"Lady, Come Down!"

"Come down! Lady, come down!"

These are the words that I'm sure are wafting through your mind as you see that I have yet to post anything worth reading. Actually, these are musical words that are wafting through my computer speakers as my brain attempts to stretch from its frozen posture and type something sensible. Well, "sensible" is not exactly the right words. Since when do I ever write anything sensible? But I am rambling, as I am wont to do, which just proves my point at my utter lack of sensibility at times. And now I am starting to lose you as your own brain yawns quite perceptibly (don't deny it!). The fact is, I would like to post something about my life for once, and I feel like it's been so long that I hardly know how to do it any more. And the events I was thinking of describing are fast slipping into the past, and I don't know if I can make any of it worth reading or not. But I shall try. And the joy of it is, I don't need to feel like I'm enslaving anybody to read this because you are perfectly free to click me off of your screen forever.

I might as well start with Service Week. Particularly, I shall describe what we did on the fun days like to the White Mountains.

A pervasively chilly Thursday morning dawned, causing us to eagerly anticipate our planned hiking ventures. Perhaps we weren't exactly leaping for joy, but most of us were quite game still. After driving north for a couple of hours (our time throughout the day was featured with pleasures such as Madlibs and Authors), we all piled out of the van, braced for anything. I belatedly regretted not having any leggings on, but I slipped on my pair of Wilson swimming trunks that I got at Salvation Army in Florida for additional layering under my knee-length corduroy skirt. The fact that my supposedly gorgeous culottes are really men's swimming trunks is supposed to be a deep dark secret. . . but we all know that the internet is a very private mode of communication that won't let information leak out to undesired places. Anyway, happy that I had let my ever-wise mother talk me into bringing two sweatshirts instead of one, I completed my stylish outfit with a huge navy sweatshirt tied around my waist, thanks to Diane's generosity. She was staying in the van. Armed with this formidable opponent to the threatening weather, I debarked with my fellow hikers, ploughing through spring mud for a mile or so on up Rattlesnake Mountain, singing snatches of songs such as "Beautiful in elevation, the joy of all the earth, is Rattlesnake Mountain." I suggested the lyrics to Craig for his well-known composition, and he took to it very quickly, singing more of it than I did. I shouldn't be surprised if he posts the words as alternative lyrics on his website. Maybe Andrea and Gretchen will sing it at the next convention. Think of how inspiring that would be!

Well, eventually we attained the summit. And for not being a very difficult hike, the view was fantastic. Dropping right off of a cliff of sorts, we commanded a view of multiple lakes for miles around.

"Guess what?" I exclaimed to my cousin, Aaron. "My God made all of that!"

It was certainly worthy of some awe for His handiwork.

After we had been admiring the view for awhile, we had the privilege of meeting Davy Crockett and Kit Carson. I didn't realize that those two had ever joined up together, but apparently Davy and Kit were buddies. Well, Ben and Peter--ahem!--I mean Davy and Kit had set up camp with their wagons looped together when they were attacked by wolves! Fearsome creatures they were, each with a different colored mane--brown, blonde, and red. Howling and snarling, they attacked from all sides, but Davy and Kit were able to beat them back with torches until the wolves retreated with their tails between there legs.

"And then," Ben said, his voice intense, commanding the breathless attention of his young audience, and his not so young audience as well. "There was another sound."

"Whoop! whoop!" there were the Indians! Here they came, launching their tomahawks into the tree right next to our heroes! The only inconceivable thing about this attack was that the Indians resembled the wolves a little too closely. The hair color was definitely the same--brown, blonde, and red. Strange how these coincidences work--you'd almost think that the wolves had transmogrified themselves into the "Amerindians." But of course that is a silly notion. Anyway, Craig, Aaron, and Bobby--whoops, I mean the Indians, did a war dance before setting to their bloody business. But thankfully they were defeated! Davy Crockett and Kit Carson (with some help from Timothy) used their bows and arrows and hand-to-hand combat skills to vanquish their foes and save their lives.

"We're outnumbered!" Ben--I mean Davy Crockett, cried. "Three against three!"

It was a gory day. Consequently it was a satisfactory one.

Once our heroes were safe, some of us split up to either go back to the vans or press on to another trail. I decided to press on, and quite a few others did as well.

The woods we travailed were charming. As we progressed, I talked with Jane about how the woods reminded me of woods in Narnia or in Lord of the Rings where Treebeard lived. She said they reminded her of The Last of the Mohicans. As our various clods of people separated according to their hiking speeds, I found myself with Jane, Brandon, Aaron, and Ben. So while we were sliding down hills and endeavoring not to slip on acorns and barrel into the person(s) in front of us, the notion of The Last of the Mohicans came up. Quickly it was determined that since Brandon was in the lead at the time he should be Natty Bumpo (or whatever his name is--I got confused and called him Natty Bumpkin), and of course Jane and I would be Cora and Alice. Aaron and Ben ran ahead and attempted to hide behind trees along the trail. The guys seemed to have forgotten that they weren't as narrow as they were when they were infants, so they were barely concealed behind the skinny trees. Still, we dashed through them, pulling out Killdeer on the lot of them. But no, that wasn't how it was supposed to be. Aaron reminded us that what really happened was that the Indians ran off with the girls, so all he and Ben had to do was convince Brandon to join their side and then he could carry his sister-in-law and Aaron could carry me. No, but in the book the girls rode horses. How lamentable! But that problem was quickly solved as Ben offered himself, then that plan was soon exchanged so that Brandon and Aaron would be the horses after all. The plotting was quite engrossing, but at the same time the talk of "carrying off the girls" was a little unnerving. I jogged a little ahead of them to widen the space, just in case the imaginations ran a little too wild. I needn't have worried. Jane and I were as safe with these guys as we would be with a couple of kittens, and just as secure from other enemies as we would have been with lions instead.

Soon we reached the meeting spot where the vehicles were parked. Situated on a dirt road with a lake on one side and a bit of swamp on the other, we ate our lunch off the hood of Gerry's car. Beforehand, however, we hung out with a new friend of mine, named Frank. Everybody seemed to like him quite well, except for Brandon. For some reason or other Frank ended up in one of the bodies of water four times (three of those times it was thanks to Brandon) and had to be quickly rescued. I was a trifle concerned since Frank doesn't know how to swim and I wouldn't want to lose him, but there was always somebody else willing to fish him out, and all in all he wasn't too worse off for the wear. We also hung out with another friend named Baldy--he was found in the river in Florida. What's up with these friends who can't swim? Yes, Frank was a great birthday present from Craig. I've long wanted to learn how to throw a football better, and now's my chance to get the experience.

After these proceedings and a vote as to what the students wanted to do, we loaded up in the van and sped off to some interesting factories. The Cabot Cheese factory and the Ben and Jerry's Icecream factory were ones we visited in the afternoon, and the Simon Pierce Glass factory was one we visited in the evening. They were enlightening, but nothing of amazing import occurred. The cheese factory people gave us a very personal tour as well as free cheese samples and a yogurt for everybody. Most of us tried out their new "Greek style" yogurt, and it was great fun passing our yogurt cups around the van and getting a taste of other people's flavors. Mine was chocolate raspberry (mmm. . . ) but I liked Diane's blueberry pomegranate better, which was great because she didn't want any so she just let us all eat as much as we wanted.

As for the Ben and Jerry's Icecream factory, the tour was rather short and a little disapointing for being more expensive, but it was still fun. The man who gave us the tour had unique bovine vocal qualities (like when he asked us to "Mmmooooooo-ve closer") which was corny but entertaining. After the tour I bought a ceramic icecream bowl for Chad's birthday. It's round (bowls usually are) and patchy black and white like a cow, and underneath are four pink legs that one gradually realizes are supposed to be udders. Inside the bottom of the bowl it says "Udderly Delicious!" Well, it amused me so I figured it would amuse Chad. Hopefully it did.

For dinner, we stopped to picnic near a gorge in Vermont that we have frequented in past years with the Bibleschool. I believe the last time we were there was in Clyde's first year of Bibleschool. Anyway, the evening was cool and unfortunately our taco meat was nearly frozen, but my daddy had the brilliant idea of heating the meat up on the car engines. He's thinking of inventing something that can heat up cans of soup when you're on a road trip, which I think is a great idea. Following through with this suggestion, Amy went to Gerry and asked, "Does your car have an engine?" I'm sure she breathed a sigh of relief when Gerry assured her that he did have such a heating tool that he happened to have under his hood, and thus the meat was brought more swiftly to its digestive end.

We got home tired but happy around ten o'clock or somewhere thereafter.

The next day we embarked for Newport, RI. I don't know if you've ever been to Newport, but if you haven't you should have somebody else describe it for you if you wish it. I'm too lazy to do so right now. While there we received a tour of the yachting school and the Coronet from none other than the guy who read Uncle Tim's article on it years back and got all inspired about it. He's the very same guy who has painted most of the pictures of "America's most historic yacht," that is, our old friend the Coronet. She's really not much to look at right now, but they seem to actually be moving again toward working on her. Using his inexpressible charm and old-time captain habits, Uncle Tim managed to fanangle his way so that we were able to go inside and on deck, even though it was supposedly a hard hat zone. "Once a captain, always a captain," our guide shrugged, once he had given up trying to stop us. Some people are just unstoppable.:)

After lunch by the water some of us waited in the van for some of the more tardy students to get back from the breakwater. As I sat in the first bench seat, a thingy or two drove by on the road right in front of us. And when I say a thingy, I mean a thingy, because I don't know exactly any other way to describe it, and I don't really care to know. It was some sort of vehicle that looks like a combination of a smart car, a tricycle, and a convertible. So as it went by, I let forth my profound observation:

"There goes the thingy!"

"A thingy?" Amy scoffed teasingly at my limited vocabulary.

"Well, I don't know what else to call it, do you, Stephen?" I applied to Stephen, who seems to know more about cars than anybody I know.

"I don't know what it is either," he admitted. "I called it a thingy a little while ago though so it's okay if you do."

"There, you see?" I grinned at Amy.

"Well what if I don't think it's a thingy?" she retorted. "What if I think it's a thing-a-ma-jig?"

"No, a thingamajig would have more springs in it," Stephen replied.

"Well, what about a thingamabob?" she persisted.

"No, a thingamabob is more roundish," I told her.

"And has red hair," Heidi added from the second bench seat. Ha, clever girl! Yep, "Bobby" and "roundish" definitely go hand in hand, in my mind. (and in case you don't know me or the redhead in question, I am not being incredibly insulting because Bobby is not in the least bit round)

After lunch, we proceeded to the oft-traveled and very popular cliff walk. As we separated with people who moved at similar paces as ourselves, I ended up hanging out primarily with my older cousin and good friend Aaron, and for awhile we were also with the Post boys and my mom.

The main highlight of this cliff walk experience was going through the tunnels. I told Aaron about the time two years ago I had gone through the tunnels with Clyde and Bria, and Bria had stopped us before entering, telling us that we couldn't waste the acoustics and we HAD to sing something. So we sang No Nobis from Henry V. Well, we came to the first tunnel and were minorly distraught because people kept entering it, so we waited casually around until it was vacant, and then we plunged in. But people still weren't very far away, so we mostly chimed out a few notes and measures here and there. However, when we came to the second tunnel and no one was in sight, it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. So we stopped dead still in the tunnel until we could come up with something to sing together. The pathetic thing was that we couldn't think of anything! The songs that Aaron suggested were ones I said I didn't feel like I knew well enough to make an enjoyable go on, so we floundered until I said:

"We could sing something simple like 'Wonderful Grace of Jesus.'"

This I knew was a favorite of both of ours, so he quickly agreed and we dove in. And the acoustics were spectacular! The tunnel was rippled, and the sound rolled all around and enveloped us in such unimaginable purity that we almost could have bathed in it. I sang soprano and Aaron bellowed his gorgeous harmony, and we rocked on, pacing up and down the tunnel as we sang one verse and chorus--any squeakiness in my second to last high note was graciously concealed by the tunnel's acoustics, and I almost felt like a professional. Too bad we can't always sing in a tunnel--we would probably all be famous. When we had finished, the sound of applause erupted from around the corner, and we were slightly mortified to realize that we had had a small audience (a man and his wife and kids). We didn't actually see the people, but they called out words of praise, and that was the last we expected to hear from them until a mile or so down the trail a man walking next to us turned and asked us if we sang in a choir! He seemed to think that we sounded terrific. Of course, he also has never heard me sing outside of a tunnel.

After some confusion as to where our meeting place was (apparently when Aaron and I got to the meeting place the vans had already moved to a different location because everybody else was going so slowly), we met up and proceeded to The Breakers, a huge museum-like mansion that belonged to Corenelius Vanderbilt. "Fancy" is a word that falls too short of the mark. We're talking about three story ceilings with gold leaf and intricate paintings, red carpeted staircases and all. The tour was an audio one, so we each were given our own audio devices and headphones so that we could punch in numbers from each room and move along the tour at whatever pace we chose. It was interesting how some of us fell into our various groups again, and also interesting to be only twenty seconds ahead or behind somebody else so that you could either watch their reactions to be able to tell at what part of the tour they were at (as I saw Craig's enlightened expression reveal that he had just spotted the hidden turtle pointed out on the ceiling) or know that something unusual was coming, such as Ben's sudden burst of "Twice a day!" breaking the stillness of the quiet room. Pretty soon I knew what he was exclaiming about: the chambermaids who worked in the mansion had to change the sheets twice a day, so when I heard that, I exclaimed, "Twice a day!" but it was more to make fun of him, even though it was pretty astonishing. I also learned that the only servants that were supposed to be seen were the men, and because of that the footmen and butlers (I think) all had to be at least six feet tall in order to get the impressive-looking job.

Well, the tour was pretty fascinating, and when it was finished I went to turn in my audio player to an older man. Unfortunately, I had forgotten that I still had the headphones around my neck, and as he waited patiently for me to disentangle my hair and person from it, he chuckled, "I thought you were going to leave me your beautiful head!"

"Not today," I laughed, and went on.

This time was followed by a little Newport shop browsing, tossing the Frisbee and Frank on the beach, and eating pizza on the beach before heading across the bridge for home at sunset. T'was a full and happy day. And I need to go home and go to bed. I have to feed the horses in the morning.

Literary Glimpses

        "Here she comes round the bend, folks. Her tail's streaming, her nostrils are flaring--the air is resounding with the sharp clamor of her pounding hooves. You can hear her panting from a mile away! Down to the wire--no--not down to the wire, but pressing ever onward. Here she is--she's on the final leg of the race! That finish line must look mighty good to that tired horse, folks."

 

And so it does. For that's where I am. . . pounding down the track with only two weeks to go. Two weeks. And weeks and weeks and weeks behind me. I really haven't minded the race that much. . . it's given me something productive to do and I generally enjoy learning. But I must say that finish-line does "look mighty good."

 

As I've finished up various subjects, I've enjoyed going back and scanning some of my notes, particularly American Literature which I studied this year. And since I copied down a bunch of my favorite quotes as I read through various literary greats, I thought it would be fun to put a bunch of those quotes here. Prepare for a blast of random literary nuggets, whether true or ridiculous. Oh, and never fear, these authors aren't the only ones I read or studied about. They're just the ones that I took the time to write down what they said.

 

"To be great is to be misunderstood." ~Ralph Waldo Emerson (I'm not going to post any questions I may have of the complete validity of each statement, I merely wrote these down because I liked them or just thought they were interesting).

 

"Virtue or vice emit a breath every moment." ~Emerson

 

"That which each man can do best, none but his Maker can teach him." ~Emerson

 

"Life is a series of surprises, and would not be worth taking or keeping if it were not." ~Emerson

 

". . . the question ever is, not what you have done or forborne, but at whose command you have done or forborne it." ~Emerson

 

"I am constrained every moment to acknowledge a higher origin for events than the will I call mine." ~Emerson (in case you haven't figured it out, I had to read a bunch of Emerson's essays--and he is pretty quotable; I wanted to write down some of the sentences that made real sense to me since there was so much that was rawther dense-ish).

 

"From within or from behind, a light shines through us upon things and makes us aware that we are nothing, but the light is all." ~Emerson

 

"Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm." ~Emerson *an especially favorite quote* :D

 

Here comes Henry David Thoreau, the poor confused guy (I read Walden to help educate myself on him). He had a singular writing style though and he said some interesting stuff. Here's something he said when he was talking about why we don't need to be lonely (probably in reference to questions he got about whether he was lonely in his cabin): "Next to us is not the workman whom we have hired, with whom we love so well to talk, but the workman whose work we are."

 

"Speech is for the convenience of those who are hard of hearing." ~Thoreau

 

"He was so simply and naturally humble. . . that humility was no distinct quality in him, nor could he conceive it."

 

Here's a famous one of his: "If a man does not keep pace with his companions perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer."

 

"The greatest gains and values are farthest from being appreciated. . . They are the highest reality." ~Thoreau

 

"He who distinguishes the true savor of his food can never be a glutton; he who does not cannot be otherwise." I like this one to defend my slow eating habits.:)

 

"Man flows at once to God when the channel of purity is open." ~Thoreau. This would be an interesting one to discuss Scripturally.

 

"He is blessed who is assured that the animal is dying out in him day by day, and the divine being established." hmm. . . ?

 

"Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads."

 

"The nose is a manifest congealed drop or stalactite." I found this one highly amusing.

 

"We loiter in winter while it is already spring. . . While such a sun holds out to burn, the vilest sinner may return."

 

"If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them."

 

"No face which we can give to a matter will stead us so well as the truth. This alone wears well."

 

"Humility like darkness reveals the heavenly lights."

 

"Superfluous wealth can buy superfluities only. . . a goose is a goose, dress it as you will."

 

"Rather than love, than money, than fame, give me truth."

 

"Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star."

 

Bored stiff yet? No worries, we're leaving these two deep guys behind and moving on. I wish I had copied more clever phrases down from the fiction I read, but here are some more random bits from a few more of the authors I read this past year.

 

Herman Melville (Moby Dick)

 

"Call me Ishmael."

 

"Queequeg was George Washington cannibalistically developed."

 

"Why it is that all Merchant seamen, and also all Pirates. . . cherish such a scornful feeling towards Whale-ships; this is a question it would be hard to answer. Because, in the case of pirates, say, I should like to know whether that profession of theirs has any peculiar glory about it. It sometimes ends in uncommon elevation, indeed; but only at the gallows. And besides, when a man is elevated in that odd fashion, he has no proper foundation for his superior altitude. Hence, I conclude, that in boasting himself to be high lifted above a whale man, in that assertion the pirate has no solid basis to stand on."

 

". . . stabbing him in the eye with the unflinching poniard of his glance. . . "

 

"He is a grand, ungodly, god-like man."

 

"the before living agent became the living instrument."

 

"The truest of all men was the Man of Sorrows."

 

"To produce a mighty book, you must choose a mighty theme. No great and enduring volume can ever be written on the flea, though many there be who have tried it."

 

"I am not a brave man; never said I was a brave man; I am a coward; and I sing to keep up my spirits. And I tell you what it is, Mr. Starbuck, there's no way to stop my singing in this world but to cut my throat. And when that's done, ten to one I sing ye the doxology for a wind-up."

 

Walt Whitman

 

"When I give I give myself."

 

"The grass is the beautiful uncut hair of graves."

 

Emily Dickinson--I loved reading a book of her poems! I think they actually made me enjoy poetry because they were so though-provoking. Here is a series of my favorites, either of lines, or stanzas, or whole poems:

 

"you only understand pleasure by pain"

 

"success is counted sweetest by those who nearest succeed"

 

"parting is all we know of Heaven and all we need of Hell"

 

"If I should die

And you should live

And time should gurgle on. . ."

 

To fight aloud is very brave

But gallanter, I know,

Who charge within the bosom,

The cavalry of woe

Who win, and nations do not see,

Who fall, and none observe,

Whose dying eyes no country

Regards with patriot love.

****

Life is life, and death but death!

Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath!

And if, indeed, I fail,

At least to know the worst is sweet.

Defeat means nothing but defeat,

No drearier can prevail!

**************

I shall know why, when time is over

And have ceased to wonder why;

Christ will explain each separate anguish

In the fair schoolroom of the sky

 

He will tell me what Peter promised

And I, for wonder at his woe,

I shall forget the drop of anguish

That scald me now, that scalds me now.

**********************

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops at all. . .

 

. . . And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.

**************************

Father, I bring thee not myself,--

That were the little load;

I bring thee the imperial heart

I had not strength to hold

 

The hear I cherished in my own

Till mine too heavy grew,

Yet strangest, heavier since it went,

Is it too large for you?

***********************

"I heard a fly buzz when I died"

 

"Because I could not stop for death he kindly stopped for me"

 

"Death whets victory, they say;

The reefs in old Gethsemane

Endear the shore beyond

'Tis beggars banquet best define;

'Tis thirsting vitalizes wine,--

Faith faints to understand."

*************************

No rack can torture me

My soul's at liberty

Behind this mortal bone

There knits a bolder one

 

You cannot prick with saw,

Nor render with scimitar.

Two bodies therefore be;

Bind one, and one will flee.

 

The eagle of his nest

No easier divest

And gain the sky,

Than mayest though,

Except thyself may be

Thine enemy;

Captivity is consciousness.

So's liberty.

********************

Triumph may be of several kinds,

There's triumph in the room

When that old imperator, Death,

By faith is overcome

 

There's triumph of the finer mind

When truth, affronted long,

Advances calm to her supreme,

Her God her only throng.

 

A triumph when temptation's bribe

Is slowly handed back

One eye upon the heaven renounced

And one upon the rack.

 

Severer triumph, by himself

Experienced, who can pass

Acquitted from that naked bar,

Jehovah's countenance!

***************************

Through the straight pass of suffering

The martyrs even trod

Their feet upon temptation

Their faces upon God

 

. . . Their faith the everlasting troth;

Their expectation fair;

The needle to the north degree

Wades so, through polar air.

**************************

Essential oils are wrung:

The attar from the rose

Is not expressed by suns alone,

It is the gift of screws

 

The general rose decays;

But this, in lady's drawer,

Makes summer when the lady lies

In ceaseless rosemary.

**********************

Sufficient troth that we shall rise--

Deposed, at length, the grave--

To that new marriage, justified

Through Calvaries of Love!

*********************

Love is anterior to life,

Posterior to death,

Initial of creation, and

The exponent of breath.

***********************

If I can stop one heart from breaking

I shall not live in vain

If I can ease one life the aching

Or cool one pain

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again

I shall not live in vain.

**************************

Death is a dialogue between

The spirit and the dust

"Dissolve," says Death. The Spirit, "Sir,

I have another trust."

 

Death doubts it, argues from the ground.

The Spirit turns away,

Just laying off, for evidence,

An overcoat of clay.

***********************

The stimulus, beyond the grave

His countenance to see,

Supports me like imperial drams

Afforded royally.

*******************

I never saw a moor,

I never saw the sea;

Yet know I how the heather looks,

And what a wave must be.

 

I never spoke with God,

Nor visited in heaven;

Yet certain am I of the spot

As if the chart were given.

**************************

There, isn't she AMAZING?

 

Okay, here's good ol' Mark Twain. I read three of his novels this year.

 

". . . he edged nearer and nearer towards the pansy; finally his bare foot rested upon it, his pliant toes closed upon it, and he hopped away with his treasure, and disappeared around the corner. But only for a minute--only while he could button the flower inside his jacket, next to his heart, or next to his stomach possibly, for he was not much posted in anatomy and not hypercritical anyway."

 

"It was a gory day. Consequently it was a satisfactory one."

 

"But I reckoned, that with her disposition, she was having a better time in the graveyard."

 

"Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot." -BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR

 

". . . but as for me, give me comfort first, and style afterward."

 

"Take a rest, child; the way you are using up all the domestic air, the kingdom will have to go to importing it by tomorrow, and it's a low enough treasury without that."

 

"one mustn't criticize other people on grounds where he can't stand perpendicular himself."

 

"The law of work does seem utterly unfair--but there it is, and nothing can change it: the higher the pay in enjoyment the worker gets out of it, the higher shall be his pay in cash, also."

 

"when a man is a man, you can't knock it out of him."

 

"Words are only painted fire; a look is the fire itself."

 

Here comes Henry James:

 

"Well, you think us 'quaint'--that's the same thing [as despising us]. I won't be though 'quaint,' to begin with; I'm not so in the least. I protest."

"That protest is one of the quaintest things I've ever heard," Isabel answered with a smile.

 

"Miss Stackpole's ocular surfaces unwinkingly caught the sun."

 

"When people forget I'm a poor creature I'm often incommoded," he said. "But it's worse when they remember it."

 

"be in a better position for appreciating people than they are for appreciating you."

 

T.S. Eliot glides by on our conveyor belt of authors. A few of his words fall on our ears:

 

You say I am repeating

Something I have said before. I shall say it again.

Shall I say it again? In order to arrive there,

To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,

You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.

In order to arrive at what you do not know

You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance

In order to possess what you do not possess

You must go by way of dispossession.

In order to arrive at what you are not

You must go through the way in which you are not.

And what you do not know is the only thing you know

And what you own is what you do not own

And where you are is where you are not.

 

"For us, there is only the trying. The rest is not our business."

 

"Some can absorb knowledge, the more tardy must sweat for it. Shakespeare acquired more essential history from Plutarch than most men could from the whole British Museum."

 

"Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things."

 

"Life is made up of marble and mud." ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

 

James Fenimore Cooper

 

"God, who made us, has put into our nature the craving to keep the skin on the head."

 

"he wore his own hair"

 

"Women are but mirrors which reflect the images before them."  ?

 

And I shall close this lengthy overview with Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:

 

"When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music."

 

"Whither my heart has gone, there follows my hand, and not elsewhere.

For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and illumines the pathway,

Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden in darkness."