Winchester Quotes

Picture yourself standing on a cliff overlooking the ocean. The wind is whipping your hair. The sun is setting. You long, body and soul, for one thing. One person. You hear footsteps behind you. You turn. Who's there? I remembered a voice. Jameson Winchester Hawthorne.

Have they even seen the Winchester boys? Sammy and Dean's existence proves there is a god and she is a woman.

Jameson Winchester Hawthorne is hungry. He's been looking for something. He's been looking for it since the day he was born.

Once upon a time in the dead of winter in the Dakota Territory, Theodore Roosevelt took off in a makeshift boat down the Little Missouri River in pursuit of a couple of thieves who had stolen his prized rowboat. After several days on the river, he caught up and got the draw on them with his trusty Winchester, at which point they surrendered. Then Roosevelt set off in a borrowed wagon to haul the thieves cross-country to justice. They headed across the snow-covered wastes of the Badlands to the railhead at Dickinson, and Roosevelt walked the whole way, the entire 40 miles. It was an astonishing feat, what might be called a defining moment in Roosevelt’s eventful life. But what makes it especially memorable is that during that time, he managed to read all of Anna Karenina. I often think of that when I hear people say they haven’t time to read.

Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.

You think you're funny? I think I'm adorable.

Dean, you've been to Hell, I started the Apocalypse, and we're supposed to be possessed by an archangel and the devil. Now you're being skeptical?

It always felt good typing up a review on a book I enjoyed and I went all out, finding bizarre pictures to emphasis the wow factor. I preffered ones with cute kittens and llamas. And Dean Winchester. Hitting 'publish post' cracked a smile.

A Winchester rifle should have a place of honor in every black home, and it should be used for that protection which the law refuses to give.

Saving people, hunting things, the family business.

And you are so obviously not Dean Winchester.

I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.

I have a better idea.” Jameson lowered his lips to mine. My neck arched. More mud on my face, my clothes. “I bet,” he countered, “that you can’t wash all this mud off before I…” “Before you what?” I murmured. Jameson Winchester Hawthorne smiled. “Guess.

I'm Batman

We know a little about a lot of things; just enough to make us dangerous.

Please accept this sandwich as a gesture of solidarity.

The diner, a motorcycle, and Dean Winchester.

So,” Lauren said. “You help ghosts with unfulfilled wishes cross over to the astral plane for judgment.” “Yes.” “And you hunt demons.” “Yes.” “And you’re married to an angel.” “Yes.” She paused. “…so basically, you’re Dean Winchester.” I made an exasperated sound. “I am NOT.” She smirked. “Yeah, sure.

Your half-caf, double vanilla latte is getting cold over here, Francis.

And just like a midsummer nights breeze, she ran away, into the moonlight, a fox, proud and strong. The lone wolf walked away, saddened she was gone.

I can dig Elvis.

There ain't no me if there ain't no you.

I prayed to you, Cas. Every night.

On Thursdays we're Teddy Bear Doctors

It's called anime, and it's an art form.

Dad had this story. A Marine and a Navy guy walk into a bathroom together. They both take a piss, and then sailor goes to the sink. The Marine heads for the door, and the sailor says, "Hey- in the Navy they teach us to wash up after we take a leak." And the Marine turns around and says, "Yeah? Well, in the Marines they teach us not to piss on our hands.

I'm going to take care of you. I gotcha. Because that's my job, right? Taking care of my pain in the ass little brother.

And after that, and also for each word, there should be sentences that show the twists and turns of meanings—the way almost every word slips in its silvery, fishlike way, weaving this way and that, adding subtleties of nuance to itself, and then perhaps shedding them as public mood dictates.

I've heard some strange noises every once in a while late at night and always wondered if the house is haunted. I bet it is. I bet that freaky little fucker wants to watch us have sex. Fine with me, buddy, enjoy the show. Just don't touch my ass at all during the event or I will call the Winchester brothers from Supernatural. Dean and Sam will fuck you up! I had a strange hand touch my ass one time in college during a threesome, and that's just something you don't get over. Random ass touching scares me more than spiders.

Kids aint supposed to be grateful! They're supposed to eat your food, break your heart.

Neal! It's your grief counselors. We're here to hug!

Any grand new dictionary ought itself to be a democratic product, a book that demonstrated the primacy of individual freedoms, of the notion that one could use words freely, as one liked, without hard and fast rules of lexical conduct.

Have they even seen the Winchester boys? Sammy and Dean’s existence proves there is a god and she is a woman.

Count comes from a wolf country, and it may be that he shall get there before us. I propose that we add Winchesters to our armament. I have a kind of belief in a Winchester when there is any trouble of that sort around.

He hadn’t been kissed like that in a long, long, time; maybe ever.

Hell had been his Vietnam. It had stamped its mark on him for all eternity, and no amount of denial or self-imposed ignorance was going to change it. Ever.

The language should be accorded just the same dignity and respect as those other standards that science was then also defining.

The future is a foreign country : they will do things differently there.

I tell you we must have bodies. You cannot make doctors without them, and the public must understand it. If we can’t get them any other way we will arm the students with Winchester rifles and send them to protect the body-snatchers on their raids.

Pudding! Crazy works.

An end to timidity - the replacement of the philologically tentative by the lexicographically decisive." - on the making of the Oxford English Dictionary

The English language was spoken and written—but at the time of Shakespeare it was not defined, not fixed. It was like the air—it was taken for granted, the medium that enveloped and defined all Britons. But as to exactly what it was, what its components were—who knew?

Madly is the way I love you. Forever is how long it will be.

His life was merely a slow-moving tragedy, an act of steady dying conducted before everyone's eyes.

Like crucifixions and pornography, it never got old.

Accidents don't just happen accidently.

A comfortable rut and a grave are very much alike. The only real difference is the dimensions.

Jameson Winchester Hawthorne wasn’t giving that up. He wasn’t giving up, period.

Mrs. Winchester is only a few inches taller than I am in my flats, but it feels like she’s much taller.

Calibro 45 Winchester Magnum" "È unicamente una questione di potere d'arresto, Duncan. Quando sparo a qualcuno, mi piace che rimanga a terra.

Jameson Winchester Hawthorne loved me. He loved me, and I loved him.

Something snagged at his heart when he thought of that; he didn’t want Dean to forget about him. It didn’t seem fair that Dean might get to brush him aside and Cas would remember him for the rest of his natural life.

Am I dead? Because if I were going to be stuck in purgatory I’d rather be with someone hot and funny like Dean Winchester. No offense,” she whispered, proving she hadn’t totally lost her mind.

In the sixteenth century in England, dictionaries such as we would recognize today simply did not exist. If the language that so inspired Shakespeare had limits, if its words had definable origins, spellings, pronunciations, meanings—then no single book existed that established them, defined them, and set them down.

Come on, man. I know Sam, okay? Better than anyone. He's got more of a conscience than I do. I mean, the guy feels guilty searching the internet for porn.

I don't know what the hell is going on with me and this girl, but every single time I'm around her, it's like I lose my shit.

The sad reality is, it's not just the people I go to school with that are doing it. It's their parents too. Their noses are all turned up at me, like because of my diagnosis; I'm an alien to them. I'm not like their son or daughter so that means I'm not worthy of respect.

The both of us, we're individual parts on our own. She's the thunder and lightning and I'm the rain. It's only when we come together that it's right. We become the perfect storm. (Eric Carmen)

Sophie was a walking truth serum. If she was touching bare skin, she could yank the truth out of you like a loose tooth. I’d spent several unpleasant hours in her company during the Council’s screening process for humans who planned to work with vampires. That’s when I learned that you don’t refer to Buffy, the Winchesters, or even the Frog Brothers from The Lost Boys in front of Council officials. They do not have a sense of humor about that sort of entertainment.

Honestly, I think the world is gonna end bloody. But it doesn't mean we shouldn't fight. we do have choices. I choose to go swingin.

Are we gonna kill this teddy bear?

God—who in that part of London society was of course firmly held to be an Englishman—naturally approved the spread of the language as an essential imperial device;

What’s your dream car?” Maya props her elbows on the table.  “Umm. A 1967 Chevy Impala. If you throw in Dean Winchester too, I wouldn’t be opposed.

Everyone who has an interest in the History of Winchester, the Civil War In Hampshire and the 17th Century needs to read this - Desecration: Winchester 1642 by Charles Cordell

I lost my shoe~ Sam Winchester

One newcomer, asked why he had killed his wife and children, told the superintendent: “I don’t know why I am telling you all of this. It’s none of your business As a matter of fact it was none of the judge’s business either. It was a purely family affair.

Am I dead? Because if I were going to be stuck in purgatory I’d rather be with someone hot and funny like Dean Winchester. No offense,” she whispered, proving she hadn’t totally lost her mind. “I’m

We’re all a little weird, Isabelle. It’s our differences that make us unique and you shouldn’t let anyone, even a boy you might like, tell you anything different.

But sons have to be soldiers. And soldiers adapt.

She's not like other girls because she's different. I want her kind of different.

Together we’re individual pieces, but when we’re together, we really are a force and not just any force. The strongest one.

It's like Sheriff Daniels sneezed, and they all caught the misinformation flu.

The right thing. It’s there in the way she says my name. It’s music.

The universe is trying to tell us something we both should already know: We're stronger together than apart.

I'm not a huge student of the classics, but I know a little, and any hero worth his salt back in olden times seemed to have passed into the underworld on some quest or another. Odysseus, Orpheus, Perseus, the Winchesters.

One woman even disparaged Johnson for failing to include obscenities. “No, Madam, I hope I have not daubed my fingers,” he replied, archly. “I find, however, that you have been looking for them.

Caring about someone, it's never easy. Seeing past their imperfections; the things you don't necessarily like, it speaks to the size of your heart and the person you are. That can never be wrong.

No, he focused on the one thing that he knew would keep him grounded the way the demon said he'd need to be. "Take your brother outside as fast as you can - don't look back. Now, Dean, go!" Sam's not dying. Not on my watch. You protect your family no matter what. I'm coming for you, Sammy. Just hold tight. And don't look back. He opened his eyes. Behind him, he could hear Kat's voice muttering an incantation in a language he didn't recognize. It wasn't Latin, certainly. Since it was demon magic, it was probably some language that was even more dead than Latin. The chanting stopped. Dean screamed.

You know, Dean said, gesturing with his uninjured hand. If we were in an action movie, this would be the scene where you tenderly dress my wounds. then the wailing guitar ballad would kick in and we'd end up rolling around on the bed in a slow motion montage. If I were in Q, The Winged Serpent, Xochi replied, this would be the scene where I sacrifice you to Quetzalcoatl.

Serenity, I am unable to wear panties.

Stupid people. Their faces are gonna get stuck that way.

No one had a clue what they were up against: They were marching blindfolded through molasses. And

You're my rain, Eric. You've been keeping me safe before I even knew you.

Amelia changed me. She made me believe in something again. She made me believe in her.

That girl you can’t stop thinking about; the one that makes you feel shit you don’t think you’re allowed to feel; Dillon, she can’t hear a word you say. Cadence—she’s deaf.

You can't change ignorance by beating a hole into someone's face. Doing that only makes you as ignorant as they are.

The thing is, she sounds fucking beautiful and I want to tell her that so badly it's giving me a headache just thinking about it, but I don't because I can't lead her on.

Our histories, our novels, our poems, our plays—they are all in this one book.

I hated pickpocketing. I hated feeling like a thief.

And so I thought he was cute. So what? I think Chris Hemsworth is cute. And Ryan Gosling, Tom Hardy, Henry Cavill, Jason Momoa, the Winchester brothers . .

Forget looking angry; Dean Winchester was positively predatory.

Solution: Winchester.

All of a sudden his books, which had hitherto been merely a fond decoration and a means of letting his mind free itself from the grim routines of Broadmoor life, had become his most precious possession. For the time being at least he could set aside his imaginings about the harm that people were trying to inflict on him and his person: It was instead his hundreds of books that now needed to be kept safe, and away from the predators with whom he believed the asylum to be infested. His books, and his work on the words he found in them, were about to become the defining feature of his newly chosen life.

I wish she had half a clue what seeing that happy face does for me. I can't quite explain it to myself, but I really wish she could know. It's like when she does it, it's all I can see and I want more of it. Especially after the day we've had. I always want her making happy faces.

If Isabelle Reagan can take a guy like me and turn him into someone worthy of respect then it's mind blowing to think what she can do for the rest of the world. What we could do for it together. We might be able to change it.

Being deaf is not a weakness or it shouldn’t be seen as one and that’s what I wanted to get across that day. It’s still what I want people to see. It’s the same thing with the special needs kids. They are no different than I am, than anyone is really. Just because they might act in ways that ‘normal’ people don’t or experience life in a different way, it doesn’t make them wrong or less than anyone else. We’re not weak or what’s wrong with the world.

Do you know why Jameson was daddys favorite when by all rights it should have been perfect, dutiful Grayson?" "It wasn't because my Jamie is brilliant or beautiful or charismatic. It was because Jameson Winchester Hawthorne is hungry.

Without haste, without fear, we conquer the world.

I guess that's what happens when you've lost everything that had any real meaning. You become numb to what's left.

He might have gotten his way in the hallway earlier, but now he's on my turf. He isn't gonna push me around.

2 percent of America’s electricity now goes to keeping the Internet cool, to keeping the link unbroken, for America and for the world.

Whoever said that the truth will set you free was full of shit.

I don’t know whose bright idea it was to turn the prom into a masquerade ball, but whoever it was, I’m going to kick them in the balls for it.

Kayden.” She smiles, cutting me off. “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this because it’s weird, but please. Shut up.

That day I realized that at least for the time being, I was becoming Christian’s somebody. And maybe, just maybe, he was becoming mine.

He was mad, and for that, we have reason to be glad. A truly savage irony, on which it is discomforting to dwell.

This time, whatever you’re gonna do, make sure it’s for keeps. You might be able to threaten those guys into leaving us alone, but you won’t bully me. If you hurt her, I’ll hurt you.

There is a Sacerdotall dignitie in my native Countrey contiguate to me, where I now contemplate: which your worshipfull benignitie could sone impenetrate for mee, if it would like you to extend your sedules, and collaude me in them to the right honourable lord Chaunceller, or rather Archgrammacian of Englande.

Jonathan Swift mounted a lifelong attempt to ‘fix our language forever’—no critic and advocate of immutability has ever once managed properly or even marginally to outwit the English language’s capacity for foxy and relentlessly slippery flexibility.

Railroads brought about lasting social effects, as well. The companies’ ruthless attention to keeping time impelled passengers to carry pocket watches,* and led to the eventual establishment of time zones.

was the heroic creation of a legion of interested and enthusiastic men and women of wide general knowledge and interest; and it lives on today, just as lives the language of which it rightly claims to be a portrait.

Minor wants desperately to know that he is being helpful. He wants to feel involved. He wants, but knows he can never demand, that praise be showered on him. He wants respectability, and he wants those in the asylum to know that he is special, different from others in their cells. Though

Dean,” I finally say, loud and clear, then slink back into my seat with reddening cheeks. Lily does that thing with her mouth, gaping at me with her eyes bugged out. “Please tell me this is a Supernatural reference. I know those Winchesters seem so real sometimes when we’re all alone at night with our vibr—

A fortnight after the Winchester tournament, while Elaine nursed her hero back to life, Guenever was having a scene with Sir Bors at court. Being a woman-hater, Bors always had instructive scenes with women. He said what he thought, and they said what they thought, and neither of them understood the other a bit.

No critic and advocate of immutability has ever once managed properly or even marginally to outwit the English language's capacity for foxy and relentlessly slippery flexibility. For English is a language that simply cannot be fixed, not can its use ever be absolutely laid down. It changes constantly; it grows with an almost exponential joy. It evolves eternally; its words alter their senses and their meanings subtly, slowly, or speedily according to fashion and need.

It’s okay to have differences, to not be like everyone else around you. It doesn’t make you weaker or less worthy than anyone else that might appear normal. It is what it is. You’re just different. At the end of the day, we all want the exact same things in life and I think Isabelle and I are living proof of that.

She leans over the desk to write and even though I feel bad for doing it, I watch her body as she does. Her shirt lifts just a little as she’s bending over and whether she’s aware of it or not, her lower back is exposed. I’ve spent the last eight years ignoring this girl, but one small view of her back and it’s putting my body into overdrive. I’ve never wanted to kiss someone there so much in my life.

You’re only gonna get in trouble, so why even bother?” “I bother because it’s wrong. I bother because you don’t deserve it. I bother because you fucking mean something to the girl I’m head over heels for and Eric, I bother because you mean something to me.

Contrary to what has been written and said about me, I do not harbor hate in my heart for Lucifer. In fact, it is the opposite. I believe that the problems between us were caused because I loved him too much. He was unable to handle the sheer magnitude of it. With that and the free will I instilled within him, he made choices that in the end tore us apart.

You might look like a princess, Isabelle Reagan, but if I had my way tonight, you’d also be a queen.

Dean Walker, my brother. The man that's well on his way to earning the proud title of town drunk.

I am a nobody. ... Treat me as a solar myth, or an echo, or an irrational quantity, or ignore me altogether.

You own every piece of me, Cadence Taylor, and if you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’re the only thing left worth fighting for.

On a good day, I'm a first class prick, but even I know that being treated like you're disposable is something no one should ever be used to.

It’s not the place that creates the magic, Ryder. It’s the person. The magic is wherever you are.

Yeah. I have anger issues. If I didn’t want to kill you, it would be weird.

the creation of any sense of unity among a population of potentially disharmonious settlers almost always requires the deliberate agency of man.

No matter how much I wish it was another way, the world is always going to be filled with the ignorant.  The only thing I can do is rise above it.

Don’t leave me, Amelia. Even if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore, don’t ever leave. I don’t think I can do this without you.

I wasn’t too late. I got there in time. I didn’t lose her.

The very name Impressionism is taken from an Atlantic Ocean painting - that of Monet, of sunrise in the harbor of Le Havre, done in 1872.

You know what Ames? Come find me when you pull the stick out of your ass. You’re delusional and I’m over it.

Shoved your knee where, princess?” “His parts. You know.

Q: What was Voldemort’s Parents’ favourite game? A: “I Got Your Nose

So what? I think Chris Hemsworth is cute. And Ryan Gosling, Tom Hardy, Henry Cavill, Jason Momoa, the Winchester brothers

Truth be told, I’ve never watched a damn episode of Supernatural, but I’m pretty sure everyone knows how Dean Winchester feels about anyone besides him driving his Impala.

But I can't help falling in love with you," he sang softly, almost a whisper, and Cas could feel his cheeks going red; he felt almost giddy. "You baffle me, Dean Winchester.

Here's a good one. God made man. Guns made man equal. Guns are the legacy of liberty. Just because...just because our magazine doesn't feature a naked woman on the cover! Hell, no, there's no naked women. The sickos would rather squeeze a trigger than a woman's breast. Guns are good old boys! They got them wham-whap two-fisted names, like...like Savage, Colt, Ruger, Baretta, Sigs, Winchester... Springfield! Browning! Luger. Smith & Wesson. Remington Viper. Glock. Don't forget Glock! Markov, Walther! H and K. Mauser parabellum. Anschutz. Magnum! All sorts of mags. I quit, you win. Mags are it.

Recipe for Goodbye From the Kitchen of Lila Reyes Ingredients: One Cuban girl. One English boy. One English city. Preparation: Give Polly her kitchen back and share a genuine smile, from one legitimate baker to another. Ride through the countryside on a vintage Triumph Bonneville. Walk through Winchester, all through town and on the paths you ran. Drink vanilla black tea at Maxwell’s. Eat fish and chips and curry sauce at your friend’s pub. Sleep in fits and bits curled up together on St. Giles Hill. *Leave out future talk. Any form of the word tomorrow. Cooking temp: 200 degrees Celsius. You know the conversion by heart.

Getting to know her, it’s supposed to be a game. A way to keep me occupied, but now there’s nothing about it that feels like a game. I want her attention because I actually like the way it feels when I have it.

This isn't about weakness and strength anymore. I know I've made it about that because of what Bruce drilled into my head, but what this girl went through, it has nothing to do with her being weak. I've only talked to her two days out of the last four and I know she's stronger than all of the people I call friends. I know it because she's stronger than me.

I’ve been dealing with jerks like you my entire life. You kept me silent for four years, but you’re not going to do it anymore. If you ever come near me or put your hands on Isaac again, I’ll make you pay and it won’t be by kicking you in your non-existent balls. Your asshole personality might work on the girls in class, but it doesn’t on me and it never will.

Jack Winchester was a notorious hitman for a ruthless New Jersey crime family until a job went wrong, and he wound up serving time. Four years later, Jack is free and he wants out of the game, but his boss won't let him go. Forced to take on one

What's your dream car?" Maya props her elbow on the table. "Umm. A 1967 Chevy Impala. If you throw in Dean Winchester too, I wouldn't be opposed." Chloe doesn't even stumble as she comes up with that response. "I love Supernatural too!" Maya swoons.

But somewhere around a hundred and fifty miles an hour, I stopped thinking about should. Adrenaline. Euphoria. Fear. There wasn’t room in my head for anything else. Speed was the only thing that mattered. That, and the boy beside me. I didn’t want him to slow down. I didn’t want the car to stop. For the first time since the reading of the will, I felt free. No questions. No suspicions. No one staring or not staring. Nothing except this moment, right here, right now. Nothing except Jameson Winchester Hawthorne and me.

The cities of the eastern American fall line are well known today—Baltimore, Washington, Richmond, Fredericksburg, Philadelphia—even though the part that the very similar accidents of geology and river behavior played in their origins may have been long forgotten.

And out in the rural, when Mrs. Laura McGhee--who if she thought it necessary, sat on the porch with her Winchester rifle--permitted movement workers to use her farm outside Greenwood for a rally, the sheriff came to warn her against holding it. She told him that *he* was on *her* property, that *he* was trespassing and hadn't ever offered any protection from the terrorists who kept threatening to shoot up her farms, and that he therefore had nothing to offer her now and had better leave, get off her land. And the sheriff left.

When the missionaries came to Africa,” Desmond Tutu famously (though not originally: that honor belongs to Jomo Kenyatta) remarked, “they had the Bible and we had the land. They said ‘Let us pray.’ We closed our eyes. When we opened them, we had the Bible and they had the land.

The first vehicle was an unmanned two-ton, hundred-thousand-dollar steel-caged contraption named ANGUS (for Acoustically Navigated Geophysical Underwater System), which had powerful strobe lights, a collection of thermometers, and, most critically, high-definition cameras. Late

I sighed. Tink was sitting on the couch beside me and he’d commandeered my laptop at some point. The Walking Dead was on the television—well, it was on the Amazon Fire Stick TV thingy that the little bastard had ordered a few days ago unbeknownst to me. On my laptop, he was watching old episodes of Supernatural. I think he was on season three judging by the current length of Sam Winchester’s hair. At least it wasn’t Harry Potter andTwilight this time, because I was getting really tired of hearing him quote Edward Cullen and Ron Weasley at the same time.

Rocky and Adrian. Ginger and Fred. Dillon and Cadence. Three sets of two beings. Two people that apart mean a whole lot less then when they are together. Men made better because of the love of their women. In our case, a boy that can’t imagine existing without his girl. His world.

Defining words properly is a fine and peculiar craft. There are rules—a word (to take a noun as an example) must first be defined according to the class of things to which it belongs (mammal, quadruped), and then differentiated from other members of that class (bovine, female). There must be no words in the definition that are more complicated or less likely to be known that the word being defined. The definition must say what something is, and not what it is not. If there is a range of meanings of any one word—cow having a broad range of meanings, cower having essentially only one—then they must be stated. And all the words in the definition must be found elsewhere in the dictionary—a reader must never happen upon a word in the dictionary that he or she cannot discover elsewhere in it. If the definer contrives to follow all these rules, stirs into the mix an ever-pressing need for concision and elegance—and if he or she is true to the task, a proper definition will probably result.

The scientific world of the time was in the midst of a terrible ferment, with discoveries and realizations coming at an unseemly rate. To many in the ranks of the conservative and the devout, the new theories of geology and biology were delivering a series of hammer blows to mankind's self-regard. Geologists in particular seemed to have gone berserk, to have thrown off all sense of proper obeisance to their Maker... Mankind, it seemed, was now suddenly rather – dare one say it? – insignificant. He may not have been, as he had eternally supposed, specially created.

The horse’s hooves crashed out on the stone floor, echoing in the arched entrance. Ahead, the nave stretched, vast, empty, bathed in colour; the winter sun streaming through stained glass between great arches. The horse snorted, its measured steps ringing out on the flagstones and tombs.

Rooster here has missed Ned a few times himself, horse and all,' said the captain. 'I reckon his is on his way now to missing him again.' Rooster was holding a bottle with a little whiskey in it. He said, 'You keep on thinking that.' He drained off the whiskey in about three swallows and tapped the cork back in and tossed the bottle up in the air. He pulled his revolver and fired at it twice and missed. The bottle fell and rolled and Rooster shot at it two or three more times and broke it on the ground. He got out his sack of cartridges and reloaded his pistol. He said, 'The Chinaman is running them cheap shells in on me again.' LaBoeuf said, 'I thought maybe the sun was in your eyes. That is to say, your eye.' Rooster swung the cylinder back in his revolver and said, 'Eyes, is it? I'll show you eyes!' He jerked the sack of corn dodgers free from his saddle baggage. He got one of the dodgers out and flung it in the air and fired at it and missed. Then he flung another one up and he hit it. The corn dodger exploded. He was pleased with himself and he got a fresh bottle of whiskey from his baggage and treated himself to a drink. LaBoeuf pulled one of his revolvers and got two dodgers out of the sack and tossed them both up. He fired very rapidly but he only hit one. Captain Finch tried it with two and missed both of them. Then he tried with one and made a successful shot. Rooster shot at two and hit one. They drank whiskey and used up about sixty corn dodgers like that. None of them ever hit two at one throw with a revolver but Captain Finch finally did it with his Winchester repeating rifle, with somebody else throwing. It was entertaining for a while but there was nothing educational about it. I grew more and more impatient with them. I said, 'Come on, I have had my bait of this. I am ready to go. Shooting cornbread out here on this prairie is not taking us anywhere.' By then Rooster was using his rifle and the captain was throwing for him. 'Chunk high and not so far out this time,' said he.

Back when he was a kid, about eleven years old, he used to go looking for cars that had “No Radio in Car” signs on them. He’d take a removable radio, of a type that was very popular at the time, and throw it as hard as he could at the car window with a note wrapped around it that read, now you have one.

Only ignorant foreigners call it Bangkok, which hasn’t been used in Thailand for more than two hundred years. For Europeans (and every single one of their encyclopedias) to go on calling the capital of Thailand Bangkok is a bit like Thais insisting that the capital of Britain is called Billingsgate or Winchester.

It doesn’t matter to them that we didn’t ask to be the way we are; that some of us were born this way and we’re only trying to get along and survive like everyone else. No, instead they’ve got to go out of their way to call attention to the things that set us apart from them instead of embracing the ways we’re the same.

But those who initially went to the West were overtaken by the barbarism of the frontier with astonishing speed - think Lord of the Flies or Heart of Darkness. There was murder, mayhem, robbery, alcoholism, depression, and suicide, and all of it on a positively Homeric scale that still has cultural anthropologists enraptured.

It was there she had conceived the extraordinary notion of learing to read,for so long her proudest accomplishment. But no longer. Now it had to give way before her pride in being the wife of the Dragon. They entered Winchester on horseback and rode along the broad, straight avenue that led to the palace. People pressed in all around the, staring at the stern-faced warriors rank on rank behind the mighty lords whose names ran like quicksilver through the crowds.The Hawk was known in Winchester and his banner drew cheers, but Viking warlords in the king's city were something new. Heavy silence descended in the wake of the jarls of Sciringesheal and Landsende.

the inherent properties of matter start to become impossibly ambiguous.

Be like Elsa. Let it go.

Demora! You know, if they kill us, I'll never forgive you!

It’s not pity, Isabelle. It’s survival. I’m not letting you go through this alone. I’ll see you at eleven.

All I want to do is be that guy. The one I can never be.

Oh, to be held as though nothing else in the world mattered. It was a promise. Every touch, every kiss, was a silent pact to love and adore the person to whom it was given.

or of oats (“ a grain which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland supports the people”),

Think simple, Murray kept insisting: Think simple.

Cadence is my melody.

Cadence Taylor is my girlfriend and no matter what the people walking around us think, I’m going to treat her that way.

The basin of the Mississippi encompasses a good two thirds of the contiguous forty-eight states, thirty-one of which—together with two Canadian provinces—contribute waters to its flow.

Doing the right thing isn’t supposed to hurt this bad. When you’re faced with a choice and you choose the right one, there’s supposed to be this big moment of clarity you experience. It’s an overall kind of feeling; where you just know instinctively that the choice you’ve made is right and you move ahead feeling lighter and better than you’ve ever felt because of it.

Shakespeare was not even able to perform a function that we consider today as perfectly normal and ordinary a function as reading itself. He could not, as the saying goes, “look something up.” Indeed the very phrase—when it is used in the sense of “searching for something in a dictionary or encyclopedia or other book of reference”—simply did not exist. It does not appear in the English language, in fact, until as late as 1692, when an Oxford historian named Anthony Wood used it. Since there was no such phrase until the late seventeenth century, it follows that there was essentially no such concept either, certainly not at the time when Shakespeare was writing—a time when writers were writing furiously, and thinkers thinking as they rarely had before. Despite all the intellectual activity of the time there was in print no guide to the tongue, no linguistic vade mecum, no single book that Shakespeare or Martin Frobisher, Francis Drake, Walter Raleigh, Francis Bacon, Edmund Spenser, Christopher Marlowe, Thomas Nash, John Donne, Ben Jonson, Izaak Walton, or any of their other learned contemporaries could consult.

The committee hanged the body “from an oak tree on the courthouse lawn.” People reportedly displayed Neal’s fingers and toes as souvenirs. Postcards of his dismembered body went for fifty cents each. When the sheriff cut down the body the next morning, a mob of as many as two thousand people demanded that it be rehanged. When the sheriff refused to return it to the tree, the mob attacked the courthouse and rampaged through Marianna, attacking any colored person they ran into. Well-to-do whites hid their maids or sent cars to bring their workers to safety. “We needed these people,” said a white man who sat on his porch protecting his interests with a loaded Winchester. Florida Governor David Sholtz had to call in the National Guard to quell the mob. Across

Most of the audience were college students, but there were a few older people too, including Belinda Winchester. She was sitting in the back row, plugged into her music as usual and eating yogurt out of a cup. Spooning it into her pocket actually, or at least that's what it looked like at first, until I saw a furry little head pop out. She was feeding yogurt to a kitten. Belinda waver her spoon at me. I waved feebly back.

According to an equally lovingly preserved English translation of the prospectus, the purpose of Ibuka’s firm was “to establish an ideal factory that stresses a spirit of freedom and open-mindedness, and where engineers with sincere motivation can exercise their technological skills to the highest level.” We shall, he pledged, “eliminate any unfair profit-seeking exercises” and “seek expansion not only for the sake of size.” Further, “we shall carefully select employees . . . we shall avoid to have [sic] formal positions for the mere sake of having them, and shall place emphasis on a person’s ability, performance and character, so that each

You do not see it Serenity, but you are very special. That is why I want to protect you and why I come to you every night. I'm taking a tremendous risk being around you this way, but for some reason I cannot ascertain, I need to be here.

Didn't you know? That's what I love about high school girls. I get older and they just stay-" "The same age." She completes before pressing her lips to mine, until nothing, not even my last breath, matters anymore. All that matters is her.

No language as depending on arbitrary use and custom can ever be permanently the same, but will always be in a mutable and fluctuating state; and what is deem’d polite and elegant in one age, may be accounted uncouth and barbarous in another.

In the Winchesters and their rebel angel friend Castiel, many fans have found the inspiration and courage to fight monsters and demons that exist in real life. I also worry when people feel isolated and alone. We all need to feel we belong somewhere; it's left over from the early days of humanity when being being kicked out of the group literally meant you were going to die. When we feel alone, that evolutionary ingrained panic sets in, along with a whopping dose of depression. Fandom, I found, was an antidote.

And that was about all that he really wished the world to know about himself. “I am a nobody,” he would write toward the end of the century, when fame had begun to creep up on him. “Treat me as a solar myth, or an echo, or an irrational quantity, or ignore me altogether.” But

She had three days to ponder what that truth might be.Three days during which Dragon scarcely let her out of his sight. He went so far as to try to accompany her to the queen's solar, only to be shooed away by Ealhswith even as she smiled and took pains to reassure him. "I promise you, my lord,the Lady Rycca will be as safe here as a babe in arms. Believe me, the quarters of the queen are not entered into by miscreants." "That is all well and fine, majesty, but-" "Should you not be aware,my lord, we had an incident here last year when the Lady Krysta was taken from Winchester by stealth. Since then, my lord husband has spared no effort to assure nothing of the sort can ever happen again." She gestured toward the grim-faced guards on watch in the corridor. "You will find the same beneath my windows, Lord of Landsende,and even above us on the roof. Not even an errant bird can enter here." Even as she spoke, through the open door where she stood Dragon saw a raven alight on the sill of one of the solar's windows. Rather oddly, he thought, Krysta walked over and began talking to it. "There are four new books in the scriptorium, my lord," the queen said, unaware of what was going on behind her, "and a young priest-a friend of Father Desmond, who is now at Hawkforte-who is responsible for one of them. By the way,he has a yen to travel." That said,she shut the door not quite in his face but as close to it as that gently lady could ever come. Dragon hesitated. He eyed the guards,who eyed him back,reminded himself that he was in the house of the king,and finally decided to go look at the new books. While he was at it,he just might have a word with the priest.

I held up the coin. It's not the disk," I said. But sometimes you have to improvise. My heart was racing. I was vibrating with the same energy I'd heard in his tone. And like Jameson, I loved it. My voice cracked. It means something. Jameson shot me one of those devastating, crooked Jameson Winchester Hawthorne grins. What are you saying, Heiress? I tossed the coin into the air, and as it turned, I thought about everything that had happened. All of it. I'd found Toby. I knew my mother's secret. I understood, more then ever, why my name had caught the attention of a billionaire who'd only met me once. Maybe that was all there was to it . Or maybe I was one stone ment for twelve birds, most of them still undiscovered. Like Jameson had said, this was Hawthorne House. There would always be another mystery. Like me, Jameson would always be driven to solve them. The coin landed. Tails, I said. I kiss you. I wrapped my arms around his neck. I pressed my lips to his. And this time, the joke was on me-because I wasn't playing. This wasn't nothing this was the beginning-and I was ready to be bold. -Avery Kylie Grambs (The Hawthorne Legacy)

These were the soldiers of the Second Brigade—the Irish Brigade—and they were braver and rougher than almost any other unit in the entire Federal army. “When anything absurd, forlorn, or desperate was to be attempted,” as one English war correspondent wrote, “the Irish Brigade was called upon.” The

The first real memory I have, is one of the first times I was old enough to remember being at your house. We must have been about three, maybe four. I came and sat down beside you while you were playing and it’s like, even then, you knew I wasn’t anything special because you just ignored the hell out of me.

To give a recipe for getting a rough idea, in case you want to, I recommend the following procedure. Select a flat ten-acre ploughed field, so sited that all the surface water of the surrounding country drains into it. Now cut a zig-zag slot about four feet deep and three feet wide diagonally across, dam off as much water as you can so as to leave about a hundred yards of squelchy mud; delve out a hole at one side of the slot, then endeavour to live there for a month on bully beef and damp biscuits, whilst a friend has instructions to fire at you with his Winchester every time you put your head above the surface.

She sighs and the small release of breath bothers me. This girl needs to be off doing things that make her happy. Not standing here with me, confused and torn. It’s just further proof that I’m no good to be around. I’m turning one of the happiest people I know into something she was never meant to be. I’m turning her into me.

Experiencing what we did with Lucifer taught me so much. Things I will take with me forever, even when my human life is over. I’ve seen the dark side of life now. How one single event can change the course of forever and turn you into something you never believed you could be. It's what you do when you notice the change that matters.

In preparation for battle, Frick had requested 300 Pinkerton guards be held in readiness. Established in 1850, the Pinkerton National Detective Agency was a private security company rumored to have as many agents as the U.S. Army had soldiers. It made good money putting itself at the service of industrialists in their battles against unions. Now Frick sent word to the company to load their guards onto train coaches with darkened windows and position the men five miles downriver from Homestead. By nightfall the following day, the men, along with 250 Winchester rifles and a greater number of pistols, as well as a storehouse of ammunition, were in place awaiting orders.

That night, when you kissed me, I thought you did it because you were drinking. All I could focus on was getting you home before you did something you’d regret in the morning. I didn't want to be your regret, Serenity. My heart couldn’t handle it. Shit, it's been two years and my heart still can't handle the fact that we don’t talk anymore.

But to all of this the land itself remain sturdily indifferent and unmoved, the human behavior played out on its surfaces merely trivia. Except, of course, where human behavior induces changes to the ferocity of the weather and the levels of the sea, and land may then fall victim to the climate, and has to alter its shape and size as a result.

Something tells me that you sneak bars up to your room a lot. In fact, you probably have a whole little shoebox dedicated to them.” “Wrong.” “I don’t think I am. Tell the truth, Emery. Do you hoard chocolate bars?” “Eww! Hoarding makes it sound gross. It’s not like I collect them or anything. I just keep a few on hand when the craving hits.” “And how often is that?” He’s pushing me. It’s evident by the grin on his face, but there’s something about the way his eyes are lighting up, the first time they’ve done it since he got here today, that makes me wanna answer him just to keep it going. I like the way he is right now. It’s much better than the tense and angry way he was before. “Every single day.” I admit and along with the smile comes a thick rumble of laughter. “So, you admit you have a problem. That’s the first step. Now that you’ve admitted it, I can properly treat you.” “And how do you plan on doing that?” “You solemnly swear never to take home and hide another chocolate bar, and I’ll make sure that every day, you have your daily dose of it.

He had never before thought of himself as gullible. He wondered where he had gone wrong. It occurred to him that he had let himself be overawed—by bishop Henry and his silk robes, by the magnificence of Winchester and its cathedral, by the piles of silver in the mint and the heaps of meat in the butchers' shops, and by the thought of seeing the king. He had forgotten that God saw through the silk robes to the sinful heart, that the only wealth worth having was treasure in heaven, and that the even the king had to kneel down in church. Feeling that everyone else was so much powerful and sophisticated than he was, he had lost sight of his true values, suspended his critical faculties, and places his trust in his superiors.

Rosemary Klein, Winchester, England: Always keep your knees together, ladies; they are best friends. Sister Rosemary Carroll, R.I.P. Katy Kidd Wright, a friend who described herself as a “non-RC heathen raising RC kids going to Catholic schools” confirmed that ashes on foreheads was still in vogue. “The modern curriculum even has a robotics lesson in Grade 2 where my eldest learned to mechanize Mary and Joseph's walk to Bethlehem.” In my school days, we wrote JMJ on the top of scribbler pages for a Holy Family Jesus, Mary, and Joseph blessing. Other times, we wrote BVM for the Blessed Virgin Mary. It was an alphabet acronym heaven. Whenever Dad felt no one was listening to him, he spoke to the Blessed Virgin Mary statue on the living room mantle. They talked a lot.

The failure of the Crusades intensified anti-Jewish persecutions in Europe. Banned from owning land or joining trading companies, forced to wear special clothing, Jews were often involved in moneylending, supposedly taboo for Christians. Kings borrowed money from them, and so protected them, but whenever society was strained, by recession or plague, they were attacked. In 1144, after a boy was murdered in Norwich, England, Jews were accused of killing Christian children to make Passover matzoh, unleashing the ‘blood libel’ which in various forms – but always featuring a conspiracy of Jews to harm non-Jews – reverberates down to the twenty-first century. It spread: in 1171, it hit Blois, France, where thirty-three Jews (seventeen women) were burned alive. In the failed state of England, where Henry III struggled to maintain royal power in the face of endemic noble revolt, both king and rebels borrowed from a wealthy banker, David of Oxford. After David’s death, his widow Licoricia of Winchester, the richest non-noble in England, lent to both sides, partly funding the building of Westminster Abbey. But her murder in 1277 showed the perils of being a prominent Jew. In 1290, Henry’s son Edward I expelled the Jews from England. Yet in 1264 Bolesław, duke of Poland, had granted the Statute of Kalisz which gave Jews the right to trade and worship freely and banned the blood libel, legislating against Christian conspiracy theories and denunciations: ‘Accusing Jews of drinking Christian blood is expressly prohibited,’ declared the Statute. ‘If, despite this, a Jew should be accused of murdering a Christian child, such charge must be sustained by testimony of three Christians and three Jews.’ Poland would be a Jewish sanctuary for many centuries.

The only public memorials ever raised to the two most tragically linked of this saga’s protagonists are miserable, niggardly affairs. William Minor has just a simple little gravestone in a New Haven cemetery, hemmed in between litter and slums. George Merrett has for years had nothing at all, except for a patch of grayish grass in a sprawling graveyard in South London. Minor does, however, have the advantage of the great dictionary, which some might say acts as his most lasting remembrance. But nothing else remains to suggest that the man he killed was ever worthy of any memory at all. George Merrett has become an absolutely unsung man. Which is why it now seems fitting, more than a century and a quarter on, that this modest account begins with the dedication that it does. And why this book is offered as a small testament to the late George Merrett of Wiltshire and Lambeth, without whose untimely death these events would never have unfolded, and this tale could never have been told.

It was as she remembered, a haven of comfort and serenity. With a glad sigh, she kicked off her shoes and sat down on the side of the bed.Smiling, she patted the mattress beside her. Her husband scowled. It seemed to have become his habit. "We aren't here to relax." "Wolscroft may not even be in the area. It could take days for this to be settled." "He's here," Dragon said with certainty. "He will know what happened at Winchester, and he will be looking for a way to stop us before we can threaten him further." Privately, Rycca believed the same but she saw no reason to stress it. Nothing would happen until dark. Of that she was confident. Which meant... "We have hours to fill.Any ideas?" When he realized her meaning,he looked startled. With a laugh,she scrambled off the bed and went to him. "Oh,Dragon,for heaven's sake, do you really want to mope around here all day? I certainly don't. I still haven't gotten over being afraid Magnus was going to kill you,and I simply don't want to think about death anymore. I want to celebrate life." "There are three hundred men out there-" "Which is why we're in here." She raised herself on tiptoe, bit the lobe of his ear, and whispered, "I promise not to yell too loudly." A shudder ran through him. Even as his big hands stroked her back,he said, "Warriors don't mope." "No,of course they don't.It was a poor choice of words.But you'll be pacing back and forth, looking out the windows, or you'll go get that whetstone I noticed in the stable and sharpen your sword endlessly, or you'll be staring off into space with that dangerous look you get when you're contemplating mayhem. You'll be totally oblivious to me and-" He laughed despite himself and drew her closer. "Enough! Heaven forbid I behave so churlishly." "Speaking of heaven..." With the covers kicked back,the bed was smooth and cool.They undressed each other slowly, relishing the wonder of discovery that still came to them fresh and pure as their very first time. "Remember?" Rycca murmured as she trailed her lips along his broad, powerfully muscled shoulder and down the solid wall of his chest. "I was so nervous..." "Really?" Fooled me....Ah..." "I'd never seen anything so beautiful as you." "Not...beautiful...you are..." "I can't believe how strong you are. Why am I never afraid with you?" "Know I'd die 'fore hurting you? Sweetheart..." "Ohhh! Dragon...please..." His hands and lips moved over her, sweetly tormenting. She clutched his shoulders, her hips rising, and welcomed him deep within her. Still he tantalized her, making her writhe and laughing when she squeezed him hard with her powerful inner muscles. But the laughter turned quickly to a moan of delight. She looked up into his perfectly formed face,more handsome than any man had a right to be, and into his tawny eyes that were the windows of a soul more beautiful than any physical form. A piercing sense of blessedness filled her that she should be so fortunate as to love and be loved by such a man. Her cresting cry was caught by him, hismouth hard against hers, the spur to his own completion that went on and on,seemingly without end.

Alice's Cutie Code TM Version 2.1 - Colour Expansion Pack (aka Because this stuff won’t stop being confusing and my friends are mean edition) From Red to Green, with all the colours in between (wait, okay, that rhymes, but green to red makes more sense. Dang.) From Green to Red, with all the colours in between Friend Sampling Group: Fennie, Casey, Logan, Aisha and Jocelyn Green  Friends’ Reaction: Induces a minimum amount of warm and fuzzies. If you don’t say “aw”, you’re “dead inside”  My Reaction: Sort of agree with friends minus the “dead inside” but because that’s a really awful thing to say. Puppies are a good example. So is Walter Bishop. Green-Yellow  Friends’ Reaction: A noticeable step up from Green warm and fuzzies. Transitioning from cute to slightly attractive. Acceptable crush material. “Kissing.”  My Reaction: A good dance song. Inspirational nature photos. Stuff that makes me laugh. Pairing: Madison and Allen from splash Yellow  Friends’ Reaction: Something that makes you super happy but you don’t know why. “Really pretty, but not too pretty.” Acceptable dating material. People you’d want to “bang on sight.”  My Reaction: Love songs for sure! Cookies for some reason or a really good meal. Makes me feel like it’s possible to hold sunshine, I think. Character: Maxon from the selection series. Music: Carly Rae Jepsen Yellow-Orange  Friends’ Reaction: (When asked for non-sexual examples, no one had an answer. From an objective perspective, *pushes up glasses* this is the breaking point. Answers definitely skew toward romantic or sexual after this.)  My Reaction: Something that really gets me in my feels. Also art – oil paintings of landscapes in particular. (What is with me and scenery? Maybe I should take an art class) Character: Dean Winchester. Model: Liu Wren. Orange  Friends’ Reaction: “So pretty it makes you jealous. Or gay.”  “Definitely agree about the gay part. No homo, though. There’s just some really hot dudes out there.”(Feenie’s side-eye was so intense while the others were answering this part LOLOLOLOLOL.) A really good first date with someone you’d want to see again.  My Reaction: People I would consider very beautiful. A near-perfect season finale. I’ve also cried at this level, which was interesting. o Possible tie-in to romantic feels? Not sure yet. Orange-Red  Friends’ Reaction: “When lust and love collide.” “That Japanese saying ‘koi no yokan.’ It’s kind of like love at first sight but not really. You meet someone and you know you two have a future, like someday you’ll fall in love. Just not right now.” (<-- I like this answer best, yes.) “If I really, really like a girl and I’m interested in her as a person, guess. I’d be cool if she liked the same games as me so we could play together.”  My Reaction: Something that gives me chills or has that time-stopping factor. Lots of staring. An extremely well-decorated room. Singers who have really good voices and can hit and hold superb high notes, like Whitney Houston. Model: Jasmine Tooke. Paring: Abbie and Ichabod from Sleepy Hollow o Romantic thoughts? Someday my prince (or princess, because who am I kidding?) will come? Red (aka the most controversial code)  Friends’ Reaction: “Panty-dropping levels” (<-- wtf Casey???).  “Naked girls.” ”Ryan. And ripped dudes who like to cook topless.”  “K-pop and anime girls.” (<-- Dear. God. The whole table went silent after he said that. Jocelyn was SO UNCOMFORTABLE but tried to hide it OMG it was bad. Fennie literally tried to slap some sense into him.)  My Reaction: Uncontrollable staring. Urge to touch is strong, which I must fight because not everyone is cool with that. There may even be slack-jawed drooling involved. I think that’s what would happen. I’ve never seen or experienced anything that I would give Red to.

Major General Leonard Wood Leonard Wood was an army officer and physician, born October 9, 1860 in Winchester, New Hampshire. His first assignment was in 1886 at Fort Huachuca, Arizona where he fought in the last campaign against the fierce Apache warrior Geronimo. He was awarded the Medal of Honor for carrying dispatches 100 miles through hostile territory and was promoted to the rank of Captain, commanding a detachment of the 8th Infantry. From 1887 to 1898, he served as a medical officer in a number of positions, the last of which was as the personal physician to President William McKinley. In 1898 at the beginning of the war with Spain, he was given command of the 1st Volunteer Cavalry. The regiment was soon to be known as the “Rough Riders." Wood lead his men on the famous charge up San Juan Hill and was given a field promotion to brigadier general. In 1898 he was appointed the Military Governor of Santiago de Cuba. In 1920, as a retired Major General, Wood ran as the Republican candidate for the presidency of the United States, losing to Warren Harding. In 1921 following his defeat, General Wood accepted the post of Governor General of the Philippines. He held this position from 1921 to 1927, when he died of a brain tumor in Boston, on 7 August 1927, at 66 years of age after which he was buried, with full honors, in Arlington National Cemetery.

Or maybe precision is itself reaching some kind of limits, where dimensions can be neither made nor measured—not so much because humans are too limited in their faculties to do so but, rather, because as engineering reaches ever downward, the inherent properties of matter start to become impossibly ambiguous. The German theoretical physicist Werner Heisenberg, in helping in the 1920s to father the concepts of quantum mechanics, made discoveries and presented calculations that first suggested this might be true: that in dealing with the tiniest of particles, the tiniest of tolerances, the normal rules of precise measurement simply cease to apply. At near-and subatomic levels, solidity becomes merely a chimera; matter comes packaged as either waves or particles that are by themselves both indistinguishable and immeasurable and, even to the greatest talents, only vaguely comprehensible.