It seems to me absolutely true, that our world, which appears to us the surface of all things, is really the bottom of a deep ocean: all our trees are submarine growths, and we are weird, scaly-clad submarine fauna, feeding ourselves on offal like shrimps. Only occasionally the soul rises gasping through the fathomless fathoms under which we live, far up to the surface of the ether, where there is true air.
D. H. Lawrence
If you think about computing, there isn't just one way to compute, just like there's not just one way to move around. You can have shoes, you can have a car, you can have a bicycle, submarine, rocket, plane, train, glider, whatever. Because you have one doesn't mean you get rid of another one... But PCs continue to be important.
I've done four other films since 'Submarine,' so that's quite cool. It's just good to have people respect your work; I've never had that before. Yeah, my life has changed crazy. I'm a kid from a small town in south Wales, I play my Xbox usually and all that sort of stuff, and it's a whole new world.
To work with Richard [Ayoade] is my favourite thing in the world. He is my favourite person. So, it was great for me to be involved in a project that was, again, so different and with such wonderful actors. Everyone from Submarine is in the film in one way or another, which helps because it really does feel like a family.
In high school, I stole a six-foot submarine sandwich from a banquet room in front of several hundred people. I did it because I was in marching band, and we were promised food if we played, and they broke their promise. It was my first and only heist, motivated by justice and hunger.
Greg van Eekhout
If animals had a Pope," Major Thompson said to me, "their Vatican would be in London. And if by some dire submarine cataclysm that noble vessel, Great Britain, were to be shipwrecked and start to founder, believe me, there would surely be somebody in Westminster to cry from the top of the Tower: "Dogs first!
It's so hard for people to give up their cell phones or their ideas of being connected to everything all the time in order to get an immersive experience. That's the best way to make art. It's almost like you have to treat it like you're going into a submarine, and Noah Baumbach totally agrees with that. There's not a real other life that happens outside of the movie while it's being shot, which I like.
To me, nudity is a joke. I don't think nude people are very attractive at all. I like my women fully clothed. I like to imagine what might be under there. It might not be the standard thing. Imagine, stripping a woman down, and she has a body like a little submarine. With periscope, propellers, torpedoes. That would be the one for me. I'd marry her right off and be faithful to the end.
I decided to restore 'Napoleon' after a widescreen festival at the Odeon Leicester Square in 1968. It was run by Richard Arnell and George Dunning, who animated and directed 'Yellow Submarine,' and they'd got their hands on the last scene, the triptychs. They just showed that part, without music and with the projectors misaligned.
As a matter of fact, although we had some terrible challenges and temptations when I was in office, we never dropped a bomb... we never launched a missile... and we never fired a bullet. I think that one of the main requirements for a strong military, like a strong submarine force, is to prevent war, not to cause war.
The most important Bible teaching that I remembered when I was in the Navy and when I was Commander-in-Chief, was that we worshipped The Prince of Peace. Jesus Christ is The Prince of Peace. So, I considered myself, as a submarine officer, as helping to preserve the peace. And I felt the same way when I was president.
I came home one day from school after being chased by kids singing "Yellow Submarine", and I didn't understand why. It just seemed surreal: why are they singing that song to me? I came home and I freaked out on my dad: 'Why didn't you tell me you were in The Beatles?' And he said, 'Oh, sorry. Probably should have told you that.'
Some have become more critical than others; for example, the submarines. And that's the Ohio Class submarine that needs to be modernized. The air component also needs to be modernized. The B-52, as someone earlier pointed out, is an outdated model that was flown by the grandparents of people that are flying it now. And we need a serious modernization program as well on our silo-launched missiles. All three are critical for the defense of the country.
And if we don't keep moving, we won't make it to a computer in time to stop the submarine sale because we'll have to spend a second night in the jungle, surrounded by friggin' pit vipers. In the rain. And I am sick and tired of the rain. I want to get a roof over our heads and dry clothes for you because I can see right through your damn shirt and it's driving me crazy.
I have experienced the intensity of patriotism as a submarine officer, the ambitions of a competitive businessman, and the intensity of political debate. I have been sorely tempted to launch a military attack on foreigners, and have felt the frustration of having to negotiate with allies or even former enemies to reach a consensus instead of taking more decisive unilateral action.
We might, in that indeterminate period they call mourning, be in a submarine, silent on the ocean's bed, aware of the depth charges, now near and now far, buffeting us with recollections... Grief is different. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life.
Despite our preparation, indeed, despite our age, [the death of a parent] dislodges things deep in us, sets off reactions that surprise us and may cut free memories and feelings that we thought had gone to ground long ago. We might, in that indeterminate period they call mourning, be in a submarine, silent on the ocean's bed, aware of the depth charges, now near and now far, buffeting us with recollections.
Flammflorbs, archypodsplays, clinker crabs, dorsaldorydabbs, mingslakks, linglimes, occocobbers, firgengobblers, smitesnides, orkusta shelled bunkbarnacles, balootabinks, jorgentua jellyfish, tungol widders, teleosti chimaras, and things stranger, yet to be named, Klubbe and his crew members observed through their portholes, lit by the lamps of their submarine's lanterns.
A common denominator in every single nuclear accident - a nuclear plant or on a nuclear submarine - is that before the specialists even know what has happened, they rush to the media saying, 'There's no danger to the public.' They do this before they themselves know what has happened because they are terrified that the public might react violently, either by panic or by revolt.
Jacques Yves Cousteau
I had no need of sails to drive me, nor oars nor wheels to push me, nor rails to give me a faster road. Air is what I wanted, that was all. Air surrounds me as water surrounds the submarine boat, and in it my propellers act like the screws of a steamer. That is how I solved the problem of aviation. That is what a balloon will never do, nor will any machine that is lighter than air.
To gaze into the depths of the sea is, in the imagination, like beholding the vast unknown, and from its most terrible point of view. The submarine gulf is analogous to the realm of night and dreams. There also is sleep, unconsciousness, or at least apparent unconsciousness, of creation. There in the awful silence and darkness, the rude first forms of life, phantomlike, demoniacal, pursue their horrible instincts.
The same advice my commanding officer at Patrol Squadron 17, Cmdr. Robert J. Quinn, gave me before I was grilled to be given the responsibility to lead a crew of 12 all over the world, ready to stop a Russian submarine preparing to wipe out an American city with a nuclear missile: 'Always remember that common sense and communication will solve 95 percent of the challenges you face in the Navy and life.'
Room 40 knew a U-boat was heading south to Liverpool - knew the boat's history; knew that it was now somewhere in the North Atlantic under orders to sink troop transports and any other British vessel it encountered; and knew as well that the submarine was armed with enough shells and torpedoes to sink a dozen ships.
I wrote 'Yellow Submarine' for the Beatles. I wrote the screenplay for 'The Games,' about the Olympic Games. I wrote 'Love Story,' both the novel and the screenplay. I wrote 'RPM' for Stanley Kramer. Plus, I wrote two scholarly books and a 400-page translation from the Latin, and I dated June Wilkinson!
Before I became President, in the aftermath of the Vietnam War, there had been fairly dramatic, and I think excessive, reductions in the capability of our military forces, and as a former military man myself - I was a professional naval officer, a submarine officer - I thought it was better, on a step-by-step, very carefully planned way, to increase the technical, or technological, capability of our weapons systems.
Not thou alone, but all humanity doth in its progress fable emulate. Whence came thy rocket-ships and submarine if not from Nautilus, from Cavorite? Your trustiest companions since the cave, we apparitions guided mankind's tread, our planet, unseen counterpart to thine, as permanent, as ven'rable, as true. On dream's foundation matter's mudyards rest. Two sketching hands, each one the other draws: the fantasies thou've fashioned fashion thee.
What are wanted ...are not Constitutions and Revolutions, nor all sorts of Conferences and Congresses, nor the many ingenious devices for submarine navigation and aerial navigation, nor powerful explosives, nor all sorts of conveniences to add to the enjoyment of the rich, ruling classes... but one thing only is needful: the knowledge of the simple and clear truth ...that for our life one law is valid - the law of love, which brings the highest happiness to every individual as well as to all mankind.
Great works of art can be produced in barbarous societies in fact the very narrowness of primitive society gives their ornamental art a peculiar concentration and vitality. At some time in the ninth century one could have looked down the Seine and seen the prow of a Viking ship coming up the river. Looked at today in the British Museum, it is a powerful work of art; but to the mother of a family trying to settle down in her little hut, it would have seemed less agreeable as menacing to her civilisation as the periscope of a nuclear submarine.
I'm a Veteran. I was in the Navy, in the submarine corps. I come from a military family. Both of my grandparents were in World War II and retired as officers. One fought in the Pacific and one fought in Europe. The whole family was in the war. I grew up exposed to it and hearing the stories, but the stories I heard weren't kind of the whole "Rah, rah, rah! We saved the world!" They were about the personal price and the emotional price.
When my father was 17, he went to Montreal and found these submarine sandwich shops that were really successful, and weren't in Toronto [his home town]. So he went to my grandparents and said: "Look, you have to give me the seed money to open up one of these places. We'll make a fortune. They've got lines going round the block. There's nothing like that here." And my grandfather's response was: "Look, I'm sure these sandwiches are really good, and if we scraped the money together we could make a lot of money and your mother and I would be really proud of you, but you need to find something that has magic in it for you." It was off of that conversation that my father went to college on a music scholarship, started a film club and became one of the most successful directors of all time.
YOU THE TYPE TO SNITCH AND TATTLE SHIT TELL THEM SNAKES I RATTLE SHIT I BRING THE SUBMARINE AROUND AND FLIP YOUR BATTLESHIP GET CUT DOWN TO FRACTIONS AND RIPPED TO FRAGMENTS YOUR GIRL WANNA FUCK ME, WHOLLAH, MAGIC STICK SHE DROWN AND I WON'T SAVE HER, BUT I'LL GIVE HER MY PADDLE STICK CHILL I'M ILL, SOMEBODY CALL PARAMEDICS PULL UP IN HOT WHIPS, PUSH UP ON HOT CHICKS THEN WE JUST DIP, JUST LIKE CALISTHENICS GETTING SO MUCH MONEY, I AIN'T TRYNA' COUNT IT BUT I LOVE MY MONEY SO I GOTTA COUNT IT AND THE MY KILLERS AIN'T WITH ME THEY A CALL AWAY SO WHEN YOU'RE TALKING TO A BOSS NIGGA KNOW YOUR PLACE
O Light Invisible, we praise Thee! Too bright for mortal vision. O Greater Light, we praise Thee for the less; The eastern light our spires touch at morning, The light that slants upon our western doors at evening, The twilight over stagnant pools at batflight, Moon light and star light, owl and moth light, Glow-worm glowlight on a grassblade. O Light Invisible, we worship Thee! We thank Thee for the light that we have kindled, The light of altar and of sanctuary; Small lights of those who meditate at midnight And lights directed through the coloured panes of windows And light reflected from the polished stone, The gilded carven wood, the coloured fresco. Our gaze is submarine, our eyes look upward And see the light that fractures through unquiet water. We see the light but see not whence it comes. O Light Invisible, we glorify Thee!
There, at a depth to which divers would find it difficult to descend, are caverns, haunts, and dusky mazes, where monstrous creatures multiply and destroy each other. Huge crabs devour fish and are devoured in their turn. Hideous shapes of living things, not created to be seen by human eyes wander in this twilight. Vague forms of antennae, tentacles, fins, open jaws, scales, and claws, float about there, quivering, growing larger, or decomposing and perishing in the gloom, while horrible swarms of swimming things prowl about seeking their prey. To gaze into the depths of the sea is, in the imagination, like beholding the vast unknown, and from its most terrible point of view. The submarine gulf is analogous to the realm of night and dreams. There also is sleep, unconsciousness, or at least apparent unconsciousness, of creation. There in the awful silence and darkness, the rude first forms of life, phantomlike, demoniacal, pursue their horrible instincts.
PERFECT SENSE, PART II CAN'T YOU SEE IT ALL MAKES PERFECT SENSE EXPRESSED IN DOLLARS AND CENTS POUNDS SHILLINGS AND PENCE CAN'T YOU SEE IT ALL MAKES PERFECT SENSE LITTLE BLACK SOUL DEPARTS IN PERFECT FOCUS PRIME TIME FODDER FOR THE NEWS AT NINE DARLING IS THE CHILD WARM IN THE BED TONIGHT HI EVERYBODY I'M MARV ALBERT AND WELCOME TO OUR TELECAST COMING TO YOU LIVE FROM MEMORIAL STADIUM IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY AND TODAY WE EXPECT A SENSATIONAL MATCHUP BUT FIRST OUR GLOBAL ANTHEM CAN'T YOU SEE IT ALL MAKES PERFECT SENSE EXPRESSED IN DOLLARS AND CENTS POUNDS SHILLINGS AND PENCE CAN'T YOU SEE IT ALL MAKES PERFECT SENSE AND HERE COME THE PLAYERS AS I SPEAK TO YOU NOW THE CAPTAIN HAS HIS CROSS HAIRS ZEROED IN ON THE OIL RIG IT LOOKS TO ME LIKE HE'S GOING TO ATTACK BY THE WAY DID YOU KNOW THAT A SUBMARINE CAPTAIN EARNS 200,000 DOLLARS A YEAR OH THAT'S LESS TAX MARV YEAH LESS TAX UH THANK YOU EMERY YOU'RE WELCOME NOW BACK TO THE GAME HE FIRES ONE YES THERE GOES TWO BOTH FISH ARE RUNNING THE RIG IS GOING INTO A PREVENT DEFENSE WILL THEY MAKE IT I DON'T THINK SO CAN'T YOU SEE IT ALL MAKES PERFECT SENSE EXPRESSED IN DOLLARS AND CENTS POUNDS SHILLINGS AND PENCE CAN'T YOU SEE IT ALL MAKES PERFECT SENSE
Hate Poem I hate you truly. Truly I do. Everything about me hates everything about you. The flick of my wrist hates you. The way I hold my pencil hates you. The sound made by my tiniest bones were they trapped in the jaws of a moray eel hates you. Each corpuscle singing in its capillary hates you. Look out! Fore! I hate you. The blue-green jewel of sock lint I'm digging from under by third toenail, left foot, hates you. The history of this keychain hates you. My sigh in the background as you explain relational databases hates you. The goldfish of my genius hates you. My aorta hates you. Also my ancestors. A closed window is both a closed window and an obvious symbol of how I hate you. My voice curt as a hairshirt: hate. My hesitation when you invite me for a drive: hate. My pleasant 'good morning': hate. You know how when I'm sleepy I nuzzle my head under your arm? Hate. The whites of my target-eyes articulate hate. My wit practices it. My breasts relaxing in their holster from morning to night hate you. Layers of hate, a parfait. Hours after our latest row, brandishing the sharp glee of hate, I dissect you cell by cell, so that I might hate each one individually and at leisure. My lungs, duplicitous twins, expand with the utter validity of my hate, which can never have enough of you, Breathlessly, like two idealists in a broken submarine.
Camden shrugged his shoulders. 'Don't be so hard on yourself. If she is your mate, it's nothing you did on your own. It would've happened regardless.' The phone rang. Kaden stood, but Camden motioned for him to sit back down. 'I'll take care of it.' He headed toward their family room in the front of the house. 'There's really no need to panic at this point, ' Hayden said, opening the refrigerator, pausing to check out the contents, finally settling on lunch meat and cheese. 'I suggest you act as if nothing has changed.' Kaden thought about how he'd left things with Annabelle. There was no way they could go back to the way they were. The next time he saw her, she'd expect answers. She deserved answers. 'I don't see how that can happen.' Hayden glanced up from the sandwich he was making. 'Why is that?' I had her halfway to an orgasm, then ran out of there without an explanation. 'I left things a bit... awkward with her.' Hayden turned his attention back to the triple-decker submarine he was building. 'Do what you feel is best-I'm not concerned. You've never given me a reason to doubt your decisions before. Just remember to pay attention to any variances in your behavior. If you sense any change, let us know immediately.' Camden came back into the room, still clutching the portable phone. 'I think we have a problem.' Kaden's entire body tensed. 'What now?' Camden pointed over his shoulder. 'Annabelle is on her way here. She's in a cab at the front gate.' 'Don't let her in.' He paused for a second. Not allowing her in would only escalate the situation. There had to be a better answer. 'Tell her I'm not here.' Camden rubbed the back of his neck. 'Too late, bro. Barney buzzed her in.' What was the point of living in this secluded neighborhood if the security team let in anyone who showed up at the gate? He made a mental note to have a long talk with Barney's supervisor in the morning. 'Why would he do that?' Hayden chuckled. 'A pretty human showing up in the middle of the night isn't exactly newsworthy around here. Barney probably assumed she was here for Camden.' Camden winked at Hayden. Was this a regular occurrence when he wasn't home? 'How many humans have you brought back to this house?' Kaden asked, irritation filling his tone. 'Do you have no respect for any of the rules we've set?' Camden raised an eyebrow. 'Hey, glass house, now really isn't the time for you to preach to me about the rules.' He made his way toward the staircase with his chest puffed out like a proud canary. 'Sounds like you have plenty of explaining to do, so I'll leave you to handle that.' Hayden placed his sandwich on a paper plate. 'I'm going to eat my snack in my office.' As he was leaving the room he glanced over his shoulder. 'Be sure to give the human my regards.