiful.

lyf iz awsum wen u hav a dirty mind!!

Ik mis haar, maar ik wens haar toe dat ze iemand heeft gevonden die oprechter is dan ik.

They will put that on my gravestone. 'Here lies Tinker, her heart was in the right place, but her foot was in her mouth and god knows where her brain went.

That which shows God in me, fortifies me. That which shows God out of me, makes me a wart and a wen.

Glas wen. En galés, sonrisa azul. Una mueca malévola ante el sufrimiento de nuestro peor enemigo.

It’s not harassment when I do it. It’s only harassment when it comes from someone greasy, like Wen Chao. Anyhow, strip off your clothes.

But whenever Wen Fu began to shout, she always cried, cried all night long, and would not stop until I told her more lies. “Yiku, be good, and your life will be good too.” How could I know that this is how a mother teaches her daughter to be afraid?

In summers heate and mid-time of the day To rest my limbes upon a bed I lay, One window shut, the other open stood, Which gave such light as twinkles in a wood, Like twilight glimpse at setting of the Sunne, Or night being past, and yet not day begunne. Such light to shamefast maidens must be showne, Where they may sport, and seeme to be unknowne. Then came Corinna in a long loose gowne, Her white neck hid with tresses hanging downe, Resembling fayre Semiramis going to bed, Or Layis of a thousand lovers sped. I snatcht her gowne: being thin, the harme was small, Yet strived she to be covered therewithall. And striving thus as one that would be cast, Betrayde her selfe, and yeelded at the last. Starke naked as she stood before mine eye, Not one wen in her body could I spie. What armes and shoulders did I touch and see, How apt her breasts were to be prest by me. How smooth a belly under her wast saw I, How large a legge, and what a lustie thigh? To leave the rest, all liked me passing well, I clinged her naked body, downe she fell, Judge you the rest, being tirde she bad me kisse; Jove send me more such after-noones as this.

Worüber ich noch oft nachgedacht habe, war Folgendes: Warum sanken einige der getöteten Kampffische zum Grund und warum trieben andere an der Oberfläche? Wen machte der Tod leicht und wen schwer?

I forget what the weather was like that day, probably cloudy with a chance of emotion. All I remember is that it was windy; it was the type of wind that would blow your words in the opposite direction so they would never be heard.

Wen grinned and I felt a warm glow and an odd dizzy sensation. And then I remembered something my dad once wrote me about falling in love. He said the phrase was apt because falling is exactly what it can feel like, as if you've finally allowed yourself to let go of some safety bar you didn't even know you were clinging to, and suddenly you find yourself tumbling towards the exciting unknown.

Im Geiste rückte Helen noch näher an das Liebespaar heran, obwohl sie längst wusste, wen die andere Helen gerade küsste. Lucas. Er hatte ein Schwert am Gürtel und war seltsam gekleidet. Er trug Sandalen und seien Hände waren mit abgewetzten Lederstreifen, über denen er Bronzehandschuhe trug. Doch es war eindeutig Lucas. Das bewies auch sein Lachen, als die andere Helen ihn mit Küssen überschüttete.

Wen considered the nature of time and understood that the universe is, instant by instant, recreated anew. Therefore, he understood, there is, in truth, no past, only a memory of the Past. Blink your eyes, and the world you see next did not exist when you closed them. Therefore, he said, the only appropriate state of the mind is surprise. The only appropriate state of the heart is joy. The sky you see now, you have never seen before. The perfect moment is now. Be glad of it.

Not gonna lie, Your Highness. Every time I see you now, I feel anxious and my body tenses, like whoever walks next to you will have something happen to them. So when I see you walking with Ling Wen, my heartbeat quickened. Ling Wen, you best be careful for the next little while.

And from that time on the boys were no longer called Elder and Younger, but they were given school names by the old teacher, and this old man, after inquiring into the occupation of their father, erected two names for the sons; for the elder, Nung En, and for the second Nung Wen, and the first word of each name signified one whose wealth is from the earth.

So long as we live on, we carry inside us all that they destroyed. That is our triumph

A sword's purpose may be determined by its wielder, but take the weapon away entirely, and neither the merciful nor the cruel may draw blood with it.

Just because we haven’t seen a dragon, doesn’t mean dragons don’t exist.” Louise stated the logic of why the scientists were reluctant to commit to a theory.

We will not find fairness in this world. But it is up to us to take what we are given and to fight like hell to make it better.

It is the duty of those with power to protect those without.

Over. Done. Gone.

Every day I try to fight my own brokenness. But once you are forgotten, it's not so bad: a heart broken joins another chorus.

There was no honor and there were no rules to the game. You only played to win.

I wish for you to not go anywhere without me. In this world and the next. I wish for you to choose me.” A pause, and softer: “That is, if you would wish it.

...I've been ripped off, lied to, slandered, gossiped about slapped, falsely accused, and had my truths not believed. I've had my heart broken, had my pride stomped on, witnessed unforgivable acts, and heard words that hurt so much I withed that they would not replay in my head, but they did. In all these moments--some tear-soaked, some life-defining, but all character-building moments--I have felt vulnerable. And I believe these feelings of vulnerability--when a person feels scared and alone and overwhelmed and pissed off, wen the sting of unfairness bites deep--while miserable to live through, are the basis for writing compelling fiction.

Nobody told you that wen you became a parent, you became a child again; it was early bedtimes and grilled cheese sandwiches for all. Every date night was a negotiation, every invitation that you actually had the desire or energy to accept became a strategic maneuver that may or may not work out after all.

Wir gehen allein durch diese Welt, doch wen wir großes Glück haben, dürfen wir einen Augeblick lenag jemandem gehören, jemandem der uns durch die Einsamkeit trägt, die ein Legen lang andauert! Und für eine Minute habe ich ihn noch einmal berührt, in der Abenddämerung, und mir sind rote Flügel gewachsen, ich war wieder jung im Sommergarten. Ich hatte wieder Hoffnung und das ewige Leben.

I’ve been lucky enough to cross paths with these angels who seem to brush the dust off my wings so effortlessly. These wonderful people I don’t and will never know. I want to be one of them. I want to be many of them. Radiating, resonating, finding lost souls and then exhaling magic.

Your heart is your compass

It was all horribly ironic that she felt like she would need to be insane to believe the proof that she had never been crazy.

But you must remember that, should you choose to live, you do not live only for yourself. You live for those you have lost. You carry their legacies inside you.

The man he’d become believed that there was no good or bad; there were only various shades of gray.

Maybe I'm always obsessed with the guy who isn't available, so I don't ever put myself on the line.

Traffic here is a human rights violation.

Choices are for those with privilege.

wen thectaste of my own medicine is given to me results into silent treatment,its not bitter therefore i enjoy the medicine i gave you too.

Ojii-san’s wen has been his only confidant, and he’s conscious of a certain loneliness without it.

There were things that nothing could make right. They stayed hidden as black holes inside of you. You went on the best you could, pretending everything was fine.

There is nothing we can do but go on, one day at a time. We live in their memory, taking the breaths they cannot draw again, catching the warmth of the sunlight that they were meant to feel.

But in rare moments like this, when the sun hung ripe and swollen as a mandarin over the glittering sea, there was still a shattered-glass beauty to be found in the remnants of a conquered land.

De geschiedenis van een mensenziel , zelfs van de allergeringste, is haast belangwekkender en leerrijker dan de geschiedenis van een geheel volk, vooral wanneer zij het resultaat is van een heldere geest, en wanneer zij geschreven is zonder ijdele wens bewondering en sympathie op te wekken.

Wen kümmert am Ende irgendein mieser Erstentwurf? Hauptsache, er hat uns Erkenntnisse für die späteren, besseren Versionen geliefert. Man kann beim Schreiben alles überarbeiten – außer weiße Seiten.

[Unser Leben] ist unüberwindlich verworren nur dann, wen man an sich denkt; aber in dem Augenblick, wo man nicht an sich denkt, sondern sich fragt, wie man einem anderen helfen könne, ist es sehr einfach.

What use are tears? Ying had murmured to her once, back when they had just crossed their twelfth cycle of life and the wounds of Lan’s losses still cut deep every night. The dead will neither feel them nor be called by them. Grief is for the survivors, and I think that, rather than living my life in pain, I would live it in laughter and love. To the fullest.

Yet who was it…who had deemed the other parts of her and her empire unworthy? Who had determined that Affinites were less worthy of love, of being human, and why? Simply on the basis that they were…different?

Odd, the words: ‘while away the time’. How to hold it fast the harder thing. Who is not fearful: where is there a staying, where in all this is there any being? Look, as the day slows towards the space that draws it into dusk: rising became upstanding, standing a laying down, and then that which accepts its lying blurs to darkness. Mountains rest, outgloried be the stars - but even there, time’s transition glimmers. Ah, nightly refuged in my wild heart, roofless, the imperishable lingers. --- Wunderliches Wort: die Zeit vertreiben! Sie zu halten, wäre das Problem. Denn, wen ängstigts nicht: wo ist ein Bleiben, wo ein endlich Sein in alledem? - Sieh, der Tag verlangsamt sich, entgegen jenem Raum, der ihn nach Abend nimmt: Aufstehn wurde Stehn, und Stehn wird Legen, und das willig Liegende verschwimmt - Berge ruhn, von Sternen überprächtigt; - aber auch in ihnen flimmert Zeit. Ach, in meinem wilden Herzen nächtigt obdachlos die Unvergänglichkeit.

Your Highness truly thinks outside the box. There is no one like you in all of history. I am steeped in deep respect.” “Please, that’s too much praise,” Xie Lian said. “It’s not,” Ling Wen said. “At least, I certainly do believe there will never be another person in history able to create a dish called ‘Incorruptible Chastity Meatballs.

Wen people ask me what my favorite color is I say green Because I don't know what to call it This color the sky turns When the sun and moon One rising The other setting Winking at each other through the indigo touched with gold

Er werd wel eens beweerd dat juist in de wens het waarlijk geluk ligt, in het nog onvervulde willen, maar niks is minder waar, vond hij. In het weerzien, het vinden, het landen daar zat het, zoveel wist hij inmiddels wel zeker.

1+1 is always 2. With her, 1+1 is exponential.

If only her problems were as simple as dealing with a handful of townspeople with pitchforks...

Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.

She's surprisingly destructive for her size." "That's part of her appeal,

He who rushes into battle unprepared is already accepting a loss.

No matter how luxurious a life the caged bird leads, it remains at the mercy of its master.

I am afraid, Ama-ka." "That, my daughter, is when you can choose [...] to be brave.

Monsters make the most powerful weapon in the arsenal.

If the world falls, the last thing I want is to know I could have fought and made a difference and chose not to.

Only loss can teach us the true worth of things.

Your heart is your compass,

I do not let other people define me. I am who I am, and that is an intelligent and gracious human being. And as such, I do not drop to the level of bullies and trade insult for insult.

They wonder what is wrong with our country, but isn’t it fairly obvious that if children are being treated like animals instead of rational beings, as adults they’ll respond like monkeys?

Honor isn’t about other people, it’s about what you want to be,” Louise said. “A hero does the good and noble thing. The villain allows fear or envy or selfishness to let him ignore what is right.

B4 U,my life ws lyk a moonless night.Very dark, but der wer stars,points of light & reason.And den you shot across my sky like a meteor.Suddenly everythng ws on fire;ter ws brilliancy,der ws beauty.Wen u wer gone,wen d meteor had fallen over d horizon,everythng went black.Nothing had changed,but my eyes wer blinded by d light I cudn’t c d stars anymore & ter was no more reason, for anything.

Life is like a additional math problem, once you thing you have everthing figured out, you find out you message somewhere. Scars show us where we have been. But they don't have determine where we go.

I, for one, always felt like this sort of words are extremely hypocritical. Even one word feels humiliating.” Sang Yan’s eyes were dark – darker than the night. “However, in this life, I’d have to say it once.” Wen Yifan earnestly stared at him. “Have you not realized it yet?” Sang Yan bent forwards slightly, closing the gap between them. The man in front of her was no different compared to all those years ago. “After all these years,” His words hammered down along with the pouring rain. Smashing against her heart. “-you’re still the only I like.

Wen interessiert denn, ob eine Geschichte wahr ist oder nicht? Sie ist wahr in dem Augenblick, da wir sie erzählen. Vielleicht sind unsere eigenen schlimmen Geschichten die eigentliche Lüge. Wer weiß das schon? Deine Geschichte hat vielversprechend begonnen, ich hätte sie gerne gehört.

When Wen opened the door and saw him dressed so formally, she backed away from him and put her hands to her chest, bending as if in pain. She trembled as he stepped in the house and put his arms around her. “You’ve decided to go,” she said. “Yes,” he said. “We have to be married today.

Papa had once told her, after Mama’s death, that there were two types of grief. One was the type that crushed you, that broke your soul and shattered your heart, and left you an empty shell. The other was a grief that made you stronger. You rose from it, you sharpened it, and you carried it with you as a piece of your armor. And you made yourself better. In that way, you never truly lost that person. You carried them with you.

And the Old Matchmaker of the Moon said to the lovers, 'This red thread I bestow upon you. It may stretch and it may tangle, but it will never break. Across cycles and worlds and lifetimes, your souls are now destined.

I would die for my family if it came to it. I would emigrate to a foreign country and give up dancing to unwrap blood-soaked bandages every hour of every day if it meant food and shelter for my family. But because of them, I don’t have to.

Jillian had chosen their cutest dresses that made grown woman start talking in abnormally high voices. (“Oh, just look at you! Aren’t you just so cute!” This wouldn’t be so worrisome if it wasn’t the same voice that women used with puppies.)

There was an old Taoist who lived in a village in ancient China, named Master Hu. Hu loved God and God loved Hu, and whatever God did was fine with Hu, and whatever Hu did was fine with God. They were friends. They were such good friends that they kidded around. Hu would do stuff to God like call him "The Great Clod." That's how he kidded. That was fine with God. God would turn around and do stuff to Hu like give him warts on his face, wens on his head, arthritis in his hands, a hunch in his back, canker sores in his mouth and gout in his feet. That's how He kidded. That God. What a kidder! But it was fine with Hu. Master Hu grew lumpy as a toad; he grew crooked as cherry wood; he became a human pretzel. "You Clod!" he'd shout at God, laughing. That was fine with God. He'd send Hu a right leg ten inches shorter than the left to show He was listening. And Hu would laugh some more and walk around in little circles, showing off his short leg, saying to the villagers, "Haha! See how the Great Clod listens! How lumpy and crookedy and ugly He is making me! He makes me laugh and laugh! That's what a Friend is for!" And the people of the village would look at him and wag their heads: sure enough, old Hu looked like an owl's nest; he looked like a swamp; he looked like something the dog rolled in. And he winked at his people and looked up at God and shouted, "Hey Clod! What next?" And splot! Out popped a fresh wart. The people wagged their heads till their tongues wagged too. They said, "Poor Master Hu has gone crazy." And maybe he had. Maybe God sent down craziness along with the warts and wens and hunch and gout. What did Hu care? It was fine with him. He loved God and God loved Hu, and Hu was the crookedest, ugliest, happiest old man in all the empire till the day he whispered, Hey Clod! What now? and God took his line in hand and drew him right into Himself. That was fine with Hu. That's what a Friend is for.

We're breaking another taboo, talking about racism, but I've just broken a bigger one confronting that guy before the entire restaurant, instead of sticking to that Asian nonconfrontational thing. But these are rules meant to be broken. Something happens to a kid when they see their parent treated like that. Something happens to the parent.

Thing is, Ramson, you can achieve everything in this world, but if it’s for someone else, it’s pointless. Figure out what you want to do in this life. Live for yourself. You might be the world’s strongest battleship, but you can’t navigate without a compass.

Yin and yang, good and evil, great and terrible, kings and tyrants and heroes and villains. The tropes in the classics of old are but a matter of perspective. Really, they are two sides of the same coin. He who lives to tell the tale decides which side to pick.

His smile had vanished, and the warm spark in his eyes was suddenly ablaze–a roaring fire, threatening to consume her. To destroy her. 'When you walk into a room, you have the grace and gravitas of an empress, and I swear, even the Deities must pause to look at you.

Ever the Brave Boar. I like it,

I snatch my body as well as my bad from Rick. My heart pounds in my throat. His hand and arm have branded themselves through the fabric of my clothes into my skin.

you can achieve everything in this world, but if it’s for someone else, it’s pointless.

But, in this world life is a masquerade. Everyone wears masks.

You know what they say about diplomacy. It’s the only proper way for two parties to lie to each other’s faces and be happy about it

Anyone as stupidly brave as Atsumori is not going to understand Kenichi I was not stupid. Odds were that I would have drowned; I was in full armor.

What is today? She'd lost track over the last few days. Pixii shrugged. First day after firing the kiln.

They think that the past is dead. They don’t see that the past is just the beginning of the future.

The most important lesson Louise learned a week before her ninth birthday was the hardest one to keep in mind. Sometimes what sounded like a good plan wasn’t.

It’s like God is trying to tell us something when the most beautiful people in the world are racially mixed.

My definition of divination is to see and know yourself with clarity, not see or know the future. Tarot

Your Affinity does not define you. What defines you is how you choose to wield it.

There is no peace without violence, no harmony without sacrifice, no unity without the loss of individuality.

Life results in death, and death gives way to life; day turns to night, and night will always yield to day. Sun and moon, summer and winter—both are eternally present in this world.

I have a confession," he murmurs between kisses. "That first day, sitting beside you in the van, I wanted to kiss you then." "Was that why you were such a jerk?" "Was I?" "Definitely. Where?" "Where what?" "Where did you want to kiss me?" His voice is husky. "Everywhere.

Hate has always been the blinder used by those who own slaves. It allows those they enslave to only see those who escaped the yoke, and not the one that sits holding the reins. The moment you hear anyone fear-mongering and pointing fingers, you should look for the shackle on your ankle.” “Don’t

Your choices, Luka’s voice whispered, but something in her brother’s words was broken now, changed with the year she had spent away from the Palace. Choices were for those with privilege and power.

It’s like you tune in to a supernatural event, and anyone who is destined to interact with that event picks up the same psychic signature. You tune in to radio-station freaky and write what you hear.

Her dads warned her that some people won't understand their family and might say ignorant (their word) and hurtful things to her and it might not be their fault because of what they've been taught by other ignorant people with too much hate in their hearts, and, yes, it was very sad. Wen assumed they were talking about the same bad or stranger-danger people that hide in the city and want to take her away, but the more they talked to her about what Scott had said and why others might say things like that, too, the more it seemed like they were talking about everyday kind of people. Weren't the three of them everyday kind of people? She pretended to understand for her dads' sake, but she didn't and still doesn't. Why do she and her family need to be understood or explained to anyone else?

There was a time when wen we did not form all our words as we do now, in writing on a page. There was a time when the word "&" was written with several distinct & separate letters. It seems madness now. But there it is, & there is nothing we can do about it. Humanity learned to ride the rails, & that motion made us what we are, a ferromaritime people. The lines of the railsea go everywhere but from one place straight to another. It is always switchback, junction, coils around & over our own train-trails. What word better could there be to symbolize the railsea that connects & separates all lands, than “&” itself? Where else does the railsea take us, but to one place & that one & that one & that one, & so on? & what better embodies, in the sweep of the pen, the recurved motion of trains, than “&”? An efficient route from where we start to where we end would make the word the tiniest line. But it takes a veering route, up & backwards, overshooting & correcting, back down again south & west, crossing its own earlier path, changing direction, another overlap, to stop, finally, a few hairs’ width from where we began. & tacks & yaws, switches on its way to where it’s going, as we all must do.

I’m so sick of these wussy princesses and evil women. We’ve done the evil witches of Sleeping Beauty and Rapunzel, the evil queen of Snow White and the evil stepmother of Cinderella. Is this some kind of campaign against femininity? Our choices are the evil and usually ugly powerful female or the helpless princess, desired just for her beauty? And what the heck is this shit about evil stepmothers anyway?

I tilt my head, reading without words. Us cutting our own path through the rock, until we merge with the larger river of life. The flow of water breaks my heart, but it also mends it again--everything art is supposed to do.

-Pero, cómo pudo Lu Wenli irse con el profesor Liu? -pregunté-. ¡Es inconcebible! -Acaso era concebible meterle la pelota en la boca de un requetazo? -replicó He Zhiwu. Indudablemente, eso formaba parte de las cosas inconcebibles, lo que demuestra que los asuntos de este mundo sufren infinitos cambios y evoluciones, que la suerte reúne a las parejas predestinadas a través de las más extrañas e imprevisibles coincidencias. No hay nada imposible.

I've prayed and begged and cried out until I'm hoarse and he says nothing. Silence. I'd like to say I know he hasn't turned his face from me, that he's still present with me...but I can't and I think it'll be the death of me.

It was humans who had inflicted ugliness and hatred upon themselves. And it was humans who would fix it. Humans, who had the propensity for so much good, for so much evil. Whose choices defined them. A new world would be born.

De vraag was hoe je iemands wens om met rust gelaten te worden negeerde, zelfs als je daarmee de vriendschap in gevaar bracht. Het was een geniepige paradox: hoe kun je iemand helpen die niet geholpen wil worden, terwijl je beseft dat je geen echte vriend bent als je níet probeert te helpen? Praat tegen me, zou hij af en toe wel tegen Jude willen schreeuwen. Vertel me iets. Vertel me wat ik moet doen om je zover te krijgen dat je tegen me gaat praten.

And you.” James suddenly turns his attention to me. “You must be Sadie Wen. You're practically a household name.” I conceal my surprise. I’d thought he was grossly exaggerating when he told me on the phone that his little brother talks about me all the time. But then I notice the crimson color creeping up on Julius's neck, and the only logical explanation for it is that whatever he's said is either terrible or wonderful. “What has he said about me?” Julius looks horrified. James, however, looks delighted. “Oh, you know. When you beat him in that biology test last month he wouldn’t shut up about it for days—“ “Stop,” Julius mutters out of the side of his mouth. He refuses to meet my gaze.

A drawing is a translation. That is to say each mark on the paper is consciously realted, not only to the real or imagined "model", but also to every mark and space already set out on the paper. Thus a drawn or painted image is woven together by the energy (or the lassitude, wen the drawing is weak) of countless judgements [sic]. Every time a figuration is evoked in a drawing, everything about it has been mediated by consciousness, either intuitively or systematically.

Seele im Raum Hier bin ich, hier bin ich, Entrungene, taumelnd. Wag ichs denn? Werf ich mich? Fähige waren schon viel dort, wo ich drängte. Nun wo auch noch die Mindesten restlos Macht vollziehn, schweigend vor Meisterschaft —: Wag ichs denn ? Werf ich mich? Zwar ich ertrug, vom befangenen Körper aus, Nächte; ja, ich befreundete ihn, den irdenen, mit der Unendlichkeit; schluchzend überfloß, das ich hob, sein schmuckloses Herz. Aber nun, wem zeig ichs, daß ich die Seele bin? Wen wunderts? Plötzlich soll ich die Ewige sein, nicht mehr am Gegensatz haftend, nicht mehr Trösterin; fühlend mit nichts als Himmeln. Kaum noch geheim; denn unter den offenen allen Geheimnissen eines, ein ängstliches. O wie durchgehn sich die großen Umarmungen. Welche wird mich umfangen, welche mich weiter geben, mich, linkisch Umarmende? Oder vergaß ich und kanns? Vergaß den erschöpflichen Aufruhr jener Schwerliebenden? Staun', stürze aufwärts und kanns?

Bei dieser Passage gibt es nur ein einziges Problem: Es stimmt nicht. »Der Mensch« hat keineswegs den Atem angehalten angesichts dieses Kontinents, denn wenn wir uns »den Menschen« als die gesamte Menschheit vorstellen, dann hat »der Mensch« die Gegend schon gekannt, ja bereits seit Zehntausenden von Jahren bewohnt. Die Verwendung von »der Mensch« verrät uns am Ende viel darüber, wen genau der Erzähler als Person anerkennt und von welchem Standpunkt die Geschichte erzählt wird.

In fact, Wen'an was the prefect location for the scrap-plastics trace: it was close, but not too close, to Beijing and Tianjin, two massive metropolises with lots of consumers and lots of factories in need of cheap raw materials. Even better, its traditional industry - farming - was disappearing as the region's once-plentiful streams and wells were run dry by the region's rampant, unregulated oil industry. So land was plentiful, and so were laborers desperate for a wage to replace the money lost when their fields died. As I hear these stories, I can't help but wonder: How much of the plastic that Wen'an recycles was made from the oil pumped from Wen'an's soil? Are all those old plastic bags blowing down Wen'an's streets ghosts of the fuel that used to run beneath them?

The first question they ask is: "Why was he eternally surprised?" And they were told: "Wen considered the nature of time and understood the universe is, instant by instant, re-created anew. Therefore, he understood, there is, in truth, no Past, only a memory of the Past. Blink your eyes, and the world you see next did not exist when you closed them. Therefore, he said, the only appropriate state of mind is surprise. The only appropriate state of heart is joy. The sky you see now, you have never seen before. The perfect moment is now. Be glad of it.

But you must remember that, should you choose to live, you do not live only for yourself.” He made a gesture as though to touch his heart. “You live for those you have lost. You carry their legacies inside you. You see, the Elantians destroyed everything that made the roots of our kingdom: our culture, our education, our families and principles. They wish to take us out on our knees, to subdue us so that we will never lift our heads again. “But what they do not know is that, so long as we live on, we carry inside us all that they have destroyed. And that is our triumph; that is our rebellion.” Rain clung to his lashes as neither of them broke their gaze. “Do not let them win today.

As a matter of fact, I fucked someone else last night." I physically flinched at his words, my body jerking back, my knees almost giving out, my eyes wide, and my mouth open in horror. And then the worst happened. I began to cry. Through my tears I saw Braden's lips pinch together and he took two steps towards me, his whole body bristling. "I fucking knew it," he hissed, still coming toward me. "Don't touch me?" I yelled, not able to bear the thought of him near me now. "Don't touch you?" He snarled, his eyes sparking violently. "I'm going to kill you!" ... "Babe," his voice rumbled, the tenderness back, although I could still see the annoyance in his eyes. "I was so pissed off last night when you broke up with me, so I just walked away. I went to Elodie's because I knew she'd be awake worrying about Ellie and I wanted to see if she was okay. She knew something was wrong with me as soon as she let me in. I told her what had happened and she told me what she said to you at the wedding, and she also told me that wen she said that to you, you looked like you'd been slapped. And after, when we were dancing, she realized she was wrong about you." He let go of my wrists to slide his hands into my hair, tilting my head back so I couldn't look away. "I spent last night govern over and over the last six months in my head and I know you're lying to me. I know you love me, Jocelyn, because there's no fucking way I can be this in love with you, and not have you feel the same way.

I was wondering where the real party was." I jumped, sending my pencil in a sharp line across the page. Alex was standing two feet away, one booted foot on my step, hands thrust into the pockets of what looked too much like Emo pants: black and tight. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to surprise you." "You didn't surprise me," I gasped, left hand plastered to my chest. "You scared the crap out of me. Who raised you? Wolves?" He actually grinned. "You've met my parents. What do you think?" I wasn't going to touch that one. I just shrugged. "Why aren't you inside?" he asked after a few seconds. "It was too hot," I lied, closing my sketchbook as casually as I could. "Oppressive.Why aren't you?" "It was too...God, I don't know. Oppressive's a good word. Some fresh air seemed like a good idea." I looked past him, relieved not to see anyone else there. "All by yourself? That's...bold." His brows wen up. For a second, I thought he was going to turn around and leave. Instead,he took his hands out of his pockets and pointed at my step. "Big words for a small person. Can I sit down?" I swallowed. "Sure." He did, ending up with his elbows resting on his thighs and his right knee not quite touching mine. The silence went on just long enough to make in uncomfortable. But I wasn't going to help him with his small talk. I'm not very good at it in the best of circumstances. Sitting almost thigh to thigh with a guy who turned me into a mental pretzel was nowhere near a good circumstance.

Most of our children’s stories end with the perpetrators of evil deeds getting what’s coming to them, but this old gentleman did nothing wrong. He tried to perform a dance that, owing to a case of nerves, turned out rather disturbingly weird, but that’s the extent of his crime. Nor was anyone in his family particularly evil. And the same can be said for the sake-loving Ojii-san and his family, and for the Oni of Mount Tsurugi as well. None of them did anything wrong. And yet, although not a single instance of wrongdoing occurs in the story, people end up unhappy. It’s difficult, therefore, to extract from this tale of the stolen wen a moral lesson for daily life. But were an indignant reader to demand to know why, in that case, I even bothered to write the damn thing, I would have no choice but to reply as follows: It’s a tragicomedy of character. At issue here is an undercurrent that winds through the very heart of human existence.

De waarheid,' vervolgde Nietzsche, 'wordt ontdekt door ongeloof en scepsis, niet door een kinderlijk verlangen dat iets zus of zo zou mogen zijn! De wens van uw patiënt om in Gods handen te zijn is niet de waarheid. Het is alleen maar een kinderlijke wens - meer niet! Het is een verlangen om niet te sterven, het verlangen naar de eeuwige fopspeen die wij "God" hebben genoemd! De evolutietheorie toont wetenschappelijk aan dat God overbodig was - hoewel Darwin zelf niet de moed heeft gehad de logische conclusie uit zijn bewijzen te trekken. U beseft toch zeker wel dat wij God hebben geschapen en dat we hem nu met ons allen hebben vermoord.

By lifting Widget up, Law had given her the power to help others. They were daisy-chained together; acts of goodwill looped back around. Law had saved Windwolf. He had protected her without even knowing how much he owed her. Tinker saved the tengu, and they in turn protected Usagi and her children. Around and around, kindness being paid forward until it returned. It was what Pittsburgh needed. What Elfhome needed; people helping one another without concern of clan or race or species.

Ik voel de drang tegen de grenzen van de taal storm te lopen, en dat is geloof ik de drang van alle mensen die ooit geprobeerd hebben over ethiek en religie te schrijven en te spreken. Dat stormlopen tegen de wanden van onze kooi is geheel en al zinloos. Voor zover de ethiek ontstaat vanuit de wens iets over de uiteindelijke zin van het leven te zeggen, over het absoluut goede, het absoluut waardevolle, kan ze geen wetenschap zijn. Door wat ze zegt wordt onze kennis in geen enkele zin vermeerderd. Maar het is getuigenis van een drang in het menselijke bewustzijn die ik persoonlijk alleen maar kan waarderen en die ik voor geen enkele prijs belachelijk zou maken.

What use are tears? Ying had murmured to her once, back when they had just crossed their twelfth cycle of life and the wounds of Lan’s losses still cut deep every night. The dead will neither feel them nor be called by them. Grief is for the survivors, and I think that, rather than living my life in pain, I would live it in laughter and love. To the fullest.

It was comforting for only a moment. Then Joshua realized that the dude still had a seriously huge knife in his hand. The part of him that was crying like a kicked puppy took off running. Unfortunately it took the rest of him with it. “No! Nononono!” He cried even as he bolted. This was what scared him about being a werewolf. He wasn’t in control of his body anymore. Because of his last name and small size, he’d always been a target of bullies. He’d learned early that they could hurt him but they couldn’t control him if he didn’t let them. And then he learned martial arts and they couldn’t even hurt him anymore. In the last twenty-four hours, it had been as if he was strapped into a rollercoaster: all he could do was go for the ride and scream a lot.

Depuis que Ling Wen avait été amenée au ciel par nomination, les contes populaires racontaient tous qu’elle y était parvenue en séduisant un autre officier céleste, ce qui explique pourquoi, au début, le Palais de Ling Wen était froid et silencieux avec très peu de fidèles. Apparemment, pendant une période d’intense objection, elle était insultée et maudite au possible, et il y avait même des gens qui jetaient des linges menstruels et des brassières dans ses boîtes de dons. Cependant, si des officiers masculins avaient des rumeurs similaires, ils obtiendraient le titre de « charmant » à la place, et pouvaient en profiter pleinement. Clairement, bien que les situations soient similaires, il existe une différence entre les hommes et les femmes, et les conséquences étaient différentes.

Man hätte meinen können, all die Unwillkommenen würden sich zusammentun und gemeinsam gegen die Macht auftreten, die sie nicht aufkommen lassen wollte. Aber dem war nicht so. Sie hassten einander ebensosehr, wie die Lehrerin sie hasste. Sie imitierten die [...] Lehrerin [...]. Es gab in jeder Klasse einen Unglücklichen, den die Lehrerin zum Sündenbock stempelte. Dieses arme Kind wurde unausgesetzt getadelt und gequält, an ihm reagierte sie ihre Unzufriedenheit mit sich selbst ab. Und kaum hatten die anderen Schüler erkannt, wen sich die Lehrerin zum Opfer gewählt hatte, wandten auch sie sich mit doppelter Grausamkeit und Herzlosigkeit gegen dieses arme Geschöpf. Dafür schmeichelten sie denjenigen, die bei der Lehrerin in Gunst standen. Vielleicht hatten sie irgendwie das Gefühl, dadurch dem Thron näher zu kommen.

Always something in the nature of a Boil upon the face of society, Mr. Honeythunder expanded into an inflammatory Wen in Minor Canon Corner. Though it was not literally true, as was facetiously charged against him by public unbelievers, that he called aloud to his fellow-creatures: ‘Curse your souls and bodies, come here and be blessed!’ still his philanthropy was of that gunpowderous sort that the difference between it and animosity was hard to determine. You were to abolish military force, but you were first to bring all commanding officers who had done their duty, to trial by court-martial for that offence, and shoot them. You were to abolish war, but were to make converts by making war upon them, and charging them with loving war as the apple of their eye. You were to have no capital punishment, but were first to sweep off the face of the earth all legislators, jurists, and judges, who were of the contrary opinion. You were to have universal concord, and were to get it by eliminating all the people who wouldn’t, or conscientiously couldn’t, be concordant. You were to love your brother as yourself, but after an indefinite interval of maligning him (very much as if you hated him), and calling him all manner of names.

As I got older, I thought about aging more, as we all do. I came to think of old age as a fallibility akin to illness, something that left a person weak and in some way less than themselves. But I never used to think of my grandmother that way. Her hands with veins running across them like vines, the lines that criss-crossed her forehead, the full softness of her belly, the solidity of her arthritic shoulders, and those ancient, timeless eyes - to me these things spoke not of fallibility but of permanence. Of implacable strength, like an old gnarly tree that had been battered by wind and weather, but remained stubbornly set into the soil.

Mrs. Crisparkle had need of her own share of philanthropy when she beheld this very large and very loud excrescence on the little party. Always something in the nature of a Boil upon the face of society, Mr. Honeythunder expanded into an inflammatory Wen in Minor Canon Corner. Though it was not literally true, as was facetiously charged against him by public unbelievers, that he called aloud to his fellow-creatures: ‘Curse your souls and bodies, come here and be blessed!’ still his philanthropy was of that gunpowderous sort that the difference between it and animosity was hard to determine. You were to abolish military force, but you were first to bring all commanding officers who had done their duty, to trial by court-martial for that offence, and shoot them. You were to abolish war, but were to make converts by making war upon them, and charging them with loving war as the apple of their eye. You were to have no capital punishment, but were first to sweep off the face of the earth all legislators, jurists, and judges, who were of the contrary opinion. You were to have universal concord, and were to get it by eliminating all the people who wouldn’t, or conscientiously couldn’t, be concordant. You were to love your brother as yourself, but after an indefinite interval of maligning him (very much as if you hated him), and calling him all manner of names. Above all things, you were to do nothing in private, or on your own account. You were to go to the offices of the Haven of Philanthropy, and put your name down as a Member and a Professing Philanthropist. Then, you were to pay up your subscription, get your card of membership and your riband and medal, and were evermore to live upon a platform, and evermore to say what Mr. Honeythunder said, and what the Treasurer said, and what the sub-Treasurer said, and what the Committee said, and what the sub-Committee said, and what the Secretary said, and what the Vice-Secretary said. And this was usually said in the unanimously-carried resolution under hand and seal, to the effect: ‘That this assembled Body of Professing Philanthropists views, with indignant scorn and contempt, not unmixed with utter detestation and loathing abhorrence’—in short, the baseness of all those who do not belong to it, and pledges itself to make as many obnoxious statements as possible about them, without being at all particular as to facts.

Are you some kind of tree police?” Joshua asked without opening his eyes. “Do you feel as if you have some kind of civic duty to come out here and—and—annoy the hell out of me?” “Well—yes—I do have a civic duty to stop you—that is—if you needed stopping. If you’d kept to simple tree assault, I would have just kept watching. It was fairly entertaining, in a train wreck kind of way. You’ve moved up to tree homicide.” “Homicide?” Joshua opened his eyes to give the man an annoyed glare. “That implies intent. At most, this is tree slaughter. Maybe even just reckless endangerment—it might not be dead.” They eyed the tree in silence. His kick had sheered the tree trunk off five inches from the roots, leaving behind a jagged white stump, flowing with sap. “No, that’s dead,” the man said. “Yeah.” Joshua had to agree. It occurred to Joshua that this person might be undercover cop or some off-duty park ranger or a very lost Canadian Mountie or something. He’d seen Joshua destroy a piece of public property worth hundreds of dollars. The man might try to arrest him. That wouldn’t end well for either one of them.