As great Pythagoras of yore, Standing beside the blacksmith's door, And hearing the hammers, as they smote The anvils with a different note, Stole from the varying tones, that hung Vibrant on every iron tongue, The secret of the sounding wire. And formed the seven-chorded lyre.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Way over half the murders committed in this country are by close friends or relatives of the deceased. A gun makes a loud and satisfying noise in a moment of passion and requires no agility and very little strength. How many murders wouldn't happen, if they all had to use hammers and knives?
John D. MacDonald
I have a box inside me now that never used to exist. I never needed it before. It's down in my deepest, darkest corner, and it's airtight, soundproofed and padlocked. It's where I keep the thoughts I don't know what to do with, that could get me into trouble. Eating Unseelie hammers on the inside of that lid incessantly. I try to keep kissing Barrons in that box, too, but it gets out sometimes.
Karen Marie Moning
On days when it was too hot, they did not leave their room. The dazzling brilliance from outside plastered bars of light between the slats of the blinds. Not a sound in the village. Down below, on the sidewalk, no one. This spreading silence increased the tranquility of things. In the distance, the caulkers' hammers tamped the hulls, and a heavy breeze brought the smell of tar.
I had never before thought of how awful the relationship must be between the musician and his instrument. He has to fill it, this instrument, with the breath of life, his own. He has to make it do what he wants it to do. And a piano is just a piano. It's made out of so much wood and wires and little hammers and big ones, and ivory. While there's only so much you can do with it, the only way to find this out is to try; to try and make it do everything.
Sometimes we forget to be grateful until we survive a trauma. For example, after having the flu when you ache all over, throw up for hours, and have little people pounding in your head with hammers, it is sheer bliss just to eat a piece of toast, walk outside without getting dizzy, and breathe fresh air. Part of the journey toward joy involves not waiting around for trouble, but being continuously aware of our blessings.
Charlotte Sophia Kasl
He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on; He stuns you by degrees. Prepares your brittle substance For the ethereal blow by fainter hammers, further heard, Then nearer, then so slow Your breath has time to straighten Your brain to bubble cool,- Deals one imperial thunderbolt That scalps your naked soul.
A good leader has a plan that consists of changing simple pictures. Just because a group of people has a bunch of boards, hammers, and nails does not mean that they are building a house or even anything recognizable. Sometimes leaders think they are doing their job just because there is a lot of hammering going on. As a society we like the sound of hammering, but we are uncomfortable with the sound of thinking, which is silence.
Laurie Beth Jones
The Divine was expansive, but religion was reductive. Religion attempted to reduce the Divine to a knowable quantity with which mortals might efficiently deal, to pigeonhole it once and for all so that we never had to reevaluate it. With hammers of cant and spikes of dogma, we crucified and crucified again, trying to nail to our stationary altars the migratory light of the world.
I wish i could tell you that through the tragedy i mined some undiscovered, life-altering absolute that i could pass on to you.I didn't.The cliches apply-people are what count, life is precious, materialism is over rated, and the little things matter, live in the moment-and i can repeat them to you ad nauseam.you might listen, but you won't internalize.Tragedy hammers it hm.Tragedy etches into your soul.You might not be happier.But you will be better.
Alan Campbell opened one eye. From somewhere in remote distances, muffled beyond sight or sound, his soul crawled back painfully, through subterranean corridors, up into his body again. Toward the last it moved to a cacophony of hammers and lights. Then he was awake. The first eye was bad enough. But, when he opened his second eye, such as rush of anguish flowed through his brain that he hastily closed them again.
John Dickson Carr
I wish i could tell you that through the tragedy i mined some undiscovered, life-altering absolute that i could pass on to you.I didn't.The cliches apply-people are what count,life is precious,materialism is over rated, and the little things matter,live in the moment-and i can repeat them to you ad nauseam.you might listen, but you won't internalize.Tragedy hammers it hm.Tragedy etches into your soul.You might not be happier.But you will be better.
Right at that moment it was as if we were the only two people left in the world. And I don't mean that to sound corny; it just honestly did. The only sounds were the droning crickets and chip-chips of the bats, the farawy wind against the sand, and the occasional distant yowl of a dingo. There were no car horns.No trains. No jack-hammers. No lawnmowers No planes. No sirens. No alarms. No anything human. If you'd told me that you'd saved me from a nuclear holocaust, I might have believed you.
You've got to shake your fists at lightning now, you've got to roar like forest fire You've got to spread your light like blazes all across the sky They're going to aim the hoses on you, show 'em you won't expire Not till you burn up every passion, not even when you die Come on now, you've got to try, if you're feeling contempt, well then you tell it If you're tired of the silent night, Jesus, well then you yell it Condemned to wires and hammers, strike every chord that you feel That broken trees and elephant ivories conceal
[on going to Sunday school:] It looks like rain, and I hope it will rain cats and dogs and hammers and pitchforks and silver sugar spoons and hay ricks and paper-covered novels and picture frames and rag carpets and toothpicks and skating rinks and birds of paradise and roof gardens and burdocks and French grammars before Sunday school time.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
As a technology, the book is like a hammer. That is to say, it is perfect: a tool ideally suited to its task. Hammers can be tweaked and varied but will never go obsolete. Even when builders pound nails by the thousand with pneumatic nail guns, every household needs a hammer. Likewise, the bicycle is alive and well. It was invented in a world without automobiles, and for speed and range it was quickly surpassed by motorcycles and all kinds of powered scooters. But there is nothing quaint about bicycles. They outsell cars.
The world could not long ignore a holy church. The church is not despised because it is holy: it is despised because it is not holy enough. There is not enough difference between the people inside the church and those outside to be impressive. A church in which saints were as common as now they are rare would convict the world, if only by contrast. Sanctity cannot be ignored. Even a little bit is potent. So far from the gates of hell prevailing against it, it hammers on their triple steel.
Far over the Misty Mountains cold, To dungeons deep and caverns old, We must away, ere break of day, To seek our pale enchanted gold. The dwarves of yore made mighty spells, While hammers fell like ringing bells, In places deep, where dark things sleep, In hollow halls beneath the fells. The pines were roaring on the heights, The wind was moaning in the night, The fire was red, it flaming spread, The trees like torches blazed with light.
J. R. R. Tolkien
Count up the almonds, Count what was bitter and kept you waking, Count me in too: I sought your eye when you glanced up and no one would see you, I spun that secret thread Where the dew you mused on Slid down to pitchers Tended by a word that reached no one's heart. There you first fully entered the name that is yours, you stepped to yourself on steady feet, the hammers swung free in the belfry of your silence, things overheard thrust through to you, what's dead put it's arm around you too, and the three of you walked through the evening. Render me bitter. Number me among the almonds
Don't you feel as though you could love everything starting tomorrow, and everything could love you, if only you took an action to set into motion the coming of our new tomorrow and its tomorrow and that one's tomorrow? Shotgun loaded hand on the pump and no matter who you damage you're still a false prophet, but we drink chocolate milk and then we get muscles and smash down the droves with fists like hammers and then we pump the fists in the air for victory. I be the prophet of the doom that is you. You are the mess in messiah.
For a moment everything was clear, and when that happens you see that the world is barely there at all. Don't we all secretly know this? It's a perfectly balanced mechanism of shouts and echoes pretending to be wheels and cogs, a dreamclock chiming beneath a mystery-glass we call life. Behind it? Below it and around it? Chaos, storms. Men with hammers, men with knives, men with guns. Women who twist what they cannot dominate and belittle what they cannot understand. A universe of horror and loss surrounding a single lighted stage where mortals dance in defiance of the dark.
Consider this: when you stand at the entry to a steel factory, you can make out through the smoke some men, some metal, the fires. The furnaces roar, the hammers crash; and the metalworkers who forge ingots, weapons, tools, and so on are completely ignorant of the real uses to which their products will be put. The workers can only refer to their products by conventional names. Well, that's where we all stand, all of us! Nobody can see the real character of what he creates because every knife blade may become a dagger, and the use to which an object is put changes both its name and its nature. Only our ignorance shields us from terrible responsibilities.
Villiers de L'Isle-Adam
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,The hum of either army stilly sounds,That the fixed sentinels almost receiveThe secret whispers of each other's watch.Fire answers fire, and through their play flamesEach battle sees the other's umbered face.Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighsPiercing the night's dull ear; and from the tentsThe armorers accomplishing the knights,With busy hammers closing rivets up,Give dreadful note of preparation.
He tunneled into stories where weak men changed into strong half-animals or used eye beams or magic hammers to power through steel or climb up the sides of skyscrapers. He was the Hulk when angry and Spidey the rest of the time. When he felt his heart hurt he turned into something stronger than a little boy, and he grew up this way. A heart that flashed from heart to stone, heart to stone. As I watched I thought of what Grandma Lynn liked to say when Lindsey and I rolled our eyes or grimaced behind her back. "Watch out what faces you make. You'll freeze that way.
Under the Mountain dark and tall The King has come unto his hall! His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread, And ever so his foes shall fall. The sword is sharp, the spear is long, The arrow swift, the Gate is strong; The heart is bold that looks on gold; The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong. The dwarves of yore made mighty spells, While hammers fells like ringing bells In places deep, where dark things sleep, In hollow halls beneath the fells. -from The Hobbit (Dwarves Battle Song)
I came to feel a tenderness for them all. This was something new to me. It gave me a curious pleasure to touch them, to help them in and out of the chair, to shave their weather-toughened old faces. They had known hard use, nearly all of them. You could tell it by the way they held themselves and moved. Most of all you could tell it by their hands, which were shaped by wear and often by the twists and swellings of arthritis. They had used their hands forgetfully, as hooks and pliers and hammers, and in every kind of weather. The backs of their hands showed a network of little scars where they had been cut, nicked, thornstuck, pinched, punctured, scraped, and burned. Their faces told that they had suffered things they did not talk about.Every one of them had a good knife in his pocket, sharp, the blades whetted narrow and concave, the horn of the handle worn smooth.
IF IT'S YOU VERSUS ME - THINK ABOUT IT THEY GON YELL MY NAME WHEN THEY ANNOUNCE THE WINNER AND I AIN'T BOUT TO SELL MUCH I GOT MY HONEYS ON THE PLANE BUT THE BIRDS FLYIN SOUTH FOR THE WINTER GO GET YA SELF FAMILIATED I'M SO GANGSTA THAT, JUST KNOW'N MYSELF MAKES ME AFFILIATED WHAT CHU THINK HONEY HOLD 'EM HAMMERS FOR? SO SHE CAN SPEND 10 CENT AT JILL SANDER STORE? WE GON HIT RODEO DRIVE ON BEVERLY HILLS THOUGH I LOVE HER, SO I'M SPENDIN LIKE 70 BILLS EVERY WEEK SHE BRING THE LLELLO IN, KEEP YA PAYROLL BIG LIGHT A BLUNT, AND JUST BEG ME TO CHILL AIN'T A PLAYER BUT MY LIFE IS REAL ALL OF THE TIME SO SHE WENT AND COPPED A GUN A LITTLE SMALLER THAN MINE THAT'S A DOWN ASS CHICK, AND SHE KEEP IT REAL SO I'MA KEEP IT REAL BACK ALL OF THE TIME
Styles F/ Lil' Mo
IN THE COURT THEY CARVE YOUR LEGEND WITH AN APPLE IN ITS JAW AND THE WOMEN THAT YOU WANTED THEY GET THEIR LAUGHS LONG SILK STOCKINGS ON THE BEDPOSTS OF REFINEMENT YOU'RE TOO RAW THEY THINK YOU'RE TOO RAW IT'S THE JUDGEMENT OF THE MOON AND STARS YOUR SOLITARY PATH DRAW YOURSELF A BATH THINK WHAT YOU'D LIKE TO HAVE FOR SUPPER OR TAKE A WALK A PARK A BRIDGE A TREE A RIVER REVOKED BUT NOT YET CANCELLED THE GIFT GOES ON IN SILENCE IN A BELL JAR STILL A SONG ... YOU'VE GOT TO SHAKE YOUR FISTS AT LIGHTNING NOW YOU'VE GOT TO ROAR LIKE FOREST FIRE YOU'VE GOT TO SPREAD YOUR LIGHT LIKE BLAZES ALL ACROSS THE SKY THEY'RE GOING TO AIM THE HOSES ON YOU SHOW 'EM YOU WON'T EXPIRE NOT TILL YOU BURN UP EVERY PASSION NOT EVEN WHEN YOU DIE COME ON NOW YOU'VE GOT TO TRY IF YOU'RE FEELING CONTEMPT WELL THEN YOU TELL IT IF YOU'RE TIRED OF THE SILENT NIGHT JESUS, WELL THEN YOU YELL IT CONDEMNED TO WIRES AND HAMMERS STRIKE EVERY CHORD THAT YOU FEEL THAT BROKEN TREES AND ELEPHANT IVORIES
Part of our skittishness about Christian perfection is linguistic confusion. The English word "perfect" has absorbed the Greek notion of "teleos". When the Greeks looked at a building's blueprint, they pictured the building whole and complete. They envisioned the blueprint finished down to the bathroom tile and announced, "Ah, this is perfect." The problem is that "teleos" suggests that perfection is something we can build or achieve. The Hebrews looked at the same blueprint more practically. They envisioned the process of building from hard hats to hammers, from scaffolding to skylights. "Ah, " the Hebrews said. "This is perfect." The Hebrews and the early Christians understood perfection as a process, not a product. Our identity as Christians depends upon life lived in relationship with God, not upon the quality of our achievements.
Kenda Creasy Dean
YO, HOLLYWOOD HAS HALF-MAN BE HOLLOW TO YOU HOW COULD YOU HAVE SLIPPED THROUGH WHILE I WAS DETECTING THE TRICK THAT'S IN YOU PRETENDING YOU PITBULL, WHEN REALLY YOUR CANDY-ASS IS POODLE WE WOULDN'T OF HIT YOU, HAMMERS HAVE ALREADY BEEN COCKED AND CLEANED, YO, IT WAS WHO? IT'S CLICK-UP, CLICK-UP, NORTH CACKUS, COMMENCE TO STICK UP THAT'S WHAT'S WITHIN US, CACK AND LACK, CLAP, BUCK KILLERS QUICKER STICK UP THE FOREST MISTERS THEN HEAD UP TO CHICKENS WITH 'EM ADRENALINE'S GIVIN, WHEN I RIFF WITH THE FIFTH TO YOUR CHIN-IN YOU NEVER KNEW BOUT HOW WE PLAY THESE INNINGS BUT YOU ABOUT TO PLAY THE COMMISSION WAVES ARE SPINNING, I'M OUT THE GLAZE I'M SH...ING THE REAL IS MISSING BUT THE FRAUD IS EVIDENT EVER SO CLEAR, BUT YOU GOT THE NERD TO COME AROUND HERE WITH POUNDS OF FEAR YOUR COLOURS WRONG YOU MUST ROCK EDIBLE DONS WITH THAT HUH? DAMN PAUL, WHAT'S THAT HUH? LET ME GET THAT, WITH THE QUICK SNATCH IF IT'S A LITTLE MAN IN YOU THEN I BETTER PUT THE TRICK BACK AND IF IT'S ANYTHING KILLERS IS FEARING, I KNOW MY CLIT STACKED FOR REALE
Grace and truth are distinct and yet they are not mutually exclusive. But when people focus on one without the other, they usually fall into two extremes. They either embrace a gospel of 'grace without truth' or a gospel of 'truth without grace'. Grace without truth is not really grace. Truth without grace is not really truth. Grace without truth pampers. Truth without grace hammers. Grace without truth is love without correction. Truth without grace is correction without love. Grace without truth is mercy without justice. Truth without grace is justice without mercy. Grace without truth is soft and spoils people. Truth without grace is harsh and crushes people. Grace without truth is freedom without responsibility. Truth without grace is responsibility without freedom. Either extremes are neither of Christ or the gospel.
Richard PW Tan
It's mechanical, " Leo said. "Maybe a doorway to the dwarfs' secret lair?" "Ooooo!" shrieked a nearby voice. "Secret lair?" "I want a secret lair!" yelled another voice from above... "If we had a secret lair, " said Red Fur, "I would want a firehouse pole." "And a waterslide!" said Brown Fur, who was pulling random tools out of Leo's belt, tossing aside wrenches, hammers, and staple guns. "Stop that!" Leo tried to grab the dwarf's feet, but he couldn't reach the top of the pedestal. "Too short?" Brown Fur sympathized. "You're calling me short?" Leo looked around for something to throw, but there was nothing but pigeons, and he doubted he could catch one. "Give me my belt, you stupid-" "Now, now!" said Brown Fur. "We haven't even introduced ourselves. I'm Akmon, and my brother over there-" "-is the handsome one!" The red-furred dwarf lifted his espresso. Judging from his dilated eyes and maniacal grin, he didn't need any more caffeine. "Passolos! Singer of songs! Drinker of coffee! Stealer of shiny stuff!
I DONE SOLD WEED, X, CRACK, COKE, DOPE, NO JOKE HAMMER TO THE INDUSTRY AND BLAST MY PROMOTIN' BLAST AT YOU OLD FOLKS, I'M FAST ON YOU SLOW POKES THE GENERAL, RUN UP IN YA LAB WITH THE FO'-FO' EENIE MEANIE MIENIE MOE, MEET A LABEL WITH THE CHROME NEVER TRY TO JERK ME, PUT A HOLLOW IN YA DOME GUESS I HAD TO STAY ON THE NICE CORNER HYPED UP, 2003, MAN, I THOUGHT I WAS ICEWATER WHOEVER TRYIN' TO HOLD THE DOOR ON ME, BETTER SLAM IT STREET CREDIBILITY ON ACCESS GRANTED WHAT HAPPENED TO MY CLIP, DOG? THIS BITCH GOT ME PISSED OFF SIGNED THE RELEASE PAPERS, GOT ME FEELIN' RIPPED OFF PLOT GOT ME TIPPED OFF, HAD TO LET THE FIFTH OFF YOU FUCKED UP IN THE HOOD, I STILL GOT THE NICKS, DOG TWENTIES OF HAZE, I'M OUT TO GET PAID I'M LIKE J-KWON, DOG, MY HAMMERS LIFT AND WAVE SHIT, THESE DAYS IS GROWN FOR A KID MY AGE SEEN MORE SHIT THAN YA POPS DID IN '88 WHERE PLAYERS PLAY, JESUS, AMAZING GRACE HUE HEF, LOT-A-NERV AND FES TAYLOR THE GREAT AND FROM 106 & PARK HEARD A LOT OF SMART REMARKS LIKE "HEFNA FALLIN' OFF FROM ALL AND ALL" ARTIST FROM THE HEART, A LITTLE GASH 'TIL YA BREAK, GET MERKED AND JIM JONES, I SWEAR, HAD TO TAKE HIM TO CHURCH, LITERALLY
Far over the misty mountains cold To dungeons deep and caverns old We must away ere break of day To seek the pale enchanted gold. The dwarves of yore made mighty spells, While hammers fell like ringing bells In places deep, where dark things sleep, In hollow halls beneath the fells. For ancient king and elvish lord There many a gleaming golden hoard They shaped and wrought, and light they caught To hide in gems on hilt of sword. On silver necklaces they strung The flowering stars, on crowns they hung The dragon-fire, in twisted wire They meshed the light of moon and sun. Far over the misty mountains cold To dungeons deep and caverns old We must away, ere break of day, To claim our long-forgotten gold. Goblets they carved there for themselves And harps of gold; where no man delves There lay they long, and many a song Was sung unheard by men or elves. The pines were roaring on the height, The wind was moaning in the night. The fire was red, it flaming spread; The trees like torches blazed with light. The bells were ringing in the dale And men looked up with faces pale; The dragon's ire more fierce than fire Laid low their towers and houses frail. The mountain smoked beneath the moon; The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom. They fled their hall to dying fall Beneath his feet, beneath the moon. Far over the misty mountains grim To dungeons deep and caverns dim We must away, ere break of day, To win our harps and gold from him!
Water everywhere, falling in thundering cataracts, singular drops, and draping sheets. Kellhus paused next to one of the shining braziers, peered beneath the bronze visage that loomed orange and scowling over his father, watched him lean back into absolute shadow. 'You came to the world, ' unseen lips said, 'and you saw that Men were like children.' Lines of radiance danced across the intervening waters. 'It is their nature to believe as their fathers believed, ' the darkness continued. 'To desire as they desired ... Men are like wax poured into moulds: their souls are cast by their circumstances. Why are no Fanim children born to Inrithi parents? Why are no Inrithi children born to Fanim parents? Because these truths are made, cast by the particularities of circumstance. Rear an infant among Fanim and he will become Fanim. Rear him among Inrithi and he will become Inrithi ... 'Split him in two, and he would murder himself.' Without warning, the face re-emerged, water-garbled, white save the black sockets beneath his brow. The action seemed random, as though his father merely changed posture to relieve some vagrant ache, but it was not. Everything, Kellhus knew, had been premeditated. For all the changes wrought by thirty years in the Wilderness, his father remained De»nyain ... Which meant that Kellhus stood on conditioned ground. 'But as obvious as this is, ' the blurred face continued, 'it escapes them. Because they cannot see what comes before them, they assume nothing comes before them. Nothing. They are numb to the hammers of circumstance, blind to their conditioning. What is branded into them, they think freely chosen. So they thoughtlessly cleave to their intuitions, and curse those who dare question. They make ignorance their foundation. They confuse their narrow conditioning for absolute truth.' He raised a cloth, pressed it into the pits of his eyes. When he withdrew it, two rose-coloured stains marked the pale fabric. The face slipped back into the impenetrable black. 'And yet part of them fears. For even unbelievers share the depth of their conviction. Everywhere, all about them, they see examples of their own self-deception ... 'Me!' everyone cries. 'I am chosen!' How could they not fear when they so resemble children stamping their feet in the dust? So they encircle themselves with yea-sayers, and look to the horizon for confirmation, for some higher sign that they are as central to the world as they are to themselves.' He waved his hand out, brought his palm to his bare breast. 'And they pay with the coin of their devotion.
R. Scott Bakker