Yule Quotes

I took a wrong turn on the way to the bathroom and found myself in a beautifully proportioned room I had never seen before, containing a really rather magnificent collection of chamberpots. When I went back to investigate more closely, I discovered that the room had vanished. But I must keep an eye out for it. Possibly it is only accessible at five thirty in the morning. Or it may only appear at the quarter moon - or when the seeker has an exceptionally full bladder.

Because - oh shut up laughing, you two - because they've just been turned down by girls they asked to the ball!

Snowflakes swirl down gently in the deep blue haze beyond the window. The outside world is a dream. Inside, the fireplace is brightly lit, and the Yule log crackles with orange and crimson sparks. There’s a steaming mug in your hands, warming your fingers. There’s a friend seated across from you in the cozy chair, warming your heart. There is mystery unfolding.

Your dreams are your spirit, your soul and without them your are dead. You must guard your dreams always. Always. Lest someone steal them away from you. I know what it is to have your dreams stolen. I know what it is to be dead. Guard your dreams. Always guard your dreams.

This is mad,” said Ron. “We’re the only ones left who haven’t got anyone — well, except Neville. Hey — guess who he asked? Hermione!” “What?” said Harry, completely distracted by this startling news. “Yeah, I know!” said Ron, some of the color coming back into his face as he started to laugh. “He told me after Potions! Said she’s always been really nice, helping him out with work and stuff — but she told him she was already going with someone. Ha! As if! She just didn’t want to go with Neville...I mean, who would?

Your dreams are your spirit, your soul, and without them you are dead.

Shit spews from your lips as from the ass of a pig.

There must be something ghostly in the air of Christmas — something about the close, muggy atmosphere that draws up the ghosts, like the dampness of the summer rains brings out the frogs and snails.

Then let us go and be terrible.

The truth is there is no Devil making you torture, rape, murder, and sodomize one another, or making you destroy the very land that feeds you. There is only you.

Burn? Smite? Punish? Why is your god so intolerant? So jealous? Why must there be only one god? Why is there not room for many?

Back, devil! Return thee to Hell!" The beast rolled its eyes. "I am not a devil, fool. Do you ever wonder why you seek the Devil with such vigor? I shall tell you. Because you cannot face your own wickedness. The truth is there is no Devil making you torture, rape, murder, and sodomize one another, or making you destroy the very land that feeds you. There is only you. So look at yourself, for you are the only devil in this room.

At the darkest time of year, Lord Yule laid down his beard of snow and cloak of frost and ice to illuminate the gloom.

A house built on lies has a weak foundation.

How will I make a people who do not understand the power of belief believe? And without their belief Mother Earth will wither and Yuletide will fade...and so, too will I...like all the spirits and gods before me.

May the light illuminate your hearts and shine in your life every day of the year. May everlasting peace be yours and upon our Earth.

You can never be done with music. No more than you can be done with breathing. The day you quit is the day you die.

Yule—Yul log for the Christmas-fire tale-spinner—of fairy tales that can come true: Yul Brynner.

Free your spirit.

Wintry it ain't- no complaints! Snowier: Storefronts are showier, light displays glowier. Shoppers are prowling, blizzard howling! Drifts a-heaping, lords a-leaping, Yule logs burning, gifts returning. Winds are keen for 2015!

Me, I say too much optimism will get you killed.

You worship death. You and all the One Gods. They seduce mankind with their promises of glory attained in the hereafter, thus blinding men to the splendor before them here on earth. One can never expect to achieve enlightenment if one does not first live life to its fullest.

If you do not need something that it is still useful, give it to someone who will appreciate it before you douse it in lighter fluid in hopes Santa Odin will put a new one under your Yule tree.

Krampus reached over and wiggled one of the nails protruding from Jesse's leg. "Ow, fuck!" Jesse cried. "Watch it. Goddamn, what's wrong with you?" "You still live." "Yeah... I still live. Lucky me.

Yule is the true spirit of Mother Earth. Yule is the rebirth of the seasons. Without Yuletide, Mother Earth cannot heal herself . . . will wither and die. That is why it is so important that I reawaken the spirit within mankind. Help them to believe again. Because it is their power of belief, their love and devotion, that heals the land.

For the world is a hard place and nothing comes without a price.

Just be careful what you say. Don't upset him." "You mean the Grumpus guy?" "It's Krampus.

I will not be your leash, my love’. Ade looked at him then, with a soaring expression so full of love that Yule Ian knew he had done something not merely kind but utterly vital.

It was the Yule-rite, older than man and fated to survive him; the primal rite of the solstice and of spring’s promise beyond the snows; the rite of fire and evergreen, light and music.

He saw Krampus grinning at him and knew then that the Yule Lord was right, he could no more quit music than breathing, and while he needed air to live, he needed music to truly be alive.

It was a pretty sight, and a seasonable one, that met their eyes when they flung the door open. In the fore-court, lit by the dim rays of a horn lantern, some eight or ten little field-mice stood in a semicircle, red worsted comforters round their throats, their fore-paws thrust deep into their pockets, their feet jigging for warmth. With bright beady eyes they glanced shyly at each other, sniggering a little, sniffing and applying coat-sleeves a good deal. As the door opened, one of the elder ones that carried the lantern was just saying, "Now then, one, two, three!" and forthwith their shrill little voices uprose on the air, singing one of the old-time carols that their forefathers composed in fields that were fallow and held by frost, or when snow-bound in chimney corners, and handed down to be sung in the miry street to lamp-lit windows at Yule-time.

You are free. The world is yours. got take it.

Does mankind truly hate itself? How can one surmount such irreverence?

How will I make a people who do not understand the power of belief believe?

Man has only himself to fear now . . . he has become his own worst devil.

wanted, a pretty lie, and they believed, because a pretty lie is easier to believe than an ugly truth.

I am fearful most men of this age are like you. They have forgotten what it is to huddle in a hut with the beasts and demons howling outside their door. They no longer have want of a great and terrible spirit to protect them. They have lost their fear of the wild and with it their need to believe. And I cannot blame them, for they now have the power to chase away the shadows with a mere flick of a switch. So I must ask myself, what role can I play in a world where men worship the moving-picture box, where they make and consume potions that eat away their own brains, where they ravage and pillage entire mountains, kill the very earth itself? “Mankind has lost its connection to the land, to the earth, to the beasts and spirits. They gather their food not from the forest and fields, but from plastic bins and ice boxes. Their lives are no longer tied to the cycles of the seasons and the harvest, no longer do they need the Yule Lord to chase away the winter darkness and usher in the light of spring. Man has only himself to fear now . . . he has become his own worst devil.

There fared a mother driven forth Out of an inn to roam; In the place where she was homeless All men are at home. The crazy stable close at hand, With shaking timber and shifting sand, Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand Than the square stones of Rome. For men are homesick in their homes, And strangers under the sun, And they lay on their heads in a foreign land Whenever the day is done. Here we have battle and blazing eyes, And chance and honour and high surprise, But our homes are under miraculous skies Where the yule tale was begun. A Child in a foul stable, Where the beasts feed and foam; Only where He was homeless Are you and I at home; We have hands that fashion and heads that know, But our hearts we lost - how long ago! In a place no chart nor ship can show Under the sky's dome. This world is wild as an old wives' tale, And strange the plain things are, The earth is enough and the air is enough For our wonder and our war; But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings And our peace is put in impossible things Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings Round an incredible star. To an open house in the evening Home shall men come, To an older place than Eden And a taller town than Rome. To the end of the way of the wandering star, To the things that cannot be and that are, To the place where God was homeless And all men are at home.

Krampus's voice trailed off, he glanced at Jesse. Jesse's head lay on his shoulder, his eyes closed; there came no sign of breath. "It appears I am talking to myself." Krampus crossed his arms atop his chest and grunted.

Would not do to have children watch dear old Santa hack Krampus and his abominations to death, after all.

Want to come to the ball with me?" Fred Weasley

There are other things besides gods in which to put one's faith. Earthly things.

Oh dear thought Cobb. Never mind Father Yule, he sounds more like Ebenezer Scrimge from Charles Pickens’ book “A Yuletide Song”.

Hethin was at home with his father, King Hjorvarth, in Norway. Hethin was coming home alone from the forest one Yule-eve, and found a troll-woman ; she

Then said the monk, 'Poor men, when yule is cold,

Satan? I am not Satan!" the beast growled. "I am Krampus, the Lord of Yule. Now if you do not get out of my way I will tear out your heart and eat it!

Jesse couldn't picture a more desolate setting to meet his end. He watched the water drops gather and slide down the windshield, remembered how as a child he'd pretend they were eating each other, tried to pretend he was sitting in the back of his daddy's car now heading over to Grandma's for dinner.

Yule is when the dark half of the year cedes to the light half. Known as Solstice Night, Awaiting the rebirth of the Sun God. Bonfires, wassailing crops with toasts of spiced cider a time of madness and awesomeness

Yule is supposed to be a celebration and a consolation, a moment of warm brightness in the heart of winter, a time to eat because you know that the lean times are coming when food will be scarce and ice locks the land, and a time to be happy and get drunk and behave irresponsibly and wake up the next morning wondering if you will ever feel well again, but the West Saxons handed the feast to the priests who made it as joyous as a funeral.

Their daughter was born just before sunrise. She had skin the color of cedarwood and eyes like wheat. They named her for an old, half-forgotten god from Ade's own world, whom Yule had studied once in an ancient text preserved in Nin's archives. He was a strange god, depicted in the faded manuscript with two faces staring both backward and forward. He presided not over once particular domain but over the places between- past and present, here and there, endings and beginnings- over doorways, in short. But Ade thought Janus sounded too much like Jane, and she'd be damned if any daughter of hers would be named Jane. They named her after the god's own month instead: January. Oh, my sweet daughter, my perfect January, I would beg for your forgiveness, but I lack the courage. All I can ask for is your belief. Believe in doors and worlds and the Written. Believe most of all in our love for you- even if the only evidence we've left you is contained in the book you now hold.

Ujanja wote ulimwisha Murphy. Ilimbidi kutoboa siri ili adui asizidi kumuumiza. Alilaumu mno kufa wakati alishakula ng’ombe mzima. Alifikiri Mogens na Yehuda walishauwawa kulingana na hasira nyingi za magaidi. Walihakikisha hawafanyi makosa hata kidogo. Alivyomaliza kumhoji, yule adui alizunguka nyuma katika mgongo wa Murphy na kwenda katika dirisha lililokuwa wazi – la mashariki – ambapo aliegemea na kuvuta sigara. Alichungulia kidogo nje kisha akageuka na kuendelea kupata upepo mdogo wa baridi.

Their lives are no longer tied to the cycles of the seasons and the harvest, no longer do they need the Yule Lord to chase away the winter darkness and usher in the light of spring. Man has only himself to fear now . . . he has become his own worst devil.

Back then," he whispered, "I guess I was into masochism, because being there with you, so close when you were so untouchable, was pretty torturous." In the same whisper, Beth asked, "So why did you do it?" "Because not being with you was worse." -Beth and Levi

I’ll tell you what,” he bargains, amused. “There’s a dance every Yule at University. You go with Gareth, and I’ll ask Aislinn Greer.” “I can’t,” I say hesitantly, not wanting to displease my older brother. “I’ve already agreed to go with Lukas.” “Elloren.” He reaches out to touch my arm, his voice once again serious. “I’m not kidding about Lukas Grey. Stay away from him. He’s incredibly powerful. You’re playing with fire there.” Maybe I want to play with fire. “Thanks for the warning,” I say, my tone completely and utterly noncommittal.

Maumivu ya matatizo ya yule aliyekukosea hayana tofauti na maumivu ya matatizo ya wewe uliyekosewa. Adui yako (kwa mfano) akifiwa na mke aliyempenda sana, atajisikia vibaya kama utakavyojisikia vibaya kufiwa na mke uliyempenda sana. Kuwa na huruma kwa waliokukosea, wakati wa shida.

Genie In 1970 a child called Genie was admitted to a children’s hospital in Los Angeles. She was thirteen years old and had spent most of her life tied to a chair in a small closed room. Her father was intolerant of any kind of noise and had beaten the child whenever she made a sound. There had been no radio or television, and Genie’s only other human contact was with her mother who was forbidden to spend more than a few minutes with the child to feed her. Genie had spent her whole life in a state of physical, sensory, social and emotional deprivation. As might be expected, Genie was unable to use language when she was first brought into care. However, within a short period of time, she began to respond to the speech of others, to try to imitate sound and to communicate. Her syntax remained very simple. However, the fact that she went on to develop an ability to speak and understand a fairly large number of English words provides some evidence against the notion that language cannot be acquired at all after the critical period.

He saw her see him. A stillness fell over her, despite the lolling of the ship beneath her feet. Then she laughed—a wild, whooping laugh that rolled over the water to Yule like summertime thunder—removed several layers of dirt-colored clothing, and dove into the shallow waves beneath her ship without a trace of hesitation. Yule had half a second in which to wonder precisely what manner of half-wild madwoman he had been questing for twelve years, and to doubt his sufficiency for the task, before he was splashing out to meet her, laughing and dragging his white scholar's robes through the waves.

They headed east, deeper into hill country, leaving Krampus’s gift of Yule cheer in over three dozen homes spread about as many neighborhoods all along eastern Boone County. Most of the visits went smoothly, as smoothly as one could hope for any home invasion carried out by a host of costume-clad devils.

If you'll just settle down and listen, I'll explain." Cautiously, he turned her around so she faced him. Then, before she could protest, he looked at her mouth, appeared drawn there and he started kissing her again, light, teasing kisses. "I swear, Frannie, you have the sexiest mouth." "In about two seconds, I'm going to unman you with my knee." He released her and stepped back so quickly, she almost smiled. "Now, if you insist, you can explain while you help me move my stuff." -Booker and Frannie

Do you ever wonder why you seek the Devil with such vigor? I shall tell you. Because you cannot face your own wickedness. The truth is there is no Devil making you torture, rape, murder, and sodomize one another, or making you destroy the very land that feeds you. There is only you. So look at yourself, for you are the only devil in this room.

Stop your weeping. Grief is for the dead.

She laughed and said not to confuse pride with nobleness.

Spain?” Jesse said and glanced about at the others, but they looked equally perplexed. “Spain?” “Yes, to Baldr’s castle. Where did you think he lived? The North Pole?

Santa Claus ran his finger across the rough parchment, lightly tracing the inscription below. “Charity unto others brings its own reward,” he whispered.

He was no prude, but he had those decent prejudices of which no self-respecting man can wholly rid himself, however broad-minded he may try to be.

Something’s just not right,” he said, shaking his head, “not by a long shot.

But things don’t always go the way folks want . . . or hope. Life ain’t like that.

Just be careful what you say. Don’t upset him.” “You mean the Grumpus guy?” “It’s Krampus.” “Just who’s this—

Silly man, no one is asking you to denounce anyone. Only to open your heart. To invite them all into your house.

He inhaled deeply, felt some vestige of strength returning to him, the moon’s rays, the stars, and forest air all like food for his starving soul.

There is so precious little magic left in this world . . . so little. Why must your ambitions come at such a cost?

and a man who spends Christmas by himself was indeed a man alone in the world.

Estamos tão ocupados com os resultados alheios, com as fotos photoshopadas em redes sociais e com a falsa felicidade que nos deprimimos cada vez mais com a nossa própria realidade.

In the great snowfall before the bomb" In the great snowfall before the bomb colored yule tree lights windows, the only glow for contemplation along this road I worked the print shop right down among em the folk from whom all poetry flows and dreadfully much else. I was Blondie I carried my bundles of hog feeder price lists down by Larry the Lug, I'd never get anywhere because I'd never had suction, pull, you know, favor, drag, well-oiled protection. I heard their rehashed radio barbs— more barbarous among hirelings as higher-ups grow more corrupt. But what vitality! The women hold jobs— clean house, cook, raise children, bowl and go to church. What would they say if they knew I sit for two months on six lines of poetry?

Hey!” the kid screamed. “Hey, you can’t do that!” He stood up and when he did, Santa snatched the bicycle out from under him. He lifted the bike over his head and chucked it down the hill.

Синовете ми са еднакво умни и еднакво силно желаят да получат образование. Разполагаме с пари да изпратим само единия, и ви питам, как да избереш кой от близнаците да отиде да учи и кой да започне работа във фабриката за катран? Как да кажеш на едното си дете, че го обичаш колкото другото, при условие че си решил то да не получи шанс в живота? Няма как. Намирате някакъв начин. Какъвто и да било.

Search for his beasts, his abominations, the Belsnickels. For they will be on the hunt as well. When you find them, stay with them like a dark omen, lead me to them with your cry . . . for my sword thirsts for their blood.

Kuna ndoto za mchana na kuna ndoto za usiku. Ndoto za mchana ni maono ya kile ambacho roho inatamani kuwa. Ndoto za usiku ni maono yanayotokea wakati akili imetulia baada ya mwili wote kupumzika. Ukiota kuhusu moto, hiyo ni ishara ya hasira; ukiota kuhusu maji, hiyo ni ishara ya siri; ukiota kuhusu ardhi, hiyo ni ishara ya huzuni; ukiota kuhusu Yesu, hiyo ni ishara ya mafanikio. Kitu cha kwanza kufanya unapoota ndoto za kishetani, utakapoamka, mwombe Mungu akunusuru kutoka katika matatizo yoyote yanayokunyemelea; au yanayomnyemelea mtu mwingine yoyote yule, hata usiyemjua. Ubongo ni kitu cha ajabu kuliko vyote ulimwenguni na umetengenezwa na Mungu. Ndoto zinapatikana ndani ya ubongo. Ubongo unapatikana ndani ya ufahamu. Ufahamu mtawala wake ni malaika mwema. Malaika mwema anajua siri ya ndoto. Kila mtu anaota na kila ndoto ina maana yake. Rekodi ndoto zako kila siku kwa angalau mwezi mzima kupata maana halisi ya ndoto hizo, na kujua kwa nini ulizaliwa.

Why would they destroy the forest, the mountains . . . the very land?” “For the coal. They blast the tops off the mountains to get to the coal.” Krampus shook his head, his face bewildered. “It is like cutting off one’s own arm to feed one’s self.

He noticed Millie Boggs’s little plastic Jesus wedged between the back of his cab and the front of the camper shell. The baby Savior appeared to be looking directly at him and smiling. “You having yourself a good time?” Jesse shouted up at the doll.

Here were kept up the old games of hoodman blind, shoe the wild mare, hot cockles, steal the white loaf, bob apple, and snap dragon; the Yule-clog and Christmas candle were regularly burnt, and the mistletoe with its white berries hung up, to the imminent peril of all the pretty housemaids.* * The mistletoe is still hung up in farm-houses and kitchens at Christmas, and the young men have the privilege of kissing the girls under it, plucking each time a berry from the bush. When the berries are all plucked the privilege ceases.

Around the room, the traditional thirteen desserts of Christmas are stacked on glass dishes like pirates' treasure, gleaming and lustrous in topaz and gold. Black nougat for the devil, white nougat for the angels, and clementines, grapes, figs, almonds, honey, dates, apples, pears, quince jelly, mendiants all jeweled with raisins and peel, and fougasse made with olive oil and split like a wheel into twelve parts- And of course there is the chocolate- the Yule log cooling in the kitchen; the nougatines, the celestines, the chocolate truffles piled onto the counter in a fragrant scatter of cocoa dust.

In addition to legal assemblies such as the one at Thingvellir, major public rituals were part of the celebration of the three big festivals around which the Viking calendar turned. One of these was Winter Nights, which was held over several days during our month of October, which the Vikings considered to be the beginning of winter and of the new year generally. The boundary between the realm of the living and the realm of the dead was thin, and all sorts of uncanny things were bound to happen. At this festival, the divine powers were petitioned for the general prosperity of the people. The second critical festival was Yule at midwinter - late December and early January - Which, with the arrival of Christianity, was converted into Christmas. Offerings were made to the gods in hopes of being granted bountiful harvests in the coming growing season in return. The third major festival was called "Summer Time" (Sumarmál), and was held in April, which the Vikings considered to be the beginning of summer. When the deities were contacted during this festival, they were asked for success in the coming season's battles, raids, and trading expeditions. The exact time of these festivals differed between communities.

Krampus found me, forced me into servitude—me, the son of Odin, a slave to a low-cast demon. I did not care, did not feel. Hollow of heart and soul, I came to believe this to be my fate, my penance, that I had been spared to bear torment not just for my own vanity and arrogance, but for that of all my forebears.

Makwa, my bravest warrior.” His words were earnest and measured. “The great spirits call. It is time for you to go to them, to be honored for your loyalty and bravery. Mishe Moneto has gathered all your great fathers and they all await you with a magnificent feast. Go to them with your chin held high. Take your rightful place.

Before we light the Yule log, I want to give you this. You have been a very good girl this year, and a wonderful daughter.” He held something out to her. Jaclyn hadn’t noticed he was carrying anything. She looked down to see he was holding a branch with green leaves and white berries. She gasped, “It’s beautiful!” and took the branch from his hand. “The berries reminded me of the winter snow,” her father said softly. Jaclyn nodded. “But the green leaves belong in the summer!” She looked up at him. “The trees have long since lost their leaves. Where did you find it?” “I had to travel very far to find it.” he told her, leaning in to add, “It’s magical.

must ask myself, what role can I play in a world where men worship the moving-picture box, where they make and consume potions that eat away their own brains, where they ravage and pillage entire mountains, kill the very earth itself? “Mankind has lost its connection to the land, to the earth, to the beasts and spirits. They gather their food not from the forest and fields, but from plastic bins and ice boxes. Their lives are no longer tied to the cycles of the seasons and the harvest, no longer do they need the Yule Lord to chase away the winter darkness and usher in the light of spring. Man has only himself to fear now . . . he has become his own worst devil.

The donkey nibbled on his butt. "What the hell!" Leaping a foot, Ozzie jerked around. The donkey was right THERE, not two inches from him, his ears laid back and his big brown eyes soulful. How had the damned thing moved so silently? "He's just being friendly." Marci shared that special smile that felt like a caress. "He likes you." Appalled, Ozzie said, "He likes my ass." And he backed out of the donkey's reach. "I do, too." No, no, no. He wasn't about to touch that one. "It'd help if you'd just be quiet, Marci." Unaffected by his dark mood, she laughed. "Lighten up, Osbourne. It's not my fault, or the donkey's that you have such an irresistible bod." -Osbourne and Marcie

Is there not room in your heart for both? They both spread peace, charity, and goodwill.” “Only Jesus can save your soul from eternal damnation.” A smug smile spread across the reverend’s face. “Can Santa Claus do that? Don’t think so.” Santa let out a sigh. “We all serve God in our way.” Then, almost to himself: “Sometimes whether we wish it or not.

And my eyes, too, have been opened,” Krampus said. “For I clearly see that mankind has not yet forgotten who they are. That deep down their wild spirit still burns. That they need only a little nudge to be set free.” Krampus grinned, beamed. “And I will always be there to give them that nudge . . . in some shape or form, no matter what games the gods may play.

All my hard work had come to fruition that day: the new fireplace housed a might Yule log that warmed the room, casting reflections across the crystal and silver. I admired the forest green of the brocaded furniture, and the holly gathered in red ribbons hung about the walls. I decided that whatever temper Michael might be in, I would not let him spoil our first Christmas. The new damask cloth was spread with a fine repast: Peg's own Yule cakes looked even daintier than those I had already sampled. A great wheel of cheese had pride of place, beside magnificent pies of game and fruit. On a great round platter was a salamagundy salad as fresh as a bouquet of flowers; concentric rings of every delight: eggs, chicken, ham, beetroot, anchovies, and orange.

Come to the Yule dance with me,” he says. “I don’t know what that is.” “It’s a dance held every Yule at the University for Gardnerian scholars and graduates. Come with me.” I swallow, not believing this is happening. It has to be a dream. “All right,” I say, nodding dumbly. He grins widely and reaches up to play with my hair. “We should be getting back,” he says ruefully. “Your aunt will be wondering what became of you.” “Oh, I don’t know,” I say, drawn in by his languid touch. “She seemed pretty happy to see us leave together.” Overjoyed, actually. “Yes, well...” he agrees, chuckling. He pulls away and offers me his arm. I thread my arm through his, part of me feeling oddly reckless, not wanting to leave, wanting to stay here alone with him, to feel the fire of his kiss light up the room.

If you’re under 35, and not passionately interested in health food, this one may go over your head. If so, count your blessings: Until very recently, a tribe of killer monkeys lived undetected beneath Greenwich village. To some extent it was not surprising that they escaped notice for so long. They had extremely odd sleeping habits, hibernating for 364 days out of every year (365 in Leap Years) and emerging from the caverns of the Village sewers only on Christmas Day. Even so, one might have thought they could hardly help but cause talk, since they tended when awake to be enormous, ferocious, carnivorous, and extremely hungry. Yet in Greenwich Village of all places on Earth they went unnoticed until last year, when they were finally destroyed. Everyone knows that Yule Gibbons ate only nuts and fruits…

So I must ask myself, what role can I play in a world where men worship the moving-picture box, where they make and consume potions that eat away their own brains, where they ravage and pillage entire mountains, kill the very earth itself? “Mankind has lost its connection to the land, to the earth, to the beasts and spirits. They gather their food not from the forest and fields, but from plastic bins and ice boxes.

The grate had been removed from the wide overwhelming fireplace to make way for a fire of wood, in the midst of which was an enormous log glowing and blazing, and sending forth a vast volume of light and heat: this, I understood, was the Yule-clog, which the squire was particular in having brought in and illumined on a Christmas Eve, according to ancient custom.* * The Yule-clog is a great log of wood, sometimes the root of a tree, brought into the house with great ceremony on Christmas Eve, laid in the fireplace, and lighted with the brand of last year's clog. While it lasted there was great drinking, singing, and telling of tales. Sometimes it was accompanied by Christmas candles; but in the cottages the only light was from the ruddy blaze of the great wood fire. The Yule-clog was to burn all night; if it went out, it was considered a sign of ill luck.

Maana halisi ya falsafa ya 'Nitakuwa tayari kufungwa kwa ajili ya matatizo ya watu', au Falsafa ya Kufungwa, ni uvutano mkubwa uliopo kati ya Roho Mtakatifu na Roho wa Shetani kwa sisi wanadamu wote. Jambo lolote baya limtokealo mwanadamu husababishwa na Shetani na si Mungu na watu hupata matatizo kwa sababu ya kudharau miito ya mioyo yao wenyewe, au kudharau kile Roho Mtakatifu anachowambia. Unaweza kuvunja sheria kwa manufaa ya wengi kwani mibaraka haikosi maadui. Ukifungwa kwa kuvunja sheria kwa ajili ya manufaa ya wengi watu watakulaani lakini Mungu atakubariki. Kwa nguvu ya uwezo wa Roho Mtakatifu Mungu atamshinda Shetani kwa niaba yako. Tukijifunza namna ya kuwasiliana na Roho Mtakatifu hatutapata matatizo kwani Mungu anataka tuishi kwa amani katika siku zote alizotupangia, licha ya damu yetu kuwa chafu. Mtu anapokufa kwa mfano, Roho wa Shetani amemshinda Roho Mtakatifu na Roho Mtakatifu hatalipendi hilo kwa niaba ya Mungu. Ikitokea mtu akayashinda majaribu ya Shetani katika kipindi ambacho watu wote wameyashindwa; mtu huyo amebarikiwa na Mungu, ili aitumie mibaraka hiyo kuwaepusha wenzake na roho mbaya wa Shetani. Nikisema 'Kwa nguvu ya uwezo wa Roho Mtakatifu Mungu atamshinda Shetani kwa niaba yako' namaanisha, Roho Mtakatifu ana uwezo wake na Roho wa Shetani ana uwezo wake pia. Ukimshinda Roho wa Shetani uwezo wa Roho Mtakatifu umekuwa mkubwa kuliko uwezo wa Roho wa Shetani, na ukishindwa kumtii Roho Mtakatifu uwezo wa Roho wa Shetani umekuwa mkubwa kuliko uwezo wa Roho Mtakatifu, ilhali uwezo wa Mungu ni mkubwa kuliko wa Roho Mtakatifu na wa Roho wa Shetani kwa pamoja. Mungu humtumia Roho Mtakatifu kumlindia watoto wake ambao ni sisi dhidi ya Shetani … Kila akifanyacho Roho Mtakatifu hapa duniani ni kwa niaba ya Mungu, na tukimtii Roho Mtakatifu Mungu atamshinda Shetani kwa niaba yetu. Mtu anapofungwa kwa kutetea maslahi ya umma wewe unayemfunga umemtii Roho wa Shetani. Yule anayefungwa amemtii Roho Mtakatifu maana amebarikiwa, na mibaraka haikosi maadui.

Today is Jesus's birthday. Just pointing that out, brother, on account that some folks get a bit confused this time of year." He put a light hand on Santa's arm and grinned. "They think it's Santa Claus Day." Santa met his eye and held it. "Reverend," the lady said. "Don't you even start." She looked at Santa apologetically. "Just ignore him. He's a bit impractical when it comes to Christmas." "Darn straight I am. Santa Claus and all his little presents get in the way of God's message." "As can religion," Santa replied.

For in America this season is decreed “family season”. (Eat your hearts out, you pitiable loners who don’t have families!) Melancholy as Thanksgiving is, the Christmas-New year’s season is far worse and lasts far longer, providing rich fund of opportunities for self-medicating, mental collapse, suicide and public mayhem with firearms. In fact it might be argued that the Christmas-New year’s season which begins abruptly after Thanksgiving is now the core-sason of American life itself, the meaning of American life„ the brute existencial point of it. How without families must envy us who bask in parental love, in the glow of yule-logs burning in fireplaces stoked by our daddie’s robust pokers, we who are stuffed to bursting with our mummie’s frantic holiday cooking; how you wish you could be us, pampered/protected kids tearing expensive foil wrappings off too many packages to count, gathered about the Christmas tree on Christmas morning as Mummy gently chided: “Skyler! Bliss! Show Daddy and Mummy what you’ve just opened, please! And save the little cards, so you know who gave such nice things to you

For in America this season is decreed “family season”. (Eat your hearts out, you pitiable loners who don’t have families!) Melancholy as Thanksgiving is, the Christmas-New year’s season is far worse and lasts far longer, providing rich fund of opportunities for self-medicating, mental collapse, suicide and public mayhem with firearms. In fact it might be argued that the Christmas-New year’s season which begins abruptly after Thanksgiving is now the core-sason of American life itself, the meaning of American life„ the brute existencial point of it. How without families must envy us who bask in parental love, in the glow of yule-logs burning in fireplaces stoked by our daddie’s robust pokers, we who are stuffed to bursting with our mummie’s frantic holiday cooking; how you wish you could be us, pampered/protected kids tearing expensive foil wrappings off too many packages to count, gathered about the Christmas tree on Christmas morning as Mummy gently chided: “Skyler! Bliss! Show Daddy and Mummy what you’ve just opened, please! And save the little cards, so you know who gave such nice things to you”.

I figured you for a hooker." Lily blinked at him. Neither of them moved. Even Elvis quit singing... "A hooker?...What a dilemma for you, Detective Ross. Here you are, the quintessential defender against evil--" "Knock it off, Lily." "The epitome of all that's good--" Growling, he said, "You're asking for it." "A regular White Knight, and you thought the damsel in distress was a soiled dove."...Taking him by surprise, Lily drew up short, pulled him around, and threw herself into his arms. "You're precious, Parker, you really are." -Lily and Parker