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The thermometer stands at about seventy degrees the year round. It hardly changes at all. You sleep under one or two light blankets Summer and Winter, and never use a mosquito bar. Nobody ever wears Summer clothing. You wear black broadcloth--if you have it--in August and January, just the same. It is no colder, and no warmer, in the one month than the other. You do not use overcoats and you do not use fans.

It is as pleasant a climate as could well be contrived, take it all around, and is doubtless the most unvarying in the whole world. The wind blows there a good deal in the summer months, but then you can go over to Oakland, if you choose--three or four miles away--it does not blow there. Golf is a good walk spoiled. Scrivener attributes the aphorism to "my good friends the Allens". Reference from Quote Investigator. I would have written a shorter letter, but I did not have the time.

Often misattributed to Twain, this is actually by Blaise Pascal , "Lettres provinciales", letter 16, Je n'ai fait celle-ci plus longue que parce que je n'ai pas eu le loisir de la faire plus courte. Translation: I have only made this [letter] longer, because I have not had the opportunity to make it shorter.

Whiskey is for drinking. Water is for fighting over.


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It seems likely that the attribution to Twain is apocryphal. It is not listed as authentic on Twainquotes , and is not listed at all in either R. Barber's Quotable Twain A banker is a fellow who lends you his umbrella when the sun is shining, but wants it back the minute it begins to rain. According to R.

The Silence: The Legacy of Childhood Trauma

Everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it. Notes on sourcing Twain did say: "There is a sumptuous variety about the New England weather that compels the stranger's admiration — and regret. The weather is always doing something there … In the spring I have counted one hundred and thirty-six different kinds of weather inside of four and twenty hours. Yes, one of the brightest gems in the New England weather is the dazzling uncertainty of it.

So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. This quote has been attributed to Mark Twain, but the attribution cannot be verified. The quote should not be regarded as authentic. I Love You' ' by H. Jackson Brown. Our most valuable and most instructive materials in the history of man are treasured up in India. Often attributed to Twain online, but unsourced. Alternate source: "The whole principle [of censorship] is wrong. It's like demanding that grown men live on skim milk because the baby can't have steak.

It is better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to open it and remove all doubt. Ward, et al. For example, in Year 1 that useless letter "c" would be dropped to be replased either by "k" or "s", and likewise "x" would no longer be part of the alphabet. The only kase in which "c" would be retained would be the "ch" formation, which will be dealt with later. Jenerally, then, the improvement would kontinue iear bai iear with Iear 5 doing awai with useless double konsonants, and Iears or so modifaiing vowlz and the rimeining voist and unvoist konsonants.

Bai Iear 15 or sou, it wud fainali bi posibl tu meik ius ov thi ridandant letez "c", "y" and "x" — bai now jast a memori in the maindz ov ould doderez — tu riplais "ch", "sh", and "th" rispektivli. Fainali, xen, aafte sam 20 iers ov orxogrefkl riform, wi wud hev a lojikl, kohirnt speling in ius xrewawt xe Ingliy-spiking werld.

Shields or M. Yilz, by the end of the letter. The letter is quoted in full in one of Willard Espy's Words at Play books. This was a modified version of a piece "Meihem in ce Klasrum", published in the September issue of Astounding Science Fiction magazine.

Comes the Darkness, Comes the Light: A Memoir of Cutting, Healing, and Hope - PDF Free Download

The secret of getting started is breaking your complex, overwhelming tasks into small, manageable tasks, and then starting on the first one. Commonly attributed to Twain in computer contexts and post inspirational books — the first sentence has also been attributed to Agatha Christie and Sally Berger. The world owes you nothing. It was here first. Often attributed to Twain, but sourced to Robert J.

A newspaper humor column attributes this saying to Reader's Digest : "Picking it up from a Reader's Digest fan, Willie, our ex-shoe shine boy, says some politicians are like diapers. They both need changed often Not found attributed to Twain until The fear of death follows from the fear of life. This site is a part of Wikia, Inc.


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Support Contact PRO. There is a place, beneath those ancient ruins, in the moor, that calls out to the boldest among them But Darkness is insidious. Terror and Madness can find cracks in the sturdiest of armors, the most resolute of minds And below, in that limitless chasm of Chaos, they will realize the truth of it. Of the Darkest Dungeon. Ruin has come to our family. You remember our venerable house, opulent and imperial. Gazing proudly from its stoic perch above the moor.

I lived all my years in that ancient, rumor shadowed manor. Fattened by decadence and luxury. And yet, I began to tire of conventional extravagance. Singular, unsettling tales suggested the mansion itself was a gateway to some fabulous and unnamable power. With relic and ritual, I bent every effort towards the excavation and recovery of those long buried secrets, exhausting what remained of our family fortune on swarthy workmen and sturdy shovels.

At last, in the salt-soaked crags beneath the lowest foundations we unearthed that damnable portal of antediluvian evil. Our every step unsettled the ancient earth but we were in a realm of death and madness!

Comes the Darkness, Comes the Light: A Memoir of Cutting, Healing, and Hope

In the end, I alone fled laughing and wailing through those blackened arcades of antiquity. Until consciousness failed me. It is a festering abomination! I beg you, return home, claim your birthright, and deliver our family from the ravenous clutching shadows of the Darkest Dungeon. You will arrive along the old road. It winds with a troubling, serpent-like suggestion through the corrupted countryside. Leading only, I fear, to ever more tenebrous places. There is a sickness in the ancient pitted cobbles of the old road and on its writhing path you will face viciousness, violence, and perhaps other damnably transcendent terrors.

So steel yourself and remember: there can be no bravery without madness. The old road will take you to hell, but in that gaping abyss we will find our redemption. An ambush! Send these vermin a message: the rightful owner has returned, and their kind is no longer welcome.

Welcome home, such as it is. This squalid hamlet, these corrupted lands, they are yours now, and you are bound to them. Women and men; soldiers and outlaws; fools and corpses. All will find their way to us now that the road is clear. The degeneracy of the Hamlet is nothing, I fear, when compared to the condition of surrounding acres. My obsession caused this great foulness, and it is shameful that I must rely upon you to set it right. I can still see their angry faces as they stormed the manor, but I was dead before they found me, and the letter was on its way.

There is a great horror beneath the manor: a Crawling Chaos that must be destroyed! Trouble yourself not with the cost of this crusade - its noble end affords you broad tolerance in your choice of means. Can you feel it? The walls between the sane world and that unplumbed dimension of delirium are tenuously thin here All my life, I could feel an insistent gnawing in the back of my mind.

It was a yearning, a thirst for discovery that could be neither numbed, nor sated. All the decadent horrors I have seen pale in comparison with that final, crowning thing. I could not look, nor could I look away! All manner of diversion and dalliance await those who cross the threshold with coin in hand. An increasing stockpile of curious trinkets , gathered from forbidden places.

The raw strength of youth may be spent, but his eyes hold the secrets of a hundred campaigns. Excavations beneath the manor were well underway, when a particular ragged indigent arrived in the hamlet. This filthy, toothless miscreant boasted an uncanny knowledge of my ambitions and prognosticated publicly that left unchecked, I would soon unleash doom upon the world.

This raving creature had to be silenced, but, to my bafflement, doing so proved maddeningly impossible. How had he survived the stockades, the icy waters, and the knives I delivered so enthusiastically into his back? How had he returned time and time again to rouse the townsfolk with his wild speculations and prophecies? Finally, resigned to his uncommon corporeal resilience, I lured him to the dig.

There, I showed him the Thing, and detailed the full extent of my plans. Triumphantly, I watched as he tore his eyes from their sockets, and ran shrieking into the shadows - wailing maniacally that the end was upon us all. Mastery over life and death was chief among my early pursuits. I began in humility, but my ambition was limitless. Who could have divined the prophetic import of something as unremarkable as a twitch in the leg of a dead rat?

I entertained a delegation of experts from overseas, eager to plumb the depths of their knowledge and share with them certain techniques and alchemical processes I had found to yield wondrous and terrifying results. Having learned all I could from my visiting guests, I murdered them as they slept. I brought my colleagues back with much of their intellect intact, a remarkable triumph for even the most experienced necromancer.

Freed from the trappings of their humanity, they plied their terrible trade anew - the dead reviving the dead, on and on down the years I had collected many rare and elusive volumes on ancient herbal properties, and was set to enjoy several weeks immersed in comfortable study. My work was interrupted, however, by a singularly striking young woman who insisted on repeated calls to the house. Her knowledge of horticulturalism, and its role in various arcane practices impressed me greatly.

My licentious impulse gave way to a genuine, professional respect, and together, we began to plant, harvest, and brew. As time wore on, her wild policy of self-experimentation grew intolerable. She quaffed all manner of strange fungii, herbs and concoctions, intent on gaining some insight into the horror we both knew to be growing beneath us. The change in her was appalling, and, no longer able to stomach it, I sent her to live in the Weald, where her wildness would be welcomed.

Simple folk are by their nature loquacious, and the denizens of the Hamlet were no exception. It was not long before rumors of my morbid genius and secretive excavations began to fuel local legend. In the face of my increasingly egregious flaunting of public taboos, awe turned to ire, and demonstrations were held in the town square. The wild whispers of heresy roused the rabble to violent action. Such was the general air of rebellion that even my generous offer of gold to the local constabulary was rebuffed! To reassert my rule, I sought out unscrupulous men skilled in the application of force.

Tight-lipped and terrifying, these mercenaries brought with them a war machine of terrible implication. Eager to end the tiresome domestic distraction, I instructed my newly formed militia of hardened bandits, brigands and killers to go forth and do their work. Compliance and order were restored, and the noisome population of the Hamlet was culled to more The ways and rituals of blood sacrifice are difficult to master.

Those from beyond require a physical vessel if they are to make the crossing into our reality.