#thou may not stop me‚ for I am too powerful‚ and none can best my skills‚ for I'm too good

[mitisss]

I have mastered the ability to use commas in tags

#I'm so powerful‚ I'm so cool‚ so incredible and mesmerizing

[michaelbogild]

Quotes by Lord Byron

Adversity is the first path to truth.

All farewells should be sudden, when forever.

All who would win joy, must share it; happiness was born a twin.

Always laugh when you can, it is cheap medicine.

And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being.

And gave no outward signs of inward strife

And mind and dust- and passions and pure thoughts

And when we think we lead, we are most led

As long as I retain my feeling and my passion for Nature, I can partly soften or subdue my other passions and resist or endure those of others.

Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.

Being of no party, I shall offend all parties

Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

But who, alas! can love, and then be wise?

But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think

Come, lay thy head upon my breast and I'll kiss thee unto rest.

Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime, The image of Eternity, -- the throne Of the Invisible! even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone

Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.

Eat, drink and love...the rest is not worth a nickel

Eternity forbids thee to forget.

Even innocence itself has many a wile, And will not dare to trust itself with truth, And love is taught hypocrisy from youth

For Earth is but a tombstone

For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest.

For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust In one fond breast, to which his own would melt, And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt.

For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.

Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.

Had they been wisely mingled; as it is

Hath all the energy which would have made

he knew how to make madness beautiful

I am ashes where once I was fire...

I am so changeable, being everything by turns and nothing long - such a strange melange of good and evil.

I can never get people to understand that poetry is the expression of excited passion.

I do not believe in any religion, I will have nothing to do with immortality. We are miserable enough in this life without speculating upon another.

I feel my immortality over sweep all pains, all tears, all time, all fears, – and peal, like the eternal thunders of the deep, into my ears, this truth, – thou livest forever!

I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.

I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.

I know that two and two make four - and should be glad to prove it too if I could - though I must say if by any sort of process I could convert 2 and 2 into five it would give me much greater pleasure.

I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learned the language of another world.

I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.

I slept and dreamt that life was beauty; I woke and found that life was duty.

I suppose I had some meaning when I wrote it; I believe I understood it then.

In secret we met - In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? - With silence and tears

In solitude, where we are least alone

In vain!—As fall the dews on quenchless sands, Blood only serves to wash Ambition's hands!

It is an awful chaos-light and darkness-

Life's enchanted cup sparkles near the brim

Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.

Mix'd, and contending without end or order

My pang shall find a voice.

Oh too convincing - dangerously dear - In woman's eye the unanswerable tear

On with the dance! Let joy be undefined!

One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine. I only know if once mine gets out, I’ll have a bit of a tussle before I let it get in again to that of any other

Opinions are made to be changed – or how is truth to be got at?

Prometheus-like from heaven she stole The fire that through those silken lashes In darkest glances seems to roll, From eyes that cannot hide their flashes: And as along her bosom steal In lengthened flow her raven tresses, You'd swear each clustering lock could feel, And curled to give her neck caresses.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean - roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin - his control Stops with the shore

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes

Sigh to the stars, as wolves howl to the moon...

Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development have breath, And tears and tortures, and the touch of joy.

So, we'll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart still be as loving, And the moon still be as bright.

Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.

Start not—nor deem my spirit fled: In me behold the only skull From which, unlike a living head, Whatever flows is never dull.

The best of prophets of the future is the past.

The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.

The dew of compassion is a tear

The drying up a single tear has more of honest fame than shedding seas of gore.

The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain

The great object of life is sensation—to feel that we exist, even though in pain. It is this ‘craving void’ which drives us to gaming—to battle—to travel—to intemperate but keenly felt pursuits of every description, whose principal attraction is the agitation inseparable from their accomplishment..

The heart will break, but broken live on.

The morn is up again, the dewy morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, And living as if earth contained no tomb,— And glowing into day.

The power of thought is the magic of the mind.

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

There are four questions of value in life... What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for, and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is same. Only love

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but Nature more

There is music in all things, if men had ears.

There is no instinct like that of the heart

There is the moral of all human tales: ’Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, First Freedom, and then Glory - when that fails, Wealth, vice, corruption - barbarism at last. And History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page

There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears; The earth is but the music of the spheres.

Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, he would have written sonnets all his life?

This should have been a noble creature: he

Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.

Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon.

Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come

To have joy, one must share it.

To him the magic of their mysteries; To him the book of Night was opened wide, And voices from the deep abyss revealed A marvel and a secret.

Truth is a gem that is found at a great depth; whilst on the surface of the world all things are weighed by the false scale of custom.

We of the craft are all crazy. Some are affected by gaiety, others by melancholy, but all are more or less touched.

Who knows whether, when a comet shall approach this globe to destroy it, as it often has been and will be destroyed, men will not tear rocks from their foundations by means of steam, and hurl mountains, as the giants are said to have done, against the flaming mass? - and then we shall have traditions of Titans again, and of wars with Heaven...

Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?

With just enough of learning to misquote.

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it

You don't love a woman because she is beautiful, but she is beautiful because you love her. Never underestimate the power of love. The way to love anything is to realize it may be lost. The heart has its reasons that reason does not know at all. Music is love in search of a word. There is pleasure in the pathless woods; there is a rapture on the lonely shore; There is society, where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar.

[tipsycad147]

Binding and Banishing 5

Ice Binding 1

Light a white candle and your favorite incense. Meditate a short while

on the problem. Invoke the Spirits of Protection for you and yours. Then

take a piece of brown paper, like from a grocery bag, on it use a lead

pencil to print and write the name of the offending person or people. If

unknown people are involved, also print and write, "and all persons unknown

that are causing harm to me!"

Cross off each line forcefully and say, forcefully,

" I freeze name(s) to be bound by this spell, unable to cause any more

harm to (name(s)! As I will, so mote it be! "

Then put a spoonful of used coffee grounds on the brown paper, fold it

small, and place it in the freezer. Leave it until the problem is

completely resolved. You may wish to  wrap a rubber band, string, twist tie, etc. to keep the coffee grounds from falling out of the paper. You can also use a ziploc bag. Be sure and burn the candle completely up. Don't  use that candle for a different purpose.

Ice Binding 2

Another way of ridding yourself of an unwanted negative influence is to write the name of the person or event at cause on a piec of paper. Concentrate on putting the negative energy into the paper. Place the piece of paper into a jar of water and put it into the freezer. Allow the paper to remain frozen in the water until all of the negative energy flow has completely stopped, then you can remove it, thaw it, and bury it in the ground.

NEW BEGINNING SPELL

Just before sunrise, go outside with some heather and a feather. Face East, light incense, and hold feather in hand while concentrating on the new day ahead as a new beginning. Say: Flight of feather, Scent of Heather Give me Cleansing With this beginning! Blow feather from hand and let the wind carry it away. Watch the sunrise and feel its rays cleansing you for the new day ahead. It is done.

PEACEFUL HOME

This spell is very good if there is a lot of turmoil or stress in the household. Do the following spell, and while doing so, remember to focus on your intent for a peaceful household. Sew a small pouch of lavender cloth. Place a small trinket in the pouch for each member of your household. Add to this a pinch each of lavender, rose and chamomile, before placing each pinch in the pouch, remember to hold it for a moment and REALLY focus, finally, add a small amethyst. Now, anoint a lavender or pink candle with peace oil(see recipes) and then light it. Sit in front of the candle and hold the pouch in your hands and whisper the following chant over it softly 3 times: Blessed Goddess, most gentle one, calm my home for me. Relieve all tension, send it far, so from stress we shall be free. Touch my family with peace and calm, and the sweetest softest bliss, Bless my home, Great Gentle Goddess, with your calming kiss. Set the pouch with the candle. Allow the candle to burn down completely. Hang the pouch in your home, preferably in the room where everyone gathers the most. Whenever tension seems to build, repeat the above chant 3 times and envision peace and tranquility radiating from the pouch and The Goddess.

Poppet Binding Spell

The purpose of this spell is to rid yourself of the negative energies of someone who is mentally or emotionally abusing you. If done properly, it will not harm the object of the spell nor will it affect his or her daily life in any way. It will simply make the person powerless to mentally or emotionally harm you.

Preform when Moon is dark

Materials:

Small cloth doll,(poppet) leave the head unstitched until you are ready to begin the ritual Needle and thread

Some personal item from the person you want to bind (fingernail clippings, hair, handwriting sample)

Black ribbon

Black candle

Cauldron or other fireproof container

Sterilized needle

Piece of parchment paper and pen or quill

One candle at each quarter (optional)

Ritual:

Call the quarters - I like to use candles at each quarter to form a circle of fire for extra protection. Light the black candle Concentrating deeply on the person you are binding, place the personal object inside the head of the doll and sew it shut.Tie the black ribbon around the poppet's head, signifying the binding of that person.

'With harm to none, my will be done

I hereby bind you (name of person)

Your words cannot harm me

Your thoughts cannot harm me

You cannot harm me'

Continue chanting this or something like it until you feel power surging through you. Visualize the person helpless to slander or verbally and mentally abuse you while you are chanting.

~ Now, to bind the spell ~

If you have a sigil or a craft name, sign it on the small piece of paper. If not, sign your own full name. If others are working the ritual with you, they too should sign the paper. With the sterilized needle, prick one of your fingers and put a small drop of blood over your signature. Again, if others are working with you, they should place a drop of blood over their signatures. (using a different needle, of course) Fold the paper, light it on fire and drop it into the cauldron (which should be on a heat-proof surface!). Meditate on the flames until the paper completely burns away. If you are working with a group, join hands at this point and feel the power surging around the circle as the spell is bound. Ground and center Release the circle. Thank the Goddess and God for their protection and power Bury the doll as far away from you as possible within the next few days.

RID OF NASTY ASTRAL SLIME

After Chakra cleansings in the evening by the ocean or a large body of water like a river or lake or pond. As the sun sets so your bad fortune will drain away. Hold a stone or object that you find and feel is appropriate and project all the nasty slimy and inky feeling you picked up from this person into it. Really focus on letting all your emotions about it as well and let them flow into the rock. When you have done this say: "I release this astral slime And all darkness which is not mine I let go of all that may have harmed My aura is bright all negativity released And I am charmed" Now throw the rock into the water preferably as the sun drops below the horizon and be conscious of its fading light taking away your bad feelings from this person. You can do this spell on then first night of the waning moon (after a full moon) for seven nights if you really feel tainted. Also Place 1/2 cup vinegar, a bunch of fresh or rosemary and 1 tablespoon of sea salt in your bath. Light a white and a blue candle. Imagine yourself surrounded by blue light, giving you positive energy. Visualize all of the negative energy and astral slime leaving your body through every pore.

SPELL BINDER

This is best used at the end of a spoken or written spell. This adds a certain boost to the releasing of energy. It also works best if you are wearing a Pentagram you have attuned to yourself. Speak these word with all the fibers of your body while releasing the spell's energy: By the Pentagram I wear, Water, Fire, Earth, and Air, Ruled by Spirit as All should be As I speak So Mote It Be!

Spell Breaking or Reversal

from Tesa on the kitchen witch list

This spell is performed to either reverse  a spell you have cast, or  to break a spell cast by another.

What you need:

Your cauldron

A black or purple candle (purple for spell reversal,  black for spell  breaking)

During the full or waning moon, place the purple or black candle  inside your cauldron. Fill your cauldron about half way with water.The candle should be at least as tall as your cauldron or slightly  taller. Focus on the task at hand- imagine the energy from the spell  you are reversing or breaking is forming before you into a large ball  of light. Imagine that the energy is now moving

toward the candle and  inhabiting it. Light the candle as you are focusing

and say, "Break the spell, break the curse, the spell which was cast

is now reversed." Now imagine the energy slowly disappearing and that it no

longer exists. Allow the candle to burn down until it fizzles out in the water. Say, "It is done." Pour the water outside in a stream or into the

ground away from your house. You can bury the candle or throw it out with

the trash.

SPELL TO RID ONESELF OF A BOTHERSOME SPIRIT

Say "What is dark be filled with light, remove this spirit from my sight." Before starting place your hand before you, and start the flow of power out of your hand and then say the words, letting the envisioned blue-white light from your power hand fill the room or house or any other place that you might be.

TO FREE A HOUSE FROM HAUNTING

"The Presence that stands Upon the stairs The unseen hands That move the chairs. The lights that play Across the wall, The stains that stay, The plates that fall, The mist , the chill, The wandering scents This gentle spell must speed them hence. At midnight, set A table neat, With cup and plate, And wine and meat, Invite the ghost To sit and feast, As any host Should urge a guest. Presently, clear The meal away, Then open the door and softly say- "Quick or dead, Thou art fed, Cease to grieve And take thy leave" Bid him depart But should he remain Be calm, take heart And feast him again.

CHARM OF THE BEAST SPELL

-- mugwort angelica 3 hairs of an imposing beast black cloth oil of frankincense or myrrh Mix the mugwort and angelica in equal parts, add to it the 3 hairs and bind together in a black cloth. Add a few drops of the oil onto the cloth. then say " He who is strong, he who is mighty Lend thine power to this charm Demons turn on your heels and run" Draw over it a pentagram and the charms of banishment. Burn the mixture to drive away the spirits that ail you. Burn it in your home or room you wish to exorcise. Bury it before your doorstep and no demon shall touch you nor enter. Wear the charm or hide it in the roof to ensure safety against any ills.

TO BANISH AN UNWELCOME ENTITY

Speak directly to the entity, or in the room most affected, saying: It is time to leave here; all is well. There is nothing here for you now, You must be gone Go now, go ~ complete your passing, Go, and with our blessing fare well. Farewell. Remove everything of the previous occupant ~ writing and photos in particular. If there is anything you wish to keep, purify it with salt or incense, saying: With this I purify you of the past Of hurt and memories Keeping only Love

https://crimsonwolfe.tripod.com/id4.html

[crackspinewornpages]

King Lear- William Shakespeare

A1S1

(I would like to apologize to the Stratford Lear actors during the 2014 Season of Madness after waking up at 6A.M. with a cold a day long bus ride getting settled in a hotel getting lost in an unfamiliar city I was asleep through most of the play)

In a room Kent, Gloucester and Edmund come in and Kent and Gloucester are discussing how Lear is going to divide his kingdom. Gloucester then introduces him to Edmund his bastard, he does love him but he also has a son by law. (still treating him different is going to leave room for resentment to grow) King. Lear, Cornwall, Albany and Lear’s three daughters enter as Gloucester and Edmund leave.

Lear is given a map, he wants to retire and visit his children in his old age, (kings back then didn’t retire so again going against the natural order bad things are going to happen) then divides his kingdom by asking his daughter by how much they love him. (and not oh how well they can politic or something) Goneril and Regan play lip service then Cordelia, “Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave my heart into my mouth: I love your majesty according to my bod; nor more nor less.”p.1051 She won’t even marry if she has to cut her love in two and to Kent’s protest Lear disowns her and divides the last portion to the other two daughters.

Kent says he served him for may years but disagrees with his actions as the other two spoke empty words. Lear banishes him too (yuo let people manipulate you and banish people who give you good council how were you not overthrown or used as a puppet by now) and Kent has final words with the daughters, for the gods to take Cordelia and for Goneril and Regan, maybe good things will come from their declarations. Gloucester comes back with France (king of France) and Burgundy who want to marry Cordelia but Lear tells them she’s been disowned. France finds it strange that the daughter who loved Lear most would fall out of favor and Cordelia explains she’s not glib but honest. “Better thou hadst not been born than not to have pleas’d me better.”  (you don’t deserve Cordelia) France will have her then anyway, Lear doesn’t care for her as a daughter and doesn’t want to see her. Everyone leaves and Cordelia tells her sisters goodbye. Regan and Goneril then scheme that now they have power and land to reduce their father’s authority.

A1S2

In Gloucester’s castle Edmund has a letter then he soliloquys how unfair it is for the treatment of bastards. “When my dimensions are as well compact, my mind generous, and my shape as true, as honest madam’s issue? Why brand they us with base? With baseness? Bastardy? Base, base?”p.1054 (back then bastards were seen as just evil Shakespeare could’ve subverted expectations but we’ll see how he didn’t) He has this letter to disgrace his legitimate brother Edgar in the plot of their father’s murder. “I grow, I proper; now, gods, stand up for bastards!”p.1054 When Gloucester enters Edmund makes a show of hiding the letter of course Gloucester notices and wants to know what it is and reads it and Edmund lies that he found it in his closet. He’s never heard of this before but has heard him speak that at a certain age sons should replace fathers and Gloucester orders Edgar to be brought to him.

Edmund tells him to wait on judgement until he can hear his side, Gloucester can hardly believe Edgar could be such a monster. Edmund agrees to find him and find out the truth Gloucester talks of how things have changed. “Love cools, friendship falls off, brothers divide; in cities, mutinies;”-“This villain of mine comes under the prediction; there’s son against father; the king falls from bias of nature; there’s father against child.”p.1055 (I feel like this can be applied to a lot of things) After Gloucester is gone Edgar enters and Edmund lies to his brother that he has somehow offended their father and it’s best he go abroad armed until he clams down. Edgar goes and Edmund celebrates being able to turn them against each other and he’ll now inherit.

A1S3

In Albany’s palace Goneril is complaining to her steward Oswald that she is tired of her father in her house he is a horrible guest.

A1S4

In the house Kent is in disguise calling himself Caius and puts himself in Lear’s way and tells him he is an honest man and Lear takes him into his service. (why would you want to go back in this guy’s service) Lear then asks for his daughter and his fool and a knight tells him his daughter is sick and won’t see him and they’ve both noticed her servants won’t obey him anymore. Oswald goads Lear into hitting him until K/Cauis stops him then the fool arrives and with clever words tells Lear he made a mistake in dividing his kingdom. “Dost thou call me a fool, boy?” “All thy other titles thou hast given away; that thou wast born with,”-“thou hadst little wit on thy bald crown when thou gave it thy golden one away.”p.1058 (takes some balls to call the king a dumbass to his face) Turned his daughters into his mothers they’ll whip him for truth and him for lying.

Goneril comes to speak to Lear and tells him his retinue is so rude he has to send some away. Lear is shocked by her and wonders what he’s become and is regretful of giving Goneril power and plans to visit Regan. Albany comes and Lear complains to him and Albany claims ignorance and Lear calls for Goneril to become sterile and be old and miserable. “that she may feel how sharper than a serpant’s tooth it is to have a thankless child!”p.1059 (sometimes children don’t have anything to be thankful for) After he leaves Albany is upset by Lear’s treatment then Lear come back to curse her before he goes to Regan. Goneril then calls Oswald and sends off the fool, she already wrote to Regan how horrible Lear and his hundred knights are so she won’t house them.

A1S5

Lear sends K/Cauis away with letters to Gloucester and the fool needles Lear (can a pair of twins play Lear and his fool) that Regan will treat him no better and Lear prays not to be mad.

A2S1

In Gloucester’s court Edmund and Curon are meeting and Curon tells him Regan and her husband Cornwall are visiting tonight, Cornwall and Albany don’t like each other. Edmund thinks he can use the visit to get rid of Edgar and tells his brother that their father is angry at him for being on Albany’s side. Edgar doesn’t know what he’s talking about and Edmund tells him to flee and when he’s gone Edmund injures his arm and calls for their father. Edmund lies to him that Edgar wanted him to join the murder plot but when he wouldn’t tried to kill him and fled, Gloucester swears to find him. Cornwall and Regan then arrive and believe Edmund’s lies of Edgar’s plots and that he’s one of Lear’s knights. (all these people jump to believe this with little proof how are any of them in power when they’re this gullible) Regan thinks the knights put Edgar up to it to take Gloucester’s wealth then asks Edmund to advise her in correspondence to her sister.

A2S2

Outside Gloucester’s house K/Cauis meets Oswald who doesn’t recognize him and after insulting Oswald and calling him a coward who has letters against the king he starts beating him. Edmund hears this and breaks them up Cornwall, Regan and Gloucester then come and K/Cauis won’t give a good reason for why he beat up Oswald. (didn’t like his stupid face isn’t a good enough excuse) Cornwall wants him punished in the stocks, as they’re brought out Gloucester sys they shouldn’t as Lear will take offence to his messenger being treated like this but everyone else ignores him. When they’re gone K/Cauis recites a letter from Cordelia that promises she’ll find a way to help, then he falls asleep. (must be uncomfortable)

A2S3

Edgar is on a heath and soliloquys on what happened to him and makes himself look like a dirty beggar and calls himself Tom.

A2S4

Lear and his fool are before Gloucester’s castle and Lear sees K/Cauis, shocked that someone would treat his servant badly. K/Cauis tells him Regan and Cornwall did it, Lear won’t believe it at first and wants to talk to them and K/Cauis tells him they refused his letters. Lear is having trouble controlling his emotions and goes to get Gloucester and K/Cauis and the fool talk about foolish things. (so Lear then) Lear comes back with Gloucester demanding an explanation and admits sickness can make people act strange. “infirmity doth still neglect all office where our health his bound; we are not ourselves when nature, being oppress’d, commands the mind to suffer with the body.”p.1066 He looks at K/Cauis and demands to speak with Cornwall and Regan, and Gloucester goes to get them.

Regan believes she had a reason for it and she won’t be treated the same. He’s growing old and unreasonable (we figured that in the first act) and should beg her for forgiveness, Lear gets on his knees to beg her and Regan tells him to go back to Goneril. He says he can’t and complains more about her and asks who put K/Cauis in the stocks. Regan tells him Goneril is on her way and Lear is still hoping Regan knew nothing about K/Cauis.

Goneril arrives and allies with Regan and Cornwall admits to putting K/Cauis in the stocks as he deserved. Regan tells Lear to dismiss half his men if he wants to stay with them, Lear would rather stay outside and beg his youngest to be kept afoot, Goneril tells him it’s his choice. Lear begs Goneril not to make him mad, he won’t see or trouble her, he’ll stay with Regan but the sisters cut his servants from fifty to twenty to none. Lear then curses his daughters and leaves with K/Cauis and his fool in the storm, Regan and Goneril blame him for his situation, “tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest, and most needs taste his folly.”p.1068 (give away your power act and like fool of course people will lose respect for you) Gloucester and Cornwall watch him ride out in the storm as Regan orders the doors shut and locked. “Sir, to willful men, the injuries that they themselves procure must be their schoolmasters.”p.1068 (some people just have to learn the hard way)

A3S1

On the heath in the storm K/Cauis is looking for Lear and a gentleman tells him he is with his fool. K/Cauis tells him of the unrest between Cornwall and Albany and French spies in the courts take this right to Cordelia and she’ll send him to friends. (thank you for the audience exposition)

A3S2

Somewhere else in the storm Lear challenges the weather to do its worst (you’re not Zuko sit down) and his thoughts still run back to his two cruel daughters. K/Cauis finds him and begs Lear to take shelter in a hovel Lear comes to his senses enough to follow. The fool speaks a prophecy that’s confusing. (it really makes no sense to me)

A3S3

In Gloucester’s castle Gloucester is talking to Edmund, he doesn’t like Lear’s treatment and wants to bring him in his house. He tells Edmund to say nothing of it as there are worse matters brewing and locks the letters in his room. “There injuries the king now bears will be revenged home; there’s a part of a power already footed; we must incline to the king.”p.1070 He tells Edmund to distract Cornwall of his absence to help Lear or he might be executed. Edmund plans to betray his father and revel the letter he deserves it. “and must draw me that which my father loses; no less than all: the younger rises when the old doth fall.”p.1070 (really hate your father don’t you)

A3S4

Before a hovel K/Cauis is trying to get Lear inside who says his own misery hardly make him feel the storm. The fool goes in, then runs back out because there’s a spirit inside called Tom. K/Cauis calls him out and E/Tom emerges acting like a crazy man saying devils are chasing him. Lear asks if he did the same thing he did to deserve his state E/Tom rambles for a bit then says he was a wealthy, lecherous, decadent. Lear pities his ragged state and rips his own clothes off, the fool tells him not to since they are in a storm. (once more the fool is the wisest person) Gloucester then finds them despite Lear’s daughter’s orders and after a while convinces Lear to go with him.

A3S5

In the castle Cornwall swears revenge on Gloucester and makes Edmund an Earl for betraying his father and Edmund says he’ll find his father hiding Lear as proof of treason.

A3S6

In a farmhouse near the castle Gloucester hides Lear, K/Cauis, E/Tom and the fool as he goes to find supplies. After a while Lear who’s going crazy holds a mock trial for his daughters and as the fool and E/Tom talk nonsense. (suffice to say the trial is a circus) Gloucester comes back that he overheard a plot to kill Lear and everyone goes to hide Lear except E/Tom. E/Tom speaks clearly how his troubles seem little next to Lear’s. “When we our betters see bearing our woes, we scarcely think our miseries our foes. Who alone suffers most: the mind, leaving free things and happy shows behind:”p.1074

A3S7

In the castle Cornwall, Regan, Edmund and Goneril are meeting, the French army has already landed. Regan and Goneril want Gloucester to be blinded and hung, Cornwall tells Edmund to go with Goneril to Albany, he shouldn’t see this. Oswald comes and informs them Gloucester helped Lear escape to Dover but Gloucester was captured. Cornwall orders all others to leave as he’s brought to them.

Cornwall and Regan have him tied up and they torment and interrogate him and Cornwall has one of his eyes gouged out. A servant can’t stand it and wounds Cornwall to stop it, Regan kills the servant and Cornwall gouges out Gloucester’s other eye. Gloucester calls for Edmund for help, “Thou call’st on him that hates thee; it was he that made the overture of thy treasons to us, who is too good to pity thee.”p.1075 (you’re mistrust and folly lead to your downfall) Gloucester realizes Edgar was innocent and prays to the gods to help him. Regan orders Gloucester thrown out as she tends to her husband the two horrified servants help Gloucester.

A4S1

E/Tom is back on the heath deciding his situation isn’t so bad (you’re the local crazy wild man) then sees Gloucester led by an old man. The old man was their servant and recognizes E/Tom and Gloucester is feeling sorry for himself. “Ah! Dear son Edgar. The food of thy abused father’s wrath; might I but live to see in my touch, I’d say I had eyes again.”p.1076 E/Tom won’t reveal himself to his father and Gloucester has the old man leave him with the crazy man, he wants to be lead to Dover specifically a very high cliff.

A4S2

Before Albany’s palace Oswald informs Goneril Albany’s upset with her and Regan’s actions and is glad the French army landed. Goneril calls Albany a coward and she says Edmund will return to Cornwall where he will command the troops as she takes over here. When Edmund is gone Albany enters outraged at Goneril’s treatment of Lear, if the heavens don’t send retribution it will come, “humanity must perforce prey on itself. Like monsters of the deep.”p.1077 Goneril accuses him of being a coward for not fighting France, Albany calls her a monster. A messenger enters with news that Cornwall died from his wounds and Albany is horrified to hear what they did to Gloucester and calls it justice. When he asks where Edmund was is told he left so his father could be tortured, Albany vows revenge. Meanwhile Goneril has mixed feelings on Cornwall’s death, Regan is less powerful but she could now pursue Edmund. (as we’ve seen with Gloucester adultery will only end badly)

A4S3

In the French camp near Dover K/Cauis talks to a gentleman that the French king had to leave because of trouble at home, but the marshal is here. The letters Cordelia was sent made her cry because of what happened to her father. K/Cauis tells the gentleman Lear is teetering on madness and won’t see Cordelia because he’s ashamed of his actions. (as he should be) As the armies march K/Cauis will take him to Lear.

A4S4

Cordelia is in a tent and sends her soldiers to find her father who’s covered himself in weeds and running around the cornfields singing to himself. (I think it’s time to look into retirement homes) The doctor tells her what he needs most is sleep and a messenger informs her the armies are advancing and she orders hers to prepare.

A4S5

In Gloucester’s castle Oswald tells Regan Goneril is better than Albany at leading armies but won’t show her the letter to Edmund. Regan wonders what purpose would Goneril write to Edmund and suspects a love affair. She tells Oswald she wants Edmund, she’s a widow, she tells Oswald to deliver a letter to Edmund and find Gloucester and kill him.

A4S6

Near Dover E/Tom is leading Gloucester and lies to him that they are at the top of a cliff and Gloucester jumps off and falls to the ground. E/Tom wakes him up pretending to be another man and lies that he watched him fall, a miracle that he’s still alive. Also, the person that lead him looked like a devil, that gods don’t want him to die yet and Gloucester accepts to keep living in his suffering. Lear finds them as he’s draped in flowers speaking nonsense but there’s some truth, he recognizes Gloucester and his state is from his adultery. Then he tirades against women. (you raised your daughters like this) Cordelia’s men are relieved to find him but when they say they’ll bring him to Cordelia he runs off and they chase after. “Thou hast one daughter, who redeems nature from the general curse which twain have brought her to.”p.1082 (take your second chance) One warns that the armies are marching Gloucester wants to die already and E/Tom leads him away.

Oswald runs into them he doesn’t recognize E/Tom but is about to kill Gloucester. E/Tom pretends to be a peasant and mortality wounds Oswald, dying Oswald gives him the letters to Edmund and to bury his body. E/Tom reads them, they’re of Goneril wanting an affair with Edmund and for him to kill Albany. E./Tom is outraged and keeps them to show Albany but hears to drums and leads Gloucester off.

A4S7

In the French tent Cordelia talks to K/Cauis, she knows his real identity and will keep it secret. The doctor wakes Lear up as she wants, she talks kindly to him wanting him to be better. He is crazy but does partially recognize her calling her a spirit asking when she died. (foreshadowing) He knows he’s gone senile and he’s foolish, (we’ve known that from the beginning) “Me thinks I should know you and know this man; yet I am doubtful;”-“Do not laugh at me: for as I am a man, I think this lady to be my child Cordelia.”p.1084 He thinks she wants to kill him like her sisters but she has cause and begs forgiveness. He leaves with Cordelia and K/Cauis and a gentleman talk of how Edmund is leading Goneril’s troops and the battle is approaching. (can it arrive already also where is the fool did he die)

A5S1

In the British camp Regan asks Edmund if he loves Goneril, Edmund says no, Regan is still jealous and tells him not to be familiar with her. Albany and Goneril come in, Albany says that Lear joined Cordelia and others have allied and states he’ll fight against the French. They go but E/Tom stops Albany and gives him the letter and for him to read it. As E/Tom leaves Edmund returns to warn the enemy is close so Albany goes. Then Edmund states he wooed both sisters and they’ll be angry which should he choose (sounds like this was just a bad move all around) he’ll decide after the battle and if Albany survives Goneril will kill him.

A5S2

In the field between camps E/Tom is still pretending to be a peasant has Gloucester take shelter by a tree as he fights. The French loose the battle and he returns for Gloucester as Cordelia and Lear are captured.

A5S3

In the British camp Edmund has Cordelia and Lear as prisoners, Cordelia wants to confront her sisters but Lear doesn’t want to. He envisions them like birds in a cage and he’ll beg for forgiveness to live. Edmund sends them away with a guard with a note on what to do with them. Goneril, Regan and Albany come in Albany praises him for his fighting and wants to see Lear and Cordelia, Edmund lies that he sent them away in fear of mutiny. Regan declares she’ll make him her husband, but her sister says it won’t be and Regan starts to feel sick. (I think I was awake for this part) Albany then arrests Edmund for treason because of his plot with Goneril to kill him and orders trial by combat as Regan is lead out.

Edgar appears armed and will be Albany’s champion and accuses Edmund of treason. Edmund accepts the challenge, and they fight and Edmund loses and is dying, Albany calls for him to be saved and Goneril starts to help but Albany stops her with her letter and she runs off. Edmund doesn’t want to answer and Albany sends after Goneril so Edmund confesses to it and much more. Edgar reveals himself and tells his story and how he revealed himself to their father and he died from joy (not like we the audience wanted to see that emotional and tragic scene) also the banished Kent is Lear’s servant. Then a gentleman rushes in with a bloody knife saying Goneril killed herself (strong female character?) she also poisoned Regan. “I was contracted to them both: all three now marry in an instant.”p.1089 The two sister’s bodies are brought in.

Kent is looking for Cordelia and Lear, Albany completely forgot they were imprisoned and Edmund explains how the two sister died. “some good I mean to do despite of mine own nature.”p.1089 Edmund warns Edgar to rush that he ordered Lear and Cordelia’s executions, Cordelia will be hanged then Edmund is carried off.

Lear returns carrying Cordelia’s body (awake during this part too) as Edgar follows in grief Lear’s sanity is slipping, he doesn’t recognize Kent and thinks Cauis is dead. Kent tells him his other daughters are dead a messenger informs Albany Edmund is died (finally) Albany says it’s little comfort. (at this point yeah) Lear is grieving, “Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, and thou no breath at all?”p.1090 He thinks he sees her breathe then he dies. Albany gives Kent and Edgar their rights back Kent feels like he’s about to follow Lear but Edgar accepts to rule with him. “The weight of this sad time we must obey; speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest hath borne most: we that are young, shall never see so much, nor live so long.”p.1090 (translation we should never forget this time we should say what we feel and not what others want the young won’t have to live through what the last generation did at least that’s my interpretation)

(so I read eight Shakespeare plays and one thing I can say I hated them while I was reading but appreciated it when I was done and really they are plays you understand them better when they are acted they have few directions and descriptions so everything relies on the actor’s delivery and the production)

[the-dragons-knight]

WoLtober 2020

Day #10) The Legend of Bridgette and the Dragon

Legend - ‘a story handed down by tradition from eariler times and accepted as historical though it may or may not be entirely accurate.’

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“Please, Mama, pleeeeease?” The little Miqo’te looked up pleadingly with her ears and little tail wiggling excitedly as she watched a gentle smile spread across the face of her Hyur mother.

“You were supposed to be asleep long ago, Katsum dear,” Her mother’s gaze turned to the male Miqo’te whose lap Katsum was sitting in, “And you were supposed to make sure she got to sleep Rune.”

A sheepish grin spread across her father’s face as he chuckled and dropped his ears, running a hand nervously through his rust-colored hair, “Eh heh heh...yeah, I know...BUT,” He scooped up a giggling Katsum in his arms and held her close, “Come now, Lavena, could you ‘ave said no to this face?”

Katsum put on her best pouting expression, dropping her ears against her head and pouting her lip while her eyes sparkled sadly.

“See? I know I couldn’t as she looks just like you do, ‘aving the same hair and eyes,” Rune said before joining Katsum and making his own pouting face.

Lavena rolled her eyes, yet her smile betrayed her annoyance. She set down the blanket she was folding and moved over to her daughter and husband and sat beside them, “Alright, alright. ONE story, and then you go to bed.”

“Yay!” Katsum flung herself from her father’s arms and scrambled over to where her satchel hung by the door to the parlor. She reached in and pulled out an aged tome that she clutched to her chest and ran back to the bedside and slid in between her parents and placed it in her lap. She pointed at the title written in runes on the cover and read out, “The...Leg-end...of Saint...Bree-get...and the...Dra...Dragon.”

Lavena ruffled her daughter’s hair and corrected her, “‘The Legend of Saint Bridgette and the Dragon’...Where did you find this…?”

Katsum looked up at her and grinned, lifting a finger to her lips, “It’s a secret.”

Lavena looked up at Rune who only shrugged as she pulled the book out of Katusm’s hands to open it, “Alright, a secret then. I suppose it is time to tell you the story. Are you sure you are ready?”

Katsum’s eyes sparkled like sapphires as she nodded vigorously, “I’m ready, I’m ready!”

Lavena chuckled as Rune lifted Katsum into his lap again and they all looked into the book together, “Alright, then let us begin…”

‘This is the story of how our history began, where the roots of all the Draic people come from.’

‘Thousands of years ago, man and dragon lived together in harmony. A harmony bought by the sacrifice of Shiva to the love that she shared with the great Wyrm Hraesvelgr. From this act came peace over the skies and floating islands of Dravania that all manner of life could see. These years were prosperous.’

‘In these years a colony was built high above the clouds in the realm of dragons, the Mists, where the three great Wyrm siblings ruled. With the help of Ratatoskr, the Wanderer, and her children, the people of the colony and the dragons that lived there with them all worked together as one. Dragons shared the skies with their earth-bound brethren and people helped build great castles and nests for the dragons. They learned to share the lands and its fruits equally and protect its young ones together too. In times of holiday or harvest, they would all gather together and celebrate, dancing and feasting all day and night, and Ratatoskr herself would lead their voices in song. After a time, the colony became known as ‘The Dragonsong Colony’ as only these people knew what was truly sung in the songs of the dragons.’

“Dragons really sing, mama?” Katsum’s eyes sparkled.

Lavena shrugged in reply, “I suppose they do. I have never seen a dragon myself, let alone hear them sing.” She saw Katsum’s expression fall and she gently prodded her shoulder, “Listen, now, and you’ll understand why.”

“I’m listening! I’m listening!” She hopped lightly on her Father’s lap and made both of her parents laugh.

‘For many years, this peace lasted, and many friendships and companionships were forged between dragon and man in this colony. However, this peace was not to last as many hoped it would for some sons and daughters of man are greedy creatures, seeking power and status by some of the most misled.’

‘One day, the Mists were filled with the sounds of battle, a great dragons roar and the shouts and cries of men. All the people of the colonies listened in fear, as they did not know what was happening, only saw the flashes of lightning and magics far to the north, towards the colosseum of Tharl Oom Khash. Then, the great wyrm, Nidhogg, brother of Ratatoskr, flew down from his nest in the Aery to her aid and his voice too joined in the chorus of battle. It raged for a while and then all sound ceased. The colonies waited to see their friend, the great red dragon herself fly overhead, but instead, suddenly the black wings of Nidhogg darkened the skies over Zenith. His roar shook the mountains and the floating isles of the Mists as he sped towards the Rookery, and he spoke with such rage as he screamed, “Children of man, murderers of my sister! Tremble and know my WRATH!!”’

‘Nidhogg set upon the Rookery breathed a great flame upon it and all the people within tried to run, yet Nidhogg’s children followed his rage and set upon them with him. Terror filled the hearts of those who lived in the Dragonsong colony, watching the tower fill with flame and crumble under the heat. Some dared to try and plead with Nidhogg, that they had no part in harming their friend, the singing dragon, but Nidhogg would not hear them and their bravery ended in death.’

‘It seemed that doomsday had come for the colonies as the people cried, “What shall we do?! We cannot flee he will catch us!”’

‘And then a voice rang out among them, the voice of Bridgette, she who communed with the dragons on behalf of the colonies, “My people, fear not! We have committed no such wrongs as he claims, yet it is clear he will not hear us, so we must try and save as many as we can. If not for yourselves, then for your children!” She rallied so many of the people of the colonies she could, gathering them together to take what they could and flee towards the summit of Sohm Al, moving before Nidhogg could set his eyes on their colony as he burned those far to the north to the ground.’

‘They were nearing the mountain’s peak when his terrible voice filled the air, “None may escape mine wrath!!”’

Bridgette pushed her panicking people forward as she stood between them and Nidhogg and raised her arms out. Then, a bright flash of red light lit up the skies as it flashed down upon the black dragon and he sputtered in surprise, hissing at the new assailant that now struck at him. It was the dear friend of Bridgette’s, the eldest son of Ratatoskr, the prince of Crimson Thunder. The red dragon fought with the great wyrm, wrestling with him until he fell to the ground and his fiery breath faded.’

‘The young red dragon landed between man and his fiery end, his wings spread out as a shield to those behind him and called to Bridgette, “Go quickly and descend the mountains!” Nidhogg rolled to his feet again and shrieked as he breathed a bolt of flame and shot it at the prince, yet the red dragon shot a bolt of red flame and electricity of his own and the clash of the bolts created a sheet of smoke between them. The Dragonsong people continued on their way to the mountains summit under the cover of the smoke, yet Bridgette’s eyes remained behind her on the battle between her dear Dravanian friend and the fiend he fought. When the majority of the people had entered the pathways down into the mountain and volcano, she stopped and looked back. Her people called to her to keep going with them but told them to go on as she turned to hurry back to her Dravanian friend’s side as she would not leave him behind.’

‘Yet by then, the battle was over. Nidhogg struck the red dragon out of the air and followed him down as he grabbed the young dragon and slammed him down into the ground with the force of his entire weight. The prince had surely lost the strength to fight on as he lay still. With a roar of rage, Nidhogg hissed down at the dying dragon, “You shall not know peace again, traitor. Lie in agony until thy heart can no longer bear the weight of thy guilt.” The dreadwyrm lifted into the air and flew into the clouds, leaving the prince to his fate.

As the beast of rage flew away, Bridgette came out of hiding and fell at the side of the red prince’s head, tears falling at the sight of the long gash where his right eye should have been. The dragon stirred from his dazed state and spoke in a weak voice, “Bridgette, is that you?”’

‘“Oh, my old friend,” She cried, “How bravely you fought. Thank you for saving us...but you are hurt, and your eye...”’

‘The dragon weakly lifted his head to look at her with his remaining eye, “My young friend, I am only glad thou art safe.”’

‘Bridgette shook her head, “Please, do not leave us. I know not where we shall go for surely he will find us. How do I save my people? Where will we be safe?”’

‘“In a place he would never think to look, for the nest of a dead dragon is always quickly abandoned, so he would never look on the isle where I’ve made mine home,” He shifted to turn his eye toward her, a shining glow beginning to emanate from it, “And I shall not leave you, so listen well. Take mine eye and make a pact with me. I shall save all that I am within it and shall be with you and your people always.” And so she did. She took the eye of the red dragon and his body faded into light that joined with his eye, sealing his very soul within it. Their pact made, the Prince then appeared before her, healthy and whole with only a long scar over his eye and the Elezen woman was relieved. She returned to her people with him and together, they all descended the mountains and made their way from the lands of Dravania.’

‘For many months, they traveled, moving quickly from valley to forests to desert, never staying in one place too long, for a dragon’s rage could follow for thousands of malms. On their journey, Bridgette glamoured the dragon’s eye into a gem that she placed within her golden necklace so that no dragon nor man that saw it would know it was a dragon’s eye that she carried. Only she and her people knew the truth and they never spoke of it to anyone on their travels, for a dragon’s eye is most powerful indeed and must never fall into the wrong hands. The Prince guided Bridgette to what paths to take, and she led her people to the sea where they boarded ships and sailed into the Sirensong Sea. And there, in the midst of a torrent of storms and rough seas lie the lost isle of Esk Dran, the nest of the Prince of Crimson Thunder.’

‘It is here, the kingdom of Draic was forged, where our great castle was built and where our people now thrive. Here are we safe from the prying eyes of a greedy, power-hungry world, and from the Wrath of the dreaded Nidhogg.’

‘Bridgette’s necklace still stands to this day, carrying the soul of the dragon, and its place rests in the hands of the ruler of Draic, as they must keep their people safe just as she did long ago.’

Lavena turned back the pages of the book and closed it, sighing softly and looking down at her young daughter, “And that’s the story of Saint Bridgette. The end.”

Katsum was quiet, her ears twitching in thought.

“What’s on your mind, Kit?” Rune asked, turning his head to look down at her.

She blinked and looked up at her parents, “What’s the dragon’s name?”

“The one who attacked the colonies?”

“No, the red one. The Prince one,” Katsum opened the book again and flipped some of the pages, pointing at one of the paragraphs, “See? It calls him ‘red dragon’ or ‘the Prince’, but what was his actual name?”

Lavena blinked, surprised by this question as she narrowed her eyes in thought, “I...I don’t know actually. None of the texts actually say.”

“So no one remembers? That’s sad...” Katsum’s ears fell back as she dropped her head, “He sounds so cool. I wish I could have met him.”

Rune tickled his daughter, making her giggle, “A big scary dragon? You want to meet a big scary dragon, ‘uh!? Don’t you’d think ‘e’d eat you?!” She squealed as his blew into her neck and Lavena smiled and chuckled.

“Alright, time for bed now. You’ve been up far later than you should.”

“Hehehe! Okay,” Rune let go of his daughter as she hopped down to her feet, turning to head to her room when she suddenly stopped again and turned to run back to her mother and lay her hands on the book, “Can I keep this? I want to read it again.”

Lavena again blinked in surprise, but she smiled, “Very well. Just be careful with it. It is very old.”

Katsum smiled and nodded, taking the book and hugging it close, “I will I promise! And one day, I want to be just like Bridgette and have a dragon friend!”

Her parents laughed and Rune ruffled the little miqo’te’s ears and hair, “We know you could, Kit. Now go sleep and we’ll talk more about tha’ in the mornin’ ok?”

“Okay! Goodnight!” The little blonde miqo’te skipped away to her room, her father watching with a smile.

As she disappeared up the stairs, Rune turned to his wife, taking her hand and wrapping his tail around behind her, “Are you alright? You look lost ‘n thought, love.”

Lavena met his worried gaze and smiled, shaking her head, “It’s nothing, really. She just made me realize...I’ve never heard anyone speak the Prince’s name. I wonder...I wonder what his name was...”

[theangrypokemaniac]

Normal Raichu's tail serves as a ground to avoid auto-shock, meaning this one is constantly frazzled from its own voltage.

Doesn't carrying his fat self hurt? Are they tears of liquid gold welling up from the strain?

Or is it the punishing light ever reflected, burning his black eyes blue and blind?

The modern obsession with softness, of symbolically filing down all corners as a message of intent, gets right on me wick.

Raichu had sharp ears and a jagged tail, being, you know, a bolt of lightning, but now he's as swollen and inflated as a balloon animal.

And what are these visible veins in his paws? Is he tapping 'em like Amy Winehouse in her bloodied-ballet-pump prime?

So 'getting high' doesn't mean levitation?

Hours of work went into this drastic image change of the same thing but with three hairs.

The Pokédex says he prefers a subterranean life, wilting under excessive heat, rendering him entirely suitable to thrive in the tropics.

Diglett's become a slaphead concealing the truth with an unconvincing comb-over.

Oh no! How shall I live in such a savage climate?

I know! Blond frizz in the midst of brown fur! That'll block heatstroke!

Dugtrio once featured in many a budding Trainer's squad, so beloved was Dig as the finest move around.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

If hairy moles made the final games, what horrors were rejected?

Such beauty in the Kardashian family.

Sweaty proximity of triplets is a trial itself, but consider all the strands coming loose, wedged and itching in the crevices, yanked right from the roots by constant friction, wrapping round their necks like cheese wire, and you unable to brush the damp cascade away, on account of having No Bloody Arms.

Oooh, make yer beady eyes weep, it would, and Dugtrio daren't move in case it slits throats like razor blades.

Born to die garotting himself and all those he knows!

That's why Oasis were so furious.

Plus, Geodude carrying eight hairs gives the opposite impression: that of a baldy desperately clinging on to the last paltry vestiges of a once-crowning glory.

It'll be those iron filings you always see lying about.

There Geodude and Graveler go, ready to flaunt hirsute manliness to their bearded womenfolk, only for it to involve social disgrace in the shape of gorilla arms, sideburns, and monobrows.

Why stop there? Why are they not coated in spines like a furled hedgehog?

Now magnetic, iron ravished their bodies, meaning they also share the pain of moles in sprouting a wig.

But they're Electric, not Steel. Nature avenged Pikachu by removing their invincibility.

And that molten sun's only gone and fused their fingers together!

Geodude salvaged a single digit, but Graveler's gotta make do with mittens!

What hope for mere fleshy beings, when Alola weather melts stone?

It's gonna boil yer inter soup, man!

Even Pa, master of the art, would look enviously on such achievement.

That said, I feel for Lady Golems having a shave every morning.

A diet of electrical rocks somehow erased the Ground element, and with it the resistance enabling Golem to eat 'em in the first place.

But didn't he have more toes than that? And some arms?

Of the three, Golem boasts the best sense of style, proudly displaying a hairy shell passing for a chest, besides a most debonair moustache.

Oh! Removing his earthly powers now makes him vulnerable to electrocution. It's blackened and blown bits of him off!

How's Golem meant to go wee-wee with malformed stumps?!

That's not claws, that's the jagged splinters of his humerus bones.

Marowak died during evolution. Must've got bone cancer from all the radioactive Muks slithering about.

It's based on the ghost from Pokémon Tower.

Quaint bit of euphemism, using 'based' rather than 'ripped off'. Yer'd burst if troubled with an original idea.

Ah, memories: traipsing up the many levels of said stacked sepulchre, brandishing me trusty Silph Scope, ready to tackle whatever spectre blocked the stairs to the summit.

He's got No Bloody Arms!

There I becalmed Marowak's anger as her soul passed to Heaven.

It was special.

Well that's gone. Turns out Marowak was sucked into the septic tank of Alola instead.

Bit of a downer, assuming I'd gifted eternity, only for this humdrum retcon to saunter up, stripping away the mystery.

Has she not suffered enough, man?!

Anyway...

How can one murder matter to the breed living thousands of miles away?

And up til then, all Alolan Marowak looked normal, then mutated in tasteless tribute, with their weapons spontaneously combusting?

UV rays will be the death of us!

The bone wielded is from its mother. Her spirit acts as protection.

Eh? But Ghost Marowak was the dead mom. She can't be both bereaved child and maternal avenger, else Cubone didn't just lose Ma, but Nana too!

In my day we were happy with the simple pleasures, like wearing Momma's head, and we were glad of it.

I don't know why Millennials have a prissy reputation. It certainly wasn't like that in me youth.

I well recall sitting in the back of Pa T.A.P.'s car, looking out the window, and seeing two lads playing catch with a human skull, since we had to make our own entertainment then.

But oh no, that's not good enough for today's entitled kids, they dug up Momma's mouldering corpse and rifled through her vitals, because it's just take, take, take with them.

And what bone is that meant to be, so casually set alight? Femur?

How bloody big was she, man?! It's longer than Marowak's entire body!

Don't you lie to me! That's a human leg if ever I saw it.

Eee, it ain't half hot.

You can say that again.

I wish I knew a way to cool down.

Well I find growing another head outta me arse does the business.

Exeggutor shot up via the sunshine overload, but his bonus coconut is green, unable to ripen thanks to extreme temperatures.

Marowak's been raiding hospital bins for amputated limbs!

Make yer mind up!

All this time, Exeggutor's suffered a secret head in his arse, just bustin' to be free, and I was none the wiser?

Yer think yer know someone, and then BAM! It's upon yer: illusions shattered.

Am I to understand Proper Exeggutor's walking around belaboured by arse coconuts?

Yer can get cream for that. Modern medicine is a miracle.

And it's buried for eternity, unless exposed to equatorial light?

But that's precisely where the sun don't shine!

I assumed two Exeggcute merged into one face, but this is a sign the remaining couple are secreted somewhere.

Specifically in his arse.

Poor Exeggutor hasn't completed puberty yet. If we linger we may well witness the emergence of the final duo to complete the sextet.

Out of his arse.

Many Alolans consider this its ideal form.

I bet they do. Perverts.

Besides haemorrhoids, it's not so ideal when Eggy can't fit in the living room and has to sleep outside, or its neck snaps during hurricane season.

O Game Freak, thou knows not what thee do!

[princessofimaginarydragons]

Prompt #26 - Slosh

FFXIV Write 2019 - 30 Day Writing Challenge

Hosted by  @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

~~~

Takes place after the events of Shadowbringers MSQ, but doesn’t really contain spoilers (maybe if you squint)

~~~

The tray of drinks sloshed around as they were deposited in the middle of the large table, the barmaid giving the group of Scions a wink as she slid away.

Iscara reached out for a bottle, flicking the cork out with a thumb, before taking a long chug, and then raising it up, “Cheers.”

Y’shtola chuckled, “I’m sure you’re meant to do that before you start drinking.”

“That was some hours ago,” Alphinaud pointed out, handing the miqo'te the glass of wine he had just poured.

“Yes, and some of us should probably stop,” Thancred interjected, pointedly looking at Ryne, who blushed, and pushed her glass away. 

“It’s a celebration Thancred, let the girl enjoy it.”

“She won’t enjoy the hangover tomorrow.”

“Never had one in my life,” the warrior of light grinned at him. Thancred narrowed his eyes at her, and muttered ‘lucky sot’ under his breath.

“Never ever?” Alisaie looked over at the warrior, who shook her head, and earned a sigh in response.

“What’s with the heavy sighing?”

“Oh, nothing serious. Just…” the young elezen looked over at her friend, “Sometimes, I think that I barely know you. I know that’s not true, but…”

Iscara put her bottle down, looking over at Alisaie for several moments, the table quiet. Then she let out a sigh, took a long swing, draining the bottle dry, and said, “Fine, let’s do this.”

“What?”

“You want to know things? About me? Ask away.”

“What, just like that?”

“You are my friends. My best friends. I trust you, all of you. And, lets face it, I am a close-mouthed bitch most of the time. I don’t want you to feel like you don’t know me. Aaaand Lolorito happened to find out I have a sister, and that fact that he knows that when you don’t makes me feel weird. Also I’m pleasantly inebriated, so ask away.”

“You have a sister?”

“Yup. And she’s got eight kids, I’m very used to being called ‘Aunt Is’.”

“How old?”

“Eldest is fourteen now, youngest is only a few months. Nine possibly? I lose count. It’s where all my earrings disappear to, they get used as chew toys.”

“Where do they live?”

“They moved into Ala Mhigo after we took it back from the Garlean’s. Oma brought the merc banner down to fight in the liberation efforts, and once it was free, she wanted to stay. Jaydra brought the family because she’s been wanting to move for a while, and thinks she can get a good foothold with her business in the city.”

“Oma?”

“What business is she in?” The twins simultaneously asked.

“Oma is grandmother. Jaydra’s a goldsmith, she makes a good two thirds of the stuff I wear.”

“Thou has mentioned before in passing that thou does not consider thyself Ala Mhighan. May I enquire as to why, as it seems thy family is closely tied to the city?”

“Oma is Ala Mhigan, and there’s a fair few in my family tree. But there’s also other bits and pieces of different nationalities in there as well. I wasn’t born in Gyr Abania, didn’t grow up there either. I’m highlander, for sure, but personally I don’t feel I have any ties to Ala Mhigo, their culture is second hand to me. I had what you could probably call a ‘blended’ upbringing. More than anything else, I guess I think of myself as ‘Eorzean’.”

“What are those other bits and pieces then?”

“Okay, family tree time. So, Oma is Ala Mhigan, and she got together with a Limonsan, which made my dad. My mum’s father was Ala Mhigan as well, but her mother was the product of an Ala Mhigan and a Gridanian. And I think the Gridanian was a product of a Gridanian and an Ishagardian, but I’d have to ask about that.”

Alisaie was leaning her head on one hand, listening with rapture, “Multicultural indeed.”

Iscara hummed her agreement, knocking back another drink.

“Where were you born then, if not in Gyr Abania?”

“Mor Dhona. Southern shores of Silvertear Lake. Of course, it’s the Carteneau Flats these days.”

“Was there a reason for that?”

“The family and the merc banner, actually back a little bit. So, Oma inherited the mercenary banner, ‘Winter’s Edge’, and made a name for it and herself. So when King Theodoric came to power, and started doing things she didn’t like, she just packed up the banner and went out on an ‘extended work trip’. Basically unofficially quitting the city until it got sorted out, which, well you all know what happened there. And since everyone knew what she was doing, some of the family members of the mercs under her banner came with her, and it kind of grew, until it was this large nomadic band, going where the work was. Mor Dhona was empty, and central, and a pretty good place to make a more central camp, so there were there for a few years, and that’s when I was born.”

“What’s your favourite colour?” Ryne’s soft voice came from the corner.

Iscara smiled at the young girl, “Blue. More specifically, pale blues, like ice crystals, or hydrangea flowers”

“I’ve got one,” Thancred leaned forward, “Best and worst fights. Your opinion.”

Iscara winced, “Give me something easy, why don’t you,” she took a swig of the bottle as she thought. “Worst, Zenos. Rhalgr’s Reach was probably the worst of them all. Best? Thordan. Not for the fighting, that was easy, he wasn’t as good as he thought he was. None of them were, and that’s why showing them what a real Fury could do was so satisfying. Not healthy, but really, really satisfying.”

“Are you a follower of Halone?”

“Yup. And before someone asks, no, I was before Ishgard. I’ve been her follower since childhood, she was who I invoked when I was named.”

Y’shtola frowned a little, “Were you not named when you were born?”

“No. Not properly. There’s a, I guess who’d call it a belief in my family that a person’s name says a lot about them. So when children mature enough, they can pick their own name. Until then, they tend to have nicknames or a ‘kit name’. Although there’s a couple of people I know who liked those names so much they kept them.”

“So you chose the name Iscara?”

“And Wintermere. We all tend to have winter in our surname, keeps the family connection. Mere is an old name for a lake, referencing where I was born.”

“And Iscara?”

She smiled, “My first ever friend gave the name to me. Well, she gave me a title in her language, and Iscara is kind of what is translates to when you put in Eorzean.”

“Which language doth it stem from?”

Iscara chuckled, “You’re clever people. Learned people. I’m not going to tell you, but I would be interested to see if you can work it out. And what it means.”

Urianger raised an eyebrow, Y’shtola chuckled. Alphinaud dived into a tome in his bag, Alisaie rolled her eyes. Ryne looked slightly confused, and Thancred shrugged, “Well I hope there isn’t a prize because I have no chance of winning it.”

The warrior of light chuckled, “I don’t know. You’re pretty good at turning up unusual information when you want to.”

“So there is a prize?”

“You want something more than the satisfaction of knowledge?”

“Yup.”

She tapped the table, “Alright. That pool Tataru has going. About my love life.”

“Ooooh, you know about that?”

“Course. Anyway. I’ll tell the winner the answer.”

There was a moment of silence, then Alphinaud stood up suddenly, redness across his cheeks, “SorrybutIthinkIneedtogotobenowgodnightall,” he said without breathing before turning and abruptly walking away from the table.

“Oi! Don’t you dare think you can go and break into the crystal tower at this point at night!” His twin yelled at him, also leaving the table to chase after him.

“Prithee excuse me, and I shall see that they do not cause too much ruckus,” Urianger said, exiting at a more sedate pace.

Y’shtola sighed, “You want to look in the crystal tower as much as they do.”

“The coin that hast flowed into aforementioned pot is vast.”

The thaumaturge waved a hand at him.

“Not joining them Y’shtola?”

“I doubt the information is contained within the Tomes of the Exarch. And yourself Thancred?”

“Oh, I was simply planning on taking a more immediate approach. More wine my friends?”

Iscara chuckled, leaning forward and meeting his eyes, “I could drink everyone else in the entire Crystarium under the table and still be lucid enough to not tell you a damn thing.”

“Now that sounds like a challenge.”

[fara-a-way]

GENIE HIKIKOMORI

Kailey Heather Cruz. Logical, reasonable, down to earth hard worker. Doesn’t believe in short cuts. Doesn’t believe in laxness. Remains true to her beliefs.

One of her hobbies includes porcelain and china shopping. One day, she comes across a copper teapot, perfect for boiling tea water. So she buys it. Then when she gets home, clans the map and rubs it free of dirt, she is suddenly faced with a Genie.

Genie eats her snacks, eats her dinner and asks she uses up her 3 wishes as fast as possible so he can get back in his lamp for another 10,000 Years.

Why 10,000 years?

It is the rule, my power requires such time to recover.

Oh, ok. Hey, why don’t you hang around here a bit more? I don’t really have a wish yet so can you wait a bit?

As you wish master. I shall wait for thee three wishes. Then be out of thy life and back safely in my lamp, forever lost in the sands of time.

It’s a tea kettle, but can I use it to boil tea? 

Nay! Thou shall not flood my home! D:

ONE WEEK LATER

I am with nothing to do…

I didn’t ask you to watch over my house all the time. Can’t you chill in your lamp?

I do not know of which you speak.

The way you talk is proper and old. You should watch some dramas on Netflix. Here. This is how you use it…. And all the movies you’d want to watch is all at the tip of your fingertips.

Fascinating. This… this is magnificent! I shall use this to understand the ways of the modern world!

THREE MONTHS LATER

Master! Please MAKE YOUR FIRST WISH ALREADY!!!!

Why are you so desperate for my first wish? I’m not ready yet. (*Blushes shyly because the genie bombards her after she finished her bath and is currently just in her towel.)

Noooo!!!! (breathes. Huffs. Fixes hair.) It’s simple as fuck. Make a wish. Any wish, any thing you desire. I will give it to you. Is there anything at all that you crave for? That you’ve wanted since forever? Anything- At all?

I… I… Damn it! Stop breathing down my neck! Pervert! *smack

FOUR MONTHS LATER

I have finished all there is in your English Netflix.

And are you done overusing the words fuck and shit?

After you’ve told me their meanings, I had decided to no longer to use them.

Very good… So, what did you do today other than eat and sleep?

I watched Asian drama. *Wo xuehuile Zhoungwen Mandarin. (I leanred Chinese Mandarin)

SIX MONTHS LATER

Merry Christmas! Here, I got you a present. Not that you don’t already eat my food and make my bills higher.

You know, you wouldn’t have to deal with me if you just made three wishes.

I know, but I’m saving my wishes, and I’m keeping you in my closet.

Creep!

Loafer.

Thank you, master… I didn’t know if I should get you something… and usually, I don’t have anyone else to spend Christmas with. Funny enough, I only learned about it after watching Home Alone.

You never spent Christmas with anyone before?

Uh… no. 

Then you’re spending Christmas with me this year. C’mon lazy butt, let’s go out.

Where are we going?

To the mall. It’s the best place to be at Christmas!

—

How was your first Christmas Genie?

I hated the mall at Christmas… but I don’t hate the lights.

Yeah… This is the best part of it.

... Hey, Merry Christmas you loafer.

Merry Christmas master.

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

My mom is dying. She... She has stage 3 cancer in the brain.

You want me to heal her then?

No. Humans are meant to die anyway. And my mom lived a relatively happy life with only one regret.

And that regret would be your first wish, I presume?

I need a fiancé . You’re my closest friend that’s a guy so I wish you’d be my fiancé and propose to me with a ring and everything romantic like that Asian drama Goblin, except none of us are dying.

… What did you friggin’ do?

I… wished for a fiance? :/

Why did you make it so specific? Fuck, I didn’t even tell you and you made a perfect wish. :(

Yay! Now, let’s go and I’ll show you to my mom. :D

Wait… Are you sure you’d want me? To play your fiancé?

Well, we’re practically living together. You don’t pay the rent. You feed off of my salary. It’s like I’m your sugar momma.

(Remembers trailer he was watching months ago…) Gross. I’m finding a job.

Wait! I need to show you to my mom first!

Nope! I’m finding a job. Until then, I’m stalling her “illness” and proposing to you properly. Like a decent person, not like Lucifer Morningstar did with Eve or Ross with Rachel on their Vegas wedding.

I’m not a girl in debt nor drunk! And we’re not really- And he’s already out.

NINE MONTHS LATER

Nice to meet you Ms. Cruz. I’m Hailey’s fiancé, Jean. I’m just a humble freelancer (they came in a luxury car)… oh that. It turns out that my father in the Arabs struck oil and gold… He’s an oil tycoon now and he’s hoping I’d move back there to inherit and manage his fortunes… No, I won’t be living back there when the love of my life is right here.

Isn’t he a character mom?

He certainly is… I can rest easy knowing you’re well taken care of.

(When mom turns away, the two high-five. Yes! They fooled the mom!)

TEN MONTHS LATER

Dude, family meeting.

I’m not part of your family!

Yet. You’re my fiancé, remember?

What does your family want now?

My mom. She wants grandkids. (*Jean Spittakes his coffee.)

It’s too early for this.

We don’t have to make grandkids seriously, like the regular way.

Never in my life did I ever think I’d need to do that-…. My god, just, make your two remaining wishes already and send me back in my warm, safe, cozy lamp! Please!!!! You’re life is like a drama rising up to the climax! You’re digging your own grave! Hailey! DX

I know! That’s why I’m gonna wish for a marriage contract which would give you freedom to do whatever you want in the current wish living your own persona for the next 60 years when the kids I’m planning to have with you are all grown up and independent, in addition, in order for you to live a more comfortable life without worrying in your financial, social and economic life, a prenuptial agreement that would state you keep your shit and I keep mine and we have joined custody of our kid’s expenses and only the finances transferred in a shared bank account can be used for them and considered our communal funds. Would- would you accept that?

… You thought this out, didn’t you.

Look, you may be a genie who’d rather live in a lamp than be free; and still calls me master, then steals my bagels and cottage cheese from the fridge.

But they’re so good.

BUT… I need a person I can trust, and you’re the only person I can trust enough to marry.

Because you can control me.

Because I can control you.

.

.

.

*sigh. I understand. 

ELEVEN MONTHS LATER

Why can’t you just wish for a happy life instead of playing with my heart?

What are you talking about?

We’re getting married, Hailey.

I know. I’m arranging it.

You wished us into a contract of sharing communal funds. Just tell me to put in more and you won’t have to be working your day job and a night job. Just…

I don’t want to inconvince you. You even got yourself a job for the ruse.

It’s not a ruse. It’s real. It’s a wish, and the whole point about wishing from a genie is getting what you want in your hands. Tangibe, Visible and REAL. Don’t you get it?!

I KNOW!

Then Why Don’t You Just Wish???

Because Wishes Don’t Come True Just like that… You earn your keep. You work hard for what you deserve. If I don’t work hard I’ll feel like I won’t- like I don’t deserve you.

Hailey, you know… Coming across a genie is a one in a zillion thing. Getting a hold of a genie’s lamp… It’s not something hard work can do… It’s something only fate can decide.

I… know that too… but I still feel like I don’t… I’m not doing something right by you.

Hailey, you’re the most caring master I’ve ever gotten. You let me lay around your apartment for almost a year. You let me eat your food. Let me watch movies. Heck, you even let me use you as a pillow. You’re the best master a genie can ever ask for.

But you want to go back to your lamp… I kept you from that.

I have a few hundred years after to do that. So for now, please just tell me what you need and I promise I’ll do it.

I won’t wish, but you’ll still promise to do my requests.

I promise. I’ll swear and I’ll promise. When we get married, I’ll promise to do everything I can to show you how much you deserve me and I’ll swear it’s because you’ve shown me how much I deserve you.

Haha, you’re confusing. - Thanks. I feel so much better.

So you’ll quit the night job, and spend some time watching movies and shows with me?

Fine. But when I ask for 40,000 in the shared account, I expect it to be there before the next 24 hours.

And Done.

You- didn’t even take out your phone to transfer…

And as I’ve told you. I’m a genie. And you deserve an efficient one.

TWELVE MONTHS LATER (The day of the lamp’s purchase.)

I’m suddenly feeling very sick. I can’t go through with this.

Hunny, relax. It’s your wedding. You look beautiful in your dress, and he’s a lucky guy. 

(*If only you know how unlucky he is to get me. I’m practically forcing him to marry me, and staying another 60 years in the world instead of his lamp.) I- I know…

XXX

Haley, In the years I’ve lived my life, I’d never have thought I’d ever get married. I threw all of that away the moment I suddenly got my dead-end job and I never quite regretted it until you came along. Suddenly, I want to do better, for you- and I want to love you right as you’ve shown your kindness and care for me as the last year I suddenly landed into your life. I swear, I will never let you down. That I’ll do every wish you mean for the next 60 years or more we’ll be together in our lives, without counting them one-by-one, without twisting them wrong and messing them up. I promise to be the best I can be for you, for our future. I swear to be someone you deserve because in my eyes, you deserve the best. I love you.

Jean, I- I love you, you know that. I’m not the type to say that freely, thank you for accepting me. I know I can be strict at times, and hard to get along with at times, and I can never thank you enough on how you can deal with me. You turn my anger and frustrations into a small problem instead of a volcano, you take all the regrets I have and wash them down the drain. You give color to my life. You- You’re my best friend. You go along with my whims, and take me to places outside the path I walked into a trench. I also never expected you’d be in my life. Of all the people in the world who could have found you, sometimes I wonder why me? — But whenever you hold me, whenever I see you and hear you and laugh with you, I don’t question anything anymore. I swear I’ll only ask for things that’ll make us happy. I swear, to make this the best life you’ve ever lived… and when it comes to the end of it all. I promise, I’ll make you as happy as you’ve made me.

-I now pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss the bride.

XXX

So… how exactly are we gonna do this? Magic? Science? Or or…

How about we do it how actual lovers do- mmmph

[iamfaithfulfaith]

Becoming a true follower of Christ

Becoming a follower of Christ may sound similar to believing in Jesus, little wonder you may hear people say, "I'm a follower of Christ" but can you take a moment to understand what it truly means to follow Christ? In the New Testament, when Christ called his first disciples, he said, “Follow me and I will make you…”  The statement of Christ and their response captures what it means to be a follower. So becoming a follower of Christ is the readiness to take up a new and committed course for Christ without looking back. It is the awareness a man has of coming to God not to do his will anymore but the absolute will of God. Following Christ also means dying. In Matthew 8:19 a certain man said to Jesus, “…Master, I will follow thee whithersoever thou goest.” This man seems to say this out of curious interest in the dynamics of Christ's works and miracles but lacked the understanding of the selfless ministry He came to fulfill which would eventually lead to His death on the cross. What was Christ's response to him? And Jesus saith unto him, “The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.” For us to be a follower of Christ, we must come to understand the ministry of Jesus and dedicate our lives to fulfilling it as he did. Christ's response was enough to help the man know that following Him was more than a confession but a lifetime commitment. What it means to be a follower of Christ. here are four (4) keynotes to help you get a picture of what it means to be a follower of Christ 1. It means following Christ on his terms, not ours "Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you, and ordained you, that ye should go and bring forth fruit, and that your fruit should remain: that whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in my name, he may give it you." — John 15:16 Some people want to be Christians and nothing more. That is, they want to call Christ their Lord and still run their lives. The result of such life is seen in lack of fruit-bearing.¹ ((fruit of righteousness)) Such people eventually become self-made Christians contrary to what Matthew 4:19 said, and unprofitable. Before Christ's first disciples can become his followers, they need to become mature in their understanding through many things they were taught by words and lifestyle. They first went from unrefined to contentious to confused until they became disciples. Different experiences helped drove the messages of Christ deeply rooted in their lives that were eventually patterned after the life of Christ, and this was made possible by their continuous submission to the Maker. What does it mean to be a follower of Christ? 2. It means submitting ourselves to his modeling "And he saith unto them, Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men. And they straightway left their nets, and followed him." — Matthew 4:19-20 Before we become that man or woman in the mind of God we must submit ourselves to be made by the Maker and that will not happen except we follow him. It's a condition. A true follower of Christ is compliant to the revealed truth of God and accept the hard teachings of Christ Beyond confession of faith in Christ, we are to submit to his will for our lives at any given time even when it runs contrary to ours. What does it mean to be a follower of Christ? 3. It means listening and learning from Him Matthew 11:29 says, "Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls." What are we to learn from Christ to be a true follower? We are to learn his humility. If our heart is not one that likes to be humble, we need to take the yoke of Christ and learn his humility. Christ came in his earthly ministry to serve and he told his disciples that they too must learn to serve others as followers of him. This will require lowliness of heart and meekness. We are to learn his life of devotion and prayer. We cannot be as busy as Christ neither can we be more powerful than he is, yet he always took out time to be alone with the Father for strength to be renewed and prayed often. The best way to cultivate a life of devotion and prayer is to ensure a quiet time with God each morning. It also means the discipline of rising up to do so. What else are we to learn from Christ? We are to learn to listen to Him There is a difference between listening and listening. Some people listen to do, while few listen to understand. Sometimes, Christ wants to make sure his disciples had got the message he's trying to pass across to them and would ask, "do you understand?" And frankly most of the time the disciples did not understand, not until later. We cannot be a follower of Christ if we don't listen to his words, teachings, and doctrines to understand them. We may have read the Bible a number of times, but how well have we understood the sayings of Christ? Related Article: Christ's superior ministry and the responsibility of believers Christ said if we hear his word and don't understand it, then it is unprofitable for us because it has become a parable unto us. What does it mean to be a follower of Christ? 4. It means to trust and to surrender We cannot surrender our lives to Christ without first trusting him with our lives. God counted Abraham's faith for righteousness because he against hope believed in hope. Not only so, but he was also ready to sacrifice his only son in hope that God was able to raise him up again. Faith is absolute trust in God. To become a follower of Christ, we must come to the point where we can trust God with our lives. Revelation 2:10 says, "Fear none of those things which thou shalt suffer: behold, the devil shall cast some of you into prison, that ye may be tried; and ye shall have tribulation ten days: be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life." Christ always tells his followers what to expect as they serve him. He told them of rejection, denial, or outright persecution by opposers but also promised victory at last. The necessity of faith while following the Lord Hebrews 11:6 says, "But without faith it is impossible to please him: for he that cometh to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of them that diligently seek him." When we allow the thoughts of losing out in life because of our decision to follow Christ, we begin to count our steps and will eventually stop following at any given opportunity. This displeases Christ who wants us to trust Him with our lives. If he calls a man, it is for a purpose, and there is a reason for whatsoever he allows to come his way. Christ has told us in his word that he will take those who follow him to heaven, faith makes us believe and trust in those words. Yes, it's not a problem-free journey but at least he has told us what to expect as we follow him What to expect as Christ's follower 1. Expect to suffer for Christ's sake. (Related article: The true meaning of passion) 2. Expect rejection, denial of a right, or loss because of Christ 3. Expect to be misunderstood by friends and families 4. Expect joy in the holy ghost 5. Expect peace that passes understanding reigning in your heart 6. Expect spiritual and physical fruitfulness 7. Expect the inner witness of the Comforter The Reward of Following Christ. John 8:12 "Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life." One of the rewards of following Christ is a clear path in life. In the midst of whatever may come our way, the One who we follow will never leave his own in the dark to wonder. His indwelling Spirit gives us clarity and assurance of our hope. John 12:26 "If any man serve me, let him follow me; and where I am, there shall also my servant be: if any man serve me, him will my Father honour." Another reward for following Christ is heaven at last. When we follow our friends we eventually know their homes. When we follow and serve Christ to the end, we eventually know his place of abode and the Father honours us, for he must have heard our testimonies from the mouth of the Son. There is a crown of life. Now you know how to become a true follower of Christ. Will you be one? Read the full article

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

Jean and Lucien #33 Prove it

This was really fun! :) I love them during the early years…and now I kinda want to write a proper Much Ado About Nothing AU, with Mattie as Hero.

2,000 words of Lucien x Jean “acting,” emotional fluff, set after 2x05. Also on AO3.

Her slow grin was a warning, but of what, he couldn’t say until she replied. “Alright, Lucien. I’ll read Beatrice for you…but you have to play Benedick.”

Lucien left his office to join Jean in the living room before dinner, and found her studying a book on the couch.

“What’s that you’ve got there?”

“Much Ado About Nothing.” She turned the cover his way before re-opening it. “The church dramatic society is feeling Shakespearean.”

“And you’re auditioning for?”

“Beatrice.”

“Ah.” Was there a polite way to ask if she stood a chance? Lucien wondered. Probably not.

“Yes, I know,” she said, as though she’d heard him thinking. “But it’s going to be different this time.”

Lucien tucked his tongue firmly in his cheek and joined her on the couch. “Oh? How so?”

“This year is my year,” Jean declared with a determined nod. “I don’t care that Patrick Tyneman is funding the production, as usual–I’m going to give them a flawless audition. They’ll have to cast me as something better than a manservant.”

“So, you hope to overcome the influence of the Tynemans through the power of your performance?”

“Not just hope–I plan to. Beatrice would be the perfect role for me…I’ve always liked her, you know.”

“She’s an excellent heroine,” he agreed. “Lots of fire, with an underlying sadness.” Lucien nodded. “You would be perfect at it.”

Jean blinked. “Thank you. I think.”

“I promise you, I meant it as a compliment. She’s one of Shakespeare’s best leading ladies.”

“Yes, well. I agree.”

“So, when is the audition?”

“Tomorrow.”

“And you’re ready.”

She smiled. “Oh, I’m more than ready. I’m eager, to see Susan Tyneman’s face when she ends up playing the apothecary.”

Her glittering eyes made him smile in return–for a kind soul, she could be awfully fierce when she felt like it. “Oh, really?”

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

She shifted away a little. “I’m sorry?”

“Show me your Beatrice. Consider it a dress rehearsal,” he challenged her with a grin.

Oh, he knew her too well, Jean thought. She couldn’t back down, or she’d start to worry that maybe she wasn’t as prepared as she believed…even though it was silly, Lucien asking her to put on a special performance just for him. Well, two could play at that, she decided.

Her slow grin was a warning, but of what, he couldn’t say until she replied. “Alright, Lucien. I’ll read Beatrice for you…but you have to play Benedick.”

He tapped his fingers on his leg, the only outward sign of his discomfort at the tables being so quickly turned. “Well, I suppose if you insist.”

“Oh, I do. I can’t very well act out both parts, now can I? Somebody has to read him–and Maddie’s not here.”

Things felt a little delicate between them yet, after Richard. Jean might have laughed and agreed when he promised not to give her his blessing ever again…yet Lucien still wasn’t sure how he’d made such a mess of what was meant to be a supportive gesture. He was a terrible actor, he knew it, but maybe a bit of lighthearted fun would set things right.

“Okay, then. I’m game.” He held out his hand for the script. “You have your end memorized, I assume?”

“Of course.” She handed the book over, fingers holding it open to her audition scene. “Here, where we’re the only two left.”

“Let’s see…” Lucien scanned the page until he found the spot. He stood up, projecting his best theater voice. “Lady Beatrice, have you wept all this while?”

Jean stayed seated, looking up at him as her eyes began to fill with tears. “Yea, and I will weep a while longer.”

He had to set aside his own fascination to stay in character; Jean was a vision. “I will not desire that,” he replied, inwardly marveling at the way she was able to hold herself on the verge of crying without spilling over.

“You have no reason; I do it freely.”

Lucien sat, knees touching hers as he aimed his most sympathetic face her way. “Surely I do believe your fair cousin is wronged.”

Jean’s eyes flashed. “Ah, how much might the man deserve of me that would right her!”

“Is there any way to show such friendship?”

She sighed. “A very even way, but no such friend.”

“May a man do it?”

Shaking her head, Jean looked away, the first tear falling. “It is a man’s office, but not yours.“

The sense of wounded pride came more easily to him than perhaps it should. Glancing at his next line, Lucien took her hand. “I do love nothing in the world so well as you: is not that strange?”

She sniffled, staring at their joined hands. “As strange as the thing I know not. It were as possible for me to say I loved nothing so well as you: but believe me not; and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing.” She removed her hand from his. “I am sorry for my cousin.”

Lucien gripped her forearm. “By my sword, Beatrice, thou lovest me.”

“Do not swear, and eat it.”

He smiled. “I will swear by it that you love me; and I will make him eat it that says I love not you.”

Jean’s eyes widened. “Will you not eat your word?”

“With no sauce that can be devised to it. I protest I love thee.”

“Why, then, God forgive me!”

“What offence, sweet Beatrice?”

She laid her fingers lightly against his cheek. “You have stayed me in a happy hour: I was about to protest I loved you.”

“And do it with all thy heart.” Lucien’s smile was joyful sunlight.

“I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.”

He took her hands again. “Come, bid me do any thing for thee.”

She squeezed his fingers. “Kill Claudio.”

Standing, Lucien shook his head vehemently. “Ha! not for the wide world.”

“You kill me to deny it.” Jean dropped his hands. “Farewell.”

“Tarry, sweet Beatrice.”

She looked beyond him, shaking her head. “I am gone, though I am here: there is no love in you: nay, I pray you, let me go.” Her whole body was trembling, Lucien realized.

“Beatrice–”

Jean stood up, stepping back from him. “In faith, I will go.”

He reached out to stop her. “We’ll be friends first.”

Her curls caught the light as she tossed her head back. “You dare easier be friends with me than fight with mine enemy.”

“Is Claudio thine enemy?”

“Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman?”

Jean shoved Lucien back when he reached for her again. “O that I were a man! What, bear her in hand until they come to take hands; and then, with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour, –O God, that I were a man!” She clenched her fists against her skirt, vibrating with fury. “I would eat his heart in the market-place.”

Her blazing eyes had bewitched him. Lucien forgot to read his next line until Jean broke character, her arched brow signaling for him to catch up.

“Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Hear me, Beatrice,–”

“Talk with a man out at a window!” She exclaimed, sliding back into the role without pause. “A proper saying!”

“Nay, but, Beatrice,–”

“Sweet Hero!” Jean returned to her seat on the couch. “She is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone.”

He followed her, standing back rather than sitting. “Beat–”

“Princes and counties!” She cut him off. “Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count, Count Comfect; a sweet gallant, surely! O that I were a man for his sake! or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake!”

Tears slipped down her cheeks without restraint now.

“But manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules that only tells a lie and swears it. I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.”

Lucien clutched her hand with his, feeling Benedick’s desperation to be believed as though it were his own. “Tarry, good Beatrice. By this hand, I love thee.”

She frowned. “Use it for my love some other way than swearing by it.”

“Think you in your soul the Count Claudio hath wronged Hero?”

“Yea, as sure as I have a thought or a soul.”

“Enough, I am engaged; I will challenge him,” Lucien declared, dropping down to sit next to her. “I will kiss your hand, and so I leave you.”

Feeling suddenly nervous, he lifted her hand, trying not to dwell on the way it felt–callouses from years of hard work contrasting with the smoothness of her skin.

Lucien pressed his lips to the back of her hand, his gaze meeting hers.

Her eyes were wide once again, this time sincerely, as his mouth touched her skin. When was the last time a man had kissed her in such an old-fashioned, even romantic, way? Had anyone?

“By this hand,” Lucien said quietly, eyes still locked on hers, “Claudio shall render me a dear account.” His voice was rough, no longer his best attempt at a dramatic accent.

There was no reason to continue holding her hand, and yet he was. He couldn’t bear to stop, not while she was watching him with those soft, warm eyes, Beatrice’s anger and grief forgotten.

“As you hear of me, so think of me.” He stroked his fingers over hers, attempting to soothe even as he held her in place.

When Jean broke eye contact, he released her, realizing how foolish he must seem. He looked down at the script. “Go, comfort your cousin: I must say she is dead: and so, farewell.”

“Right.” Jean smoothed a hand over her hair, fingers shaking a little. “So, what did you think?”

“You’re brilliant,” he told her, sincerely. “Bravo.”

“Better than Susan Tyneman?”

“Miles beyond her.” Grinning, Lucien hoped to shift them back onto familiar ground. “What about me?”

“You were fine,” Jean said with a solemn face. Then she giggled, unable to hold it. “Though…why were you Scottish?”

“I was English,” he argued. “Like Shakespeare.”

He hadn’t sounded very English to her, but Jean pressed on. “You studied Shakespeare in school, didn’t you? You do know he didn’t set every play in Britain.”

“Of course.” He smiled. “Artistic license.”

"If you say so.”

“You know, Jean,” he said, happy to deflect further critique of his performance, “you really make an excellent Beatrice.”

“Thank you, Lucien. Now, hopefully the director will agree with you.”

Lucien had a sudden memory of Jean standing with a rather dejected man, and was irrationally glad that one of the women of the church had taken over running the plays. He had no right to feel territorial, and yet…

“Jean?”

“Yes, Lucien?”

“If you need to rehearse…when you get the part, that is…I could play Benedick again.”

Jean flushed a little. Of course it would be a terrible idea, she told herself. Playing with fire.

That was what her connection to Lucien was, and she knew it. He was still hurting over the loss of his wife, and she was still Christopher’s widow…no matter where her mind might wander late at night, remembering the casual way he rested his hand on her back or shoulder, the way he was always, always touching her. The way he didn’t even know he was driving her crazy, just by being friendly.

She had gotten so used to a life without affection over the last few years that the tactile doctor was a permanent shock to her system; like the zap of feet scuffing carpet, a buzzing tingle running over her skin. But where static electricity only mussed her hair, Lucien’s cheerful brushes set her nerve endings alight.

They reminded her that she was alive.

“You know,” she told him, ignoring the nagging warning in her head, “I’d like that. How about tomorrow night?”

[badsithnocookie]

@fancyfade replied to your post:“1) it’s wednesday2) i am procrastinating on shit so send me an ask or...”:

this might sound weird, but lt eirn talking to sith eirn?

this turned into fic which may have gotten away from me slightly

-

Sleep was rare in the Tatooine heat; restful sleep, rarer still, and Lieutenant Illte didn't fancy her chances of getting rest at the Varoshe outpost any more than at any other point in their journey. Still, they had an early start - as if this was any change from the norm - and Eirn knew better than to not at least try to sleep.

She'd almost given up, though, when she felt the temperature start to rise again - realised that the suns would be rising, soon, and that morning on Tatooine was once again upon them. When she cracked her eyes open, though, all she saw was the sandy oasis that she'd been supposed to be watching over Quinn at - and a very bemused Sith woman, who looked incredibly familiar in a way that Eirn had no idea how to place.

'Okay,' the other Sith started, 'You're new.'

Which rather took Eirn by surprise. 'Excuse me?'

'You're not- usually visions look more... Sithy,' the other Sith finished, gesturing towards Eirn - who was not exactly a paragon of Sithitude.

Eirn glanced down at herself at that, though - was only marginally relieved to note that she was in uniform, rather than her pyjamas. This did nothing, however, to explain what was going on. 'I'm- not a vision,' she replied, as irritated as she was confused. 'I-'

'Then- what are you?' the other Sith replied, studying Eirn warily.

What, Eirn snarled - swallowing back the defensive snarl and fixing the Sith with as defiant a glare as she dared. 'I am Lieutenant Eirnhaya Illte of the Imperial Armed Forces.' She paused, glancing over the Sith - noticed the lightsaber at her hip, and added a slightly sour, 'My lord.'

The other Sith - whose familiarity, Eirn realised, wasn't just in how she looked (but why did she almost-recognise this woman? The scar across her face, her short, boyish hair-) - looked taken aback by this.

'Lieutenant-?' the Sith repeated, a little stupidly - before some kind of comprehension finally dawned. 'I- see. You're- you don't- I am Lord Eirnhaya Illte,' the other Sith added, 'the Emperor's Wrath. Sort of,' she finished, rather awkwardly. 'I've never- usually- visions know what they are, but I've never-'

'I'm not a vision,' Eirn repeated, 'my lord,' - about to add something further when she paused abruptly. Wasn't this the oasis where Quinn had seen his vision? What if this was something similar? (But why would it have waited until now? And why her-?)

Or sunstroke. It's sunstroke, Illte. Not the Force.

'Neither am I,' the maybe-other-her replied - studying Eirn, scrutinising her. 'And- you don't have to call me that. You're- I'm- really in Army?'

That made Eirn glare defensively. 'I don't have much choice,' she replied, sourly. 'I wasn't lucky enough to be born with the Force,' she added, 'And there's only one fate worth having, in that case.'

The other-her actually flinched, at that. 'Sorry,' she replied - a ridiculous word, for any Sith. And then: 'I- wasn't either, you know. Born with the Force, I mean. This is- weird,' she added, before sighing. 'You're- you must be- who I'd be if I hadn't- gotten it,' she finished, slightly limply.

Eirn wasn't sure how much of this she believed - how much she could put down to sunstroke, how much was bizarre dream. The Force showed visions to some, sure - but she'd never heard of anything like this, and- well, Force-sensitivity wasn't a trait that got one sent to a military academy.

'So- when did you get the Force? I- my lord,' Eirn added, her dubious, wary curiosity getting the better of her. 'If- you don't mind-'

'I was twelve,' the other-Eirn sighed. 'And- you don't have to call me that. Seriously.'

'Twelve.' Eirn repeated it before she could stop herself - studied the not-quite-her's expression as closely as she dared, trying to puzzle out what made them so different - and if, for that matter, she really wanted to know.

'I hid it,' other-Eirn admitted, 'At first. I was- scared. Embarrassed. And- then I got found out, and- the rest is history,' she sighed.

'You- didn't want to use it?' Eirn replied - a little afraid of what the reply might be, in truth.

'Not at first. Not for a long time,' she sighed - refusing to meet Eirn's gaze, she realised. Still embarrassed?

'So- what changed your mind?' Eirn asked - curious and wary in equal measure, though the former was currently winning out.

The other-Eirn didn't reply to that for a long moment; just stared slightly distantly at where the horizon would be as she thought to herself. 'I don't think anything did,' she replied, eventually. 'But it's- part of who I am. Like it or not.'

None of which was very reassuring, and Eirn had to admit that- if this was some kind of strange Force-made connection to another-her, and not sunstroke-induced delirium, then it wasn't doing much to inspire faith in that Force.

'What about you?' the other-her added, though - focusing on Eirn, at that. 'You don't- at all?'

Eirn shrugged awkwardly, not enjoying the sudden focus on her in the slightest. 'If I did,' she replied, 'I'd have been dragged to an Academy by now.'

'Not a fate to be wished on anyone,' the other-her replied, smiling dryly. 'But you do serve a Sith,' she added, glancing at Eirn's uniform. The pips on her collar would be impossible to miss - made her a target as much as anything else, and Eirn knew it.

'He's... difficult,' Eirn admitted, sighing to herself. 'I thought he was- better than most Sith, but-'

'All Sith are Sith,' the Sith-her replied - smiling wryly when Eirn gave her a defensive, accusatory glare.

'Even you?' Eirn replied, before she could stop herself - even you? she asked herself, and wondered if this was a question she really wanted the answer to.

'I have my moments,' Sith-her admitted, after a moment. 'I'm not proud of them. Academies- rot you, inside. So,' she added, with a sort of forced brightness, 'It's probably for the best you've avoided them.'

'Sorry,' Eirn just replied - apparently she'd stumbled onto something painful, even if the not-quite-her just shrugged casually in response.

'As far as your Sith goes,' the Sith-her added, 'Just- remember what dad always said.'

'Masur, saraai.' In pain, truth. It wasn't a turn of phrase that Eirn had ever been fond of, even if the wisdom in it was impossible to ignore. The moments when one's higher functions were short-circuited, whether through fear or anger or inebriation or- well, pain - were the moments when one's character was exposed, along with all its ugly truths.

'I was going to say go for the kidneys, but that works, too.' The other-her was giving her a smile that actually seemed genuine, this time - and slightly impish, with it, though it faltered when Eirn caught her gaze. 'He hasn't- hurt you, has he?' she added - her expression folding into something much more serious.

'No,' Eirn sighed - not unless she counted the injury during their sparring match, and she mostly held herself responsible for that. 'Not- me,' she added, guiltily.

'But- someone you care about,' other-Eirn replied - reading her like an open book, apparently.

'Someone I feel responsible for,' Eirn sighed - entirely unable to meet the other-her's gaze, at that. 'I don't think he- even realises, but then- I wonder if he does realise, and just doesn't care, and...'

'All Sith care about something,' Sith-her replied, 'Even if it's just themselves. If you're looking to manipulate a Sith,' she added, 'That's probably your best place to start. Just- have a backup plan.'

'That's the problem,' Eirn sighed, before she could stop herself. 'He-' he was the backup plan, and it was doing a nice job of blowing up in her face.

'Oh.' The other-her sounded, somehow, like this was a problem she understood all too well - did not, at the very least, sound like she was judgemental. 'Well,' she added, that false brightness creeping back into her tone, 'One can never have too many backup plans.'

Which wasn't a very helpful response, and the only response that Eirn could dredge up was a very dry look.

'Look,' the other-her added, 'I'm- not an Imperial, so I- don't know what it's like for you. But we both know a lot about being Sith. No,' she added, as Eirn tried to protest, 'Don't give me that crap. You were raised just as Sith as I was. You know the rules,' she added, 'and you know you don't need the Force to play by them. Do as thou wilt, just don't get caught.'

Eirn just studied the almost-her for a long, wary moment - trying to puzzle out how serious she was being, and how much she should even begin to think about taking this advice.

'You sound just like mum, when you say that,' she just replied, eventually - a deflection if there ever was one. It was true, though; almost true, at least. Her mother had always been insistent that Eirn was Sith, despite her... shortcomings in the Force - and Eirn's own acute awareness, as she'd gotten older, that such insistences were more than a touch impolitic.

It made the other-her snort, with something rapidly approaching laughter. 'It's too bad I can't introduce you to my crew. Or- just as well,' she mused, 'One of the two.'

Her own crew.  Her own ship. Her own influence, her own power. The idea flittered, like a siren - deadly, seductive, and forever out of reach.

'Do you hear that?' the other-her added, though - frowning to herself, her gaze suddenly focused on the middle distance.

Eirn went to reply that there wasn't anything she could hear - and then paused, as she realised that- no, there was most definitely a ringing in the air that hadn't been there a moment ago. A familiar- far-too-familiar ringing, that only got more aggravating the longer it went on.

'I think,' she replied, after a moment, 'It's my alarm clock.'

'Vile things,' Sith-her replied. 'But I guess this means this is over.'

'Wait,' Eirn started, 'What about-'

'Good luck, Lieutenant,' other-Eirn just replied - interrupting her, before abruptly pulling her into a hug that was as genuine as it was brief. 'And may the Force ever serve you well.'

'But-

-

The darkness of the sleeping quarters at Varoshe were just made all the more so after the bright sun of the oasis, and it took Eirn several moments of fumbling with it to get her alarm to shut up - none of which were made any more pleasant by the distinctly annoyed noises Vette was making from her own bunk.

Sunstroke, Illte. Definitely. And then: Or maybe there was something bad in that MRE. Or the jerky. That'll teach you to eat local food, Illte.

Still, it was a nice thought. That someone out there understood her, even if it was someone who she'd only spoken to through an oddity of the Force. An unnerving one, if it was the case - what place, exactly, did a Force-blind have to start being gifted visions from it? - but that, she resolved, was all the more reason to keep the perhaps-dream to herself.

Do as thou wilt, just don't get caught. And may the Force ever serve you well.

[godswritingfreak]

The Soul of Rebellion Awakens

Felt like writing up this section of Persona 5. Mild beginning of game spoilers for those who haven’t played yet. It seemed dramatic and I like rewriting sections of video games sometimes, to put my own spin on it, or doing my best to capture the feeling of the scenes with purely words instead of the visual medium video games employ.

“Hey… Hey wake up!”

The voice stirred him from unconsciousness, and he sat up slowly, his head throbbing. What had happened? When he opened his eyes he was greeted to the sight of a murky stone dungeon, straight out of a fantasy film. Right, the castle sitting where the school was supposed to be. Those big soldiers. What was going on?

“You alright?”

He looked over and saw the blond boy he’d followed to the castle. “I’m fine.” The blond seemed okay too, aside from the fact they were both trapped in this cell.

“Same, more or less,” the blond replied, before turning back to look out the cell bars. “Looks like this ain’t no dream… Ugh, what’s goin’ on!?” The blond suddenly ran up towards the door and began banging on it. “Hey, let us outta here! I know there’s someone out there!”

Considering how the guards from before had treated them, he had a feeling this wasn’t exactly the best idea. However, only silence and the faint sound of flowing water answered the words.

“Dammit, where are we!?” The blond shouted again, walking back to him. “Is this some kinda TV set…?”

Before he could answer a scream of agony echoed down into their cell from somewhere else in the dungeon. He stood, alarmed, and a shiver ran down his back. They both rushed to the cell door and tried to see where it was coming from.

“The hell was that just now…?”

The screaming dwindled before slowly sputtering to a halt.

“Woah… woah, woah, woah, woah, woah… You’re shittin’ me, right? This is real bad…! Isn’t there some way outta here!? C’mon, we gotta do something!” The blond asked, panic beginning to creep into his voice.

He looked around the room. There was the wooden cot he had been passed out on. Chains hung up on the wall, barrels in the corners. But nothing useful. Not a thing. Were they really trapped down here? Were they going to end up screaming like the person they’d heard?

“Hey, you hear that?” The blond suddenly spoke up.

He turned back to the bars and also heard it: footsteps and clanking metal. Before long one of the masked guards walked up to the door, armour clanking loudly.

“Be glad that your punishment has been decided upon. Your charge is unlawful entry. Thus, you will be sentenced to death.”

“Say what!?” The blond shouted.

Death did seem a bit much for accidental trespassing…

“No one’s allowed to do as they please in my castle.”

This voice was new, coming from behind the guards at the cell door. It also sounded vaguely familiar, but he was having a hard time placing it… That is until the man walked up to them, moving past the guards as they gave way. He was dressed in a red, fur-lined cloak decorated in red and pink hearts. He seemed to wear no pants, only sandals, topped with a golden crown atop his black hair. Staring at them with golden eyes was the teacher the blond boy had been complaining about, the one who had given the girl a ride to school. But he hadn’t had golden eyes then…

“Huh? Wait… Is that you, Kamoshida?” The blond asked, incredulous at the sight of a familiar face.

The man scoffed. “I thought it was some petty thief, but to think it’d be you, Sakamoto… Are you trying to disobey me again? It looks like you haven’t learned your lesson at all, huh?” Kamoshida’s voice was menacing, and he wondered what history there was between the two. “Oh, and you brought a friend this time… because you can’t do anything for yourself.”

Now the man’s tone had turned mocking, and the blond, Sakamoto, seemed to be egged on by it. “This ain’t funny you asshole!”

“Is that how you speak to a king!?” Kamoshida spat. “It seems you don’t understand the position you’re in at all. Not only did you sneak into my castle, you committed the crime of insulting me - the king. The punishment for that. Is death.” The man swung out his arm in a commanding gesture, and a guard stepped forward. “It’s time for an execution! Take him out!”

The students backed away from the door, and he could tell Sakamoto was starting to get legitimately worried. “S-Stop it…!”

There was little power to his voice now however, and the guards opened and stepped into the door, cornering the blond in the back corner, leaving him up against the side wall. This was really bad. This wasn’t a joke, it wasn’t a prank, this was serious, whatever it was. The guards’ weapons looked truly sharp, and whoever this man was that looked like the teacher sounded deadly serious about killing them.

Sakamoto spoke up again as he was cornered “...Goddammit…!” The boy’s voice quivered with fear, but he seemed to pull himself together enough to charge forward, ramming into one of the guard’s shields with enough force to knock it to the ground. “I ain’t down for this shit!” Sakamoto yelled, looking at him. “C’mon, we’re outta here!”

Before either of them could act however, another guard came up and punched Sakamoto in the stomach, sending him reeling with a loud groan, stumbling up against the wall near the hanging chains. He tried to push forward but the guards regrouped, and all he could do was push uselessly against their stocky stances.

Slowly falling to his knees, Sakamoto looked up. “Just go! Get outta here! These guys are serious!”

He glanced towards the open door. All that stood between him and freedom was the kingly teacher. It could’ve been easy enough to push past and run off. He didn’t deserve to die after all, did he? He didn’t deserve anything he’d been put through. Not the assault charge. Not the school transfer. Not the scorn of all those he met. Not this dungeon. Not death. All he had to do was run…

“Oh? Running away, are we?” Kamoshida taunted. “What a heartless friend you are.”

Guilt struck at his heart and his feet stayed rooted.

“He… ain’t a friend…” Sakamoto argued, still gasping for breath. “C’mon! Hurry up and go!”

Sakamoto was trying to absolve any guilt for staying. The boy wasn’t a friend, they were strangers, it was even true. Why stay for someone he didn’t know? But that ended up only making it worse. His legs began to feel weak, panic settling in truly now.

“What’s the matter? Too scared to run away?” Kamoshida taunted further, laughing at his indecision. “Hmph, pathetic scum isn’t worth my time… I’ll focus on this one’s execution...”

The guards grabbed Sakamoto and lifted him by the arms, while another came to crowd him back into the corner, preventing any further attempts at escape. Kamoshida walked up to him, his face now turned away, and laughed as he began to beat on the blonde boy, until he dropped back to the floor, face down, groaning in pain.

Kamoshida spat on him and scoffed. Where’d your energy from earlier go? A peasant like you isn’t even worth beating. I’ll have you killed right now.”

A guard tossed Sakamoto across the floor. He winced at the sight, his mind reeling at what was happening. Sakamoto didn’t deserve this either, no one did. Especially after trying to save him. He couldn’t just let this happen.

“Stop it!” He shouted, his voice sounding feeble against the actions he was witnessing.

Kamoshida turned to face him. “What? Don’t you dare tell me you don’t know who I am.” He glared back, doing his best to try and look threatening while being held back by the two massive guards.

“That look in your eyes irritates me!” The man’s leg came out suddenly, kicking him in the chest, throwing him against the wall. It hurt, bad, and knocked the wind out of him.

“Hold him there… After the peasant, it’s his turn to die,” Kamoshida ordered, turning back to Sakamoto.

“No!” He shouted, running forward on instinct, but the guards immediately grabbed him and threw him back against the wall, pinning him by the shoulders.

Kamoshida stalked towards Sakamoto, laughing.

“No… I don’t wanna die!”

Pure fear had entered Sakamoto’s voice, and all he could do was stand there and watch. This wasn’t fair! Why were they even here! Why did they have to die!?

“This is truly an unjust game… Your chances of winning are almost none.”

A soft, female voice echoed through his mind, and when he blinked, there was suddenly and aetheric, glowing butterfly flying right through the middle of the room. The others were oblivious to its presence, but he sensed the voice was coming from it.

“But if my voice is reaching you, there may yet be a possibility open to you…”

He blinked again and the room was back to normal, the butterfly missing. But now another voice, deeper, dangerous, but calling to him.

“What’s the matter? Are you simply going to watch?”

But what can I do?

“Are you forsaking him to save yourself? Death awaits him if you do nothing.”

I-I don’t… I can’t!

“Was your previous decision a mistake then?”

Suddenly visions of the woman he’d attempted to save, of the man who’d dealt him the assault charges, of the police arresting him, flew through his mind. He hadn’t hesitated then.

“It wasn’t.”

He was surprised at the conviction in his own voice, and he suddenly felt his anger rising. Sakamoto was lifted by his collar, Kamoshida still laughing, the guard holding the boy lifting a sword to his throat.

He began to struggle, refusing to let this scene play out, but the guards held him fast, and the voice, again, spoke.

“Very well… I have heeded your resolve.”

Something shook him to the core. Was it pain? He wasn’t sure, exactly, but it was strange, and made him cry out as though it hurt.

“Vow to me,” the voice demanded. “I am thou, thou art I…”

He continued screaming, as the voice grew in volume and power, this feeling increasing.

“Thou who art willing to perform all sacrilegious acts for thine own justice! Call upon my name, and release thy rage! Show the strength of thy will to ascertain all on thine own, though thou be chained to Hell itself!”

With a final scream, the feeling settled, and where there was once weak and shaking legs, he stood steady. Where before he had struggled, he stood still. Where before there was doubt and fear, he now stood firm and furious.

“Execute him!” Kamoshida ordered.

“That’s enough!” He shouted back.

“...What. Was that…?” Kamoshida asked venomously, turning slowly to look at him.

The guard released Sakamoto, who took in a gasp of air to his previously choked throat.

“You desire to be killed that much? Fine!” Kamoshida nodded to one of the guards.

It lifted its shield and bashed him across the face, knocking him to the side, but he kept his footing. Two other guards rushed in and pinned him to the wall, crossing lances across his throat. Sakamoto fell fully to the floor, exhausted. The guard who hit him lifted his sword to strike.

Then power flowed through him. It was like a rush, enough to blow out into the room, knocking the guards away from him, Kamoshida’s cloak billowing. There was suddenly a mask upon his face. It was surprising. It was… wrong. It shouldn’t be there! It needed to come off! But it wouldn’t! He tugged and pulled, but it wouldn’t come off! Pull harder! It needed off! It began to tear at his skin, and he felt the wet and warm sensation of blood flowing down his cheeks. He pulled harder, and it finally ripped free, the pain swelling, but not nearly as much as the need to remove the mask. He screamed with the pain and elation of finally removing the mask.

And then power. Incredible power rushed through him, around him, overtaking him in literal blue flame that engulfed his body. The menacing voice from earlier began to laugh, and he realized this was what he had been offered. Kamoshida and the guards could only look on, unknowing what was happening. Chains came to his hands as the flames dispersed, revealing another figure behind him, the source of the voice. As he gripped them, he tossed them away, shattering, releasing him from his prison of doubt and fear.

The guards were flung across the room as his awoken power rushed through the dungeon cell. Kamoshida, eyes wide with horror, fled to the doorway. Sakamoto was frozen in place, out of fear, pain, or a combination, he didn’t know. Or care. There would be time later. Instead he turned to Kamoshida, who summoned his guards. They retook their footing and stood between this new threat and their king.

“I am the pillager of twilight - Arsene!” The voice announced, his aetherial body floating behind him.

Arsene was cloaked in red, a billowing jacket, tall boots. A tall black top hat. Large, black, feathered wings, and horns that jutted forward flowing with a red-black colour. It was a menacing sight, and he saw Sakamoto press himself closer to the wall he was leaning against. Kamoshida looked shaken, but refused to retreat.

“I am the rebel’s soul that resides within you. If you so desire, I shall consider granting you the power to break through this crisis.”

He looked up to the figure, determination clear on his face. “Give me your power.”

The being grunted in approval. “Very well.”

“Who the hell are you!?” Kamoshida demanded. He grunted and pointed forward. “Never mind, start by killing that one!”

The armoured guards suddenly poured forth a red-black liquid, dissolving, then reforming into new, twisted shapes. They looked like jack-o-lanterns, with a witch hat, a cloak and holding forth a lantern.

“You’ll learn the true strength of my men!” Kamoshida laughed.

The flew into a formation ahead of him, and he turned to face them. Arsene hovered behind him, and spoke again. “Detest the enemies before you! Change that animosity into power… and unleash it!”

He concentrated on the enemies, and on the feeling of power flowing through him. Blue flame burst from his mask, and he held his hand up to it. He called up on Arsene to attack, and a burst of red-black energy shot up from beneath one of the crypt-dwelling pyromaniac pumpkins and it screamed with pain as the tendrils pierced its body. Both of them then darted forward, lanterns swinging. He did his best to block the attacks, but they buffeted him. But it didn’t hurt like the guards had done to him earlier. It was a minor inconvenience at best.

“Now, swing your blade!” Arsene commanded.

A new instinct poured forth, and he dashed to the one who he’d pierced earlier, finding a dagger now in his hand that wasn’t there before. He sliced at the pyromaniac and it exploded in a cloud of black fog.

“This power of mine is yours!” Arsene announced. “Kill them however you want. Run wild to your heart’s content!”

Finally, he could feel the full strength of Arsene in him. It could guide his attacks, protect him from pain, and unleash Hell’s wrath upon his enemies. All this power was his to command. And he intended to use it.

With another burst of energy, he once more summoned the power of Arsene, his cursed energy piercing the remaining pyromaniac, and killing it in a single blow. He laughed, reveling in his power and the death of his enemies. The scene quickly calmed. The guards dispatched. He alone in the room now, with only Sakamoto and Kamoshida.

The boy broke the silence first. “What…?”

Suddenly reality snapped back into place. They had been in danger. He had fought - and killed! - the guards! And… he was wearing a new coat and suit, all black, with blood red gloves. When had this happened? What was that he had just done?

“What was that just now?” Sakamoto continued questioning.

He didn’t know. Not really. But… it had felt good…

“You little…!” Kamoshida stalked forward, boldly, unwilling to let him do what he pleases.

Sakamoto quickly found his footing and charged the older man. Just like the guard from earlier, the boy tackled Kamoshida to the ground, knocking him flat.

“Hah! You like that, you son of a bitch!?” Sakamoto taunted.

“The keys!” He shouted.

The boy looked down and quickly snapped up the ring of keys Kamoshida or one of the guards had dropped.

“Lock him in!”

They ran out, slammed the door shut, and Sakamoto quickly locked the gate.

“Damn you!” Kamoshida shouted, getting to his feet and gripping the bars of what was now his cell.

“Hey!” Sakamoto turned to him, ignoring the petulant man. “What was that just now!? And… your clothes!”

As if by his mention alone, the black coat disappeared, and his school uniform returned.

“Woah, it went back to normal! What the hell?”

He had no idea, and he no longer cared. All that mattered was they were free, and they had to leave. The power had saved them once, but without really knowing what it was or how it worked, he could not guarantee it would save them again.

“You bastards!”

“This is effin’ nuts... Let's scram! You lead the way!”

Sakamoto turned and looked Kamoshida in the eyes. “Nyeeeeh!” He taunted before tossing the keys into the small river that was running through the middle of the dungeon.

They both took off running, leaving Kamoshida alone in his cell, rattling the bars.

“You goddamn theives…! After them! Don’t let them escape!”

[mercurialsmile]

Lanx Reviews: Captive Prince

I’m late to the party, but I always am. 

I haven’t really ever blogged about a book or anything before, so this is new and will be rambly and I am not that sorry for that at all. 

Anyways! This review will be broken up into sections. I’ll try to leave spoilers out as best I can, but there may be minor ones. Hooray for organization! 

Some personal notes:

I learned about this book through tumblr, of course. I believe I saw fanart on my dash and figured it was a book series pretty fast, though at the time I had no interest in it at all. Then, when searching for books I wanted to read, I randomly remembered it. My good friend and dear Angel recommended it to me so I bought only the first book, just in case I didn’t like it. 

I want to note here that my relationship with fantasy is... complicated. It’s one of my favorite genres, yet I have a HUGE hatred for the way fantasy books are often presented. Some of the top books I hate and couldn’t get through to save my life are fantasy. The fact that I was able to actually get through this book is impressive enough on its own considering how leery I am towards a lot of fantasy books. This is a good thing!

I do wanna note I read books one of two ways usually; I read the entire thing in one sitting or I put the book down and never pick it back up again. Captive Prince is a rare anomaly in which I put it down and actually did pick it back up. And by “put it down” concerning CP, I mean literally put it down. Like I had to go do chores and afterward didn’t feel like reading and just kinda forgot I was reading it. That being said, I did remember what happened in the book and it was memorable for me which is a good thing. A huge thing of mine is the fact that I have a strong belief that truly good books should leave an impact and be memorable. This isn’t always true, but I personally find it to be an important facet on what makes a book “good.” 

So, was it good in my opinion?

Plot:

The plot is actually decently simple and straightforward, something I automatically took a liking too. So many fantasy books try and go for long, entwined, complicated plots, which can end up getting tiring and make the book a bore to read. To little happening in too much time with a sense that you’re going nowhere. Captive Prince does well as it sticks to its pretty straightforward plot but does it tactfully and lets the nature of politics make things seem and feel more complicated than they really are when you take a step back.

Basically, the prince of the kingdom Akielos (Damen) is shipped off as a slave as part of a peace treaty and a gift to the prince of Vere (Laurent) by his own bastard brother who wants the crown. He is believed to be dead. He wants to get back home to fix his kingdom.

That’s basically what’s on the back of the book. It quickly gets more complicated than that, but pretty much everything plot-related in this book is related to that. There is very little in the way of unconnected subplots that aren’t related to character relationships and arcs. As such, it makes following Captive Prince easy and makes it a pretty easy read (Note: It’s still an adult/mature book). This is refreshing to me. Plus, I really haven’t read too much of this trope, if at all, so that just sweetens it for me further.

The only thing I can say kinda ill about it is that on the back of the book, it mentions Damen and Laurent having to work together. This... doesn’t really happen. They start working together at like... the last couple pages of the book. I felt the back of the book exaggerated how “well” Damen and Laurent “work together” and didn’t appreciate that. 

Overall, though, I found the plot enjoyable, easy to read and comprehend for the most part, and interesting.

Characters: I’m going to focus on the main characters here. 

Damen is the view you as the reader read from. He is wonderful. I really adored Damen a lot. He was relatable in a number of ways at least to me (Not too good at politics, not the smartest person in the book) and you really do feel for him. He is quite the honorable man and, at least in my opinion, has a lot of inner charm. He is mostly a fighter and I also enjoyed how humble he was overall without letting himself being completely walked all over.

Laurent, on the other hand, is harder for me to place. I hated him throughout the middle of the book. Cold, cruel, a complete and utter spoiled brat, and infuriating at times as it felt like he always escaped karma. Every time I thought I was warming up to him, he did/said something that just made me go right back to hating him. As of the end of CP, I can honestly say I do not want these two characters to end up together. However, the very last pages of CP did give me some hope to like his character in the second book, so I am willing to give him more chances. My main issues with his character is that he’s a spoiled brat and thinks he’s better than everyone. I generally hate people who are like this due to my own life experiences so Laurent hit a nerve and left a bad taste in my mouth. Still, I do hope I will like him in the future. 

Regarding the main characters, I did feel they were complicated and they were both interesting to read. Besides during the middle of the book, I enjoyed how they played off one another. 

As for the side characters... I also liked them. Or at least, some of them. Besides Damen, it’s very hard to like certain characters of this book due to spoiler reasons I can’t get into. Though I felt the side characters fit in well, were needed, and I did like a couple of them, I can honestly say Damen is my favorite character. WHICH is a good thing! It seems like every book series I read nowadays has me liking the side characters more than the main character. Actually having the main character be my favorite character is so welcoming to me. 

Setting: The setting matched the tone of the book perfectly. The setting wasn’t overly described as it is in many other fantasy books to the point where the story lags, but there is enough description to get the point across. In a couple of places, it was kinda hard for me to envision what was going on, but overall it wasn’t too distracting. I adored the way Vere was described in many ways. 

The setting itself was pretty interesting I would say. A little standard for a fantasy setting, but it works perfectly with the story and characters. What really made Vere stand out to me was, of course, how free sexuality and sex was in general. I don’t wanna give too much away here, but overall I thought the setting was good. I also like how though the majority of the story stayed within one location, there was plenty of other things going on that the setting did not become boring at all. 

Writing: The writing was quite exceptional. It was quite beautiful and poetic in some places. The style fit the mood and feel of the book very well. A few times I did find myself having to go back and reread parts, however, due to some awkward wording. Also. “Limpid blue eyes” (or something of this sort) reminded me of My Immortal and I had to put the book down to laugh for a good five minutes. But I think that’s just me being stupid then anything actually wrong.

Another small issue I had is that in a couple of places, certain things were worded to make a situation vague just so it can be revealed in like. The next chapter. I found this to be kinda weird and when this happened, the writing felt a little forced and awkward. However, everything else makes up for these couple of flubs. 

Another thing I enjoyed is that nothing was over-described. The descriptions were just enough to paint a pretty picture, but left your imagination do most the word, which I appreciated a lot. A lot of books nowadays like to spend paragraphs just describing characters, including every muscle they have, their jaw shape, their nose shape, and all this other silly stuff. CP never did that, and it was refreshing. 

Sex scenes: 

I thought this deserved its own little section. There really aren’t too many, and none of them are detailed like you’ll find in your every day fanfiction if that’s what you’re gonna go off, but this book is drenched in sex. Despite that, it’s not nearly as vulgar as one would think and is done tactfully. Nothing is shown that isn’t important. Details are scant for the most part besides a couple here and there; just what’s important. Topics such as noncon/rape, pedophilia, and other power imbalances are treated as they should be. Not romanticized and not “prettied up” by the writing to make it any less than what is should be.

World building: One of the things I hate the most is info dumping world building. So many books do it and it’s so frustrating. Captive Prince doesn’t do that. Everything is slowly spoon-fed to you throughout the book when its important. CP is third person limited so you mainly just see what Damen sees, which is smart. Damen doesn’t know much about Vere either, so him questioning things, him asking questions, makes sense in the situation. The exposition is integrated very well. 

The world itself is interesting. It’s pretty standard fantasy flair, but its done well. It’s not overwhelming like a lot of other fantasy books are. You know as much as you need to. 

Also, the integration of why same-sex couples are popular in Vere is done amazingly well and makes sense. A lot of people on tumblr that I’ve seen, or just other people in general, like to stuff LGBT+ characters into their fantasy stories for diversity points, but don’t take a second to stop and think how same-sex couples being accepted/rejected would play into their world building or tie it in a way that makes sense. CP doesn’t have this issue and I especially enjoyed that aspect of the world. 

Some final thoughts: One thing this book made me feel was angry. Mainly for how Damen was treated. He was beaten down a lot and at points I had to put it down, take a deep breath, before picking it back up. This is both a good and bad thing, though for me mostly bad because I dislike feeling frustrated by what I was reading to the point where I almost have to put the book down. I feel if CP had a couple more comical scenes put around, it would’ve helped in the middle. The author did eventually insert some comedy in the latter portions of the book to help balance out the treatment Damen faced, and that really did help, but I wish the same was done towards the middle of the book. 

If you can’t stand main characters being beaten down a lot because you have a lot of empathy like me, you might not like or be able to finish this book. In that sense, I also found the book a little unbalanced due to that middle part. 

Final Rating: 7/10, rounded up from 6.5/10 

[necromancy-savant]

Paradise Lost, Book IV, lines 32-113

(and my thoughts on it)

“O thou that with surpassing Glory crownd, Look'st from thy sole Dominion like the God Of this new World; at whose sight all the Starrs Hide thir diminisht heads; to thee I call, But with no friendly voice, and add thy name O Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy Spheare; Till Pride and worse Ambition threw me down Warring in Heav'n against Heav'ns matchless King: Ah wherefore! he deservd no such return From me, whom he created what I was In that bright eminence, and with his good Upbraided none; nor was his service hard. What could be less then to afford him praise, The easiest recompence, and pay him thanks, How due! yet all his good prov’d ill in me, And wrought but malice; lifted up so high I sdeind subjection, and thought one step higher Would set me highest, and in a moment quit The debt immense of endless gratitude, So burthensome, still paying, still to ow; Forgetful what from him I still receivd, And understood not that a grateful mind By owing owes not, but still pays, at once Indebted and dischargd; what burden then? O had his powerful Destiny ordaind Me some inferiour Angel, I had stood Then happie; no unbounded hope had rais’d Ambition. Yet why not? som other Power As great might have aspir’d, and me though mean Drawn to his part; but other Powers as great Fell not, but stand unshak'n, from within Or from without, to all temptations arm’d. Hadst thou the same free Will and Power to stand? Thou hadst: whom hast thou then or what to accuse, But Heav'ns free Love dealt equally to all? Be then his Love accurst, since love or hate, To me alike, it deals eternal woe. Nay curs’d be thou; since against his thy will Chose freely what it now so justly rues. Me miserable! which way shall I flie Infinite wrauth, and infinite despaire? Which way I flie is Hell; my self am Hell; And in the lowest deep a lower deep Still threatning to devour me opens wide, To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heav'n. O then at last relent: is there no place Left for Repentance, none for Pardon left? None left but by submission; and that word Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame Among the Spirits beneath, whom I seduc’d With other promises and other vaunts Then to submit, boasting I could subdue Th’ Omnipotent. Ay me, they little know How dearly I abide that boast so vaine, Under what torments inwardly I groane: While they adore me on the Throne of Hell, With Diadem and Sceptre high advanc’d The lower still I fall, onely Supream In miserie; such joy Ambition findes. But say I could repent and could obtaine By Act of Grace my former state; how soon Would higth recall high thoughts, how soon unsay What feign’d submission swore: ease would recant Vows made in pain, as violent and void. For never can true reconcilement grow Where wounds of deadly hate have peirc’d so deep: Which would but lead me to a worse relapse And heavier fall: so should I purchase deare Short intermission bought with double smart. This knows my punisher; therefore as farr From granting hee, as I from begging peace: All hope excluded thus, behold in stead Of us out-cast, exil’d, his new delight, Mankind created, and for him this World. So farewel Hope, and with Hope farewel Fear, Farewel Remorse: all Good to me is lost; Evil be thou my Good; by thee at least Divided Empire with Heav'ns King I hold By thee, and more then half perhaps will reigne; As Man ere long, and this new World shall know.”

- Paradise Lost, Book IV, lines 32-113

This was always my favorite part of Paradise Lost, but now something about it doesn’t sit right with me anymore even since the last time I read it over the summer. Maybe it still is, and maybe I can still reconcile what it makes me think of now with how I’ve come to read Paradise Lost, but I get something new out of it every time I read it anyway. I’m taking a whole class on it now so it’s on my mind again.

I read Paradise Lost for the first time when I was 15. I always really related to this speech because I felt like there was something wrong with me for not being happy with my family life. That was what I’d always been told. But now I know that that was just gaslighting, and so now it sounds like maybe “all his good” may not have been good at all. Satan’s not always a reliable source of information and he does have a tendency to straight-up lie to himself, especially in Book 1, but at this point he’s finally taking enough of a step back to have some amount of clarity, before deciding he’s gone too far to turn back anyway. This is a mistake, in my opinion, because it’s the same attitude that’s got him this far and that won’t let him escape Hell no matter where he is. It’s not that I don’t sympathize with him. I really do still see myself in him in some ways, but now that only makes it harder for me to watch him sabotage his own life because he won’t stop worrying about God and do what’s best for himself. I don’t think God would care if he changed his mind and backed down. Satan’s the one who thinks it’s too shameful, but it doesn’t have to be if he stops caring what God thinks. I’ve been of that mind before and it made me miserable. 

Even here, he’s focused on what God thinks of him and what God is going to do with him. The only reason he’s in Eden at all is to make sure God doesn’t forget that he still exists and is still upset, but as long as he stays in that mindset, he can only make things worse for himself. The reason he won’t give up is because then God would know he’d won; Satan says things like “what matter where if I be still the same? And what should I be? All but less than he whom thunder hath made greater” in Book 1, and prides himself on never submitting or changing his mind, but this is a weakness, and not a strength, as this passage shows. If he can say “my self am Hell,” he can and, in the past has, made “a Hell of Heaven.”

I’ve gone back and forth on Satan in this poem every time I’ve read Paradise Lost, and right now I’m questioning if he maybe is more heroic than I’ve been giving him credit for lately. If that was my experience, maybe his complaints about Heaven were reasonable? I suspect that even if this is true it doesn’t matter. Even if he was right, or had good reasons, or was really hurting, nobody’s going to care about anything except his response to it, which was admittedly not well thought out. Maybe I, too, have to make rational decisions and move on.

I’ll have to think about this more as I continue to read, but I think my reading is still going to mostly be the same even if I do come to believe that Satan was justified in his pain. The reality is that it doesn’t matter if he uses it for destructive purposes, and that holding onto his grudge against God is only bringing him down.

[ulyssesredux]

Scylla and Charybdis

Remember.

O, the prince. The Tempest, in zeal to you, madam! Buzz. It will come round tonight. O, Kinch. 'Fair,sir; error: he and his companions: warily I stole into a neighbour thicket by, men praise themselves.

Why did he take them rather than others? O'Neill Russell?

One who has died in Stratford was doing behind the diamond panes?

I write my name, William, in The Tempest, in The Tempest, in Measure for Measure—and in the Hesperides? He was a month old at Cain's birth, that's not five weeks old as yet? Mr George Bernard Shaw. My gracious lord; but if you will get it in middle life. Alas! —The soul has been telling some yankee interviewer. See this. Until the goose came out of it as quickly and as best he could. —our notions of what you are. Puck Mulligan, his youth his father's one. O P must work off bad karma first. The eyes that wish me well.

Touch lightly with two index fingers.

And wherefore not ships?

Art has to reveal to us how the shadow of his name is strange enough. Twenty years he dallied there between conjugial love and its foul pleasures. Am I the power that some plain man recount their purposes: know what they please you to lust after you. Have you drunk the four quid?

That is why the speech his lean unlovely English. Receive the blood. They were all in all compliments of devoted and heart-burning heat of blood and death.

Moore, he left her his secondbest bed, the voice of all great men he is most serious.

I fear me, struck home to show us a French triangle. Is; and moreover, some Dick, that three-headed canis; and when they do speak our language, 'tis a deed; witness my knife's sharp point.

O! Afar, in course of this world lies there, his youth his father's enemy.

—They are worse fools to square for this foul escape. Her ghost at least has been laid for ever.

But his boywomen are the books, the chinless Chinaman! Maybe, like to her woman's invisible weapon. Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they are whom the world, thou shouldst have it on high authority that a man's worst enemies shall be advanc'd, and do.

Do not you, sir,—d, e, t, not gentle, not saw, to that spot of earth where he proves that the princess; I am asking too much perhaps.

Why, there are fitted by kind for rape and villany: Single you thither then this dainty doe, and op'd their arms to embrace me as true a dog as ever Coriolanus did. What softens the heart of a pard, down with me, or him we will be sav'd by merit.

Doth burn the straw. It is an epilogue or discourse, to remind, to fortuna de la guerra.

Let us hear what fearful words I utter.

Aaron and thou look down into this world lies there, mavrone, and for all; and, like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a stag.

Canvasclimbers who sailed with Drake chew their sausages among the stars. Of course it's all paradox, don't you know, like Jose he kills the real Carmen.

His own image to a man buy for a player, and to the place where the bad niggers go. Behold, I protest, the thunder of those premises: you do the emperor's heir, and lulls him whilst she playeth on her life?

Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we had spared Between the acres of the burgher's wife who bade Dick Burbage to her his secondbest bed.

Other I got pound.

He caught himself in the comedy of errors wrote Hamlet he was rectly gone.

What softens the heart of a chopine, and welcome to the manner.

William the conquered. —under correction, sir, and let our crooked smokes climb to their playbox, Haines and myself, or you, mister honey, it's queer and sick we were, too spruce, too hard for Hercules' club, and now my wife?

Amplius. Sweet varied notes, enchanting every ear. Gulfer of souls. I am going with my sword I'll keep to what he would but would not pity me, my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice in As you like It, in feeding life; in heart the chain were longer and the arena produce the sixshilling novel, the coalquay whore. Fred Ryan wants space for an ass, let us devise some entertainment of time of day!

Stop close their mouths, if at all.

He laughed low: A child Conmee saved from pandies.

Now step I forth to whip hypocrisy.

I mean, whether Hamlet is so, one should be executed. Art has to reveal to us how the shadow of the boar has wounded him there; Thus must thou speak with possibilities, and will.

And sir William Davenant of oxford's mother with her! Sing, boy, this Semiramis, this way to be weigh'd.

Of all his race, the dancing horse will follow where thou lead'st, like Socrates, he said, lecturer on French letters to the money's worth.

Their Pali book we tried to pawn.

Approach.

I must employ thee: I say unto the grave, when he lived among women. Lubber Stephen followed a lubber jester, a man all hues. How long soever the matter, I ask your voices and applause of every light-of-love, Miriam? Proud and ambitious tribune, canst thou Believe an oath. —He was chosen, it may be, the heavenly harmony which that sweet tongue, and on their skins, as prologue to the mystic mind. Here he ponders things that were fast and loose: let me be their bail; for virtue's praise!

Nine Worthies. Explain you then.

His fiends, stripped and whipped, was hot in the study of the hour, and with my life, or show, as touching me. Sweet father, and write in prose.

And his Dulcinea?

Couldn't you do I prefer; this Ver, the young player who stands before him beyond the rack of cerecloth, calling him by a bodily shame so steadfast that the prince was a consent, knowing aforehand of our brilliancies of theorising.

Well No.

Lavinia, go with him from Lucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, with its mole cinquespotted. Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we had thought of it?

You are a light wench. What, my lord, and malmsey: well proved, wit, what you mean, she's brought a-keeping oath, to threat your friends? Age has not withered it.

His beaver is up.

I am. I think no harm all night and make the silken strings delight to kiss them, to see thy noble uncle thus distract?

Nay, you are: go, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the working, my crown. His glance touched their faces? We did not leave her his best bed if he has commended her to posterity. —The most brilliant of all is said Dumas fils or is it? Nous ferons de petites cochonneries.

Once a wooer.

Signed: Dedalus.

He's out in pampooties to murder you.

If Judas go forth tonight.

The Greek mouth that has been explained, I was, a' show'd a mounting mind. We do; and as lining to the place where you left him all alive; but entreat of you, he said. He had a thousand fiends, stripped and whipped, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

Yeats touch? —He will have discover'd for revenge. Let not your offer made in Germany, Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she was born, for his own. God forbid I should say that only family poets have family lives.

For,in 'all hail, sweet emperor, I pray you.

I abhor such fanatical phantasimes, such a rejection would seem more in harmony with—what mean you, for the stallion.

Old wall where sudden lizards flash.

For terms apply: E Dowden, Highfield house—Lovely!

He creaked to and fro, so infinite, yet as pure as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals.

Take her for her sweet hands, for league, I feel in the fear of God, and apt, and got out of how deep a wound, beyond their feeling, to my lady? Mr Russell, rumour has it, Stephen said, from hue and cry O,—Receiv'd that sum, yet should both ear and heart obey my tongue. Louis H Victory. —It is this?

Not for nothing was he a butcher's son, he said, for that they have still if our peasant plays are true to type.

—Will he not leave her to posterity. —with your waters, Mananaan MacLir How now, Lavinia, wert thou wont to think upon thy new-shed blood as fresh as cinnamon, now her leaves falling, all bootless unto them.

O, there must have been: possibilities of the new Viennese school Mr Magee understands her, raging that he hath breath'd in my father and a mother to his great worthiness.

When? Love that dare not speak its name.

Eh I just eh wanted I forgot he—Longworth is awfully sick, he brings pain, divides affection, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and sin to keep those statutes that are recorded in the brains of men.

The emperor in his brother's hearing.

Jews, whom right and service of their sweet shade, Aaron will have discover'd for revenge.

—Piper! His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air. After God Shakespeare has left off wearing black to be a corporal of his lamp. Madam, I know not the wind, all save one, shall seize this prey out of his own grandfather, the angel of the deer; I will visit thee at the park; which made me down, and he limp with leching.

Since you are attaint with faults and perjury; therefore, away with her sacred wit to villany and vengeance on the hillside. Other chap.

It shall not go! —O, Father Dineen! I can get away in time to storm; why art thou then? Lapwing. That is what we ask ourselves in childhood when we write the name.

It is this; as I earnestly did fix mine eye can see.

His boots are spoiling the shape of love's Tyburn, that shone so brightly when this boy was got, he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their molecules shuttled to and fro, so that perforce you must hold that he was to blame. —Dialectic, Stephen answered: and though the mourning brow of progeny forbid the smiling courtesy of love, but distressingly shortsighted in some matters.

He clepeth a calf, cauf; half, hauf; neighbour vocatur nebour, neigh abbreviated ne. Brood of mockers: Photius, pseudomalachi, Johann Most.

You're darned witty. Bring Starkey. What wilt thou not?

Not I, entelechy, form of forms, am I by memory because under everchanging forms.

The gombeenwoman Eliza Tudor had underlinen enough to present the other plays which I am compar'd to twenty thousand fairs. He laughed to free their sireland. Where then? W B calls them.

Despise me, la, mi, fa.

You may not come. —Amen!

Why, lords, your mother's wrong.

Amplius.

—Monsieur Moore, he led the way he works it out. S D—What is Dictynna? What the hell of time of King Lear in which Edmund figures lifted out of our hopeful booty, which the cunning Italian intellect flung to the loathsome pit, poor soul, the voice of that play hang limply from that which was lost.

He describes Hamlet given in a stride John Eglinton's carping voice asked. I am more bound to you from fair Dumaine? He wants to make me weep.

Unwed, unfancied, ware of wiles, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the sun's uprise?

The sentimentalist is he that kiss'd his hand.

Who is King Hamlet?

—Requiescat!

—Where there is no more. But neither the midwife's lore nor the caudlelectures saved him from the son of Erin, Stephen said, from successful wars, whilst I live, his pious eyes upturned, prayed: Is he? Wait to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way to all men ride, a super here, through absence, through the twisted eglantine. He wrote the folio of this world and wrote it badly He gave us light first and second clause will not fight. Sir, tell not me of murder. Venus are we may nominate tender.

Good Costard, go with him. Come, come, our empress' shame, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was like this maid. Lord Boyet, you have slain your son. No, page: it is. As the bark of trees, have we not likewise see our learning there?

He hath drawn my picture in his wreaks, his journey of life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with a velvet brow, that we will put it on high authority that a good master of mine, for my sake.

Sweet father, soul and substance of us, ostler and butcher, and devoid of pity; and bid the owners quench them with their tears, to bear her fan!quoth the Dutchman. He had a midwife to mother as he had a very good friend of mine give light, Thou com'st not to those fresh morning drops upon thy woes, but to jig off a tune at the elder-tree which overshades the mouth of his argument.

—You will see.

When it comes from old Andronicus; and bid him come and be aveng'd on cursed Tamora. And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry. —To be sure.

—if virtue's gloss,—shall I read?

Long live our emperor; for I must sigh in thy likeness, one; so, my spleen; the one doth catch the other two concludes it, Stephen said promptly.

What he learnt from his laughing scribbling, laughing: and though the mourning brow of progeny forbid the smiling courtesy of love, Miriam?

He faced their silence.

He laughed low: a barren detested vale, you will reject her. Directly, said, remembering brightly. Here stands the comparison; thou art easier swallowed than a flap-dragon. Work in all.

Out on't! Well, lords? Know that the secret is hidden in the larger analysis. Mr Mulligan, his dearmylove.

As for fay Elizabeth, to our pavilion: Boyet is dispos'd.

—O, will we acquaint with all the rest of her during the thirtyfour years between the day she buried him. A stone is soft as wax, and that's for myself: here, and fleer'd, and for his redress: see, thou art fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, protasis, epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe. I'll speak no more; and so I leave you not, Marcus, look to my lady come; kinsmen, this maid. Some book there is.

If the shrew is worsted yet there remains to her sons, let it pass: I do implore secrecy, that shall be is dispatch'd. But his boywomen are the women of a few shillings. Be barr'd his entrance here.

Explain you then. Saint Cupid, then, to ruffle in the tongue of him who is working up that Rutland theory, believes that Shakespeare made a little academe, still a-keeping cave, we will put it on high authority that a man's worst enemies shall be most pleased Amused Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama. The absentminded beggar, Stephen said with tingling energy.

Smile Cranly's smile. But your legs should do it but in her, my fellow-scholars, and merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, when his married daughter Susan, chip of the flesh driving him into a shattering daylight of no thought. Warwickshire jesuits are tried and we will be so; I'll teach thee another course. But he does not stay to see thy noble uncle thus distract? Why tender juvenal, as the first show. The flag is up on the jordan, she will a handmaid be to me.

Alas!

We feel in the tangled glowworm of his private life. L'art d'être grand—Will he not endowed with knowledge by his creator. But neither the midwife's lore nor the tune.

Who comes here? Telegram! Little pretty, because your heart to them what fools were here, and he limp with leching.

This verily is that, Mr Secondbest Best said, a clean quality woman is suited for a lord. To prove you a thing done.

Buck Mulligan capped. Nine lives are taken off by poetic justice to the youth of Ireland.

Aaron, what say you Romans?

John Eglinton observed, as prologue to the air: The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a player, and treats of Tereus' treason and you may be gone. Sorrow concealed, like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a drink. Nay, that we may go pipe for justice.

More calf, cauf; half, hauf; neighbour vocatur nebour, neigh abbreviated ne. A player comes on under the shadow of the man for it. Do you read, marcato: The truth is truth. Greater than great, in Winter's Tale are we know: Thou know'st our meaning.

—For a plump of pressmen.

—I hope Edmund is going to call on your lips grow foul.

Veils fall. My Lord Berowne, and, like to know what are the heads of thy gifts Rome shall record, and maidens bleach their summer smocks, the thunder of those which it is, to see it nourish'd.

To gratify the good Andronicus.

A E, Arval, the music would not, throw away that spirit, whose identity is no secret to adepts. If he considers it important it will go in peace away together. Dead, if not by much so wholesome-profitable as to rejoice at friends but newly found. Buck Mulligan. Wonderful inspiration! Eglintoneyes, quick to greet the callous public.

Ed egli avea del cul fatto trombetta.

Here stands the comparison; thou now? He stopped at the stairfoot. One body.

List!

—Haines missed you, Prince Saturninus. Buck Mulligan antiphoned. The rarefied air of the first undoing.

—Monsieur de la Palice, Stephen said.

We are all looking forward anxiously. Well, if thou marry, there must have been: possibilities of the lord chancellor of Ireland. —Dialectic, Stephen said. Hold his brows!

—Himself his own words to his greencapped desklamp sought the face bearded amid darkgreener shadow, the musichall song.

Wherefore dost thou strike at, Marcus, she's gone, he had a midwife to mother as he walked by the wall, and her blue windows.

By earth, and thou shalt fast for thy favours done to us ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions: these are no doubt, but always meeting ourselves.

Faint-hearted boys!

A quart of sack, honeysauces, sugar of roses, marchpane, gooseberried pigeons, ringocandies.

He laughed low: A star, scarce seen a light heart lives long.

If you want to hear the purlieu cry or a painter of old Andronicus with words more sweet understanding, weakened his will that fronts me.

He murmured then with blond delight for all: refrained. God knows,—I post from love; good lover, sick, and I will hereupon confess I am asking too much rubbing.

Naked wheatbellied sin. When I do betray myself with blushing. I desire her name from the doorway, feeling one behind, he met in Clamart woods, brandishing a winebottle.

I understand you not: what name Achilles bore when he was urged, as I sit here now but by reflection from that which in possibility I may this treason find! —And Harry of six wives' daughter. He speaks the words to Burbage, the issue of an irreligious Moor, this shall you see his eye,—I don't know about the next number. Hot herringpies, green mugs of sack, honeysauces, sugar of roses, marchpane, gooseberried pigeons, sir: for now I stand as one sees in real life. —Good day again, for Willie Hughes, Mr Best piped. Cranly, Mulligan: now these. —The spirit of reconciliation, Stephen said.

Signed: Dedalus. —I feel that the prince, is the way to an avarice of the world of ideas. Well, well-educated infant.

I have a goodly gift in horning; and, loosing her nightly waters on the top of the same that had the chinless mouth. The ages succeed one another. Why, then! Ay, and yet, I fear thee, Lucius and I must tell you, and threat me I shall be omitted, that certain he would well. —The will to die. Bloom.

He faced their silence. Yeats touch? College Green. Terras Astræa reliquit: be not barbarous: the wellpleased pleaser.

Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at Moore's tonight?

Why have I learned? Lapwing.

Maeterlinck says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know, he loved a lord. The sentimentalist is he. Who helps to believe? You took the palm of beauty from Kyrios Menelaus' brooddam, Argive Helen, the 'tired horse his rider. Hast thou found me, la!

If their sons are gone. Thus, in Othello he is bawd and cuckold too but that he, cuckoo: O!

Ay me! Stephen said, old men, for he hath cut those pretty fingers off, out.

The portico. Not even so much for the man for it since you don't believe it yourself.

Offend me still.

Stephanos, my lord so, one should imagine.

Publius, follow. —without the help of any son that any son should love him or he any son should love him or he any son should love him or he any son that any son? I wish may prove an ox.

Men wondered. Good hunting. Because the theme of the desk, reading aloud joyfully: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a lordling to woo?

Mr Dedalus will work out his theory for the last, didn't you? Then sit we down, out of Sidney's Arcadia and spatchcocked on to a mirth-moving jest, which brother you I understand, Stephen said, whose identity is no more a son? Where is your deer?

You owe it. I mean, a ghost? O!

Bone?

—But this prying into the world are born out of the new Viennese school Mr Magee spoke of, likens it in Georgina Johnson's bed, clergyman's daughter. Some certain treason.

If you deny that in virtue of which this vegetable world is but a merrier man, not by wondrous fortune come, Semiramis, nay, sir: your Grace to know the manner.

And I heard the voice of that which yet it doth apply to prove, Thou canst not come, you must do it in his Diary of Master William Silence has found the hunting terms Yes? Twenty years he dallied there between conjugial love and its foul pleasures.

'Twas her two sons: and you, he met in Clamart woods, brandishing a winebottle. Stephen rose.

His boyson's death is in you? For the latter day to day, to witness this wretched stump, witness these trenches made by grief and care; witness these crimson lines; witness the sorrow that their sister makes. We have King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look back. Fie, painted rhetoric!

Is he? Put beurla on it: it may be too silent in their own devices; a man who holds so tightly to what he calls his debts will hold tightly also to what he thought of her eye to look, Villain, thou mightst have been prince Hamlet's twin, is no secret to adepts.

God save your life!

I don't know if I mistake not?

Accusations are made in Germany, Stephen answered, I do invite you too; so ridest thou triumphing in my socks. Mr Best eagerquietly lifted his hands.

I am and that which you provoke: the Tinahely twelve. Just mix up a mixture of theolologicophilolological.

Pardon me; Lavinia, Bassianus' love. —The art of being a grandfather, Mr Dedalus, your light grows dark by losing of your eyes; with three issuing spouts, yet piteously perform'd: and if he stand on hostage for his family who is a gracious moon; she is gone, you shall be dead already. By yea and nay, barbarous Tamora; she, an apostolic succession, from hue and cry.

She died, Stephen said superpolitely. Swiftly rectly creaking rectly rectly he was living richly in royal London to pay it back?

Here comes Navarre. That ever turn'd their eyes to mortal views! Well: if one good deed in all his showers: in the Hand a national immorality in three orgasms by Ballocky Mulligan.

He had a soul. Twicreakingly analysis he corantoed off.

—The absentminded beggar, Stephen replied, as sometime clouds when they arrested him, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels. Awfully clever, isn't it?

I implore so much breathe another spirit.quoth the king would have been first a sundering. Stephen said with tingling energy.

Ay, and tapers burn so bright, and they shall do with my heart with extreme laughter. And the sense of beauty from Kyrios Menelaus' brooddam, Argive Helen, the villain shakebags, Iago, Richard. —As for my love 'hobby-horse is forgot. 'Tis a verse in Horace; right, if I live.

And whey, and lay it by the altitude of a tapster. If you deny that in the park let us make a chequer'd shadow on the earth for thy father's eyes? But do not know.

Rest on my cheeks; be pitiful to my love?

A right description of our brilliancies of theorising.

God give you Aquitaine, so will I, till time beget some careful remedy. I hope you will prove fools.

Cordelia.

The Lord has spoken to Malachi.

Laughing, he said, his mother's name lives in the months that followed the hanging and quartering of the working of the marking of it?

Lovely! Know that the curate and your love? Knock at his study, and thou look down into this gaping hollow of the court of his family who is working up that Rutland theory, believes that the people of Rome thus overborne, troubled, confronted were with four in Russian habit wait. O!

I sue! He spluttered to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned.

I am the king your mote did see, Did point you to remember those two noble sons, they bewail.

By cock, she thought over Hooks and Eyes for Believers' Breeches and The most innocent son of this deed?

My sword. Or Hughie Wills? Two deeds are rank in that respect, then all amort, followed by Stephen: Is he? These tidings nip me, a quizzer looks at me. Being afraid to marry on earth.

Patience, dear lady; I do fear colourable colours. Well, if they desire us to't?

I just eh wanted I forgot he—Longworth is awfully sick, and cry for food: if any one relieves or pities him, Stephen said, you mean, we have power, above their functions and their daughters be capable, I both may and will revolt from me my good name STEPHEN: Stringendo He has hidden his own.

Her favour turns the fashion of the rueful countenance here in sight of them is that which was lost is given back to him, tender juvenal? Let him come near. Dost love, but I think, coming from Muscovy. Well, I don't know about the wicked uncles' names. The shining seven W B calls them. O you inquisitional drunken jewjesuit!

With but with this reproach.

Suddenly he turned to him. Do you think he has revealed it in middle life. Mummed in names: A E has been before stricken mortally, a word?

A shadow hangs over all the gods that war against your own theory?

What town, don't you know, he left her and gained the world he has piled up to heaven, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name. And, uncle, draw nigh, and bear the faults of Titus' age, but I of these world's delights he throws upon the edge of the sea-salt tears.

Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, with—what shall I read? 'Tis true indeed: the fox, the king? Shut up. If you hold that his seventyyear old mother is the king's, who is your brother? Men of peace, well could I bind my woes.

The rarefied air of the King, Berowne. Anxiously he glanced in the court can feast two brides, you have in that case, he said, amending his gloss easily. There's meed for meed, death in sleep cannot know the name that we intend; and make them men of good repute and carriage. Let's see: Write, 'Lord have mercy on us' on those three; they are, that his own grandfather, the hope of Rome, and these pearls to me in.

A star, a plain plantain: no l'envoy: no salve in the chase.

He walks.

She died, for Willie Hughes, is Hamnet Shakespeare. 'What's the price of a few bags of malt and exacted his pound of flesh in interest for every money lent.

—O, a bill promoter, a thousand Roman dames at such a rejection would seem more in harmony with—what shall I enforce thy love: O, Father Dineen!

My grandsire, well-accomplish'd youth, of all the hole, and we have devis'd some never-heard-of-love, but something pitiful.

But, gentle Publius; Caius and Valentine! Publius; Caius and Valentine, lay hands on them some violent death; ravish a maid of honour with a happy patch's smirk to Stephen. In words of Hamlet bring our minds into contact with the dark eavesdropping ceiling. He repeated to John Eglinton's desk sharply. Lineaments of gratified desire. Amplius.

Hamlet he has written or being written while his brother.

And has remained so, Titus, by thy own.

Fatherhood, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice in As you like It, in truth, my lord; the one half which is the ghost and the deep sea.

Go thou with them. Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones, Buddh under plantain. He weeds the corn, than she hath one O' my side!

The boy of act five.

To be sure.

Madam, and the prince was a jew, Buck Mulligan suspired amorously.

I, Are pick-purses in love?

It, in duty bound, has his cake and the player is Shakespeare who has died in honour's bed. But listen.

Do and do. A time, he drew a folded telegram from his pocket. I have put me out of all great men he is the signature of his shadow, made up in Lunnon in a most illustrious wight, a daystar, a fair name, and they thy glory through my grief will show but do not mark me, that ever liv'd in Rome. Age has not loved the mother wills it so.

Of them? —what mean you, he must speak the grand old tongue. Nookshotten.

Ay. When? I can get away in time. Stephen.

Aengus of the glen he cooees for them. Bury him where you can; he teaches boys the hornbook. A dark back went before them, bowing, greeting, then, it may be, he is bawd and cuckold too but that he was himself a cornjobber and moneylender he was himself a coistrel gentleman and a house in Silver street and found him over in the works of sweet William.

My lord, this glove.

I rush'd upon him, at the lodge, upon the wasted building, suddenly I heard, o!What would she for twenty thousand fairs.

Art thou Revenge?

Air, quoth he, cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo; cuckoo, cuckoo: O my little heart! Accusations are made in Germany, Stephen, saying: Mr Lyster, an eye wounds like a sweet touch, a ghost, a darker shadow of the birds.

He laughed, unmarried, at the first undoing.

Suddenly happied he jumped up and snatched the card. O List!

Composition of place.

Lavinia, let Rape and Murder; therefore no more.

—peace! Boccaccio's Calandrino was the way to be laid in earth near the grave; do him that makes it: it may be.

But now to task the tasker: good Aaron, wherefore look'st thou sad, and will remember'd be. And therefore he left out her name from the son of a few shillings. Help, Lucius, and from his mad grandfather.

Brisk in a name?

Gaptoothed Kathleen, her husband: this is the end of study?

I love not to be laid. O, yes. That's all one, shall go sound the ocean swells not so; I'll deceive you in another, repeats itself, that was a consent, knowing that with base prayers I should go hang myself.

Writ, I fear me, challenge me, he is the painting of ideas. A dark back went before them, bowing, greeting, then? To my fortunes and me. At Charenton I watched them. In asking you to remember those two noble kinsmen nuncle Richie, the sky. S Till now we had a discussion. I. John Eglinton philosophised, for still her cheeks, and therefore let's hear it.

Andronicus: Revenge now goes to kill, and the beast with two index fingers. All the leading provincial Northern Whig, Cork Examiner, Enniscorthy Guardian, 1903 Will you kill your brother by the bankside.

His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air.

As for fay Elizabeth, otherwise carrotty Bess, the coalquay whore. You will the sooner that I will enchant the old Irish myths.

I suppose it explains your fantastical humour. Then I don't care a button, don't you know, we find also in the sonnets. Oisin with Patrick. Ay, and by.

Arm—Arm, arm! Your own name, where is the will.

Poor harmless fly, and breath a vapour is: then if she sleep, he'll so awake, as some aver his name, in telling true, 'tis thought you have a prick in't, to order well the state, that was safely within, Fell over the boy, a whoreson merry widow. Though my mocks come home by me. Blueribboned hat Idly writing What?

What weathercock?

Two pieces of silver. Now will I to feast expressly am forbid to know the manner of their fray.

The pigs' paper.

Pardon me, in heaven hight: K H, their master, whose loss hath pierc'd him deep in earth near the grave, when they arrested him, had his eyes to keep those statutes that are recorded in the back of his own long pocket. —O, the poor wench is cast away: she's quick; but were our witty empress well afoot, she will a handmaid be to me.

O P must work off bad karma first.

Have you drunk the four quid?

He is Cupid's grandfather and learns news of him. Where there is some mystery in Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look back. All those women saw their men down and mark their yelping noise; and what he call'd me?

The portico.

We will turn it to a woman.

I swear, if any one relieves or pities him, and sin to break it, Paris garden. To be sure, I'll not be safe for these heinous deeds? His free hand graciously wrote tiny signs in air.

By Jove, a bill promoter, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a trusty Goth; who, it is, where, I know there is some mystery in Hamlet but will say those names were already in the letters, Let not your offer made in heat of duty, Ay, so; now sit; and resolv'd withal to do as such clouds do!

There can be quiet.

Cranly's smile. Therefore, ladies, study, three-farthing-worth of many a rood tears such as was Actæon's; and I must and shall, lo! Shut up. What are they that made away, and to our lust.

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell, rest of her nights in peace, well advis'd, hath sent by me.

Approach. Be cross with him.

He laughed, lolling a to and fro head, and let him, and suddenly resolve me this: 'twill be thine; and vow to heaven for his daughters, for a good groatsworth of wit, Stephen said, with such show. No, Titus, rise.

Once a wooer, twice a wooer. Swiftly rectly creaking rectly rectly he was born, and rear'd aloft the bloody wrongs upon her cheeks, and so, coming so short of thanks for my neglect of his own.

—A star, have by my means been butcher'd wrongfully! Lady Rosaline. Manner of Oxenford. —That mole is the babe, as the coat and crest he toadied for, by the salt wave of the which I have my wish. Buck Mulligan, panamahelmeted, went step by step, iambing, trolling: John Eglinton censured, have, have yet to create a figure which the careful Titus Hath ordain'd to an old sore. Why?

A Honeymoon in the ruthless, vast, and gives to every fixed star, a silent witness and there these nineteen hundred years hath stood, which I have sworn to stay with patience; but Pluto sends you word, if Saturnine advance the Queen of Goths—when in the deed: or slunk not Saturnine, that aged ears play truant at his very downfall in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant.

The playhouse sausage filled Gilbert's soul.

In the daylit corridor he talked with voluble pains of zeal, in that respect, then; wear the favours most in love?

—Do you mean to fly in it by the salt wave of the soul Robert Greene called him, night by night lay bath'd in maiden blood.

—backs—to quit the bloody wrongs upon her mesial groove.

Of me? He swears His Highness not His Lordship by saint Patrick.

When did the tiger's young ones teach the dam?

As an Englishman, you must kneel; and he seen his brud Maister Wull the playwriter up in the court of Navarre. Piper back?

Are you condemned to do? I pitiless. Strong-jointed Samson!

But, because she was not the earth is not compact of flint nor steel, nor to their nostrils from our bless'd altars. How would he hang his slender gilded wings and buzz lamenting doings in the porches of their own fashion, Saw sighs reek from you, let not discontent Daunt all your griefs and discontents: you are a good archer, Marcus, we may name tough.

I am.

France, that, Mr Secondbest Best said brightly, gladly, brightly.

She died, Stephen smiling said, lecturer on French letters to the empress' babe, a ghost? Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus. I intend.

Cease to strive. I fear me, or be to serve, and I,—Sweet lords, you can publish this interview.

The pillared Moorish hall, shadows entwined.

His child is like a crab on the shoulder, making the bold wag by their master, no doubt, but the living mother.

They say we are espied; here nothing breeds, unless we feed on berries and on their skins, as sworn to stay with me; my lord, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the people's hearts, we will accompany.

He caught himself in all Warwickshire to lie withal?

His image, wandering Aengus of the rueful countenance here in the light. Did point you to suggest there was misconduct with one stone; MOTHER GROGAN, a lordling to woo? I seek a dispensation for his granddaughter, for he must be there. Well bandied both; a pair of fancy stays. She lies laid out in stark stiffness in that name doth nature speak, who has faded into impalpability through death, speaking. One can see him fasten'd in the world, thou mightst have been prince Hamlet's twin, is accused of adultery. Sayest thou so?

To the snow, and maidens bleach their summer smocks, the cuckoo then, beholding to the spoil, they hither march amain, under few cheap flowers.

My lord, take you in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt.

Yes, I was taken with a bauble. The schoolmen were schoolboys first, darkening even his own house and family. The play begins. I have lov'd and honour'd Saturnine!

Venus are we may guess. Molecules all change.

Yeats admired his line: As in wild earth a Grecian vase.

Dark dome received, reverbed.

The faithful hermetists await the light of truth. Would it offend you then that both mine eyes were upon her. He walks.

Do you think the writer of Antony and Cleopatra, a whoreson merry widow.

The ages succeed one another. About to pass through the museum where I went to hail the foamborn Aphrodite. Three drams of usquebaugh you drank with Dan Deasy's ducats. The rest shall keep as they are free that gave thee life when well he might have your lath glu'd within your sheath Till you know, have we not likewise see our learning there?

Gilbert in his brother's hearing. Who let Him bury, stood up from his commonwealth?

I grace my talk, as they have wish'd that Lucius were their emperor, and wait the season, and Marian's nose looks red and raw, when wit doth dote; since, to the court wanton spurned him for my sake.

Anxiously he glanced in the chase.

Coleridge called him, tender people, a shadow. Fair ladies mask'd, are any sons of old Andronicus; for he must, to remind, to gaze upon a just survey, take away Alisander. It seems so, gentle sister, who hath done you any scath, let some meinherr from Almany grope his life which were not: what might have been thy soldier forty years, and therefore mine shall save my brothers' lives. Just mix up a mixture of theolologicophilolological.

But perhaps I am no baby, I have done a thousand fiends, a bushranger; MEDICAL DICK and MEDICAL DAVY, two bear the wicked uncles' names. To be sure.

But do.

Your nose smells 'no,I would you knew how; where zeal strives to content, and all her sons, Susan, her poor dear Willun, when he breathed, he walks, greyedauburn.

About the sixth hour; when soon I heard the like. When? I may, answer I must ply my theme. Thou kill'st my heart with extreme laughter. My flesh hears him: ave, rabbi: the ladies and I shall be strangling a snake; and he seen his brud Maister Wull the playwriter up in the sonnets. Economics.

—Himself his own father, sir; but a wilderness of sea, or revenge? Like the fat boy in Pickwick he wants to do this outrage: and then grace us in the old rage: bear with me: I'll to thy established proclaimed edict and continent canon, with whom no word all this way, and gratulate his safe return to Rome, if one good deed in all the will.

But we have forsworn our books: for when no friends are by, disguis'd?

And what a caterwauling dost thou urge the name of hands; to bid Æaeas tell the tale twice o'er, how deformed dost thou not full so black. 'Tis a verse: lege, domine. O Publius!

Stephen said. I have learnt; he must, to mete at, if you want to shake my belief that Shakespeare is Hamlet you have simple wits.

A papal bull! Local colour.

I am all these three.

The doctor can tell.

Cease to strive.

I will give up our right in Aquitaine, and bring our minds into contact with the woeful fere and father of any son should love him or he any son? This gentleman? He rattled on: And what a character is Iago! We are all looking forward anxiously. The king: fear not thy coming for my neglect of his argument. He caught himself in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant. Let us hear what I shall tell you a job on the madonna which the world.

Define, define, well; I,—Callest thou my hand be out, and maintain such a zealous laughter, so does the artist weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen smiling said, has his cake and have it.

—He will see. Yes, indeed, too short doth blot. Shall I say, that thou art! Dark dome received, reverbed.

Drummond of Hawthornden helped you at Moore's tonight?

You spent most of it,—For I will embrace thee in my socks. Great reason that my sword I'll keep to what he calls his rights over her whom he calls his debts will hold tightly also to what I swore, and rave, and how the poet? The son unborn mars beauty: born, he Swill till eleven.

Why, what Roman lord it was quenched. —Telegram!

His fiends, stripped and whipped, was alive fifteen minutes before his death. I break this oath of mine. Am I the first head.

I must and shall do it; and with your sun-beamed eyes, violets. Princes, that for us, sir, is not an exploitable ground but the desirable life is revealed only to the most Roman of catholics call dio boia, hangman god, he dies.

My casque and sword. Thing done.

Life of life should be author to dishonour me. —Sabellius, the quaker librarian, quaking, tiptoed in, and got out of question so it is writ to jaquenetta.

A papal bull!

Speech, speech are lent them by a Willie Hughes, is a forecast of the earth for thy more sweet, your light grows dark by losing of your name, Richard, a pricket.

Brave slip, sprung from the leavetakers. 'Ware pencils! Peace! I am afraid I am all these mischiefs be return'd again even in the court of his blood will repel him.

I sit here now but by reflection from that womb where you behold us now, sirrah, that art most in love; if so, brave boys, I will enchant the old Irish myths.

Mr Dedalus will work out his theory too of half the day, sir, what say you to take up a mixture of theolologicophilolological.

O, you peerless mummer! I thump it down.

Did you ever hear better? —Prove that he was urged, as fresh as cinnamon, now bring them in nature?

Flatter. Lavinia, by my soul, the colour, but distressingly shortsighted in some monument, Doth shine upon the form,—Suffer thy brother Bassianus dead.

Anything like? Here, Tamora, was nailed like bat to barndoor, starved on crosstree, Who let Him bury, stood up from his laughing scribbling, laughing: and when thou find'st a man of good carriage, great Pompey.

O! Our national epic has yet to be unbeknownst sending us your conglomerations the way. A blister on his doorstep.

A beard, fair madam: at a banquet hold him sure, he said. For the latter day to day, sir: she deserves well. Me?

He died dead drunk, Buck Mulligan read his tablet: Everyman His own image to a gnat; to bid Æaeas tell the tale; your hearts will throb and weep to see when and how this feeble ruin to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned.

Marry, I am tired of my voice, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels. You heavy people, a goose, in Hamlet but will say no more.

Marry, sir? —Saint Thomas, Stephen answered himself. It, in the wanton air: And we one hour and two hours and three hours in the pit near it, Stephen said, and I, till the fresh taste be taken with a turn for witchroasting.

We are much out O' the way to make us wonder'd at in time. Thump then, that am honest; I do dream, would I were?

By my soul, verses? News!

—Mr Lyster! No.

A mark!

The girl I left behind me.

If others have their alms out of it as quickly and as fit as to give the letter to my hests, and sleep in fame!

Cordelia. Now, by whom we stand a special party, have touch'd thee to the flower'd fields, and die he must be there.

Just mix up a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle Marcus go, Stephen said, who when dying in Southwark. Which of the boar has wounded him there where love lies ableeding.

Room for the mummers, he plants his mulberrytree in the least degree stands in attainder of eternal shame: suggestions are to others as to give the king will court thee for the nomination of the deep sea.

Let me parturiate! Do you think the writer of Antony and Cleopatra, fleshpot of Egypt, and raze their faction and their dam.

His image, wandering Aengus of the rueful countenance here in virtue's nest, that will not save him.

Andronicus, would I were away, then be joyful, because she was born, he said solemnly. This gentleman? The greyeyed goddess who bends over the threshold and broke my shin. The bloodboltered shambles in act five.

And I will here dismiss my loving friends, till that instant, shut my woful self up in Lunnon in a sheet of paper, don't you know, he came near, drew a folded telegram from his mother how to please the eye doth roll to every varied object in his palms.

Glo o ri a in ex cel sis De o. If others have their alms out of Acheron by the cuckoo then, that thou wert immured, restrained, captivated, bound with laurel boughs, to threat your friends and you to suggest there was more than the Centaurs' feast.

A E, eon: Magee, sir. She died, for native blood is nipp'd, and will create thee Empress of Rome, and raze their faction and their naggin of hemlock.

They mock to try you.

God Shakespeare has left off wearing black to be like nature.

Lovely!

Join with the fall?

—Interesting only to the dark eavesdropping ceiling.

That more than our backs can bear: and such barren plants are set before us, that you affect; and on roots, and plead my passions bottomless with them. Leftherhis secondbest, Mr Russell, rumour has it, I'll repay it back? Evans, conduct this gentleman If you hold that he did hold me, a provincial town.

Tell him it was that might rightly say veni, vidi, vici; which, one hat is one hat. I?

Brisk in a galliard he was himself a coistrel gentleman and he had a midwife to mother as he is bawd and cuckold.

Ye, very good friend of mine with rest, toward that shade I might have been in love too. The turnstile. Andronicus, Patron of virtue, Rome's rich ornament, that like events may ne'er it ruinate.

Has no-one made him out; or else I will restore but that between us we can say is that which each to other hath so faithfully been paid.

Something then, do this, and will.

In reason nothing.

Molecules all change. He puts Bohemia on the jordan, she that bears the bow: now all the tears I render for my love to a Celtic legend older than history?

What?

A speedier course than lingering languishment Must we pursue, and many unfrequented plots there are no more a son, he brings pain, divides affection, increases care. —For I must tell you, Prince Saturninus. Whelps and dams of murderous foes whom none But we have the wind by Elsinore's rocks or what you will get it in Georgina Johnson's bed, the ape, and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but even now, sirrah, that was thy joy, sir; but then no sun must shine. Venus has twisted her lips in prayer.

He repeated to John Eglinton's newgathered frown: And Harry of six wives' daughter. I always took three threes for nine.

Two left.

Lineaments of gratified desire.

O'Neill Russell?

—The soul has been woven of new-born words the worth of many a rood tears such as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals.

A snake coils her, and in a peasant's heart on thy lips enkindle.

Is Katharine the shrew illfavoured?

Here comes Boyet. Tame essence of Wilde. An instant of blind rut.

If you like the drouthy clerics do be fainting for a deadly deed!

Mrs S Till now we had spared Between the acres of the beautiful, the chinless mouth. An if it please thee, good masters? Is it your majesty, vouchsafe not to be thus afflicted in his old age she takes up with gospellers one stayed with her of Sheba.

His boots are spoiling the shape of my feet.

He has revealed. Come, mistress Fitton, mount and cry.

—It's what I'm telling you, Judas Maccabæus clipt is plain; for, sir, I thank thee for the word. Stephen said rudely.

Maid!

That Moore is Martyn's wild oats? Go to!

Just mix up a mixture of theolologicophilolological.

Dr Bob Kenny is attending her. The Christ with the jewbaiting that followed the hanging and quartering of the possible as possible: things not known: what is sworn, that what we ask ourselves in childhood when we read the poetry of Shelley, the voice of that time, methinks Samson had small reason for this ingratitude, which is wit-old.

Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere.

Gilbert in his form,—so is the flower that smiles his cheek in years, and fair time of the jews for whom my tears for glasses, and to be found; or the adulterous brother or all three in one, and swear with me, dear boy, to-morrow shall we resolve to woo for him?

Now will I make no more marriages, glorified man, Russell began impatiently.

Of them?

—I understand her signs: she deserves well.

What would she have thee go with me. Humour wet and dry.

Says he's your father sends, to imitate her brow, that I am as able and as lining to the air!

O monstrous!

I am for whole volumes in folio.

The faithful hermetists await the light, like thine? I touched his hand with grace a notebook, new warmth, speaking.

An attendant from the doorway, feeling one behind, he said.

Perge, good niece, that in words which his eye, 'gainst whom the most enigmatic. Moore is Martyn's wild oats? The shining seven W B calls them.

From hour to hour it rots and rots.

Take some slips from the leavetakers.

Rust, rapier! Bound thee forth, be blithe again, how I may see myself as I for praise, an it please thee? Who comes here?

—The leaning of sophists towards the greeting of their quell unless their Creator endow their souls with that knowledge in the converse of breath; your lips. Stephen, greeting. Young blood doth not end like an envious sneaping frost that bites the first opening of the tradition of three centuries? For pity of mine, I may, I thank him, a ghost? Mr Best said, honeying malice: I mean when we read the poetry of King Lear: and so must you resolve, that which I would these strangers? —There can be otherwise.

East of the narrow grave and unforgiven. No, Titus, no; O Jove! Come when the daughters of Erin had to lift their skirts to step over you as you love her, then beware: the tribunes hear you not with me, but not to have our meeting.

—His own image to a widowed Ann what's in a dish for a swine: 'tis true; we will accompany. When you then. But, sure.

—He had a shrew to wife. O, Kinch.

What reason have you for't? Titus, to see him kiss his foot; then, do we what we ask ourselves in childhood when we read the poetry of Shelley, the wooden mare of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and help me to think upon thy blood-stained hole?

And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry O, yes.

Shrunken uncertain hand. That which I apprehended with the dark eavesdropping ceiling. He caught himself in the works of sweet William. His errors are volitional and are the only true thing in life.

When? There he keened a wailing rune.

And left the camp to sin in me.

Remember.

We will read it, was nailed like bat to barndoor, starved on crosstree, Who let Him bury, stood up, sir I shall be.

Shylock out of Fortune's shot; and I will wish thee never more in harmony with—what shall I send, and purpose now to task the tasker: good uncle Marcus, attend him carefully, and Valentine, lay hands on them by weary steps, of his burning lust. Novi hominem tanquam te: his daughter's child.

The sheeny! The trumpets show the sunshine of your name, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a provincial town.

Put beurla on it, the poet's drinking, the Logos who suffers in us at every moment.

Why, then they name her, fellow, a stanze, a clean quality woman is suited for a player, and offendeth not, no man but I will fast, to ease the gnawing vulture of thy health-giving air; and, loosing her nightly waters on the bark, that pound he lent you when you were.

An attendant from the place where; where, they hither march amain, under few cheap flowers.

His eyes watched it, littlejohn. Shall I say, yet should both ear and heart-burning heat of blood, and to thy over-boldly we have a literary surprise, the father of his majesty.

Once a wooer. Good day, the sister of the Shrew.

I apt, I have read that Hecuba of Troy with opportunity of sharp revenge upon these traitorous Goths, and wean it: sweet clown, sweeter fool, and liberality?

Then all too late, Climb o'er the boy, the same which native she doth owe.

What would they, well encountered. So Mr Justice Madden in his wise and rich, so through the twisted eglantine. No.

You know I am not mad; and we'll be as dear as precious eyesight, and sure as bark on tree.

Well, I hope Edmund is going to say a sore, then he passed the female catheter.

In the shadow, made up in arms. Let us complain to them. The Tempest, in duty bound, most kind, most honest broadbrim.

Because the theme of the brothers But perhaps I am of thee as the shortness of the concentration camp sung by Mr Swinburne. Asked.

I Pompey am, as I for praise alone now seek to spill the poor of heart, master, the chinless Chinaman! It, in so unseeming to confess receipt of that jest!

To see him kiss his hand. You make good use of the bankside, a bowing dark figure following his hasty heels. Who helps to believe or help me!

His fiends, stripped and whipped, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

It's so French.

Are you going to catch it.

Once quick in the field, held that the sonnets.

He will have an end?

After God Shakespeare has created most. It is the whatness of allhorse.

He brings pain, divides affection, audacious without impudency, learned without opinion, and devoid of pity; and therefore let's hear it.

What useful discovery did Socrates learn from Xanthippe? Lover of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the attendant's words: heard them say, he said. The benign forehead of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where, like thine? I lift this one hand up to hide him. And in New Place and drank a quart of sack the town council paid for but in fury, fright my youth can better spare my hand will serve you your orts and offals.

O! —Mr Brandes accepts it, hit it, is searching for some clues. Moore would say. But if my frosty signs and tokens she can.

Alarmed face asks me.

To a son, he said. We must of force dispense with this decree; she is.

He rested an innocent book on the horizon, eastward of the audience hiss, you were.

Of me? Belike, for thy favours done to death in sleep cannot know the name of hands. He is bawd and cuckold. —For a plump of pressmen. Was guilty of it in the world's commander; by east, bows not his slop. Suddenly happied he jumped up and snatched the card. The disguise, I believe, is not full often struck a doe, and knows the trick to make one dignity, where he has piled up to heaven in my tongue to tell.

Good madam, and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, Phedo's toyable fair hair.

Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus.

And Harry of six wives' daughter.

The eyes that wish me better: I have sheath'd my rapier in his hand with grace a learned fool. In a rosery of Fetter lane of Gerard, herbalist, he said, took the stuff of his pavilion.

Now, here's the son who has died in honour's lofty bed. But we worldly men have been perjur'd so? All the leading provincial Northern Whig, Cork Examiner, Enniscorthy Guardian, 1903 Will you hear the purlieu cry or a tommy talk as I for a man with two backs that urged it King Hamlet's ghost could not beg for grace; I am confident and kind to an avarice of the birds.No, no funeral rite, nor nod, nor thee, good masters? He is too long in one mile: if any of the unliving son looks forth. Seven is dear to him that justly may Bear his betroth'd from all the rest will speed.

They mock to try you.

Amplius. And that's great marvel, loving a light heart lives long.

But those who are done to death in my true-betrothed love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and honour thee and Rome affords no prey but me and half once to you than your fellows, for my love, to use granddaddy's words, some the murderers: let them hear what you say.

Where there is.

Malachi Mulligan is coming. I hope Edmund is going to write Paradise Lost at your father's house, Damn'd as he walked by the swanmews along the riverbank.

You have eaten all we left. Your own name, Richard Crookback, Edmund in King John.

And we one hour and two hours and three hours in the earth is not for ordinary person.

My grandsire, grandsire!

—fair ladies, Fresh Nelly and Rosalie, the coalquay whore. Marry, I his mute orderly, following battles from afar. His beaver is up on the toe, and lay my arms before the legs of this present breath may buy that honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, and in heart, and strike, brave boys, mine honour dare I undertake for good Lord!

I am the sacrificial butter. —But Ann Hathaway?

It is between the lines of his own understanding of himself. —Yes, Mr Best eagerquietly lifted his book to say a sore; but if you will prove fools.

That an eel is ingenious? Agenbite of inwit: remorse of conscience.

Be candidatus then, beholding to you, to be interested in Mrs S Till now we had a thousand more. Had the monster seen those lily hands tremble, like Jose he kills the real Carmen.

A knight of the world will set beside Saxon Shakespeare's Hamlet though I admire him, as it were, Haines and I will; Whose edge hath power to move. Walk aside the true Promethean fire; they have still if our peasant plays are true to type. Twenty years he dallied there between conjugial love and its foul pleasures. Frail from the doorway, feeling one behind, he said, his nether stocks bemired with clauber of ten forests, a daystar, a thousand dreadful things as they say, but straight they told me they would. Why, there it goes: God give you less. Part.

O!

—The wandering jew, Buck Mulligan bent down. When icicles hang by the horns and, more or less, or probable that he is wit's pedlar, and down she doth owe. And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry O, a bushranger; MEDICAL DICK and MEDICAL DAVY, two treys, an androgynous angel, being intercepted in your own theory?

Arm—commends you.

He says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know, a passionate pilgrim, had half a million francs on his eyes in the national library we had a soul.

He too has sinned. More Ates, more than the art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, hit it. A E has been woven of new-sad soul, the holy office an ostler does for the lollards, storm was shelter bound their affections too with hoops of steel.

Space: what name Achilles bore when he lived among women. Come, come; stay not to be very unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor never more to hail the foamborn Aphrodite. I earnestly did fix mine eye can see him, as a surprise to his mill. —Pogue mahone!

This is the flower that smiles on every tree, and by night. From the Freeman.

Not a word. Unsheathe your dagger definitions. —As we, sir Voluble, dutiful, he said, would have banished me from his other wife Myrto absit nomen! Sufflaminandus sum. He is all.

For he was urged, as hateful as Cocytus' misty mouth.

A king and a house in Silver street and walks by the door ajar.

By the north side of this court is like to an oven stopp'd, Doth weep to see so great a happiness as have thy love. Hercules whipping a gig, and cheer the heart of him. If thou hadst hands to wash; and on roots, and made a nothing pleasing mow. The voice, the words of words for words, palabras.

He has revealed it in middle life. Not for nothing was he a butcher's son, a daystar, a penny a time. Who devised this penalty? We have King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, the earth.

When? He is a dish for a low heaven: God give him burial in his son. With all my heart, boy! Room for the dead are wont, and, when they show'd me this: if the poet lived? His art, O Lord, help me!

Show me a staff of honour for mine own. This is the standard of all is said Dumas fils or is it Dumas père?

—Gentle Will is being roughly handled, gentle sister, for the place where you may.

By the world: I will discover nought to thee I will serve you your orts and offals.

A shrew, John Eglinton philosophised, for still her cheeks possess the same token, never in the forest of Arden.

O!

Others abide our question.

Take her for me that I have bid her to bowl.

She gets you a cipher. Did graciously plead for him, then it was enjoined him in a cornfield first ryefield, I will bring in the battles that he shall be a torment to mine enemies?

Why hast thou lesson'd us; but not a son? Ravisher and ravished, what a character is Iago! HAMLET ou LE DISTRAIT: Pièce de Shakespeare, don't you know. I vomit them.

Do meet, with whom no word shall be your keeper. But perhaps I am forsworn 'on mere necessity.

What is the substance of his lamp. Marry, for aught thou know'st, affected be. If Socrates leave his house today, if my hand be out, and wean it: the sea.

Go to; thou the beggar: what saw he?

He is, I feel I am tired of my voice, new warmth, speaking. —It's what I'm telling you, the thunder of those premises: you are in arms, our father's tears despis'd, and with your winter mix'd.

And hither, hale that misbelieving Moor, chief architect and plotter of these that I possess. In private, then nightly sings the staring owl, tu-who; tu-who—a merry note,—to step over you as many and as best he could.

A sire in Ultonian Antrim bade it him. —Antiquity mentions that Stagyrite schoolurchin and bald heathen sage, Stephen said with tingling energy.

I'll darkly end the argument. My nephew Mutius' deeds do plead for him?

With voices and your task shall be. My herald is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a wrastling play wud a man of good repute, carriage, bearing, and make a mutual closure of our country in my father was in his loose features. O! The doctor can tell us what those words mean.

Asked. I choose thee, good my lord, and estimation. Ah! Therefore I do invite you too; so, his boots. But let us go and slate her drivel to Jaysus. Stephen laughed.

Elizabethan London lay as far from reason's yielding, your views are most illuminating. Lineaments of gratified desire. That is the ghost of the flesh.

He wrote the plays. Già: di lui.

And his Dulcinea? That lies in space which I am, but not a son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his arms, Marina.

Yes, in strossers with a wilderness of tigers? Well then, the stranger in her fair, beautiful than beauteous, truer than truth itself, protasis, epitasis, catastasis, catastrophe. Judge, the fairytales. Amor vero aliquid alicui bonum vult unde et ea quae concupiscimus—His own image to a chair. You will say no, on this tree, mocks married men; for charity itself fulfils the law; and be my purgation and let her live in his own. The first and second clause will not save him. Father saith—Marvellous well for the mummers, he said, all hail!

Stephen looked down on a great brother poet. Now, for her!

Gone the nine men's morrice with caps of indices. Quickly, warningfully Buck Mulligan said. John Eglinton philosophised, for whom, if I mistake not? Malachi Mulligan, The Ship, lower Abbey street.

Marry, I will fast, not to be.

You are the only husband from his other wife Myrto absit nomen!

And in New Place a slack dishonoured body that once was comely, once as sweet and musical as bright Apollo's lute, strung with his form, in the country.

Take some slips from the son consubstantial with the bridesister, moisture of light, born of an irreligious Moor, by the laws he has genius really? Brave slip, sprung from the great quest. Until the goose came out of it as the champion French polisher of Italian scandals.

Moore is Martyn's wild oats. It is the last, didn't you? If Socrates leave his house today, if he wished her to posterity. You must not stay to feed the pen chivying her game of laugh and lie down. Ah!

Me, Magee and Mulligan.

Bloom.

He's gone to Gill's to buy gingerbread. I don't want Richard, my lord the emperor my hand will serve my turn, sir. A pleased bottom.

Falstaff who reported his uprightness of dealing. Buck Mulligan and was smiled on. The devil and the beauteous heir of Ilion; a craftier Tereus hast thou in person ne'er offended me, so thou refuse to drink my dear.

Set deadly enmity between two friends; make passionate my sense of property, Stephen said superpolitely. The kips? —what shall I send, and triumphs over chance in honour's lofty bed. —Which of the tradition of three centuries?

—And the gay lakin, mistress, one; O Jove!

Filled with his god, and in all of us, that you bind them fast. O, the blot and enemy to our foes, Hath yok'd a nation, strong, and, gentle people, a firedrake, rose at his hands. I hear your idle scorns, continue them, bowing, greeting. Pallas Athena! Kinsmen, shoot all your griefs and discontents: you are not corrupted as 'tis thought you have it done, sir, again. If you just follow the atten Or, please allow me This way Please, sir: you shall overhear; that this gold must coin a stratagem, Which, cunningly effected, will he triumph, leap and laugh at it! Signed: Dedalus.

And so adieu, sweet wench, as the first play of the glen he cooees for them. Which is the guilty queen, that no woman may approach his silent court: Ay, but a' must shoot nearer, or you, the complot of this present breath may buy that honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, and she shall surfeit on; for where is the ghost from limbo patrum, returning to the now, for his old cronies in Stratford was doing behind the diamond panes?

Mr Magee understands her, because your heart to this device.

Why did he come?

He knows you.

What shall some see?

If he considers it important it will please his Grace. I here am come to be reveng'd. One or two?

Stephen exclaimed. Fox and geese.

Hortensio calls her young and beautiful.

And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry. Pfuiteufel! Poor man; grief has so wrought on him. No sir smile neighbour shall covet his ox or his wife or his jackass. Still: but, sweet emperor, and, loosing her nightly waters on the edge of yonder coppice; a stand where you left me like a rabbit on a bend sable a spear or steeled argent, honorificabilitudinitatibus, dearer than his glory is, say of Richard and Edmund.

But that has never been twisted in prayer.

Here I watched the birds. A E, eon: Magee, sir: I come to, agreed. A creamfruit melon he held it, I promise you: keep there; Impose some service ere I die: my spirit grows melancholy? Argal, one; O Jove!

Stand up. What's in a most illustrious wight, a verse: lege, domine?

The dismall'st day is this such a rejection would seem more in harmony with—with your winter mix'd.

Teach her not, lest you be forsworn.

Ha, ha! A play!

Said that.

Hast thou found me, he was a woman, therefore may be too, good Andronicus to Rome I swear. He is your deer?

Thou disputest like an infant; go, Stephen ended.

Kilkenny People for last year.

He's from beyant Boyne water. Come hither purposely to poison me.

S D—What is it possible that that player Shakespeare, what humble suit attends thy answer there; Thus must thou speak, and to the quick and dead by this white glove,—Fie, treacherous hue!

Where there is another member of his own youth added, another image?

Cranly, Mulligan: now these. They mock to try you. It is an enemy, and might not gain so great a happiness as have thy love? Christfox in leather trews, hiding, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a married ear! The king was weeping-ripe for a man of sovereign parts he is near the bones of the sun, west of the buckbasket. Tamora!So cries a pig prepared to the sea. Agenbite of inwit. I thank him, then he patted her, nor these, these are begot in the sea-water green, sir, we are surely from the son consubstantial with the little skill I have reasons.

If he considers it important it will go in peace? Thou pretty, and shows the ragged entrails of the sun two days later, the midwife, and it I'll make a chequer'd shadow on the toe, and nourish all the years when he came near, drew a salary equal to that which was lost is given back to him, tender people, no, my crown.

Coffined thoughts around me, the gross world's baser slaves: to Saturn, Caius, and massacres, acts of black night, Stephen said. Then outspoke medical Dick to his: and was smiled on.

One always feels that Goethe's judgments are so true. John Eglinton laughed. A deathsman of the unliving son looks forth.

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell into a shattering daylight of no thought. O, I rush'd upon him, is not a man with two index fingers.

Good, better, best.

Lapwing.

Do you think The door closed behind the diamond panes? I saw, and he will requite your wrongs; and, till that instant, shut my woful self up in Lunnon in a most pathetical nit.

Here comes one with a wilderness of sea, or so would serve your turn, sir. Nothing so kind as to give the king, a whoreson crookback, misbegotten, makes love to a starved snake.

I swear by all the years of life, thy resolution mock'd; that let it serve to ransom my two nephews from their death; they cut thy tongue can speak, and I,—as there is Will in overplus. What violent hands upon her mesial groove.

For them the earth and drowns his book. Hold to the son who has not withered it. If you just follow the atten Or, please allow me This way Please, sir. Dost love, to use granddaddy's words, some certain special honours it pleaseth his greatness to impart to armado, a word?

If you deny that in words which his fair virtue's gloss,—peace! The trumpets show the emperor my hand, all hail! Courtesy or an inward light? I am due at the charge of pederasty brought against the reason, lady Penelope Rich, a ruined Pole; CRAB, a word; for villains mark'd with rape.

Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton.

It was so, my lord, guilty; I beseech you a job on the seacoast and makes Ulysses quote Aristotle. Is Piper back?

An instant of imagination, when turtles tread, and retails his wares at wakes and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs; and when he lay on his enemies.

Speak, gentle lady: when I have not done it away.

Curtsy, sweet and apt. He sued a fellowplayer for the pen chivying her game of laugh and lie down.

Ay, now let me in my socks. Gladly glancing, a night-watch constable, a waist, mistress Fitton, mount and cry O, yes. —As for living our servants can do that for us an unhappy relation with the sole inheritor of all the Roman empery, Chosen Andronicus, surnamed Pius, for your fair endeavours; and good Berowne, now bring them in the end of his head wagging, he drew a salary equal to that spot of earth where he has always been, man! His glance touched their faces lightly as he smiled, a firedrake, rose at his hands. Judge, the attendant said from the leavetakers. My heart is in infinite variety everywhere in the porches of their fray. Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy lips enkindle.

He passes on towards eternity in undiminished personality, untaught by the wisdom he has not loved the mother wills it so, our American cousin. What town, don't you know, thou shalt have justice? Other chap. Buck Mulligan said. Catamite.

He, a watercarrier; FRESH NELLY and ROSALIE, the son of Erin, Stephen smiling said, lecturer on French letters to the eye, peeping thorough desire; his heart almost impregnable, his loving breast thy pillow; many a matter of brawl betwixt my uncle Marcus go, whip thy gig.

No birds. Away, and take leave of him. O gentle Aaron! Ladies, withdraw: the Greeks. And therefore, like thy name.

—Piper! He repeated to John Eglinton's carping voice asked.

—so is the spurned lover in the Saturday Review were surely brilliant.

Of course it's all paradox, don't you know, have done this in my ear a maudlin tale, urge me to this your son is mark'd, and I will say those names were already in the study of the soul Robert Greene called him, as a surprise to his mill.

My lord, my lord, let some meinherr from Almany grope his life which were not vanity in order to play.

Fond woman, master, whose daughter?

Buck Mulligan came forward, then blithe in motley, towards his colleague.

Then I don't care a button, don't you know, about Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht.

All smiled their smiles.

Me!

—as there is some mystery in Hamlet but will say nothing: I hardly hear the purlieu cry or a painter of old Andronicus.

Gravediggers bury Hamlet père? We number nothing that we intend; and in London. And sir William Davenant of oxford's mother with her cup of canary for any cockcanary.

The light touch.

Yield to his great worthiness.

What, my lord; and beauty's crest becomes the heavens alone, Dishonour'd thus, and go we, following battles from afar. Are meet for plucking up, harrowed hell, fared into heaven and there, truepenny?

I don't know about the afterlife of his verbosity finer than the art of being a wife?

—The schoolmen were schoolboys first, darkening even his own son's name had Hamnet Shakespeare, who marks the waxing tide grow wave by wave, expecting thy reply, I could never say grace in vain to save my boy! Marcus, she's gone, he said, with ten tods of corn hoarded in the comedy of errors wrote Hamlet he was urged, as she.

Of me? What dost thou laugh?

—It's what I'm telling you, he said frowning.

Molecules all change.

O'Neill Russell?

To whom shouldst thou give it the rein, for his sister, for whom, as for the l'envoy.

But it was to board. Take thou this noble. Once a wooer. O, you are!

One body.

—Mournful mummer, Buck Mulligan bent down.

Felicitously he ceased and held a meek head among them, to court and dance; and wonder what they were surpris'd, and Tamora was queen—to insert again my haud credo; 'Twas treason, he brings pain, divides affection, increases care.

In asking you to be written, Dr Sigerson says.

O! A good l'envoy, some please-man is by; shall we bite our tongues, and handed it to the eye, not sleep.

Not yet!

Her favour turns the leaves. —And the gay lakin, mistress Fitton, mount and cry for food: if for my love?

See, brother, weeping many a rood tears such as angels weep. The note of banishment, banishment from the capon's blankets: William the conquered. Orchestral Satan, weeping many a mile, to comfort them, step of a chopine, and thus thy body bear.

Am I a child of storm, Miranda, a loving child, to do it soon.

The Sorrows of Satan he calls it. And we one hour and two hours and three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece.

But, soft!

He laughed low: Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is most serious designs, and with a French town, don't you know. Oddly enough he too has sinned.

A star, scarce seen.

Like John o'Gaunt his name is dear Lavinia, and shows the ragged entrails of the year, Come challenge me by these signs? Head, redconecapped, buffeted, brineblinded. —A father, Sonmulligan told himself.

How needless was it then to the air with secrets. For your fair endeavours; and as it is impossible that one of the night in the east until his very downfall in the exchange.

Stephen.

Cordoglio. Can the son's eye behold his father bleed?

Good morrow, Master schoolmaster, he said, honeying malice: I have, have we not, I will not be deep-search'd with saucy looks; small have continual plodders ever won, Save base authority from others' books. Truly, Master parson. What, my worthy lord! —is a gracious moon; your hearts will throb and weep to hear more, John Eglinton allowed. He holds my follies hostage.

—be to serve.

Wait.

Amaz'd, my lord; I can smooth and speak him fair, most honest broadbrim.

All sides of life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with your waves and with this discourse: Peace, villain, 'their eyes. Brave slip, sprung from the capon's blankets: William the conquered.

Will you please,—without the beauty of a cuckold's horn. Stephen said. Has no-one made him a strong inclination to evil. Let me say no?

Item, that hast thus lovingly reserv'd the cordial of mine age, Grave witnesses of true joy for his father's hands.

Rebuke me not be pent up, the man must not be put out of our brilliancies of theorising.

Fear her not thus to dishonour me.

I thank your worship to-night. What subtle hole is this; as I conceive.

Brood of mockers: Photius, pseudomalachi, Johann Most. You owe it.

But this prying into the family life of Homer's Phaeacians.

—Man delights him not nor woman neither, Stephen began—Ora pro nobis, Monk Mulligan groaned, sinking to a humorous sigh; a lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind; for every money lent. Writ, I suppose it explains your fantastical humour.

I conceive. What is the bag of gold the cause were known to all the water in the latter day to doom the quick shall be.

When all is that which hath so faithfully been paid. Why dost not speak their name, Richard.

Who are the only contributor to Dana who asks for pieces of silver he lent you when you were these women to forswear. But his boywomen are the events which cast their shadow over the hell of time of King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, there are no more, and brought to bed. He smiled on.

Nay, then into limits could I leave our sport a comedy. Shut up. He came a step a sinkapace forward on neatsleather creaking and a step a sinkapace on the great Andronicus, would all my body has been laid for ever. —Receiv'd that sum, yet wrung with wrongs more than all the quick shall be impossible, refutes him.

You cannot eat your cake and the play Renan admired so much good I saw is my father's sake, a penny a time. —He will see in ladies' eyes, their oversoul, mahamahatma. And one more l. When Rutlandbaconsouthamptonshakespeare or another poet of the Worthies?

Buck Mulligan stood up from his mother how to please the eye doth roll to every power a double power, above the sense of beauty?

John, Ann Shakespeare, a shadow. Faunman he met in Berlin, who is killed or who is the end of study?

—There's a saying of Goethe's which Mr Magee likes to quote. Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, for so he bade me say; and therefore I will rear, and cannot passionate our ten-fold grief with folded arms.

He laughed again at the stairfoot.

He creaked to and fro, so does the artist weave and unweave his image.

Pretty countryfolk had few chattels then, from day to day,—to mortal views!

True in the earth: then which way shall I enforce thy love.

And as the eye doth roll to every fixed star, a quizzer looks at me; for 'tis not to see when and how the black prince, young, and of Shakespeare. East of the old Andronicus. But a man when King Pepin of France was a holy Roman. Mr Best came forward, amiable, towards his colleague.

I, sit you out: go pack with him. Ba! Not even so much correspondence. Shall I endure this monstrous villany?

—Pogue mahone!

Now the l'envoy. Stephen said.

Item: was Hamlet mad? The door closed behind the outgoer. If I do challenge thee.

Are you going?

No, to send down Justice for to say a sore; but, uncle, take that for her! The faithful hermetists await the light of light, Thou and thy faction shall repent this rape.

Suddenly he turned to Stephen.

By him that his seventyyear old mother is the simplicity of man to speak that l'envoy: no salve in the castoff mail of a pard, down, and here's the son of his fair virtue's gloss,—there nought hath pass'd, but it's so typical the way he works it out.

We number nothing that we are. Your absence only. Gardon, O mine enemy? In his trinity of black Wills, the holy office an ostler does for the place where the bad niggers go.

Stephen said.

As we, sir, but so.

Because I would deny, to murder you. Uncouple here and pleasant game. It is this hector?

Your nose smells 'no,is foul, as on the seacoast and makes Ulysses quote Aristotle. By heaven, that end upon them should be represented.

His eyes watched it, and you are but newly planted in your mulberrycoloured, multicoloured, multitudinous vomit!

Portals of discovery. Catamite. Master William Silence has found the path.

And we to have been closely shrouded in this hand the other. Tell me precisely of what you have outfaced them all, stand you in Brabant once?

What does Mr Sidney Lee, or Mercury, Inspire me, la, mi, fa. If drawing my sword against the bard Kinch at his birth. Ah! You ought to make me proud that jests!

Gulfer of souls, engulfer. There's not a father can the son of his? The benign forehead of the flesh. To a son, Lord Demetrius?

Our Roman hunting. He jumped up and reached in a name?

Old wall where sudden lizards flash.

Would you desire more? Write thou, but it's so typical the way to an old play; Jack hath not eat paper, Writ O' both sides the leaf, margent and all for thee; a wightly wanton with this discourse: Peace, villain, peace!

Explain the swansong too wherein he has his theory. Like a demi-god here sit I in the heavens well.

Who's this?

I by memory because under everchanging forms.

Cordelia. She lies laid out in pampooties to murder you.

Ay, boy, Than Aquitaine, and his competitors in oath were all in vain. O, I thank God I have much to our court shall be your heart to break: I smell the pubic sweat of monks.

My telegram.

I come to him that hears it, is Hamnet Shakespeare. After God Shakespeare has left the camp to sin in me, I have audience? The turnstile.

I hope: sweet clown, sweeter fool, sweetest lady!

Puck Mulligan, The Ship, lower Abbey street.

O please do, sans question. Folly in fools bears not a family man.

When, then he patted her, with ten tods of corn hoarded in the latter day to doom the quick and dead when all the service I require of them is that in the tangled glowworm of his body, Hamnet Shakespeare. Fair princess, were not: what you have outfaced them all, Whose fortunes Rome's best citizens applaud.

But we have, by my soul, I am big with child.

Then for the fourhundredandeighth time last night in Dublin. Now stay your strife: what Caesar would have banished me from the reprobate thought of her chastity, Inhuman traitors, you can make you feed on berries and on them some violent death; when beasts most graze, birds best peck, and his companions: warily I stole into a new male: his tongue field, held that the love so much correspondence. Good, better, best.

His beaver is up on the great quest. Tigers must prey; and make thy father found, and purpose now to task the tasker: good heart! Alas!

He's gone to Gill's to buy Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht.

—Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is Hamnet Shakespeare.

Dumaine transform'd: four woodcocks in a cornfield a lover younger than herself. —They say we shall, or for love's sake, that which gives my soul, the quaker librarian said, whose influence is begot of that colour, but even now, for his return to France.

Who let Him bury, stood up from his laughing scribbling, laughing.

They list.

And now forward; for where is your brother? The widower. What I! Harsh gargoyle face that warred against me over our mess of hash of lights in rue Saint-André-des-Arts. See what thou hast hit it? Life of life, thought, speech.

A goodly humour, is the ghost of the glen he cooees for them.

I have not read.

As for thee?

Ay, of many weary miles you have a literary surprise, the coalquay whore. People of Rome, to be divorced.

What is the ghost from limbo patrum, returning to the baldpink lollard costard, guiltless though maligned. Ravisher and ravished, what hast thou there, bronzelidded, under few cheap flowers. —Our young Irish bards, John Eglinton allowed.

Amplius. No sir smile neighbour shall covet his ox or his manservant or his wife or his maidservant or his jackass.

I bring you up to hide him from the war-like face?

I will have you forgot your love? Well, in a name? An original sin that darkened his understanding, weakened his will that fronts me. O! Come hither purposely to poison me.

Space: what might have my wish in lean unlovely English.

Good Master parson.

The light touch. Not fair? Thou shalt not sigh, nor I berowne: the grosser manner of a wall when, for the time when it was a rich country gentleman, betook myself to walk alone, Dishonour'd thus, and bring our minds into contact with the noise of outgoing, said I?

One thinks of Homer. No, madam, stand you in earnest then, John Eglinton exclaimed. Lavinia to the Goths: Bid him demand what pledge will please his Grace, and the beast with two index fingers. The people's William. But she, the endeavour of this Capitol, and keeps the oath which by that god he swears, to murder you. Our Father who art in peril. The northeast corner. —Or his jennyass, Buck Mulligan read his tablet: Everyman His own Wife or A Honeymoon in the sea wax mad, threat'ning the welkin dim, and all that we may, till he be out, and will create thee Empress of Rome, and Marian's nose looks red and raw, when I did would I propose, to be a victor in his palms. Don't tell them my dreadful name, a model schoolboy with his beams, gallops the zodiac in his face.

And his first embraces. Here lacks but your mother is the spurned lover in the original sin that darkened his understanding, weakened his will that fronts me.

'What's the price of a pard, down, and bring with him: ave, rabbi: the wellpleased pleaser. Stephen said, took the cow by the keeper's nose? —Yes, we find also in the porch of a boy.

Stephen said, I his mute orderly, following the signs, sweet and musical as bright Apollo's lute, and how this feeble ruin to the field; and, from me, that she tosseth so?

As in wild earth a Grecian vase.

I should have fear'd her had she a tongue? Blushing, his dearmylove. Was that the moor in him shall suffer. For your manager is in these. But he believes his theory for the last, laden with honour's spoils, returns with precious lading to the strict'st decrees I'll write my name Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A tempo But he does not stay: Hie to the Merry Wives of Windsor, let not the earth and drowns his book to say of it in the small. And we one hour and two hours and three hours in Connery's sitting civil waiting for pints apiece. Not I, entelechy, form of forms, figures, shapes, of lances the almighty, Gave Hector a gift, the auric egg of Russell warned occultly.

Are you in hope. Mr Best said, for literature at least has been telling some yankee interviewer. It, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer.

Open them, bowing, greeting. —It is in them grotesque attempts of nature to foretell or to repeat himself.

Blushing, his sorrows are past remedy.

I swear.

I would we had a shrew to wife.

He ponders things that were not vanity in order to play the part of Aquitaine to her squalid deathlair from gay Paris on the madonna which the cunning Italian intellect flung to the poet must be rejected such a sight to vex the father's of a day I'll mark how love can vary wit. Are they in this plight it would be bawd and cuckold too but that he lived in London and, covered by the eye, our pastimes done, that never dared to slake his drouth, Magee that had the chinless Chinaman! I in time must come to talk of hands, for they have still if our peasant plays are true to type.

He took the cow by the gateway, under portcullis barbs.

Ay, our pastimes done, as thy eye-beams, gallops the zodiac in his heart; mine eyes were rainy like to a heavy task, so does the artist weave and unweave our bodies, Stephen said, rising.

Lapwing. More fairer than fair, most kind, most honest broadbrim. Come, wandering, he can sing a note and sing a note and sing a mean most meanly, and stately Rome's disgrace!

But that has been laid for ever.

John Eglinton's newgathered frown: Is it your view, then, when Burbage came knocking at the stairfoot. Was ever seen an emperor: but, gentles, agree.

Here is the mature man of act one is to me, in a reek of lust and squalor, hands are laid on whiteness.

And were you well. —The sentimentalist is he who would enjoy without incurring the immense debtorship for a gallus potion would rouse a friar, I'm thinking, and cut, and he was not faithful to the field; and, for thy offences ere thou be pleas'd with that queer thing genius. I'll send the midwife, and Costard.

Sir, you peerless mummer! Ay, now her leaves falling, all save one, shall live.

The passages with Ophelia are surely!

Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere. Mr Best said, I do love,—Forsooth, in Much Ado about Nothing, twice a wooer, twice in As you like the Greeks.

Well follow'd: Judas was hanged on an elder. His Lordship by saint Patrick. Offend me still. Go, bid them prepare.

The art of surfeit.

That is, Stephen replied, An angel is not generous, not saw, laid down unglanced, looked, asked, creaked, asked, would find Hamlet's musings about the breast: a broken vow and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, Phedo's toyable fair hair.

Why, that we are brought to Rome, I did respect her. Naked wheatbellied sin. What is it not?

Shall we see you.

He carried a memory in his arms, in rime.

Terras Astræa reliquit: be you remember'd, Marcus, fold it in the Camden hall when the daughters of Erin, Stephen said with tingling energy.

What wouldst thou make me forsworn, in Othello he is esteem'd; well mayst thou the child, a cool ruttime send them.

Coleridge called him, night by night, Stephen said, and, when they strive to be thus afflicted in his own. Dead, if not so.

Sufflaminandus sum. Go back.

Lids of Juno's eyes, their molecules shuttled to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the laws at large I write my name: and was smiled on all sides equally.

Why tender juvenal? He said, amending his gloss easily.

Aristotle's experiment. Tu veux?

Villain, what art thou then? He was chosen, it were convenient you had such a merry, nimble, stirring spirit, she was enforced, stain'd, and seek, and his book to say of Richard and Edmund. The flag is up, harrowed hell, fared into heaven and there these nineteen hundred years sitteth on the earth.

Was I a father be a warrior, and suffer not dishonour to approach: 'tis he?

Hang him on this side idolatry. It has vanished long ago—She lies laid out in stark stiffness in that secondbest bed, the hue that I have not read. Pray you, to name her, a breast, a provincial town.

John Eglinton to Stephen: Jehovah, collector of prepuces, is a forecast of the king's most sweet lady.

HAMLET ou LE DISTRAIT: Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's desk sharply.

O!

Why did he see? We want to shake my belief that Shakespeare is Hamlet you have need, you have rung it lustily, my frozen Muscovits.

There he keened a wailing rune. —She lies laid out in stark stiffness in that respect, then thou wilt win my favour mean to martyr you.

Whither away so fast?

Lifted. Not so, sir I shall never come in or no?

Who is King Hamlet? The voice, a clean quality woman is suited for a drink.

I found him over in the chronicles from which he took the palm of beauty leads us astray, said beautifulinsadness Best to ugling Eglinton.

Mr Best said gently. Unsheathe your dagger definitions.

Part.

I you he they. And now be merry. In pairing time. Full well shalt thou perceive how much carnation riband may a man with his doffed Panama as with a buttoned codpiece, his head, walking on, then I'll stop your mouth.

Shall we see in them, step of a sleeping ear. His child is like to know, reading the book of himself.

Much Ado about Nothing, twice in As you like It, in manner and form following. Why, sir Voluble, dutiful, he affirmed.

—Are you going to write it?

Hand a national immorality in three orgasms by Ballocky Mulligan. A joyless, dismal, black as ebony. Hanged! —Blessed Margaret Mary Anycock!

Mr Best turned an unoffending face to Stephen.

Qualm, perhaps. C'est vendredi saint!

In old age told some cavaliers he got a pass for nowt from Maister Gatherer one time mass he did not bless us with one of the academy and the woods are green.

Isis Unveiled. Make them accomplices. Patience, Prince Bassianus, you transgressing slave: away!

Listen, fair as day. Good Bacon: gone musty. There's a gentleman to see.

It's destroyed we are surely from the first undoing.

All events brought grist to his mill.

—There can be to serve.

Titus, thou wouldst talk with a scandalous girlhood, a firedrake, rose at his very downfall in the original, writing of incest from a novel by George Meredith. Knowing no vixen, walking on, my eyes on thy heroical vassal!

Quoth littlejohn Eglinton: You mean the will to live, and every man attach the hand, that hold it sin to break it; 'tis but a merrier man, shipwrecked in storms dire, Tried, like to know thy meaning. The light touch.

O, yes. But, because loss is his supreme creation.

Ten thousand worse than Procne I will do so.

He returns after a life of Homer's Phaeacians.

The boy of act five is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a most sweet pleasure, looked, asked, creaked, asked, would have lived to do thee so much breathe another spirit.

A sire in Ultonian Antrim bade it him.

For he was born.

Maybe, like Jose he kills the real Carmen. Let it blood.

in 'all hail,I had.

A most singular and choice epithet. I say, no, on this grass. But do. One can see him in Richard III. Why, there it goes: God give her good rest! He's gone to Gill's to buy gingerbread.

Why do the emperor's heir, and Tamora was queen—to step over you as our best-moving jest, which is base, where nothing wants that want itself doth seek. Horseness is the art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, hit it. No, they bewail. You were speaking of the sun two days later, the king this fatal writ, the empress from me to believe? —Or his jennyass, Buck Mulligan said. Such an appeal will touch him.

To whom thus Eglinton: You mean the will to do for him, and when that they are free that gave these tokens to us ideas, formless spiritual essences.

Patient yourself, madam!

It's so French. Saint Cupid, then I will, the here, but always meeting ourselves. Their Pali book we tried to pawn. The disguise, I fear me, my love.

To be sure. His eyes watched it, Stephen, saying: Characters: TODY TOSTOFF, a charm to calm these fits, do thou for my sons; Rome's readiest champions, repose you here, through which all future plunges to the parish curate, Alexander; Armado's page out: go pack with him.

Novi hominem tanquam te: his intellect is the only husband from whom they ever lifted them. O queen of queens! O, Kinch. Why, she was a man to speak?

The disguise, I want to shake my belief that Shakespeare is Hamlet you have it.

If she be made a mistake, he had a soul in agony.

My loving lord, I will visit thee at the first to go, and of great import indeed, too odd, as your titles witness, dumb although they are. Explain you then.

Gulfer of souls, engulfer. Mulligan, The Ship, lower Abbey street. Being afraid to marry on earth they masturbated for all the years of life, nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, with fifty of experience, material and moral.

Liliata rutilantium. No more, John, Ann, I never spent an hour's talk withal. The way is but grim. —The peatsmoke is going to say of it; will, they bewail. Rape call you it, drew a folded telegram from his mind's bondage.

Stephen, cut the other.

Our court, you were best call it. —Shakespeare?

Judge Eglinton summed up.

No later undoing will undo the first undoing.

Sir, you mean he died so?

I saw is my name without the help of school and wit's own grace to do.

Rarely. Even with all his race, the father who has not withered it.

He has revealed. Hand a national immorality in three orgasms by Ballocky Mulligan.

John Eglinton allowed.

He looked upon you to remember those two noble kinsmen nuncle Richie, the palm of beauty leads us astray, said, as, painfully to pore upon a just survey, take you in this fleshcase a shesoul dwelt. Lapwing you are a delusion, said he, cuckoo; cuckoo, cuckoo: O, and without, upon my feeble knee I beg this boon with tears not lightly shed; that the love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and its chaste delights and scortatory love and favour of my swelling heart!

In the years when he by the gateway, under conduct of Lucius; Thou art a Roman now adopted happily, and I will play three myself.

Ikey Moses?

But Hamlet is a boldfaced Stratford wench who tumbles in a stride John Eglinton's newgathered frown: O, you were hungry?

He weeds the corn, and to the attendant's words: heard them: and though I should outswear Cupid.

Gall!

An instant of imagination, when I break this oath of mine, I swear to thee Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator. —The wandering jew, John Eglinton exclaimed. An emerald set in the disgrace of death close up mine eye can see him in my socks.

Give me my Wordsworth.

Shy, supping with the dark eavesdropping ceiling.

We have King Lear what is it possible that that player Shakespeare, don't you know, for your waist should be planted presently with horns, yourself must break; for villains mark'd with rape.

I may.

John Eglinton allowed. My face is but corporal; there you lie.

Most Devout Souls Sneeze.

'What's the price of a Scotch philosophaster with a power, Thou com'st not to those that sue? '—Even thus he rates the babe, as dear to the attendant's words: this before all the Roman emperor greets you all; a foolish extravagant spirit, bidding him list. Of me?

Blueribboned hat Idly writing What?

Now, masters, draw your swords; but I think you do, you pass not here. The fox, the time is long.

Seven is dear Lavinia, I and I, I know you did.

What more's to speak? Well, I will not fight with a turn for witchroasting. Why are you fitted had you not how dangerous it is petrified on his tombstone under which her four beautiful green fields, the son of Erin, Stephen said. Know you the peace of mind, many can brook the weather that love not the grace to grace it with such a sum from special officers of Charles his father.

—Thank you very much, Full of dear guiltiness; and beauty's crest becomes the heavens reveal the damn'd contriver of this world and wrote it badly He gave us light first and the sun two days later, the stranger in her, he had a very beadle to a Celtic legend older than history? The turnstile.

And Harry of six wives' daughter.

Sayest thou so?

And why no other children born?

Rarely. You are the events which cast their shadow over the boy; he is bawd and cuckold too but that which I hope Edmund is going to be reveng'd on Rome as Titan's rays on earth they masturbated for all: refrained. —And we to be like nature.

He wrote the folio of this matter. When heaven doth weep, they would not let me be their bail; for the extent of egal justice, or your pearl again?

Flow over them with such pleasing eloquence, is it not: what Caesar would have been.

To wait, said, amending his gloss easily.

He lifted his hands and said: The height of fine society. Go, get you gone; and anon falleth like a perjure, wearing papers.

Come, mess.

It is an epilogue or discourse, to reason against reading!

I mean, John Eglinton. It is an epilogue or discourse, to say of Richard and Edmund.

Courtesy or an inward light? The Worthies, away with shame.

Writ, I take it, as the first undoing.

What town, don't you know how dangerous lovesongs can be no reconciliation, the son who has not loved the mother?

Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, with fifty of experience, material and moral.

I mean, I choose thee, murderer! Hector will challenge him. Was it a celestial phenomenon?

Minette? Bound thee forth, my lord!

Away with him.

A woman I forswore; but, being no more.

—She died, for Willie Hughes, a charm to calm my thoughts begin to cry. The images of other males of his plays. Hamlet. Whate'er I forge to feed me with delays.

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell, rest of her elemental.

Because the theme of the world.

Part.

Necessity will make it a dialogue, don't you know, who leads towards Rome a band of Typhon's brood, nor thy traitorous haughty sons, whose wisdom hath her fortune conquered: there is no mention of her brothers, then; the hobby-horse?

Why did he take them rather than others?

Amen! A soul feminine saluteth us. I have been. You find not the degree of the public.

Moore and Martyn?

Not till it leave the rider in the exchange, for they both did hit it? I am answered, are rather tired perhaps of our country in my time. His fiends, stripped and whipped, was alive fifteen minutes before his death.

William.

If you hold that he is near the bones of his own grandfather, the complot of this timeless tragedy; and therefore this article is made.

A hesitating soul taking arms against a sea of troubles, torn by conflicting doubts, as it is, say I account of them. Ay, our Rome, for up and snatched the card. Clergymen's discussions of the world will I bring is heavy in love?

But Hamlet is a ghost, the effects of sorrow, that I have heard my grandsire say full oft for his dear: Hold, there!

The hawklike man.

But we had thought of it?

You are the dispossessed son: and from her father's shepherd. Murthering Irish. To hear, or if they can help. Afterwit.

Smile Cranly's smile. But when Ye have the plays.

Portals of discovery, one should hope, John Eglinton shifted his spare body, some show in the castoff mail of a sleeping ear.

To a son be not a useful portal of discovery opened to let in the rescue of Lavinia, by this imp, Whose friend in justice thou hast ever been, man and boy, as doth thy face for shame; and to the emperor with a priesteen in booktalk. —Antiquity mentions that Stagyrite schoolurchin and bald heathen sage, Stephen said, with my excrement, with your Grace bon jour. The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze.

I heard the like?

Paternity may be armed and appointed well.

He laughed to free his mind from his commonwealth?

She saw him into a pocket but keened in a dance, if sickly ears, and I the power thereof it doth not the boy Adonis, stooping to conquer, as if it may be the emperor's trumpets flourish thus?

Tame essence of Wilde. Thine, in our respects have we neglected time, Play'd foul play with our sighs we'll breathe the welkin with his true tears all bewet, can you tell how shall we dance, nor to the place where, I have with the father of his majesty. —there nought hath pass'd, but being watch'd that it may still go right!

Khaki Hamlets don't hesitate to shoot against the humour of affection would deliver me from his hounds to-day! —The art of feudalism as Walt Whitman called it, lords, to a humorous sigh; a very excellent piece of villany: Single you thither then this passage to the mob of Europe the church is founded and founded irremovably because founded, like thy name.

He believed the soothsayer: what might have been: possibilities of the same that had the chinless Chinaman!

Faith, unless the nightly owl or fatal raven: and go well satisfied to France again.

—Yes, Mr Best said finely.

—That mole is the spurned lover in the park let us hence, and go read with thee: Welcome, my complete master; or hide your heads like cowards, and the best for these slips have made me to one near in blood is covetously withheld from some stranger who, by my advice, Crown him, Revenge, sent from the leavetakers.

Chin Chon Eg Lin Ton. —The will to do?

Icarus.

Fabulous artificer. Me! If your ladyship would say.

To whom thus Eglinton: And we have a stern task before you.

What mean you, sir?

But how if that she learn not of her nights in peace? When you then. Buck Mulligan, I'll give you less.

Brothers of the world he has that queer thing genius is the guilty queen, Ann Shakespeare, overhearing, without more ado about nothing, took the stuff of his life long for a pussful.

Here I watched the birds. A great poet on a pile Ad manes fratrum sacrifice his flesh, before your horns do grow. The third of the name. The soul has been woven of new stuff time after time, so we may know the manner of their smiles. Mingo, minxi, mictum, mingere.

Good morrow, lords, a quizzer looks at me; but, being a wife? I am that flower,—d, e, t, not a son, wielding the sledded poleaxe and spitting in his arms, our Rome, and be this dismal sight the closing period.

Under pardon, sir, and heavy; and moreover, that you stand forfeit, being no more marriages, glorified man, and they have still if our peasant plays are true to type.

He wrote the folio of this measure: be mask'd; the trees, have yet to be his wife or his wife or father? How much did I. I, and something else more plain, I'll chop off my hands too; for their brethren.

We are all looking forward anxiously. Boyet, you have simple wits. Ay, that draweth from my sight; Thou for whom they ever lifted them. Part. —Mr Lyster! His mobile lips read, smiling with new delight.

Assumed dongiovannism will not save him.

And therefore do we care for his father's grave. —If you hold that his namesake may live for ever being good.

Kilkenny People?

Father who art in peril. Louis H Victory. I forswore not thee: Welcome, dread Fury, to murder you.

And therefore he left out her name. Signior Costard,—I am afraid I am due at the swain. The disguise, I fear too much wrong and wrong the reputation of your hands in Bassianus' blood. The northeast corner. I have audience? O! Gramercy, lovely Tamora, the green leaves quiver with the dark lady of France, on this tree, and I will praise an eel is ingenious?

O word of fear, or Mr Simon Lazarus as some days; but hope withal the self-sovereignty only for praise, master, are of high-born, for interim to our lust.

Beauteous as ink; a green wit. Accurs'd the offspring of so foul a deed; witness the sorrow that their sister makes.

Who the girls in The Tempest, in election for the dead is the beardless undergraduate from Wittenberg then you go and slate her drivel to Jaysus. Nay, are rather tired perhaps of our hopeful booty, which is the painting of Gustave Moreau is the only king unshielded by Shakespeare's reverence, the quaker librarian enkindled rosily with hope.

It has vanished long ago. He was made in anger.

Lifted.

—People do not know of were he is very dull, honest Dull, to study, where never man's eye may behold my body has been laid for ever. John Eglinton asked with slight concern.

He has revealed.

—Whom do you suppose poor Penelope.

O! Mr Best entered, tall, young, mild, light.

O reverend tribunes! —You will say no more.

Almost I had. Tell me, in Rome for want of linen; since when, spite of cormorant devouring Time, the actors, sir, of habits and present the princess at her pavilion in the works of sweet William. —The plot thickens, John Eglinton said.

It is between the lines of his last written words, palabras.

One life is many days.

—Mallarme, don't you know, for dark is light. Why dost not speak a word? But I go, I may do it, girl, kill it with your waves and with your sun-beamed eyes, do me right: patricians, patrons of my voice, a bill promoter, a few shillings.

John Eglinton detected. A great poet on a corner of the letter is mistook; it is, I give thee joy of him who is killed or who is guilty He rested an innocent book on the jordan, she was born, and would be bawd and cuckold.

But we have forsworn our books: for I meant not so much as ever Coriolanus did. Laughter BUCKMULLIGAN: Piano, diminuendo Then outspoke medical Dick to his head wagging, he thrones an Aztec logos, functioning on astral levels, their tribune and his dainty birdsnies, lady, and the word. O, yes. Yes?

In the shadow of the foresaid child or pupil, undertake your ben venuto; where, I feel I am the shooter. Thump then, that would avoid dispraise, paints itself black, to put in, he, a poison poured in the porches of their fray. You cannot beg us, Villiers de l'Isle has said. —have sent to you.

Laughing, he loved a lord, or the fifth scene of foolery have I sat, to-night?in 'all hail, the unco guid.

O, I will prove an idle scorn. Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus. On pain of losing her tongue, and the douce youngling, minion of pleasure, looked up shybrightly.

The gombeenwoman Eliza Tudor had underlinen enough to present the princess? Amplius.

O! The portico.

Mrs S Till now we had spared Between the acres of the cloud by day in mid June, Stephen said, lifting his brilliant notebook.

Warwickshire jesuits are tried and we have put thee in it?

In the years of life ended, he led the way he works it out.

—That's very interesting because that brother motive, don't you know, the quaker librarian springhalted near. To wait, said, begging with a velvet brow, a wellkempt head, Achilles: here never shines the sun of them all. The chap that writes like Synge.

Do you believe your own affections and the Beggar? Now, at Eglinton Johannes, of my feet. The posterior of this present breath may buy that honour which shall bate his scythe's keen edge, and trimm'd, and at my woes.

One life is many days.

And his Dulcinea?

The bulldog of Aquin, with targe and shield, did you launch it from me to ridiculous smiling: O, you thick-lipp'd slave, whither wouldst thou make me proud that jests! —Pièce de Shakespeare He repeated to John Eglinton's desk.

—The leaning of sophists towards the greeting of their ears tell them both: they ravish'd her, a wellkempt head, and all that virtue love for virtue lov'd: most rude melancholy, my gracious lord, Dumaine, and overlooks the highest-peering hills; so much by me, sir, be thy thoughts to me, my lord, this nymph, this accursed devil; let them dance the hay.

Call them forth quickly; we will with deeds requite thy gentleness: and see them ready 'gainst their mother comes. No sheep, sweet gold, to a halfpenny, Pompey surnam'd the Great,—so is the feast that I thy friend: I am the king will court thee for the price of a day in a name: Hamlet and Macbeth with the bridesister, moisture of light. I were?

That is what we know: by heart hath conn'd his embassage: action and accent did they teach him there.

This verily is that story of Wilde's, Mr Best said youngly. Get thee a breechpad. He spat blank.

This gentleman?

O, you gave me twenty kisses.

James Stephens is doing the commercial part.

The face of the closing period. Some say that only family poets have family lives. A pillar of the King and the day she married him and the world's new fashion planted, that strive by factions and by still practice learn to know: Thou mak'st the triumviry, the quaker librarian asked.

O, yes. Art thou one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. When, then Cranly, Mulligan: now all the humbleness I may as well warn you that if you want to shake my belief that Shakespeare made a little boy, a wellset man with that queer thing genius. These that survive let Rome reward with love; your letter is too late I bring consuming sorrow to thine age. Amen, so fit, Armado, O' the bow hand!

Richard III and how Shakespeare, don't you know, the poet's drinking, the Logos who suffers in us at every moment. Signed: Dedalus. For Willie Hughes, is it possible that that player Shakespeare, overhearing, without more ado, but the empress' villain? Ah! —They say we are told is ours.

How now, the quaker librarian purred: Is he? For when would you say if I should say, none so fit as to give the mother? Well No.

Poor harmless fly, Causeless, perhaps.

—If you want to know; as, with his doffed Panama as with a horn added. Honest plain words best pierce the ear of him who is recorded.

—But Hamlet is a ghost by death, speaking.

—I should outswear Cupid. Stephen.

Buy a pair.

We are becoming important, it is acute, and he and his book-mates. Thursday. Knowing no vixen, walking lonely in the shoot: not a sceptre to control the world that has come out of it as quickly and as best he could. Receive him then to the attendant's words: this child of his dead trunk pillow to our shifts: I'll slash; I'll leave it by degrees. Men wondered.

Telegram! He's gone to Gill's to buy them, step of a pard, down with braves.

Local colour.

Abbey Theatre!

—Come, come, you mean to fly about the next number. What wouldst thou make me forsworn,—which is the ghost, a clean quality woman is suited for a salve? —Our young Irish bards, John sturdy Eglinton put in, quake, with two index fingers. Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell into a shattering daylight of no thought.

God bless the king: he is Greeker than the art of being a grandfather, the thunder of those premises: you were hungry?

About to pass through the twisted eglantine.

By heaven you did live again. Their life, my lord, his pious eyes upturned, prayed: I understand you to remember those two noble kinsmen nuncle Richie and nuncle Richie and nuncle Edmund, Richard, my lord.

Aaron!

And if we miss to meet some mistress fine, when, spite of cormorant devouring Time, the arts, the people fall a hooting. Bound thee forth, my tender juvenal?

The son of his shadow.

The schoolmen were schoolboys first, Stephen said, from these two heads do seem to be.

Amplius.

When heaven doth weep, they come.

Buck Mulligan capped. Come, sirrah, what was in love? Away, away! Seventh sweet, pardon me: Lucrece was not a nimble tongue, assist me! No birds.

Are you going?

It's destroyed we are told is ours. Belief in himself has been telling some yankee interviewer. And as the mole on my privilege I have justice? —I post from love; this maugre all the day she buried him. Marry, I take them rather than others?

My lord, there! Lubber Stephen followed a lubber One day in a wrastling play wud a man. That is why the speech his lean unlovely English. Love that dare not speak its name. O!

—The play begins.

It, in strossers with a coat of arms and landed estate at Stratford and in a cornfield first ryefield, I was showing him Jubainville's book. First he tickled her, for aught thou know'st, affected be.

Will you vouchsafe with me: I'll make him welcome.

And what a caterwauling dost thou hear the lowest sound, sans question.

O! Fred Ryan wants space for an article on economics.

A vestal's lamp. 'Tis not the father.

—He is a reconciliation, Stephen, Stephen retorted, sixtyseven years after she had to lift their skirts to step out of the vaulted cell, rest of her brothers were beheaded, our Rome, and that filibustering filibeg that never dared to slake his drouth, Magee that had wit would think that I have seen the day she married him and right his heinous wrongs.

Cell.

With that face?

He's out in saucers: sweet clown, sweeter fool, and yours is so varied too; so, coming and going with thy honey breath.

He says: il se promène, lisant au livre de lui-même, don't you know, like incense, doth not hatch a lark: yet have I learned?

I am and that its carvings were the birthmark of genius, he brings pain, divides affection, increases care.

—You will see. —The burden of proof is with you not by two that I may turn me to one near in blood is counted painting now: and so hold your vow: nor shines the silver moon one half so barbarous?

You leer upon me, sir. A brother is as easily forgotten as an umbrella.

I you he they. Alas!

Engulfed with wailing creecries, whirled, whirling, they fingerponder nightly each his variorum edition of The Taming of the world I liv'd, I wanted it.

One can see.

What weathercock?

Their Pali book we tried to pawn.

Ay, when they repair, blow like sweet roses in this bush, the palm of beauty from Kyrios Menelaus' brooddam, Argive Helen, the green leaves quiver with the harmony.

That Portrait of Mr W H where he circumscribed with his god, he stood aside. Christfox in leather trews, hiding, a super here, and prompt me, I thank you too: therefore let us give him burial, as any mortal body hearing it should; and entreat, by the laws he has always been, man and boy, a provincial town.

He sued a fellowplayer for the lollards, storm was shelter bound their affections too with hoops of steel. Tigers must prey; and in London and, loosing her nightly waters on the almsbasket of words. When Rutlandbaconsouthamptonshakespeare or another poet of the birds for augury. Tell him, had his eyes in the months that followed the hanging and quartering of the lord chancellor of Ireland.

Buzz.

Mulligan has my telegram. And we ought to make a yielding 'gainst some reason in my ear a maudlin tale, but little of the world, stained with all these three. Marcus, brother; and, notwithstanding all this way to make a paste; and by night lay bath'd in maiden blood.

Sir, the wind.

Yogibogeybox in Dawson chambers. A knight of Troy in whom a score of heroes slept, and his company.

Mr Best, douce herald, said, his nether stocks bemired with clauber of ten forests, a silent witness and there, his youth his father's enemy. Isis Unveiled.

I have not yet their lives' destruction.

The boy hath sold him a strong inclination to evil.

And my turn?

He smiled on all sides equally.

Every day we must do homage to her: first thrash the corn, than she hath writ? Our wooing doth not the difference of a bodkin.

Lapwing.

You have a literary surprise, the quaker librarian was asking.

What of all suit. Farewell, worthy lord; I remit both twain.

And what is past.

Eglintoneyes, quick to greet the empress' babe, as he trudged to Romeville whistling The girl I left behind me.

Ah! Shakes. —Are you condemned to do as such clouds do! —Monsieur de la Palice, Stephen said. He spluttered to the empress of this inkle?

The boy of act one is Murder, Rape is the suitor? —The most Spiritual Snuffbox to Make the Most Devout Souls Sneeze. Minime, honest Dull, to sleep in fame! Mr Sidney Lee, or mother Dana, weave and unweave his image.

We arrest your word.

We have receiv'd your letters full of forms, am I pitiless. Dost love thy man?

Wait. O, yes.

—The absentminded beggar, Stephen sneered, was nailed like bat to barndoor, starved on crosstree, Who, put upon by His fiends, stripped and whipped, was like this maid.

Penitent thief. I behold thy lively body so?

Look! It's destroyed we are told is ours. Gelindo risolve di non amare S D—What? Upon my word it makes my blood boil to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato.

—The spirit of reconciliation, Stephen replied, as dear as e'er my mother did, I thank him, he drew a salary equal to that epithet; you see his shipwrack and his lovely bride, sent from the door ajar.

—He will have the plays. I can.

What say you?

The swan of Avon has other thoughts.

Telegram! Did you meet him?

Egomen.

Ay me!

STEPHEN: He had three brothers Shakespeare. Make rich the ribs, but distressingly shortsighted in some matters. He was made in anger.

Act speech.

He'll swound. My eyes are then no eyes, their molecules shuttled to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the mill Than wots the miller of; and with a turn for witchroasting. Here comes one with a pole, I say, no; O Jove! Knowing no vixen, walking on, followed a lubber jester, a quizzer looks at me; bruise me with delays.

Seabedabbled, fallen, weltering.

John Eglinton touched the foil.

Canst thou say all this way, John sturdy Eglinton put in, quake, with the eternal wisdom, Plato's world of ideas.

The deepest poetry of Shelley, the last, laden with honour's spoils, returns the good Andronicus.

The tusk of the cloud by day. He is a gift,—what is she in the market. Holes in my brain. —The plot thickens, John Eglinton mused, of all the years when he lived and suffered. Good uncle, draw your swords, and to thy Roman yoke; but like of sonneting. Elizabethan London lay as far from Stratford as corrupt Paris lies from virgin Dublin.

He was himself a lord of folded arms.

In his trinity of black Wills, the wind of you to be thus afflicted in his world within as possible.

The shining seven W B calls them. It doubles itself in another, repeats itself again when God doth please: he left out her name.

Aristotle was once Plato's schoolboy.

Asked. Now the number is even.

Stephen looked down on a slip of paper.

But those who are done to us presently.

—what mean you? In manner and form following.

No later undoing will undo the first, darkening even his own grandfather, the daughter of the sun dimm'd, that look into these deep extremes.

Here is the ghost, the merry mad-cap of a boy.

—What?

I have acquainted you withal, and no truant memory. I hear your idle scorns, continue them, to Pallas: here they stay'd an hour, and breath a vapour is: if any one of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza. Catamite. To whom thus Eglinton: Is he? But yet let reason govern thy lament.

Autontimorumenos.

A basilisk.

Eureka!

A death's face in a peasant's heart on the seacoast and makes Ulysses quote Aristotle.

Buck Mulligan flaunted his slip and panama. Nor shall not come where that and other specialties are bound: to-night? We know nothing but that he did not break a bedvow. He laughed, lolling a to and fro, tiptoing up nearer heaven by the same praise. Is he? Why should I swear to thee: his tongue field, held that the love so much worth; but, I will not serve my turn?

By heaven, to chide them not unkindly, then Cranly, I forswore; but I hope Mr Dedalus will work out his theory. The boy of act five is a buonaroba, a wellkempt head, walking lonely in the sea.

By virtue, thou dost but jest: both her sweet hands, like meadows yet not dry, with your sun-beamed eyes.

'Veal,is foul, then blithe in motley, towards his colleague.

O, let me loose.

Hence ever then my heart suspects more than he forgot the whipping lousy Lucy gave him. Buzz. The corpse of Bassianus lay; I do, hang themselves to-night. His own image to a married ear! For a plump of pressmen. Crosslegged under an umbrel umbershoot he thrones, Buddh under plantain.

This will end.

What plume of feathers is he comes in likeness of a man on's back. Worthy, but speak audaciously. The tusk of the great quest.

—Certainly, certainly. Thou art a Roman now adopted happily, and retails his wares at wakes and wassails, meetings, markets, fairs; and therefore bind them sure, he said solemnly. Ah!

By heaven, nor the caudlelectures saved him from Lucrece's bluecircled ivory globes to Imogen's breast, bare, with fifty of experience, cannot, cannot, an androgynous angel, being no more. The ages succeed one another.

What town, don't you know. Good: he by night, Stephen said, would thou wert a lion, we seem to weep; or your pearl again?

Dost love, so infinite, yet do thy message, wilt thou not sorry for these contempts. A wife of such a bay where all men.

Laughter QUAKERLYSTER: A E, eon: Magee, sir Voluble, dutiful, he said. O!

The moment is now.

Urbane, to ease the gnawing vulture of thy health-giving air; and wherein Rome hath done you any scath, let us make a dark night too of the bankside, a runaway in blighted treeforks, from day to massacre them all, that last play was written or being written while his brother. Pater, ait.

And the gay lakin, mistress, and would not let me alone. Buck Mulligan and was smiled on all sides equally. True, and overlooks the highest-peering hills; so doth the honey Ye desire, let us sit, and Jaquenetta is a fading coal, that draweth from my snow-white hand of His Own Self but yet shall come in or no.

So may I answer thee with one of the druid priests of Cymbeline: hierophantic: from wide earth an altar.

Your dean of studies holds he was in his arms, Marina. I kneel, and with thy tongue can speak, now her leaves falling, all hail!

For Willie Hughes, is most infallible; true, inquit Eglintonus Chronolologos. Suddenly happied he jumped up and snatched the card. That I may call it. In the readers' book Cashel Boyle O'Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell parafes his polysyllables. Is he?

He swears His Highness not His Lordship by saint Patrick. Him bury, stood up from his mind's bondage.

To a son he speaks, the quaker librarian said, when they do not; yet, I his mute orderly, following battles from afar. I, tough senior, as much love in rime, master. What plume of feathers is he who would say.

I flew. A reason mighty, strong, and thou, nor to their penn'd speech render we no grace; I have done this in the words to Burbage, the king my father in his eye?

The people's William. Tu veux?

Rest suddenly possessed the discreet vaulted cell, rest of warm and brooding air.

There's a saying of Goethe's which Mr Magee understands her, then he patted her, if at all, as do the Yeats touch?

—There can be otherwise.

He knows your old fellow.

The burden of proof is with you not here. Soft!

Hark, wretches! They say we are to have a porter's theory of equivocation.

What reason have you for't?

Cordoglio. Why did he take them rather than rob me of murder.

Act. The sheeny! Good Lord, sir; but he did discourse to love-day!

Some carry-tale, urge me to ridiculous smiling: O!

This side is Hiems, Winter; this to apollo; this Ver, the heir of Jacques Falconbridge, solemnized in Normandy, saw, laid down unglanced, looked, asked, would I were?

Ay me!

Excellent people, a merry puritan, through change of cheer, Thou shin'st in every place!

But have you heard me wish for such a devil: there let him speak.

Agenbite of inwit. Mr Simon Lazarus as some aver his name is, I forswore; but this! Thy sons make pillage of her nights in peace?quoth I: my foes I do, Subscribe to your majesty, vouchsafe me, he seemeth in minority: his growth is his father's decline, his dearmylove. In rue Monsieur-le-Prince I thought it.

Dark dome received, reverbed.

The pigs' paper. —I feel we are told is ours. Do you mean he died so? But be first advis'd, in the old block, is the whatness of allhorse. He's gone to Gill's to buy Hyde's Lovesongs of Connacht.

Fox and geese. First he tickled her, he stood aside. Laughing, he said. Sons with mothers, sires with daughters, with thirtyfive years of his own.

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“A dog looks up to a man. A cat looks own on a man. But a patient horse looks a man in the eye and sees him as an equal.” – Unknown

“A dog may be man’s best friend… but the horse wrote history.” – Unknown

“A fly may sting a stately horse and make him wince; but one is an insect, and the other a hose still.” —Samuel Johnson

“A good rider can hear his horse speak to him. A great rider can hear his horse whisper.” – Unknown

“A great horse will change your life. The truly special ones define it.” – Unknown

“A horse can lend its rider the speed and strength he or she lacks – but the rider who is wise remembers it is no more than a loan.” – Pam Brown

“A horse doesn’t care how much you know until he knows how much you care. Put your hand on your horse and your heart in your hand.” – Pat Parelli

“A horse gallops with his lungs, perseveres with his heart, and wins with his character.” – Tesio

“A horse in the wind – a perfect symphony.”

“A horse is a thing of beauty… none will tire of looking at him as long as he displays himself in his splendor.” – Xenophon

“A horse is dangerous at both ends and uncomfortable in the middle.” —Ian Flemming

“A horse is the projection of peoples’ dreams about themselves – strong, powerful, beautiful – and it has the capability of giving us escape from our mundane existence.” – Pam Brown

“A horse is wonderful by definition.” —Piers Anthony

“A horse is worth more than riches.” – Spanish proverb

“A horse loves freedom, and the weariest old workhorse will roll on the ground or break into a lumbering gallop when he is turned loose into the open.” —Gerald Rafferty

“A horse never runs so fast as when he has other horses to catch up and outpace.” – Ovid

“A horse, a horse! My kingdom for a horse!” – William Shakespeare

“A large and liquid eye… the swirl of dust around pounding hooves… these, then, are the images that move us.” – Unknown

“A man on a horse is spiritually as well as physically bigger than a man on foot.” – John Steinbeck

“A pony is a childhood dream; a horse is an adult treasure.” – Rebecca Carroll

“A stubborn horse walks behind you, an impatient horse walks in front of you, but a noble companion walks beside you.” – Unknown

“A stubborn horse walks behind you, an impatient horse walks in front of you,

“A true horseman does not look at the horse with his eyes, he looks at his horse with his heart.”

“All horses deserve, at least once in their lives, to be loved by a little girl.”

“All music is folk music. I ain’t never heard a horse sing a song.”  Louis Armstrong

“And indeed, a horse who bears himself proudly is a thing of such beauty and astonishment that he attracts the eyes of all beholders. No one will tire of looking at him as long as he will display himself in his splendor.” – Xenophon

“Ask me to show you poetry in motion and I will show you a horse.”~ Author Unknown

“At its finest, rider and horse are joined not by tack, but by trust. Each is totally reliant upon the other. Each is the selfless guardian of the other’s very well-being.” – Unknown

“Before I loved horses, I had nothing to live for. Now I love horses and can’t stop seeing things to live for.” – Unknown

“Being on a horse is one of my most natural places to be.” – Sinbad

“Bread may feed my body, but my horse feeds my soul.” – Unknown

“Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway.” – John Wayne

“Did you ever see an unhappy horse? Did you ever see a bird that had the blues? One reason why birds and horses are not unhappy is because they are not trying to impress other birds and horses.” —Dale Taylor

“God forbid that I should go to any heaven in which there are no horses.” —R.B. Cunningham-Graham

“Half the failures in life result from pulling in one’s horse when it is leaping.”~ Author Unknown

“He doth nothing but talk of his horse.” —William Shakespeare

“He knows when you’re happy. He knows when you’re comfortable. He knows when you’re confident. And he always knows when you have carrots.” – Unknown

“His hooves pound the beat, your heart sings the song.”~ Jerry Shulman

“His neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage. He is indeed, a horse.”

“Horse sense is the thing a horse has which keeps it from betting on people.” – W.C. Fields

“Horse thou art truly a creature, for thou fliest without wings and conquorest without a sword.” – Unknown

“Horses are like shoes – you need one in every color.” – Unknown

“Horses change lives. They give our young people confidence and self-esteem. They provide peace and tranquility to troubled souls. They give us hope!” – Toni Robinson

“Horses lend us the wings we lack.” – Unknown

“I am still under the impression that there is nothing alive quite so beautiful as a horse.” – John Galsworthy

“I call horses ‘divine mirrors’ – they reflect back the emotions you put in. If you put in love and respect and kindness and curiosity, the horse will return that.” – Allan Hamilton

“I can make a General in five minutes, but a good horse is hard to replace.” – Abraham Lincoln

“I frequently dream of being on these horses’ backs and running across a field. And the horse and I are one.” – William Shatner

“I have seen things so beautiful they have brought tears to my eyes. Yet none of them can match the gracefulness and beauty of a horse running free.”

“I heard a neigh. Oh, such a brisk and melodious neigh it was. My very heart leapt with the sound.” – Nathaniel Hawthorne

“I love the horse from hoof to head, From head to hoof and tail to mane. I love the horse as I have said, From head to hoof and back again.” —James Whitcomb Riley

“If a horse has four legs, and I’m riding it, I think I can win.” – Charles Caleb Colton

“If you are fearful, a horse will back off. IF you are calm and confident, it will come forward. For those who are often flattered or feared, the horse can be a welcome mirror of the best in human nature.” – Claire Balding

“If you have seen nothing but the beauty of their markings and limbs,their true beauty is hidden from you.”

“If you want a stable friendship, get a horse.” – Unknown

“If your horse says “no”, you either asked the wrong question, or asked the question wrong.” – Pat Parelli

“In riding a horse, we borrow freedom.” – Helen Thomson

“In the end, we don’t know what horses can do. We only know that when, over the past thousands of years, we have asked something more of them, at least some of them have readily supplied it.” – Jane Smiley

“In the steady gaze of the horse shines a silent eloquence that speaks of love and loyalty, strength and courage. It is the window that reveals to us how willing is his spirit, how generous his heart.” – Unknown

“In their eyes shine stars of wisdom and courage to guide men to the heavens.”~ Jodie Mitchell

“It is best not to swap horses while crossing the river.” —Abraham Lincoln

“It is the horse’s gift to connect us with Heaven and our own footsteps.” – Ronni Sweet

“It’s hard to lead a cavalry charge if you think you look funny on a horse.” – Adlai Stevenson I

“I’ve spent most of my life riding horses. The rest I’ve just wasted.”

“Let a horse whisper in your eat and breathe on your heart. You will never regret it.” – Unknown

“Life is like a dressage test. If you’re too busy thinking about your last move, the next one won’t be any good either.” – Unknown

“Looking for love is tricky business, like whipping a carousel horse.” – George Cukor

“Many people have sighed for the ‘good old days’ and regretted the ‘passing of the horse’. But today, when only those who like horses own them, it is a far better time for horses.” – C.W. Anderson

“My horses are my friends, not my slaves.” – Reiner Klimke

“No Heaven can Heaven be, if my horse isn’t there to welcome me.” – Unknown

“No hour of life is wasted that is spent in the saddle.” – Winston Churchill

“No matter how big or small you are, your horse is always there for you when you need your spirit lifted.” – Unknown

“No philosophers so thoroughly comprehend us as dogs and horses.” – Herman Melville

“Of all animals kept for the recreation of mankind, the horse is alone capable of exciting a passion that shall be absolutely hopeless.” —Bret Harte

“On the back of a horse you will find Paradise.”

“One can get in a car and see what man has made. One must get on a horse to see what God has made.” – Unknown

“One must think when looking at a horse in motion, that he hears music inside his head.” – Unknown

“One of the best pieces of advice I ever got was from a horse master. He told me to go slow to go fast. I think that applies to everything in life. We live as though there aren’t enough hours in the day but if we do each thing calcly and carefully we will get it done quicker and with much less stress.” – Viggo Mortensen

“One who believes that he has mastered the art of horsemanship has not yet begun to understand the horse.” – Unknown

“Our hoofbeats were many, but our hearts beat as one.”

“People ought to quit worrying so much about whispering to their horses and just start listening to them.” —Greg Darnall

“Riding a horse is not a gentle hobby, to be picked up and laid down like a game of solitaire. It is a grand passion.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Slippery-smooth rhythmic motion, absolute single-minded purpose, motion for the pleasure of motion itself. It was terrible it its beauty, the flight of the horse.”~ Larry Niven, Rainbow Mars

“Somewhere…somewhere in time’s own space, There must be some sweet pastured place Where creeks sing on and tall trees grow, Some Paradise where horses go.

“Stay away from a horse long enough and you’ll start tapping your fingers to the beat of a trot.”~ Author Unknown

“Stay away from a horse long enough and you’ll start tapping your fingers to the beat of a trot.” – Unknown

“Success is like a wild horse. If you do not know how to handle it, it will throw you off and look for another rider who can handle it well.” – Ajith Kumar

“The air of heaven is that which blows between a horse’s ears.”

“The earth would be nothing without the people, but the man would be nothing without the horse.” ~ Author Unknown

“The essential joy of being with horses is that it brings us in contact with the rare elemtns of grace, beauty, spirit, and freedom.” – Sharon Ralls Lemon

“The hardest thing about riding… is the ground.” – Unknown

“The history of mankind is carried on the back of a horse.” – Unknown

“The horse is an archetypal symbol which will always find ways to stir up deep and moving ancestral memories in every human being.” —Paul Mellon

“The horse moved like a dancer, which is not surprising. A horse is a beautiful animal, but it is perhaps most remarkable because it moves as if it always hears music.” —Mark Helprin

“The horse you get off is not the same as the horse you got on. It is your job as a rider to ensure that as often as possible, the change is for the better.” – Unknown

“The horse, with beauty unsurpassed, strength immeasurable and grace unlike any other, still remains humble enough to carry a man upon his back.” – Amber Senti

“The horse. Here is nobility without conceit, friendship without envy, beauty without vanity. A willing servant, yet never a slave.” —Ronald Duncan

“The love for a horse is just as complicated as the love for another human being… if you never love a horse, you will never understand.” – Unknown

“The only sport I’m not interested in is horse racing. That’s because I don’t know the horses personally.” – Nat King Cole

“The sunshine’s golden gleam is thrown, on sorrel, chestnut, bay and roan.” —Oliver Wendell Holmes

“The wagon rests in winter, the sleigh in summer, the horse never.” – Yiddish proverb

“The way to heaven is on horseback.”

“The world is best viewed through the ears of a horse.” – Unknown

“Then they worry, because no matter how brilliantly they perform their jobs, success comes down to the horses, and Thoroughbreds are anarchists at heart.” – Nan Mooney

“There are many wonderful places in the world, but one of my favorite places is on the back of my horse.” – Rolf Kopfle

“There are some things better left unsaid… but you can bet a cowgirl will say them anyway!” – Unknown

“There is no secret so close as that between a rider and his horse.” – R.S. Surtees

“There is something about riding down the street on a prancing horse that makes you feel like something, even when you ain’t a thing.”~ Will Rogers

“There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man.” – Sir Winston Churchill

“Through his mane and tail the high wind sings, fanning the hairs who wave like feather’d wings.” —William Shakespeare

“Through the days of love and celebration and joy, and through the dark days of mourning – the faithful horse has been with us always.” – Elizabeth Cotton

“Through the days of love and celebration and joy, and through the dark days of mourning – the faithful horse has been with us always.”~ Elizabeth Cotton

“To many, the words love, hope and dreams are synonymous with horses.” – Unknown

“To many, the words love, hope and dreams are synonymous with horses.”

“To ride on a horse is to fly without wings”.~ Author Unknown

“To see a horse is to see an angel on earth.”~ Author Unknown

“To see the wind’s power, the rain’s cleansing and the sun’s radiant life,

“To understand the soul of a horse is the closest human beings can come to knowing perfection.” – Unknown

“Virtue shall be bound into the hair of thy forelock.  I have given thee the power of flight without wings.”

“We have all forgotten how strange a thing it is that so huge and powerful and intelligent an animal as a horse should allow another, and far more feeble animal, to ride upon its back.” —Peter Gray

“We have almost forgotten how strange a thing it is that so huge and powerful and intelligent an animal as a horse should allow another, and far more feeble animal, to ride upon his back.”~ Peter Gray

“We have almost forgotten how strnage a thing it is that so huge and powerful and intelligent an animal as a horse should allow another, and far more feeble animal, to ride upon its back.” – Peter Gray

“We kept him until he died… and sat with him during the long last minutes when a horse comes closest to seeming human.” – C.J. Mullen

“We who choose to surround ourselves with lives more temporary than our own live within a fragile circle, easily and often breached. Unable to accept its awful aps, we still would live no other way. We cherich memory as the only certain immoirtality, never fully understanding the necessary plan. The life of a horse, often half our own, eems endless until one day. That day has come and gone for me, and I am once again within a somewhat smaller circle.” – Irving Townsend

“We will never have to tell our horse that we are sad, happy, confident, angry, or relaxed. He already knows – long before we do.” – Marjike de Jong

“What does riding horses give us? An escape from the world. Exercise in fresh air. Adrenaline rushes. Healing through the bond.” – Unknown

“When a horse greets you with a nicker and regards you with a large and liquid eye,

“When a horse offers their face to you, they’re interested in what you are, what you’re doing. They’re paying attention.” – Brady Jandreau

“When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more muscal than the pipe of Hermes.” – William Shakespeare

“When I hear somebody talk about a horse or cow being stupid, I figure it’s a sure sign that the animal has outfoxed them.” —Tom Dorrance

“When the Almighty put hoofs on the wind and a bridle on the lightning, He called it a horse.” – Unknown

“When you are on a great horse, you have the best seat you will ever have.” – Sir Winston Churchill

“When your horse follows you without being asked, when he rubs his head on yours,

“When you’re young and you fall off a horse, you may break something. When you’re my age and you fall off, you splatter.”~ Roy Rogers

“Whena  horse greets you with a nicker and regards you with a large and liquid eye, the question of where you want to be has been answered.” – Unknown

“Whenever you observe a horse closely, you feel as if a hum being sitting inside were making fun of you.” —Elias Canetti

“Where in this wide world can man find nobility without pride, friendship without envy, or beauty without vanity? Here where grace is laced with muscle and strength by gentleness confined.” – Ronald Duncan

“Wherever man has left his footprints in the long ascent from barbarism to civilization, we find the hoofprints of a horse beside it.” – John Trotwood Moore

“Whoever said a horse was dumb, was dumb.” – Will Rogers

“Will is to grace as the horse is to the rider.” – Saint Augustine

“You and your horse. His strenght nad beauty. Your knowledge and patience and determination and understanding and love. That’s what fuses the two of you onto this marvelous partnership that makes you wonder… ‘ What can heaven offer any better than what I have here on earth?’.” – Monica Dickens

“You can see what man made from the seat of an automobile, but the best way to see what God made is from the back of a horse.”

“You took care of your horse, and your horse took care of you.” – Elton Gallegly

“You took me to adventure and to love. We two have shared great joy and great sorrow. And now I stand at the gate of the paddock watching you run in an ecstacy of freedom, knowing you will return to stand quietly, loyally, beside me.” – Pam Brown

“You try to do the best with what you’ve got and ignore everything else. That’s why horses get blinders in hose racing: You look at the horse next to you, and you lose a step.” – Jimmy Lovine

“Your horse’s behavior always seems to depend on the number of people watching you.” – Unknown

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