(Go: >> BACK << -|- >> HOME <<)
Jump to content

User:Vesuvius Dogg

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

This is an old revision of this page, as edited by Vesuvius Dogg (talk | contribs) at 03:21, 21 April 2019 (L'uomo del crescendo conosce il prezzo pagato dalla Fenice ... non tradurrà mai la "colpa" come "foglia d'oro" ... né mai incendierà il mondo.....). The present address (URL) is a permanent link to this revision, which may differ significantly from the current revision.

David Mehnert (b. 29.vii.1965), editing Wikipedia since 2004, under this moniker since 28.ii.2015. Account closed 21.iv.2019 at 00:00 GMT, with a handful of edits before turning into a midnight pumpkin back here in Kansas City, where everything may be up ro date, but still five hours behind Mean Time. It’s done.

CARO DIARIO
Friends call me “Bear”, and “Dave”, and “Dawg”,
Who’ve lived with me High, or Low, on the Hog;
”David” is my Given, Name I Most Answer To—
The More I’ve Been Called, in the Romancer’s Log.
8.iv.2018


My Little Pony:

Pony!
Congratulations! For unwavering support and dedicated editing on American Pharoah and related articles, you have received a pony! Ponies are cute, intelligent, cuddly, friendly (most of the time, though with notable exceptions), promote good will, encourage patience, and enjoy carrots. Treat your pony with respect and he will be your faithful friend! Montanabw(talk) 03:57, 1 June 2015 (UTC)

My Little Barnstars:

The Teamwork Barnstar
We did it! Statue of Edward Snowden Congratulations on a quality piece of work. 7&6=thirteen (☎) 11:39, 14 April 2015 (UTC)


The Reviewer Barnstar
Thank you for volunteering your time and energy as a content reviewer on Wikipedia and for helping to insure the accuracy and qualify of our articles. Your work as an editor is far more important than any administrator and the impact you've had on improving content is more valuable than any bureaucrat could possibly imagine. Viriditas (talk) 11:43, 28 November 2015 (UTC)

My Little Precious:

A Yogo sapphire for the art of horse racing

Thank you quality articles on horse racing and the arts, such as American Pharoah, Ahmed Zayat and Apocalypse Now (painting), performed in collaboration, for featured pictures and reviewing - you are an awesome Wikipedian!

--Gerda Arendt (talk) 07:05, 7 May 2016 (UTC)
I am pleased to thank Vesuvius Dogg for outstanding content contributions with this triple crown. OhanaUnitedTalk page 21:17, 26 December 2015 (UTC)

Featured Article: American Pharoah

This editor won the Half Million Award for bringing American Pharoah to Featured Article status.




Good Article: Ahmed Zayat
DYK: Rafflesia consueloae, Apocalypse Now (painting), Donald L. Bryant Jr., Arii Matamoe, Lena Waithe, Louise de Broglie, Countess d'Haussonville, Daniel Galvin, Statue of Edward Snowden
Article starts: Edward Shillito, Peifang, Zarumin, Tsuga ulleungensis, Hero (sloop), Tom Atwood, Lauren Kieffer, Barbara Luderowski, Bandi (writer), The Propaganda Game, Tyler Henry, Sophie Kasiki, Apocalypse Now (painting), Donald L. Bryant Jr., Edward Dalton Marchant, Jacob Snowman, Arii Matamoe, Lena Waithe, Louise de Broglie, Countess d'Haussonville, Nyquist (horse), Sadajirō Yamanaka, Dmytro Zajciw

Featured Pictures (nominated by Vesuvius Dogg):[1]


From the Floating World:

Cypress Trees (檜図), a byōbu attributed to Kanō Eitoku (1543–1590), patriarch of the Kanō school of Japanese painting



Naqsh-e Rustam (نقش رستم c. 1000-225 BCE) 12 km NW of Persepolis, Iran



Quotations: Part I

16th Century ornamental alphabet



Moroni 10:34
Ac yn awr yr wyf yn rhoddi ffarwel i chwi oll. Yr wyf yn myned ar fyr i orphwys yn mharadwys Duw, hyd nes yr ail-unir fy yshryd a’m corff drachefn, ac y dygir minnau allan yn fuddugoliaethus trwy yr awyr, i gyfarfod â chwi gerbron brawdle ddymunol y Jehofah mawr, barnwr tragywyddol y byw a’r meirw. Amen.
—The Angel Moroni as revealed to Joseph Smith, the Prophet: ‘He called me by name, and said unto me that he was a messenger sent from the presence of God to me, and that his name was Moroni; that God had a work for me to do; . . . he said there was a book deposited, written upon gold plates, giving an account of the former inhabitants of this continent, and the source from whence they sprang’: The Book of Mormon, Hanes Wedi ei Ysgrifenu Gan Law Mormon, 25 Nisan 5590 [April 1830], Welsh translation 1852, first edition; Moroni 10:34 (Lllfr [sic] Moroni, p. 483), last lines



Sonnet XVI
Here war is simple like a monument:
A telephone is speaking to a man;
Flags on a map assert that troops were sent;
A boy brings milk in bowls. There is a plan

For living men in terror of their lives,
Who thirst at nine who were to thirst at noon,
And can be lost and are, and miss their wives,
And, unlike an idea, can die too soon.

But ideas can be true although men die,
And we can watch a thousand faces
Made active by one lie:

And maps can really point to places
Where life is evil now:
Nanking; Dachau.
—W. H. Auden, summer 1938, from the sonnet sequence “In Time of War” (Journey to a War with Christopher Isherwood, New York, Random House, 1939, 1st ed.)



La nature est un temple où de vivants piliers
Laissent parfois sortir de confuses paroles.
L’homme y passent à travers des fôrets de symboles
Qui l’observent avec des régards familiers.
—Charles Baudelaire, “Correspondences”, from Les fleurs du mal



[...] Thus, the condensation of collective intelligences and combined ingenuities, its cables silently spinning, dealt with the individual poet. The same was done to the poet’s mother. A gray lid was set upon her too and then Waldemar took the spade and weakly dug out clods and threw one into each grave. The old gambler wept and we turned aside to spare him. He stood beaide the graves while the bulldozer began its work.
Menasha and I went toward the limousine. The side of his foot brushed away some of last autumn’s leaves and he said, looking through his goggles, “What’s this, Charlie, a spring flower?”
”It is. I guess it’s going to happen after all. On a warm day like this everything looks ten times deader.”
”So it’s a little flower,” Menasha said. “They used to tell one about a kid asking his grumpy old man when they were walking in the park, ‘What’s the name of this flower, Papa?’ and the old guy is peevish and he yells, ‘How should I know? Am I in the millenery business?’ Here’s another, but what do you suppose they’re called, Charlie?”
”Search me,” I said. “I’m a city boy myself. They must be crocuses.”
—Saul Bellow, Humboldt's Gift, 1975, last lines



This reminds me of the ludicrous account he gave Mr Langton, of the despicable state of a young gentleman of good family. “Sir, when I heard of him last, he was running about town shooting cats.” And then in a sort of kindly reverie, he bethought himself of his own favorite cat, and said, “But Hodge shan’t be shot: no, no, Hodge shall not be shot.”
—James Boswell, The Life of Samuel Johnson, 1791



Scarcely had she left the house before Miles Datchet (who had taken leave of the Lees, Mrs. Stokes, and even Madge, during which last ceremony he had caught Freddy Flipps grinning over a hedge, and for which he had bestowed upon him a parting drubbing, with a benedictory prophecy that he would yet ride a horse foaled by an acorn)* called for Mrs. Tymmons’s despatches to Lord de Clifford and his mother, as he (Datchet) was to start for the Continent early on the following morning, where it is high time we should follow him. [*’Come to the gallows.’, note printed in US First Edition, NEW-YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF-ST, 1839]
—Rosina Bulwer Lytton, Cheveley; Or, The Man of Honour, Volume I, 1839, last lines



What was brought in now, brothers, was a big shiny box, and I viddied clear what sort of veshch it was. It was a stereo. It was put down next to the bed and opened up and some veck plugged its lead into a wall socket. ‘What shall it be?’ asked a veck with otchkies on his nose, and he had in his rookers lovely shiny sleeves full of music. ‘Mozart? Beethoven? Schoenberg? Carl Orff?’
’The Ninth,’ I said. ‘The glorious Ninth.’
And the Ninth it was, O my brothers. Everybody began to leave nice and quiet ehile I laid there with my glazzies closed, slooshying the lovely music. The Min said: ‘Good good boy,’ patting me on the pletcho, then he ittied off. Only one veck was left, saying: ‘Sign here, please.’ I opened my glazzies to sign, not knowing what I was signing and not, O my brothers, caring either. Then I was left alone with the glorious Ninth of Ludwig van.
Oh, it was gorgeosity and yumyumyum. When it came to the Scherzo I could viddy myself very clear running and running on like very light and mysterious nogas, carving the whole litso of the creeching world with my cutthroat britva. And there was the slow movement and the lovely last singing movement still to come. I was cured all right.
—Anthony Burgess, A Clockwork Orange, 1962, last lines



As a Christian, I believe that the ultimate fate of mankind will be good. I believe that the love of God will prevail. I believe and I pray as a person of faith the words of the Lord’s Prayer: “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”
[Afterword]
[...] Earlier, when he was asked which was the greatest of God’s commandments, Jesus replied, “You shall love the lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second is this: ’Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these” (Mark 12:30-31).
—Jimmy Carter, Faith: A Journey For All, 2018, last lines



They were Brahmins [he said] who had forfeited their caste in the service of the god. The god had commanded that their purification should be the purification by pilgrimage. On that night the three men were to part. In three separate directions, they were to set forth as pilgrims to the shrines of India. Never more were they to look on each other’s faces. Never more were they to rest on their wanderings, from the day which witnessed their separation to the day which witnessed their death.
As these words were whispered to me the plaintive music ceased. The three men prostrated themselves on the rock, before the curtain which hid the shrine. They rose—they looked on one another—they embraced. Then they descended separately among the people. The people made way for them in dead silence. In three different directions I saw the crowd part at one and the same moment. Slowly the grand, white mass of the people closed together again. The track of the doomed men through the ranks of their fellow-mortals was obliterated. We saw them no more.
A new strain of music, loud and jubilant, rose from the hidden shrine. The crowd around me shuddered and pressed together.
The curtain between the trees was drawn aside, and the shrine was disclosed to view.
There, raised high on a throne, seated on his typical antelope, with his four arms stretching toward the four corners of the earth, there soared above us, dark and awful in the mystic light of heaven, the god of the Moon. And there, in the forehead of the deity, gleamed the yellow Diamond, whose splendour had last shone on me, in England, from the bosom of a woman’s dress!
Yes, after the lapse of eight centuries the Moonstone looks forth once more over the walls of the sacred city in which its story first began. How it had found its way back to its wild native land—by what accident, or by what crime, the Indians regained possession of their sacred gem—may be in your knowledge, but it is not in mine. You have lost sight of it in England, and [if I know any thing of this people] you have lost sight of it forever.
So the years pass, and repeat each other; so the same events revolve in the cycles of Time. What will be the next adventures of the Moonstone? Who can tell?
—Wilkie Collins, The Moonstone, 1999, last lines



”There he is,” answered Geppetto, and he pointed to a big puppet leaning against a chair, with its head at one side, its arms dangling, and its legs so crossed and bent that it was really a miracle that it remained standing.
Pinocchio turned and looked at it; and sfter he had looked at it for a short time, he said to himself with great complacency: ‘How ridiculous I was when I was a puppet! and how glad I am that I have become a well-behaved little boy.’
—Carlo Collodi, Pinocchio, 1882, last lines



Jane Alexander summarizes her efforts quite simply. “Once you’re a victim, you will always be a victim. It changes you forever. But ‘victim’ does not mean ‘helpless.’ I’m not a warrior or a crusader. I simply believe that if you have a debt, if you borrow fifty dollars, you must repay fifty dollars. If you take someone’s life, you must pay with your own freedom.
”I’m in the debt collection business. It’s as simple as that.”
—James Dalessandro with David Mehnert, Citizen Jane, 1999, last lines



Meanwhile the great loa . . . repeat their ultimate threat—that they will withdraw. And indeed, very gradually, their appearances have begun to become rarer, while the minor deities now come often and with great aplomb. The Haitians are not unaware of this. They say: “Little horses cannot carry great riders.” . . . When they do appear, many of the major loa weep. Various explanations are given for this. But the loa presumably have vision and the power of prophecy, and it is possible that, with such divine insight, they sense, already, the first encroaching chill of their own twilight. It is not surprising that this should come. It is more surprsing that it has not, already, long since passed into night. Yet the gods have known other twilights, and the long nights, and then the distant but recurring dawn. And it may be that they weep not for themselves, but for the men who served and will soon cease[d] to serve them.
—Maya Deren, Divine Horsemen, 1953



Marie Lloyd’s art will, I hope, be discussed by more competent critics of the theater than I. My own chief point is that I consider her superiority over other performers to be in a way a moral superiority: it was her understanding of the people and sympathy with them, and the people’s recognition of the fact that she embodied the virtues which they genuinely most respected in private life, that raised her to the position she occupied at her death. And her death is itself a significant moment in English history. I have called her the expressive figure of the lower classes. There is no such expressive figure for any other class. The middle classes have no such idol: the middle classes are morally corrupt. That is to say, their own life fails to find a Marie Lloyd to express it; nor have they any independent virtues which might give them as a conscious class any dignity. The middle classes, in England as elsewhere, under democracy, are morally dependent upon the aristocracy, and the aristocracy are subordinate to the middle class, which is gradually absorbing and destroying them. The lower class still exists; but perhaps it will not exist for long. In the music-hall comedians they find the expression and dignity of their own lives; and this is not found in the most elaborate and expensive revue. In England, at any rate, the revue expresses almost nothing. With the decay of the music-hall, with the encroachment of the cheap and rapid-breeding cinema, the lower classes will tend to drop into the same state of protoplasm as the bourgeoisie. The working man who went to the music-hall and saw Marie Lloyd and joined in the chorus was himself performing part of the act; he was engaged in that collaboration of the audience with the artist which is necessary in all art and most obviously in the dramatic art. He will now go to the cinema, where his mind is lulled by continuous senseless music and continuous action too rapid for the brain to act upon, and will receive, without giving, in that same listless apathy with which the middle and upper classes regard any entertainment of the nature of art. He will also have lost some of his interest in life. Perhaps this will be the only solution. In an interesting essay in the volume of Essays on the Depopulation of Melanesia, the psychologist W. H. R. Rivers adduced evidence which has led him to believe that the natives of that unfortunate archipelago are dying out principally for the reason that the “Civilization“ forced upon them has deprived them of all interest in life. They are dying from pure boredom. When every theater has been replaced by 100 cinemas, when every musical instrument has been replaced by 100 gramophones, where every horse has been replaced by 100 cheap motor-cars, when electrical ingenuity has made it possible for every child to hear its bedtime stories from a loud speaker, when applied science has done everything possible with the materials on this earth to make life as interesting as possible, it will not be surprising if the population of the entire civilized world rapidly follows the fate of the Melanesians.*
*These lines were written nine years ago.
—T. S. Eliot, “Marie Lloyd” from The Sacred Wood: Essays on Poetry and Criticism, 1932, last lines



Quotations: Part II

Kyosai Kiyomitsu, folding byōbu screen showing daimyōs attending at Edo Castle in 1847


The Hikone screen (彦根屏風), created during the Kan'ei era (c. 1624–1644), is the oldest surviving artwork in the ukiyo-e tradition. At left, a gathering of male and female figures, backed by a four-panel byōbu screen with a landscape painted on it, amuse themselves playing a sugoroku board game while being entertained by a blind man and some women playing shamisens. Designated a National Treasure of Japan in 1955 and given the official name Shihon Kinjichaku-shoku Fuzoku-zu (紙本金地著色風俗図), the screen is of uncertain authorship.



The Senator’s answer to his own question could be summarized as “Probably not,” and he predicted that the spending would be partly balanced by huge deficits and that “tremendous taxes will be imposed which will reduce the income and standard of living of every American citizen.” Then Senator Taft summarized the situation in a way which was important in 1951 and urgent in 1972:
The key to all the problems before the Congress lies in the size of our military budget. That determines the taxes to be levied. It determines the number of boys to be drafted. It is likely to determine whether we can maintain a reasonably freesystemand the value of our dollar, or whether we are to be weakened by inflation and choked by government controls which invariably tend to become more arbitrary and unreasonable.
Sometimes outsiders, being more detached and dispassionate, see our situation more clearly than we see ourselves. Often these observations by friends of the family jolt us into awareness and action when nothing else will. Late in 1971, I had a long interview with a foreign television team that was touring the United States recording our attitudes toward military spending in general and Asian War in particular. I was one of the last people they interviewed, and they had heard all sorts of “Don’t knock the war that feeds you” speeches and “Boondoggling makes us rich” theories. After he finished questioning me, the interviewer sat and talked for a few minutes.
”You know,” he said, “all this war economy talk is very familiar to us. Not too long ago, we had a politician who was pushing the same line. His schemes seemed to work all right for a while, but later on things sort of came apart.”
The interviewer, Herr Bitthoff, was from Germany. The name of the economic system he was referring to was Wehrwirtschaft. The promoter of the scheme was Adolf Hitler.
—A. Ernest Fitzgerald, The High Priests of Waste, 1972, last lines



But the horses didn’t want it—they swerved apart; the earth didn’t want it, sending up rocks through which riders must pass single file; the temples, the tank, the jail, the palace, the birds, the carrion, the Great House, that came into view as they issued from the gap and saw Mau beneath: they didn’t want it, they said in their hundred voices, “No, not yet,” and the sky said, “No, not there.”


—E. M. Forster, A Passage to India, Weybridge 1924, last lines



I’ll be ready for business again in a week or two, but I’ll never be the same. You try to keep life simple but it never works, and in the end all you have left is yourself.
Respectfully submitted, Kinsey Millhone.
—Sue Grafton, "A" Is for Alibi, 1982, last lines



As Uncle John and the boys walked home, Dick asked: “Did those people burn every one who died?”
”Perhaps not every one, but they did it very often.”
”Why did they?”
”That is a hard question for me to answer—it was part of their religion, I suppose; anyway perhaps they thought it the safest thing to do.”
”Did they always kill a man’s dog, too?”
”That I don’t know. In many cases no doubt they did, because dogs’ bones have been found in the barrows; sometimes horses’ bones have been found too, showing that people thought their horses could follow them to the spirit-world, and sometimes, it is thought, that a man’s slaves and even his wife were taken to the grave and killed, so that their spirits might attend his after death.”
”Is there any more about Tig in the book?” Joe asked.
”Yes, I believe there is more—he lived to be a very old man and became Chief in his time, and to him Garff bequeathed the wonderful bronze axe, Skull-pecker. He had much fighting to do; but he beat back his enemies and kept his people’s hunting grounds and their cattle safe, as long as he lived.”
—H. R. Hall, Days Before History, New York: Thomas Y. Crowell & Co., 1906 and 1907, last lines
[With a Preface by J. J. Findlay, Professor at the University of Manchester, which begins: ‘This little book for children is a sign of the times, and the author has asked me to write a few sentences which shall help the reader to discern the sign. But I only write for a few of the readers—for the parents and teachers who will buy the book to give to their children. The latter will please turn over at once and skip this dry preface about Education—it is only for grown-ups. You, my dear Harold or Marjorie, may start right away at Chapter I and make acquaintance with Uncle John and the story of Tig. . .’]



Upon the cornice of the tower a tall staff was fixed. Their eyes were riveted on it. A few minutes after the hour had struck something moved slowly up the staff, and extended itself upon the breeze. It was a black flag.
’Justice’ wad done, and the President of the Immortals, in Æschylean phrase, had ended his sport with Tess. And the d’Urberville knights and dames slept on in their tombs unknowing. The two speechless gazers bent themselves down to the earth, as if in prayer, and remained there a long time, absolutely motionless: the flag continued to wave silently. As soon as they had strength they arose, joined hands again, and went on.
—Thomas Hardy, Tess of the d'Urbervilles, 1892, last lines



‘What shall you do—where shall you go?’ I asked.
’Oh, I don’t know. I have done the great thing. I have destroyed the papers.’
’Destroyed them?’ I faltered.
’Yes; what was I to keep them for? I burnt them last night, one by one, in the kitchen.’
’One by one?’ I repeated, mechanically.
’It took a long time—there were so many.’ The room seemed to go round me as she said this and a real darkness for a moment descended upon my eyes. When it passed Miss Tita was there still, but the transfiguration was over and she had changed back to a plain, dingy, elderly person. It was in this character she spoke as she said, ‘I can’t stay with you longer, I can’t;’ and it was in this character that she turned her back upon me, as I had turned mine upon her twenty-four hours before, and moved to the door of the room. Here she did what I had not done when I quitted her—she paused long enough to give me a look. I have neve forgotten it and I sometimes still suffer from it, though it was not resentful. No, there was no resentment, nothing hard or vindictive in poor Miss Tita; for when, later, I sent her in exchange for the portrait of Jeffrey Aspern a larger sum of money than I had hoped to be able to gather for her, writing to her that I had sold the picture, she kept it with thanks; she never sent it back. I wrote to her that I had sold the picture, but I admitted to Mrs. Prest, at the time (I met her in London, in the autumn), that it hangs above my writing-table. When I look at it my chagrin at the loss of the letters becomes almost unbearable.
—Henry James, The Aspern Papers (London, Macmillan and Co., 1890, 1st ed.), last lines



The “hard thinking” about this war needs to begin at home, with the critic asking himself what he can do about it, modestly or grandly, with friends or alone. From each according to his abilities, but to be in the town jail, as Thoreau knew, can relieve any sense of imaginary imprisonment.
—Mary McCarthy, Vietnam, 1967, last lines



This is all that I thought proper to discuss in this treatise, and which I considered useful for men like you. I hope that, by the help of God, you will, after due reflection, comprehend all the things which I have treated here. May He grant us and all Israel with us to attain what He promised us, "Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf shall be unstopped (Isa. XXXV.5); "The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light; they that dwell in the shadow of death upon them hath the light shined (ibid.ix.1).
God is near to all who call Him, if they call Him in truth, and turn to Him. He is found by everyone who seeks Him, if he always goes towards Him, and never goes astray. AMEN.
—Maimonides, The Guide for the Perplexed, Part III Chapter LIV, 1190 (translated from the original Arabic by M. Friedlander), last lines




It remains only to be said that, of all known descriptions of the Speke Memorial, by far the most perceptive has been devised by Mr. H. B. Thomas who wrote in the concluding paragraph of his article, ‘The Death of Speke in 1864’:*
’There is something particularly fitting in its situation, with G. F. Watts’ “Physical Energy” on the one hand, and Sir George Frampton’s “Peter Pan” on the other, for Speke’s nature displayed a truly remarkable blend of indomitable courage with the spirit of perennial youth.’
*H. B. Thomas, O.B.E.: ‘The Death of Speke in 1864’, p. 107, Uganda Journal, vol. 13, no. 1, March 1949.
—Alexander Maitland, Speke, 1971, last lines



My life has completely changed. Instead of the wild swoops up and down that characterize alcoholism I seem to maintain a steady emotional equilibrium. My relationships are stable and my word is reliable: when I commit myself to something, I will do it. I am punctual and always open letters in brown envelopes, attending to them at once. I used to use my bicycle basket as a filing cabinet for unopened letters and not so many years ago I found myself in court because I could not pay my electricity bill. Now, if I cannot pay, I face up to people directly and they seem to like it much better.
I don’t lose my temper very much and I try not to blame everyone else for my faults. I say my prayers, at the foot of my bed, like a child is supposed to. I listen to what people have to say and I don’t automatically take an opposite point of view. I do the same old things every day and don’t get bored and long for excitements. In a way I revel in sameness. I find more love in my life: I love my friends so much and am amazed that sone of them have been there for over thirty years, through all my nonsenses. Quite a lot of the time I am happy, in a quiet sort of way, and this is a great satisfaction. I find that I am much more creative. I always thought that drink fuelled the creative inpulse and that it was necessary for it, but I was wrong. Writing cones much more easily to me sober, now I’ve stopped being frightened of it. I’ve changed a lot of my habits and most of the changes have been surprisingly easy. I live from day to day, sober and hopeful. My grandchildren and my dog have never seen me drunk, and I trust and pray that they never will.
—Henrietta Moraes, Henrietta, 1994, last lines



Mon Dieu qu’elle est frêle, qu’elle est inconsistante! J’ai de la peine à me convaincre que c’est ma mère.
Au fond, je lui en veux de la décision qu’elle m’oblige à prendre, mais je n’ai pas le courage de la condamner.
Le rhum me fait chaud à la poitrine. Ma mère doit avoir les jambes molles, car elle s’assied au bord d’une chaise de cuisine, comme si elle n’osait pas s’installer plus confortablement.
—Tu as téléphoné au bureau de placement?
—Oui.
—Ils ont quelqu’un?
—Ils me rappeleront demain matin.
Sous mes yeux, au fil des années, ma mère est devenue petit à petit une vieille femme.
Je vais, moi, lentement, sûrement, devenir une vieille fille.
Elle me regarde, encore sur le qui-vive, mais avec déjà un peu de reconnaissance.
Elle n’est plus tout à fait seule.
—George Simenon, Novembre (‘Épalinges le 19 juin 1969'), last lines



’Well, then I nearly blew it. I mean, that kid trusted me so much, I got over-confident and ran those ads in the Japanese press, and then some pressman got hold of them and the shit hit the fan. So I had to keep up the story about how if I talked to the police or the press, the kidnappers said I’d never see George again.
’I then just waited for time to pass, and when things quietened down, I divorced that Japanese wife and went back to the American one.’
He puffed at his pipe.
Just then a little girl ran along the pavement across the road. She was in tears.
’George is teasing me again!’
Major Kraft looked up, and saw George’s school teacher leading his son towards him by the scruff of his neck.
—Masako Togawa, The Master Key, 1962 (English translation 1984), last lines



Finally Milarepa reached the “old dog” stage, his highest attainment. People could tread on him, use him as a road, as earth; he would always be there. He transcended his own individual existence so that, as we read his last teachings, there is a sense of the universality of Milarepa, the example of enlightenment.
—Chögyam Trungpa, Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism, 1973, last lines



Cards and Starscapes (Hoyle and Hubble):

The North America Nebula in the constellation Cygnus, close to Deneb, which due to axial precession is destined to become the earth’s pole star in 9800 AD.
Located 290 million light-years away in the constellation Coma Berenices, two colliding galaxies, otherwise known as NGC 4676, have been nicknamed "The Mice" because of the long tails of stars and gas emanating from each. The pair have long since merged into a single giant galaxy, scientists suggest—-but the revelation will be a long time coming.
  1. ^ this page formatted for iPhone and other hand-held devices
Retrieved from "https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=User:Vesuvius_Dogg&oldid=893404608"