Compiled by Chess Guard!
"What is the object of playing a gambit opening? To acquire a reputation of being a dashing player at the cost of losing a game." — Siegbert Tarrasch
* Marshall Gambit? https://faithsaves.net/scandinavian...
* List of gambits: https://detailedpedia.com/wiki-List...
* Freaky Fridays: https://allchessopenings.blogspot.c...
* Glossary of Chess Terms: http://www.arkangles.com/kchess/glo...
* Chess Links: http://www.chessdryad.com/links/ind...
* Tactical Mix: Game Collection: mastering Tactical ideas by minev
* Greatest Hits: Game Collection: Mammoth Book-Greatest Games (Nunn/Burgess/Emms)
* The Best of... Game Collection: World Champions' Best Games
"Chess first of all teaches you to be objective." – Alexander Alekhine
"Among a great many other things that chess teaches you is to control the initial excitement you feel when you see something that looks good. It trains you to think before grabbing and to think just as objectively when you're in trouble."
-- Stanley Kubrick
"Chess helps you to concentrate, improve your logic. It teaches you to play by the rules, take responsibility for your actions, how to problem solve in an uncertain environment." – Garry Kasparov
"Daring ideas are like chessmen moved forward. They may be beaten, but they may start a winning game." – Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe
"To avoid losing a piece, many a person has lost the game." – Savielly Tartakower
"Battles are won by slaughter and maneuver. The greater the general, the more he contributes in maneuver, the less he demands in slaughter."
― Winston S. Churchill
<Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day"
Bombardment of Fort Fisher, near Wilmington, New York, 1865The poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, in the middle of the Civil War, wrote this poem which has more recently been adapted as a modern Christmas classic. Longfellow wrote this on Christmas Day in 1863, after his son had enlisted in the Union's cause and had returned home, seriously wounded. The verses which he included and are still generally included, speak of the despair of hearing the promise of "peace on earth, goodwill to men" when the evidence of the world is clearly that war still exists.
And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men."
The original also included several verses referring specifically to the Civil War. Before that cry of despair and answering cry of hope, and after verses describing the long years of hearing of "peace on earth, goodwill to men" (a phrase from the Jesus birth narratives in the Christian scriptures), Longfellow's poem includes, describing the black cannons of the war:
Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!>
Drive sober or get pulled over.
"Friend, you don't have to earn God's love or try harder. You're precious in His sight, covered by the priceless blood of Jesus, and indwelt by His Holy Spirit. Don't hide your heart or fear you're not good enough for Him to care for you. Accept His love, obey Him, and allow Him to keep you in His wonderful freedom." — Charles F. Stanley
The Bear and the Amateur Gardener
A certain mountain bear, unlicked and rude,
By fate confined within a lonely wood,
A new Bellerophon, whose life,
Knew neither comrade, friend, nor wife, –
Became insane; for reason, as we term it,
Dwells never long with any hermit.
It's good to mix in good society,
Obeying rules of due propriety;
And better yet to be alone;
But both are ills when overdone.
No animal had business where
All grimly dwelt our hermit bear;
Hence, bearish as he was, he grew
Heart-sick, and longed for something new.
While he to sadness was addicted,
An aged man, not far from there,
Was by the same disease afflicted.
A garden was his favourite care, –
Sweet Flora's priesthood, light and fair,
And eke Pomona's – ripe and red
The presents that her fingers shed.
These two employments, true, are sweet
When made so by some friend discreet.
The gardens, gaily as they look,
Talk not, (except in this my book;)
So, tiring of the deaf and dumb,
Our man one morning left his home
Some company to seek,
That had the power to speak. –
The bear, with thoughts the same,
Down from his mountain came;
And in a solitary place,
They met each other, face to face.
It would have made the boldest tremble;
What did our man? To play the Gascon
The safest seemed. He put the mask on,
His fear contriving to dissemble.
The bear, unused to compliment,
Growled bluntly, but with good intent,
"Come home with me." The man replied:
"Sir Bear, my lodgings, nearer by,
In yonder garden you may spy,
Where, if you'll honour me the while,
We'll break our fast in rural style.
I have fruits and milk, – unworthy fare,
It may be, for a wealthy bear;
But then I offer what I have."
The bear accepts, with visage grave,
But not unpleased; and on their way,
They grow familiar, friendly, gay.
Arrived, you see them, side by side,
As if their friendship had been tried.
To a companion so absurd,
Blank solitude were well preferred,
Yet, as the bear scarce spoke a word,
The man was left quite at his leisure
To trim his garden at his pleasure.
Sir Bruin hunted – always brought
His friend whatever game he caught;
But chiefly aimed at driving flies –
Those hold and shameless parasites,
That vex us with their ceaseless bites –
From off our gardener's face and eyes.
One day, while, stretched on the ground
The old man lay, in sleep profound,
A fly that buzz'd around his nose, –
And bit it sometimes, I suppose, –
Put Bruin sadly to his trumps.
At last, determined, up he jumps;
"I'll stop your noisy buzzing now,"
Says he; "I know precisely how."
No sooner said than done.
He seized a paving-stone;
And by his modus operandi
Did both the fly and man die.
A foolish friend may cause more woe
Than could, indeed, the wisest foe.
The Chess Poem by Ayaan Chettiar
8 by 8 makes 64
In the game of chess, the king shall rule
Kings and queens, and rooks and knights
Bishops and Pawns, and the use of mind
The Game goes on, the players think
Plans come together, form a link
Attacks, checks and capture
Until, of course, we reach a mate
The Pawns march forward, then the knights
Power the bishops, forward with might
Rooks come together in a line
The Game of Chess is really divine
The Rooks move straight, then take a turn
The Knights on fire, make no return
Criss-Cross, Criss-Cross, go the bishops
The Queen's the leader of the group
The King resides in the castle
While all the pawns fight with power
Heavy blows for every side
Until the crown, it is destroyed
The Brain's the head, The Brain's the King,
The Greatest one will always win,
For in the game of chess, the king shall rule,
8 by 8 makes 64!
504 Gateway Time-out
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'Nomen nominandum' a.k.a 'the name to be named'
Kibitzing
