Marsha > Recent Status Updates

The warriors continued to hurl arrows and darts and spears and axes and huge stones upon the invaders, all without avail. When everything had been cast that was available and not a single weapon of any sort remained at hand, the amazed warriors saw the boy put his shoulder against the gates and burst asunder the huge staples that held the bars in place. A thousand of their men could not have accomplished this feat.

"Where is Jinxland?" inquired the Scarecrow. "Very near here, a litt to the east of us," she aid. "Then Jinxland is really a part of the Land of Oz," said he. "Yes," returned Glinda, "but Oz people know nothing of it, except what is recorded here in my book." "What does the Book say about it?" asked the Scarecrow. "It is ruled by a wicked man called King Krewl, although he has no right to the title."

"I don't care," said Ojo, in an obstinate tone; "Ozma's only a girl." The Shaggy Man looked at him in surprise. "You ought to care for Ozma," said he, "if you expect to save your uncle. For, if you displease our powerful Ruler, your journey will surely prove a failure; whereas, if you make a friend of Ozma, she will gladly assist you. As for her being a girl, that is another reason why you should obey her laws."

Dr. Pipt took a small basket from a cupboard and packed several things in it. then he handed it to Ojo. "Here is some food and a bundle of charms," he said. "It is all I can give you, but I am sure you will find friends on your journey who will assist you in your search. Take care of the Patchwork Girl and bring her safely back, for she ought to prove useful to my wife."

"I've lost my Magic Belt. A little girl named Dorothy, who was here with Ozma of Oz, stole my belt and carried it away with her," said the King. "She captured it in a fair fight," Kaliko ventured to say. "But I want it! Halve my power is gone with that Belt!" roared the King. "You will have to go to the Land of Oz to recover it, and your Majesty can't get to the Land of Oz in any possible way." "Why not?"

Toto had been looking with great curiosity in the hole which the boy was digging, and growing more and more excited every minute, perhaps thinking that Button-Bright was after some wild animal. the little dog began barking loudly and jumped into the hole himself, where he began to dig with his tiny paws, making the earth fly in all directions. It spattered over the boy. Dorothy seized him and raised him to his feet.

"It seems to me," said the Scarecrow, thoughtfully, "that our best plan is to wheedle his Majesty into giving up his slaves, since he is too great a magician to oppose." "This is the most sensible thing any of you have suggested," declared the Nome King. "It is folly to threaten me, but I'm so kind-hearted that I cannot stand coaxing or wheedling. If you really wish to accomplish anything, you must coax me."

Those numbers were shaped by questions. One posed by the MMAS was, "How satisfied are you with your sex life?"--in effect, rating anyone who did not answer "totally" as having minimal erectile dysfunction. Before, ED [erectile dysfunction] was defined as "the persistent failure to develop and maintain erections of sufficient rigidity for penetrative sexual intercourse." (Italics added.)

So we cannot say testosterone creates violence in men. What we can say, though, and without any fear of contradiction, is that testosterone creates the organ that many men refer to as their manhood, the same organ many feminists liken to a battering ram. That, of course, would be the penis.

"It was not so long ago that the battle of the sexes was fought in gentle, rolling Thurber country," the unsigned, six-page cover story began. "Now the din is in earnest, echoing from the streets where pickets gather, the bars where women were once barred, and even connubial beds." Radical feminists want "to topple the patriarchal system."

Among the core concepts of psychoanalysis, only two--penis envy and the castration complex--are without any precedent in the medical literature and thus stand as wholly original. In 1937 Freud called them the "bedrock" upon which all his theories were built and beyond which psychoanalysis was powerless to dig. If he were alive today Freud might call them "psychic DNA" or the "double-helix of human personality."

To curb self-pollution, Tissot recommended drinking quinine, taking cold baths, and practicing "clean thoughts." Others used harsher therapies, German writer S. G. Vogel urged an updated version of infibulation, a practice invented by the ancient Greeks in which the foreskin is pulled forward and sewed, tied, or pinned shut. (Vogel closed it down with a wire ring.) Some physicians used straitjackets.

"I want to go home," Jane says. "Please, god, let me go home." It's funny to find herself speaking words that sound like prayer. She's never been religious, she doesn't know what she believes, and she doesn't really know what she means by home, either. She does, however, give herself a second to mourn the brown-rose-copper umbrella with the brass handle. Her heroic-journey umbrella.

"I'm dying to talk to Mr. Vanders," says Phoebe. "He could help." "I talked to him today," Jane says, remembering. "He says that the more we embrace our lack of cohesion, the better off we are." "That sounds like Mr. Vanders," says Phoebe wistfully. "But this is different, isn't it?" Jane says. "This weird feeling? Don't you feel like it's coming from outside us? Like, from the walls and the ceiling?"

"I saw the Okadas sneaking around last night," she blurts out. "With Patrick." Lucy's eyes narrow on her. "What do you mean? Where?" "In the servants' quarters," says Jane. "Just after four in the morning." "I think that's when Philip was called away," says Lucy. "Patrick was probably just helping him organize a boat." Jane almost says something, then stops.

Finally,there was a photograph of Aunt Magnolia herself, standing, in scuba gear, on a New Zealand seafloor, touching the nose of an enormous southern right whale who peered at her with quiet dignity. Aunt Magnolia had been so encouraged by her visit to New Zealand, where the sea life is fiercely protected by law. "It gives me hope for the world," she'd said. She'd been that way. Hopeful.

"It's not my business to tell," Sierra said. "But Anthony has a condition that only Juan and a few other people can be of any help with. Juan's like his anchor...when it happens." "Is he a werewolf?" Jerome said. Tee smacked his arm. "Ow. It's not like that's such an unreasonable question considering...like...who we are."

It was a pleasant thought. The news that a girl had been accepted into the line was always welcome but would be more so this time. A sixth child. A first daughter. It would mean a lot to have a tunneler in such a family. They said good night and Jena made her way to the edge of the Square. Occasionally, someone caught her eye and murmured, "Congratulations!" or "It is a day."

PAUL JELLINEK: One day, I mentioned to her that the city's Department of cultural Affairs had just bought an empty lot next to the Watts Towers and they were interviewing architects for a visitors center. Fox spent a month secretly designing a fountain, museum, and a series of viewing platforms made from the Getty's rejected travertine. When Fox presented her plan to the Getty management, they quickly shot her down.

The drummer has a set of pipes and he's playing some kind of weird tune on them. He stops, and looks at me, and a bark of laughter comes out of his mouth. "Of course," he says. "My mistress with a monster is in love." "Was it you?" Eron says, and moves through space faster than he should to the durmemr's sides. "Not me, man," says the drummer. "You're the one who cheated on her. You thought that was a plan?"

That night, long after her talk with Erika (during which Erika sent the assistant several texts and pings and questions about the meeting with Jonsson), Sigrid crept out of her room. Subroutines in the house alerted the assistant to her movements; he was prepared to let her sleepwalk until she pulled a milk crate full of scarves and balaclavas down over her head. "You can't come with me," Sigrid said.

While Howe stayed on the floor, I poked around on the computer, eventually finding an old staff directory with Whitney's phone number on it. When I got her, she immediately started apologizing. "It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters except saving my parents." I told her I wasn't mad anymore, that we had one last chance. I tried to keep my voice steady as I told her that my parents were already MIA.

"Put on the cape," Alexander says. He sits breathless as the young man unfolds the shining red cloth. This moment is part of an old dream, a red dream--red on blue, with gold trim, and that lovely brand upon the young man's fine chest. The cape will make it perfect. But the young man grins, ruining the effect. What was to be serious, epic, suddenly feels like the farce it is, and Alexander looks away in shame.

Terry said, "Are you here to steal gasoline or sabotage Red Stripe gasoline supplies?" "No." "Super." Terry consulted the clipboard. "Oh, wait. It says here not to believe you and in parentheses it says slap face. I guess we can skip that." The stone-faced guard cleared his throat, shook his head. "Oh." Terry seemed disappointed. "Rules are rules." Terry leaned forward, swung his hand and caught Mortimer's face.

This work in which I do honor to you has for its purpose the development for all eyes of the principles of that science of which you are the bulwark and the ornament. I send up in it, therefore, a first wafting of incense to Gastronomy, the youngest of the Immortals, who hardly before she has assumed her starry crown is taller than her sisters.

The pheasant is an enigma whose secret meaning is known only to the initiate; they alone understand how to enjoy it to its full. Every substance has its peak of deliciousness: some of them have already reached it before their full development, like capers, asparagus, young grey partridges, squab pigeons, and so on; others reach it at that precise moment when they are all that is possible for them to be in perfection.

The center of the banquet table is hollow, and leaves a great space filled with a crowd of carvers and servers, who hasten here and there and to the farthest places with whatever anyone may wish to taste. There too are displayed most advantageously everything that Nature in her prodigality has created for man's nourishment, and these richnesses are doubled a hundredfold.

By exhaustion is understood a state of weakness, of languor, and of depression brought about by preceding circumstances which make more difficult the natural bodily functions. There are three such kinds of fatigues, not counting the one which results from hunger. These three are caused by muscular fatigue, by mental labors, and by amorous excesses.

Of course the delicacy of our manners could not let us accept the Roman vomitora; but we have done even better, and have arrived at the same end by a path recognized by our good taste. Such attractive dishes have been invented that they manage to revivify our appetites again and again; they are at the same time so light that they flatter the palate without overloading the stomach.

In some ways the New Testament is better than the Old. God's chosen people were no longer fighting genocidal wars--they had become pacified under the Pax Romana. The death of Jesus ended the practice of burning animals during worship, for Christians at least. Jesus and his disciples talked a little less about violence and a little more about love. That shows some improvement over the Old Testament God.