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78 Scott zen Scotch sonata - Piper's dream by Clay Feet Forlorn beauty-child Living in my night Crying in your dream. Sounds of sorrow Linger in the morning mist Of subdued consciousness. Troubled water falls From awakened red eyes That searched inside loneliness Only to find more. Now... Behind my faceted face Your countenance lingers... I glance quickly within, You disappear! Your gaze lit my shadowed mind. Your presence was there waiting For me… A Sonata… A Fantasy A Major key bright-shining Singing sunbeams to lift me. After the music... Shards of shattered dreams Scattered like felled icicles lying in the sun, melting into mulch They dawned bright green Pipers on Scottish dew. The mourning moon is Catchlight in your eyes Bright Bird... Captivating sailors Reaching down evoking vulnerable Aspects held so long secret... “You can only get good at chess if you love the game.” ― Bobby Fischer "When I am in form, my style is a little bit stubborn, almost brutal. Sometimes I feel a great spirit of fight which drives me on." ― Boris Spassky "After we have paid our dutiful respects to such frigid virtues as calculation, foresight, self-control and the like, we always come back to the thought that speculative attack is the lifeblood of chess." — Fred Reinfeld "After I won the title, I was confronted with the real world. People do not behave naturally anymore - hypocrisy is everywhere." ― Boris Spassky "Be active. I do things my way, like skiing when I’m 100. Nobody else does that even if they have energy. And I try to eat pretty correctly and get exercise and fresh air and sunshine.” ― Elsa Bailey, first time skier at age 100 "Don't look at the calendar, just keep celebrating every day." ― Ruth Coleman, carpe diem at age 101 Napoleon Gambit General Modern 4...Qh4 Meitner Schmidt Mieses Fraser Classical Classical Blackburne Attack Classical, Intermezzo 13.7 Classical, Millennium Potter Steinitz 4...Qh4 Horwitz 4...Qh4 Tartakower Scotch Gambit Goring Gambit Scotch Gambit, Advance Miscellaneous Four Knights Scotch, Accepted “Chess is life in miniature. Chess is a struggle, chess battles.” — Garry Kasparov “Sometimes in life, and in chess, you must take one step back to take two steps forward.” — IM Levy Rozman, GothamChess So much, much, much better to be an incurable optimist than deceitful and untrustworthy. “Don’t blow your own trumpet.” — Australian Proverb Old Russian Proverb: "Scythe over a stone." (Нашла коса на камень.) The force came over a stronger force. “Continuing to play the victim is a self-fulfilling prophecy. Blaming others for your station in life will indeed make you a victim but the perpetrator will be your own self, not life or those around you.” — Bobby Darnell <“Sestrilla, hafelina Jue amourasestrilla Awou jue selaviena En patre jue Translation: Beloved one, little cat I love you for all time In this time And all others” ― Christine Feehan> <chess writer and poet Henry Thomas Bland. Another example of his way with words is the start of ‘Internal Fires’, a poem published on page 57 of the March 1930 American Chess Bulletin: I used to play chess with the dearest old chap, Whom naught could upset whatever might hap. He’d oft lose a game he might well have won But made no excuse for what he had done. If a piece he o’erlooked and got it snapped up He took it quite calmly and ne’er ‘cut up rough’.> “You cannot swim for new horizons until you have courage to lose sight of the shore.” ― William Faulkner “Sometimes in life, and in chess, you must take one step back to take two steps forward.” — IM Levy Rozman, GothamChess So much, much, much better to be an incurable optimist than deceitful and untrustworthy. Old Russian Proverb: "Scythe over a stone." (Нашла коса на камень.) The force came over a stronger force. “It had long since come to my attention that people of accomplishment rarely sat back and let things happen to them. They went out and happened to things.” ― Leonardo da Vinci <Q: How do poets say hello? A: "Hey, haven’t we metaphor?" Thank you Qindarka! Q: What do you call a cow jumping on a trampoline? A: A milkshake.> The Words Of Socrates A house was built by Socrates That failed the public taste to please. Some blamed the inside; some, the out; and all Agreed that the apartments were too small. Such rooms for him, the greatest sage of Greece! "I ask," said he, "no greater bliss Than real friends to fill even this." And reason had good Socrates To think his house too large for these. A crowd to be your friends will claim, Till some unhandsome test you bring. There's nothing plentier than the name; There's nothing rarer than the thing. Gambling problem? Call 1-800-GAMBLER <Shakespearean Puns Perhaps no writer is better known for the use of puns than William Shakespeare. He plays with "tide" and "tied" in Two Gentlemen of Verona: "Panthino Away, ass! You'll lose the tide if you tarry any longer. Launce It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. Panthino What's the unkindest tide? Launce Why, he that's tied here, Crab, my dog." In the opening of Richard III, the sun refers to the blazing sun on Edward IV's banner and the fact that he is the son of the Duke of York: "Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York." In this line from Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare plays on the different meanings of heavy (which also means sad) and light: "Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy I will bear the light." Later in Romeo and Juliet, a morbid pun comes from a fatally-stabbed Mercutio, where grave means serious, but also alludes to his imminent death: "Ask for me tomorrow, you shall find me a grave man." If you open any Shakesperean play, you're likely to find at least one pun on the page! Keep an eye out for a clever play on words example the next time you read Hamlet or watch As You Like It on the stage.> Dec-12-16 DrGridlock: Q: When is a pin not a pin? A: When the piece is: (i) not pinned to the king and (ii) in moving the piece threatens either mate or greater material gain than what it was pinned to. (iii) in moving the piece now defends the unit it was pinned to, such as Nf3xd4 and protects the Be2 that was behind the knight. <The Chess Player by Howard Altmann They’ve left. They’ve all left. The pigeon feeders have left. The old men on the benches have left. The white-gloved ladies with the Great Danes have left. The lovers who thought about coming have left. The man in the three-piece suit has left. The man who was a three-piece band has left. The man on the milkcrate with the bible has left. Even the birds have left. Now the trees are thinking about leaving too. And the grass is trying to turn itself in. Of course the buses no longer pass. And the children no longer ask. The air wants to go and is in discussions. The clouds are trying to steer clear. The sky is reaching for its hands. Even the moon sees what’s going on. But the stars remain in the dark. As does the chess player. Who sits with all his pieces In position.> Capitonyms are words which change their meaning if the first letter is capitalized. For example: Turkey (the country) and turkey (the bird). English Bards, And Scotch Reviewers Lord Byron Still must I hear?—shall hoarse FITZGERALD bawl His creaking couplets in a tavern hall, And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch Reviews Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my Muse? Prepare for rhyme—I’ll publish, right or wrong: Fools are my theme, let Satire be my song. Oh! Nature’s noblest gift—my grey goose-quill! Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen, That mighty instrument of little men! The pen! foredoomed to aid the mental throes Of brains that labour, big with Verse or Prose; Though Nymphs forsake, and Critics may deride, The Lover’s solace, and the Author’s pride. What Wits! what Poets dost thou daily raise! How frequent is thy use, how small thy praise! Condemned at length to be forgotten quite, With all the pages which ’twas thine to write. But thou, at least, mine own especial pen! Once laid aside, but now assumed again, Our task complete, like Hamet’s shall be free; Though spurned by others, yet beloved by me: Then let us soar to-day; no common theme, No Eastern vision, no distempered dream Inspires—our path, though full of thorns, is plain; Smooth be the verse, and easy be the strain. When Vice triumphant holds her sov’reign sway, Obey’d by all who nought beside obey; When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime, Bedecks her cap with bells of every Clime; When knaves and fools combined o’er all prevail, And weigh their Justice in a Golden Scale; E’en then the boldest start from public sneers, Afraid of Shame, unknown to other fears, More darkly sin, by Satire kept in awe, And shrink from Ridicule, though not from Law. Such is the force of Wit! I but not belong To me the arrows of satiric song; The royal vices of our age demand A keener weapon, and a mightier hand. Still there are follies, e’en for me to chase, And yield at least amusement in the race: Laugh when I laugh, I seek no other fame, The cry is up, and scribblers are my game: Speed, Pegasus!—ye strains of great and small, Ode! Epic! Elegy!—have at you all! I, too, can scrawl, and once upon a time I poured along the town a flood of rhyme, A schoolboy freak, unworthy praise or blame; I printed—older children do the same. ’Tis pleasant, sure, to see one’s name in print; A Book’s a Book, altho’ there’s nothing in’t. Not that a Title’s sounding charm can save Or scrawl or scribbler from an equal grave: This LAMB must own, since his patrician name Failed to preserve the spurious Farce from shame. No matter, GEORGE continues still to write, Tho’ now the name is veiled from public sight. Moved by the great example, I pursue The self-same road, but make my own review: Not seek great JEFFREY’S, yet like him will be Self-constituted Judge of Poesy. A man must serve his time to every trade Save Censure—Critics all are ready made. Take hackneyed jokes from MILLER, got by rote, With just enough of learning to misquote; A man well skilled to find, or forge a fault; A turn for punning—call it Attic salt; To Jeffrey go, be silent and discreet, His pay is just ten sterling pounds per sheet: Fear not to lie,’twill seem a sharper hit; Shrink not from blasphemy, ’twill pass for wit; Care not for feeling—pass your proper jest, And stand a Critic, hated yet caress’d. And shall we own such judgment? no—as soon Seek roses in December—ice in June; Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff, Believe a woman or an epitaph, Or any other thing that’s false, before You trust in Critics, who themselves are sore; Or yield one single thought to be misled By Jeffrey's heart, or LAMB’S Boeotian head. To these young tyrants, by themselves misplaced, Combined usurpers on the Throne of Taste; To these, when Authors bend in humble awe, And hail their voice as Truth, their word as Law; While these are Censors, ’twould be sin to spare; While such are Critics, why should I forbear? But yet, so near all modern worthies run, ’Tis doubtful whom to seek, or whom to shun; Nor know we when to spare, or where to strike, Our Bards and Censors are so much alike. Then should you ask me, why I venture o’er The path which POPE and GIFFORD trod before; If not yet sickened, you can still proceed; Go on; my rhyme will tell you as you read. “But hold!” exclaims a friend,—”here’s some neglect: This—that—and t’other line seem incorrect.” What then? the self-same blunder Pope has got, And careless Dryden—”Aye, but Pye has not:”— Indeed!—’tis granted, faith!—but what care I? Better to err with POPE, than shine with PYE. Time was, ere yet in these degenerate days Ignoble themes obtained mistaken praise, When Sense and Wit with Poesy allied, No fabled Graces, flourished side by side, From the same fount their inspiration drew, And, reared by Taste, bloomed fairer as they grew. Then, in this happy Isle, a POPE’S pure strain Sought the rapt soul to charm, nor sought in vain; A polished nation’s praise aspired to claim, And raised the people’s, as the poet’s fame. Like him great DRYDEN poured the tide of song, In stream less smooth, indeed, yet doubly strong. Then CONGREVE’S scenes could cheer, or OTWAY’S melt; For Nature then an English audience felt— But why these names, or greater still, retrace, When all to feebler Bards resign their place? Yet to such times our lingering looks are cast, When taste and reason with those times are past. Now look around, and turn each trifling page, Survey the precious works that please the age; This truth at least let Satire’s self allow, No dearth of Bards can be complained of now. The loaded Press beneath her labour groans, And Printers’ devils shake their weary bones; While SOUTHEY’S Epics cram the creaking shelves, And LITTLE’S Lyrics shine in hot-pressed twelves. Thus saith the Preacher: “Nought beneath the sun Is new,” yet still from change to change we run. What varied wonders tempt us as they pass! The Cow-pox, Tractors, Galvanism, and Gas, In turns appear, to make the ****** stare, Till the swoln bubble bursts—and all is air! Nor less new schools of Poetry arise, Where dull pretenders grapple for the prize: O’er Taste awhile these Pseudo-bards prevail; Each country Book-club bows the knee to Baal, And, hurling lawful Genius from the throne, Erects a shrine and idol of its own; Some leaden calf—but whom it matters not, From soaring SOUTHEY, down to groveling STOTT. Behold! in various throngs the scribbling crew, For notice eager, pass in long review: Each spurs his jaded Pegasus apace, And Rhyme and Blank maintain an equal race; Sonnets on sonnets crowd, and ode on ode; And Tales of Terror jostle on the road; Immeasurable measures move along; For simpering Folly loves a varied song, To strange, mysterious Dulness still the friend, Admires the strain she cannot comprehend. Thus Lays of Minstrels—may they be the last!— On half-strung harps whine mournful to the blast. While mountain spirits prate to river sprites, That dames may listen to the sound at nights; And goblin brats, of Gilpin Horner’s brood Decoy young Border-nobles through the wood, And skip at every step, Lord knows how high, And frighten foolish babes, the Lord knows why; While high-born ladies in their magic cell, Forbidding Knights to read who cannot spell, Despatch a courier to a wizard’s grave, And fight with honest men to shield a knave. Next view in state, proud prancing on his roan, The golden-crested haughty Marmion, Now forging scrolls, now foremost in the fight, Not quite a Felon, yet but half a Knight. The gibbet or the field prepared to grace; A mighty mixture of the great and base. And think’st thou, SCOTT! by vain conceit perchance, On public taste to foist thy stale romance, Though MURRAY with his MILLER may combine To yield thy muse just half-a-crown per line? No! when the sons of song descend to trade, Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade, Let such forego the poet’s sacred name, Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame: Still for stern Mammon may they toil in vain! And sadly gaze on Gold they cannot gain! Such be their meed, such still the just reward Of prostituted Muse and hireling bard! For this we spurn Apollo’s venal son, And bid a long “good night to Marmion.” These are the themes that claim our plaudits now; These are the Bards to whom the Muse must bow; While MILTON, DRYDEN, POPE, alike forgot, Resign their hallowed Bays to WALTER SCOTT. The time has been, when yet the Muse was young, When HOMER swept the lyre, and MARO sung, An Epic scarce ten centuries could claim, While awe-struck nations hailed the magic name: The work of each immortal Bard appears The single wonder of a thousand years. Empires have mouldered from the face of earth, Tongues have expired with those who gave them birth, Without the glory such a strain can give, As even in ruin bids the language live. Not so with us, though minor Bards, content, On one great work a life of labour spent: With eagle pinion soaring to the skies, Behold the Ballad-monger SOUTHEY rise! To him let CAMOËNS, MILTON, TASSO yield, Whose annual strains, like armies, take the field. First in the ranks see Joan of Arc advance, The scourge of England and the boast of France! Though burnt by wicked BEDFORD for a witch, Behold her statue placed in Glory’s niche; Her fetters burst, and just released from prison, A ****** Phoenix from her ashes risen. Next see tremendous Thalaba come on, Arabia’s monstrous, wild, and wond’rous son; Domdaniel’s dread destroyer, who o’erthrew More mad magicians than the world e’er knew. Immortal Hero! all thy foes o’ercome, For ever reign—the rival of Tom Thumb! Since startled Metre fled before thy face, Well wert thou doomed the last of all thy race! Well might triumphant Genii bear thee hence, Illustrious conqueror of common sense! Now, last and greatest, Madoc spreads his sails, Cacique in Mexico, and Prince in Wales; Tells us strange tales, as other travellers do, More old than Mandeville’s, and not so true. Oh, SOUTHEY! SOUTHEY! cease thy varied song! A bard may chaunt too often and too long: As thou art strong in verse, in mercy, spare! A fourth, alas! were more than we could bear. But if, in spite of all the world can say, Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary way; If still in Berkeley-Ballads most uncivil, Thou wilt devote old women to the devil, The babe unborn thy dread intent may rue: “God help thee,” SOUTHEY, and thy readers too. Next comes the dull disciple of thy school, That mild apostate from poetic rule, The simple WORDSWORTH, framer of a lay As soft as evening in his favourite May, Who warns his friend “to shake off toil and trouble, And quit his books, for fear of growing double;” Who, both by precept and example, shows That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose; Convincing all, by demonstration plain, Poetic souls delight in prose insane; And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme Contain the essence of the true sublime. Thus, when he tells the tale of Betty Foy, The idiot mother of “an idiot Boy;” A moon-struck, silly lad, who lost his way, And, like his bard, confounded night with day So close on each pathetic part he dwells, And each adventure so sublimely tells, That all who view the “idiot in his glory” Conceive the Bard the hero of the story. Shall gentle COLERIDGE pass unnoticed here, To turgid ode and tumid stanza dear? Though themes of innocence amuse him best, Yet still Obscurity’s a welcome guest. If Inspiration should her aid refuse To him who takes a Pixy for a muse, Yet none in lofty numbers can surpass The bard who soars to elegize an ***: So well the subject suits his noble mind, He brays, the Laureate of the long-eared kind. Oh! wonder-working LEWIS! Monk, or Bard, Who fain would make Parnassus a church-yard! Lo! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow, Thy Muse a Sprite, Apollo’s sexton thou! Whether on ancient tombs thou tak’st thy stand, By gibb’ring spectres hailed, thy kindred band; Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page, To please the females of our modest age; All hail, M.P.! from whose infernal brain Thin-sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train; At whose command “grim women” throng in crowds, And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds, With “small grey men,”—”wild yagers,” and what not, To crown with honour thee and WALTER SCOTT: Again, all hail! if tales like thine may please, St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease: Even Satan’s self with thee might dread to dwell, And in thy skull discern a deeper Hell. Who in soft guise, surrounded by a choir Of virgins melting, not to Vesta’s fire, With sparkling eyes, and cheek by passion flushed Strikes his wild lyre, whilst listening dames are hushed? ’Tis LITTLE! young Catullus of his day, As sweet, but as immoral, in his Lay! Grieved to condemn, the Muse must still be just, Nor spare melodious advocates of lust. Pure is the flame which o’er her altar burns; From grosser incense with disgust she turns Yet kind to youth, this expiation o’er, She bids thee “mend thy line, and sin no more.” For thee, translator of the tinsel song, To whom such glittering ornaments belong, Hibernian STRANGFORD! with thine eyes of blue, And boasted locks of red or auburn hue, Whose plaintive strain each love-sick Miss admires, And o’er harmonious fustian half expires, Learn, if thou canst, to yield thine author’s sense, Nor vend thy sonnets on a false pretence. Think’st thou to gain thy verse a higher place, By dressing Camoëns in a suit of lace? Mend, STRANGFORD! mend thy morals and thy taste; Be warm, but pure; be amorous, but be chaste: Cease to deceive; thy pilfered harp restore, Nor teach the Lusian Bard to copy MOORE. Behold—Ye Tarts!—one moment spare the text!— HAYLEY’S last work, and worst—until his next; Whether he spin poor couplets into plays, Or **** the dead with purgatorial praise, His style in youth or age is still the same, For ever feeble and for ever tame. Triumphant first see “Temper’s Triumphs” shine! At least I’m sure they triumphed over mine. Of “Music’s Triumphs,” all who read may swear That luckless Music never triumph’d there. Moravians, rise! bestow some meet reward On dull devotion—Lo! the Sabbath Bard, Sepulchral GRAHAME, pours his notes sublime In mangled prose, nor e’en aspires to rhyme; Breaks into blank the Gospel of St. Luke, And boldly pilfers from the Pentateuch; And, undisturbed by conscientious qualms, Perverts the Prophets, and purloins the Psalms. Hail, Sympathy! thy soft idea brings” A thousand visions of a thousand things, And shows, still whimpering thro’ threescore of years, The maudlin prince of mournful sonneteers. And art thou not their prince, harmonious Bowles! Thou first, great oracle of tender souls? Whether them sing’st with equal ease, and grief, The fall of empires, or a yellow leaf; Whether thy muse most lamentably tells What merry sounds proceed from Oxford bells, Or, still in bells delighting, finds a friend In every chime that jingled from Ostend; Ah! how much juster were thy Muse’s hap, If to thy bells thou would’st but add a cap! Delightful BOWLES! still blessing and still blest, All love thy strain, but children like it best. ’Tis thine, with gentle LITTLE’S moral song, To soothe the mania of the amorous throng! With thee our nursery damsels shed their tears, Ere Miss as yet completes her infant years: But in her teens thy whining powers are vain; She quits poor BOWLES for LITTLE’S purer strain. Now to soft themes thou scornest to confine The lofty numbers of a harp like thine; “Awake a louder and a loftier strain,” Such as none heard before, or will again! Where all discoveries jumbled from the flood, Since first the leaky ark reposed in mud, By more or less, are sung in every book, From Captain Noah down to Captain Cook. Nor this alone—but, pausing on the road, The Bard sighs forth a gentle episode, And gravely tells—attend, each beauteous Miss!— When first Madeira trembled to a kiss. Bowles! in thy memory let this precept dwell, Stick to thy Sonnets, Man!—at least they sell. But if some new-born whim, or larger bribe, Prompt thy crude brain, and claim thee for a scribe: If ‘chance some bard, though once by dunces feared, Now, prone in dust, can only be revered; If Pope, whose fame and genius, from the first, Have foiled the best of critics, needs the worst, Do thou essay: each fault, each failing scan; The first of poets * C45s: https://www.chessgames.com/perl/che... * YS Tactics: Game Collection: Yasser Seirawan's Winning Chess Tactics And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. Luke 2:9, 10. “You can only get good at chess if you love the game.” ― Bobby Fischer "Be active. I do things my way, like skiing when I’m 100. Nobody else does that even if they have energy. And I try to eat pretty correctly and get exercise and fresh air and sunshine.” ― Elsa Bailey, first time skier at age 100 "Don't look at the calendar, just keep celebrating every day." ― Ruth Coleman, carpe diem at age 101 508 zoom: move 29. zooter Frit xp drip drip drip Kh2? trolly pikcled hiz puter Mozetic set buttr peace did knot stixs man stones. 79 games, 1620-2020 78 Sicilian defense openers by Peter Trujillo - Our attitude determines our altitude. If you think you can, or you think you cannot, you're right. The man who wins is the man who thinks he can. - Always play the percentages. Don't be a riverboat gambler. - Be sound, steady. Give your opponent an opportunity to screw up and hand you the game. - Don't beat yourself. Victory favors the team that makes the fewest mistakes. - Most battles are won before they're ever fought through preparation beforehand. - Hard work beats talent when talent doesn't work hard. - Luck is when preparation and alertness, readiness to respond at a moment's notice, meets opportunity. Sometimes you find yourself in the right place at the right time because you're actively searching. - Life is 10% what happens and 90% how I respond. - Fight to the last gasp. - The difference between a champ and a chump is you. Winning is a process and an art form that includes losing on occasion1. Here are some tips on how to win with dignity and lose with grace: Own up to your mistakes, accept responsibility and commit to the process of growth and change1. Show humility in winning and dignity on losing2. Show respect to whomever or whatever has defeated you3. Bow out gracefully, praise the skills of the winner * http://wiinworldwide.com/2017/02/07... Plan for Ideal Piece Placement (Centralize, Advance) to gain material or maintain lasting pressure. How will my piece be threatened on its new square? Forked, Pinned, or Prodded? - Which units are unprotected, cannot not move? Should I aim at them, or first prevent their movement/advancement? - Crushing checks often land on unoccupied squares that seem unimportant. You must check all checks from the kings spoke outward. - Slow down, count ALL your cards carefully -- not just the obvious ones; pay attention to all maybes (don't overlook possibilities). Know the count. What is my opponent aiming at now, or next turn? Know the count. - Don't initiate a capture if the recapture improves the opponent's piece. This often occurs when knight protects knight or rook protects rook. - Maintain and pile up on pinned targets, tied defenders, any defendants. - Activate/improve/outpost your piece(s) & connect batteries/crossfire. Give every piece a job. - Consider cramping/removal pawn thrusts. However, putting the question seems threatening but may chase a piece to a better square gaining the initiative. - Gain space to crash through or avoid lateral passivity, as rescuers often come from across the way. - Inflict an isolated pawn (island). Liquidate weak pawns. Zdravko or Zurab Showing respect to someone can be done in many ways. Here are some tips on how to show respect to others: Listen actively to other people and offer assistance, acknowledge their achievements, and empathize with their opinions. Disagree politely, apologize when you’re in the wrong, and follow through on your promises to build a positive connection with others. Show self-respect by treating yourself with compassion and avoiding self-destructive behaviors. Practice active listening to show you respect others. Watch and be quiet when someone else is talking, and spend time thinking about what they’re saying. Nod your head and ask follow-up questions to stay engaged in the conversation. Affirm people’s opinions. Let them know that they matter. When you’re talking to someone, reinforce and validate their opinions in your own words. Empathize with different perspectives. You might not understand it, but you can respect it. If you’re talking with someone and you disagree on something, don’t take it personally. Try to remember that everyone has a different background, and the person you’re talking to has their own reasons for thinking whatever they think. “Learn to play many roles, to be whatever the moment requires. Adapt your mask to the situation.” ― Robert Greene “Get a great education. That is something that no one can take away from you." ― Margie Hammargren, former CIA agent, 101 years old Why is England the wettest country? Because the queen reigned there for decades. Head And Tail Riddle: What has a head, a tail, is brown, and has no legs? A brown trout? Answer: A Penny. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. Luke 2:9, 10. Conceive a man by nature and misfortune prone to a pallid hopelessness, can any business seem more fitted to heighten it than that of continually handling these dead letters and assorting them for the flames? For by the cart-load they are annually burned. Sometimes from out the folded paper the pale clerk takes a ring: - the finger it was meant for, perhaps, moulders in the grave; a bank-note sent in swiftest charity: - he whom it would relieve, nor eats nor hungers any more; pardon for those who died despairing; hope for those who died unhoping; good tidings for those who died stifled by unrelieved calamities. On errands of life, these letters speed to death. Ah Bartleby! Ah humanity! — Herman Melville “Many of life's failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.” ― Thomas A. Edison “Learning from our mistakes is critical for improving, but even I don't have patience for ranking my regrets. Regret is a negative emotion that inhibits the optimism required to take on new challenges. You risk living in an alternative universe, z where if only you had done this or that differently, things would be better. That's a poor substitute for making your actual life better, or improving the lives of others. Regret briefly, analyze and understand, and then move on, improving the only life you have.” ― Garry Kasparov You know there's no official training for trash collectors? They just pick things up as they go along. <Luke 8:16-18 New King James Version The Parable of the Revealed Light Jesus said: 16 “No one, when he has lit a lamp, covers it with a vessel or puts it under a bed, but sets it on a lampstand, that those who enter may see the light. 17 For nothing is secret that will not be revealed, nor anything hidden that will not be known and come to light. 18 Therefore take heed how you hear. For whoever has, to him more will be given; and whoever does not have, even what he seems to have will be taken from him.”> “The weak are always anxious for justice and equality. The strong pay no heed to either.” — Aristotle “A species that enslaves other beings is hardly superior — mentally or otherwise.” — Captain Kirk “Now, I don’t pretend to tell you how to find happiness and love, when every day is a struggle to survive. But I do insist that you do survive, because the days and the years ahead are worth living for!” — Edith Keeler “Live long and prosper!” — Spock “The most important thing in life is to stop saying 'I wish' and start saying 'I will.' Consider nothing impossible, then treat possibilities as probabilities.” — Charles Dickens Calories 160 Zardus Szalanczy &Perez butz bach When you die, what part of the body dies last? The pupils… they dilate. 129 games, 1840-2010 78 Soltis Slow QP Book “In life, unlike chess the game continues after checkmate.”- Isaac Asimov “Chess isn’t always about winning. Sometimes, it is simply about learning and so is life.” – Anonymous “You have no idea how much it contributes to the general politeness and pleasantness of diplomacy when you have a little quiet armed force in the background.” ― George F. Kennan * Glossary: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gloss... * Garry Kasparov Teaches Chess (Batsford 1986): Game Collection: Garry Kasparov Teaches Chess Maximo wrote: My Forking Knight's Mare Gracefully over the squares, as a blonde or a brunette, she makes moves that not even a queen can imitate. Always active and taking the initiative, she likes to fork. She does it across the board, taking with ease not only pawns, but also kings, and a bad bishop or two. Sometimes she feels like making quiet moves, at other times, she adopts romantic moods, and makes great sacrifices. But, being hers a zero-sum game, she often forks just out of spite. An expert at prophylaxis, she can be a swindler, and utter threats, skewering men to make some gains. Playing with her risks a conundrum, and also catching Kotov’s syndrome. Nonetheless, despite having been trampled by her strutting ways my trust in her remains, unwavering, until the endgame. “When you’re lonely, when you feel yourself an alien in the world, play Chess. This will raise your spirits and be your counselor in war” – Aristotle “A bad plan is better than none at all.” – Frank Marshal The Dog That Dropped The Substance For The Shadow This world is full of shadow-chasers, Most easily deceived. Should I enumerate these racers, I should not be believed. I send them all to Aesop's dog, Which, crossing water on a log, Espied the meat he bore, below; To seize its image, let it go; Plunged in; to reach the shore was glad, With neither what he hoped, nor what he'd had. poem by B.H. Wood, entitled ‘The Drowser’: Ah, reverie! Ten thousand heads I see Bent over chess-boards, an infinity Of minds engaged in battle, fiendishly, Keenly, or calmly, as the case may be: World-wide, the neophyte, the veteran, The studious problemist, the fairy fan ... “What’s that? – I’m nearly sending you to sleep? Sorry! – but this position’s rather deep.” Source: Chess Amateur, September 1929, page 268. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. Luke 2:9, 10. “You can only get good at chess if you love the game.” ― Bobby Fischer "Be active. I do things my way, like skiing when I’m 100. Nobody else does that even if they have energy. And I try to eat pretty correctly and get exercise and fresh air and sunshine.” ― Elsa Bailey, first time skier at age 100 "Don't look at the calendar, just keep celebrating every day." ― Ruth Coleman, carpe diem at age 101 Acronyms and Initialisms: Worksheet Printouts Click Here for K-3 Themes An acronym is a pronounceable word that is formed using the first letters of the words in a phrase (sometimes, other parts of the words are also used). Some common acronyms include NASA (which stands for "National Aeronautical and Space Administration"), scuba ("Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus") and laser ("Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation"). An initialism is a word that is formed using the first letters of the words in a phrase -- it is pronounced like a series of letters, not like a word. Some common initialisms include UFO (which stands for "Unidentified Flying Object") and LOL (which stands for "Laughing Out Loud"). Note: Some people consider both of these to be acronyms. Some common acronyms (and initialisms) include: AC - Air Conditioning AD - Anno Domini ("In the Year of Our Lord") AKA - Also Known As AM - Ante Meridiem (before noon) AM - Amplitude Modification (radio) ASAP - As Soon As Possible ATM - Automated Teller Machine B&B - Bed and Breakfast BC - Before Christ or Because BCE - Before the Common Era BLT - Bacon, Lettuce, Tomato BTW - By The Way CC - Credit Card CIA - Central Intelligence Agency CO - Commanding Officer CST - Central Standard Time DOA - Dead on Arrival DOT - Department of Transportation DST - Daylight Saving Time EST - Eastern Standard Time ET - Extra-Terrestrial FAQ - Frequently-Asked Questions FBI - Federal Bureau of Investigation FDR - Franklin Delano Roosevelt FM - Frequency Modification (radio) FYI - For Your Information GI - Government Issue GMO - Genetically Modified IM - Instant Message IMO - In My Opinion IMHO - In My Humble Opinion HAZ-MAT - Hazardous Material HMO - Health Maintenence Organization ID - Identification IQ - Intelligence Quotient ISBN - International Standard Book Number JFK - John Fitzgerald Kennedy JV - Junior Varsity KO - Knockout laser - Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation LCD - Liquid Crystal Display LED - Light Emitting Diode LOL - Laughing Out Loud MC - Master of Ceremonies MLK - Martin Luther King, Jr. MO - Modus Operandi MRE - Meals Ready to Eat MS - Manuscript MST - Mountain Standard Time MTG - Magic: The Gathering MTD - Month To Date NIB - New In the Box NAFTA - North American Free Trade Agreement NASA - National Aeronautical and Space Administration NATO - North Atlantic Treaty Organization NBA - National Basketball Association NIB - New In the Box NIMBY - Not In My Backyard OJ - Orange Juice OPEC - Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries PBJ - Peanut Butter and Jelly PC - Politically Correct PI - Private Investigator PIN - Personal Identification Number PM - Post Meridiem (after noon) POTUS - President of the United States POW - Prisoner of War PPS - Post-Postscript PS - Postscript PR - Public Relations PSI - Pounds Per Square Inch PST - Pacific Standard Time Q&A - Question and Answer R&R - Rest and Relaxation RAM - Random Access Memory RGB - Red, Green, Blue RIP - Rest in Peace (from the Latin, "Requiescat In Pace") ROM - Read Only Memory ROTC - Reserve Officers Training Corps ROYGBIV - Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet RPG - Role Playing Game RSVP - Répondez S'il Vous Plaît (in French, this means "Please respond") RV - Recreational Vehicle scuba - Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus SNAFU - Systems Normal, All Fouled Up SOP - Standard Operating Procedure SOS - Save Our Souls (decided after the fact - SOS was chosen because it was short in Morse code) SPF - Sun Protection Factor (how sunscreen lotion is rated) TBA - To Be Announced TEOTWAWKI - The End Of The World As We Know It TGIF - Thank God It's Friday TLC - Tender Loving Care TV - Television UFO - Unidentified Flying Object UN - United Nations UNICEF - United Nations Children's Fund UPC - Universal Product Code VIP - Very Important Person VP - Vice President WASP - White Anglo Saxon Protestant WHO - World Health Organization WOM - Word of Mouth WoW - World of Warcraft WYSIWYG - What You See Is What You Get YTD - Year To Date ZIP (code) - Zone Improvement Plan The Chess Play by Nicholas Breton A Secret many yeeres vnseene,  In play at Chesse, who knowes the game First of the King, and then the Queene,  Knight, Bishop, Rooke, and so by name. Of euerie Pawne I will descrie The nature with the qualitie. The King. The King himselfe is haughtie Care  Which ouerlooketh all his men And when he seeth how they fare.  He steps among them now and then, Whom when his foe presumes to checke His seruants stand, to giue the necke. The Queene. The Queene is queint, and quicke Conceit,  Which makes hir walke which way she list And rootes them vp, that lie in wait  To worke hir treason, ere she wist: Hir force is such, against hir foes, That whom she meetes, she ouerthrowes. The Knight. The Knight is knowledge how to fight  Against his Princes enimies, He neuer makes his walke outright,  But leaps and skips, in wilie wise. To take by sleight a traitrous foe, Might slilie seeke their ouerthrowe. The Bishop. The Bishop he is wittie braine,  That chooseth Crossest pathes to pace. And euermore he pries with paine,  To see who seekes him most disgrace: Such straglers when he findes astraie, He takes them vp, and throwes awaie. The Rookes The Rookes are reason on both sides,  Which keepe the corner houses still. And warily stand to watch their tides.  By secret art to worke their will, To take sometime a theefe vnseene, Might mischiefe meane to King or Queene. The Paiones. The Pawne before the King, is peace  Which he desires to keepe at home, Practise the Queenes, which doth not cease  Amid the world abroad to roame. To finde, and fall vpon each foe, Whereas his mistres meanes to goe. Before the Knight, is perill plast,  Which he, by skipping ouergoes, And yet that Pawne can worke a cast  To ouerthrow his greatest foes; The Bishops, prudence; prieng still, Which way to worke his masters will. The Rookes poore Pawnes, are sillie swaines,  Which seeidome serue, except by hap, And yet those Pawnes, can lay their traines.  To catch a great man, in a trap: So that I see, sometime a groome May not be sparèd from his roome. The Nature of the Chesse men. The King is stately, looking hie: The Queene doth beare like maiestie: The Knight is hardie, valiant, wise: The Bishop, prudent and precise:  The Rookes, no raungers out of raie  The Pawnes, the pages in the plaie. Lenvoy. Then rule with care, and quicke conceit,  And fight with knowledge, as with force; So beare a braine, to dash deceit,  And worke with reason and remorse: Forgiue a fault when yoong men plaie So giue a mate and go your way And when you plaie beware of Checke Know how to saue and giue a necke: And with a Checke, beware of Mate; But cheefe, ware had I wist too late:  Loose not the Queene, for ten to one.  If she be lost, the game is gone. 28 games, 1893-1992 78 Stonewall Attack & The Dutch Defense Compiled by RayDelColle “Chess is a fairy tale of 1,001 blunders.” ― Savielly Tartakower “The pawns are the soul of chess.” ― Francois-Andre Danican Philidor “A pawn, when separated from his fellows, will seldom or never make a fortune.” ― Francois-Andre Danican Philidor “Remember us, Should any free soul come across this place, In all the countless centuries yet to be, May our voices whisper to you from the ageless stones, Go tell the Spartans, passerby: That here by Spartan law, we lie.” ― Frank Miller, 300 “Chess is a war over the board. The object is to crush the opponent’s mind.” ― Bobby Fischer “As proved by evidence, it (chess) is more lasting in its being and presence than all books and achievements; the only game that belongs to all people and all ages; of which none knows the divinity that bestowed it on the world, to slay boredom, to sharpen the senses, to exhilarate the spirit.” ― Stefan Zweig “The soldier is the Army. No army is better than its soldiers. The Soldier is also a citizen. In fact, the highest obligation and privilege of citizenship is that of bearing arms for one’s country.” ― George S. Patton Jr. "The most important single ingredient in the formula of success is knowing how to get along with people." ― Theodore Roosevelt, 26th President of the United States, and former U.S. Army Colonel Did you hear about the guy whose whole left side was cut off? He's all right now. * Assorted Good games Compiled by rbaglini: Game Collection: assorted Good games * Cheating: https://www.chess.com/article/view/... * GK's Scheveningen: Game Collection: Kasparov - The Sicilian Sheveningen I was kidnapped by mimes once. They did unspeakable things to me. <First And Last Author Riddle: What belongs to you, but other people use it more than you? By 2024 India will overtake China as the world’s most populous country China currently has 1.4 billion inhabitants, closely followed by India with 1.3 billion. Together they make up 37% of the world’s population. Riddle Answer: Your name.> Is it ignorance or apathy that's destroying the world today? I don't know, and I don't care. It's not the quantity that counts; it's the quality. What do you call a woman who sets fire to all her bills? Bernadette. The Young Widow A husband's death brings always sighs; The widow sobs, sheds tears – then dries. Of Time the sadness borrows wings; And Time returning pleasure brings. Between the widow of a year And of a day, the difference Is so immense, That very few who see her Would think the laughing dame And weeping one the same. The one puts on repulsive action, The other shows a strong attraction. The one gives up to sighs, or true or false; The same sad note is heard, whoever calls. Her grief is inconsolable, They say. Not so our fable, Or, rather, not so says the truth. To other worlds a husband went And left his wife in prime of youth. Above his dying couch she bent, And cried, "My love, O wait for me! My soul would gladly go with you!" (But yet it did not go.) The fair one's sire, a prudent man, Checked not the current of her woe. At last he kindly thus began: "My child, your grief should have its bound. What boots it him beneath the ground That you should drown your charms? Live for the living, not the dead. I don't propose that you be led At once to Hymen's arms; But give me leave, in proper time, To rearrange the broken chime With one who is as good, at least, In all respects, as the deceased." "Alas!" she sighed, "the cloister vows Befit me better than a spouse." The father left the matter there. About one month thus mourned the fair; Another month, her weeds arranged; Each day some robe or lace she changed, Till mourning dresses served to grace, And took of ornament the place. The frolic band of loves Came flocking back like doves. Jokes, laughter, and the dance, The native growth of France, Had finally their turn; And thus, by night and morn, She plunged, to tell the truth, Deep in the fount of youth. Her sire no longer feared The dead so much endeared; But, as he never spoke, Herself the silence broke: "Where is that youthful spouse," said she, "Whom, sir, you lately promised me?" Why is England the wettest country? Because the queen reigned there for decades. What did the full glass say to the empty glass? "You look drunk." Drive sober or get pulled over. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. Luke 2:9, 10. 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! "Be active. I do things my way, like skiing when I’m 100. Nobody else does that even if they have energy. And I try to eat pretty correctly and get exercise and fresh air and sunshine.” ― Elsa Bailey, first time skier at age 100 "Don't look at the calendar, just keep celebrating every day." ― Ruth Coleman, carpe diem at age 101 When you die, what part of the body dies last? The pupils… they dilate. <Luke 8:16-18 New King James Version The Parable of the Revealed Light Jesus said: 16 “No one, when he has lit a lamp, covers it with a vessel or puts it under a bed, but sets it on a lampstand, that those who enter may see the light. 17 For nothing is secret that will not be revealed, nor anything hidden that will not be known and come to light. 18 Therefore take heed how you hear. For whoever has, to him more will be given; and whoever does not have, even what he seems to have will be taken from him.”> %. What sits at the bottom of the sea and twitches? A nervous wreck. Time is money Time will tell 'tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all To err is human; to forgive divine To every thing there is a season To the victor go the spoils To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive Tomorrow is another day Tomorrow never comes Too many cooks spoil the broth Truth is stranger than fiction Truth will out Two blacks don't make a white Two heads are better than one Two is company, but three's a crowd There are two sides to every question Two wrongs don't make a right Variety is the spice of life Virtue is its own reward A volunteer is worth twenty pressed men The wages of sin is death Walls have ears Walnuts and pears you plant for your heirs Waste not want not A watched pot never boils The way to a man's heart is through his stomach What can't be cured must be endured What goes up must come down What you lose on the swings you gain on the roundabouts What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander When in Rome, do as the Romans do When the cat's away the mice will play When the going gets tough, the tough get going When the oak is before the ash, then you will only get a splash; when the ash is before the oak, then you may expect a soak What the eye doesn't see, the heart doesn't grieve over Where there's a will there's a way Where there's muck there's brass Wherever you wander, there's no place like home While there's life there's hope The whole is greater than the sum of the parts Whom the Gods love die young Why keep a dog and bark yourself? A woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke The Chess Play by Nicholas Breton A Secret many yeeres vnseene,  In play at Chesse, who knowes the game First of the King, and then the Queene,  Knight, Bishop, Rooke, and so by name. Of euerie Pawne I will descrie The nature with the qualitie. The King. The King himselfe is haughtie Care  Which ouerlooketh all his men And when he seeth how they fare.  He steps among them now and then, Whom when his foe presumes to checke His seruants stand, to giue the necke. The Queene. The Queene is queint, and quicke Conceit,  Which makes hir walke which way she list And rootes them vp, that lie in wait  To worke hir treason, ere she wist: Hir force is such, against hir foes, That whom she meetes, she ouerthrowes. The Knight. The Knight is knowledge how to fight  Against his Princes enimies, He neuer makes his walke outright,  But leaps and skips, in wilie wise. To take by sleight a traitrous foe, Might slilie seeke their ouerthrowe. The Bishop. The Bishop he is wittie braine,  That chooseth Crossest pathes to pace. And euermore he pries with paine,  To see who seekes him most disgrace: Such straglers when he findes astraie, He takes them vp, and throwes awaie. The Rookes The Rookes are reason on both sides,  Which keepe the corner houses still. And warily stand to watch their tides.  By secret art to worke their will, To take sometime a theefe vnseene, Might mischiefe meane to King or Queene. The Paiones. The Pawne before the King, is peace  Which he desires to keepe at home, Practise the Queenes, which doth not cease  Amid the world abroad to roame. To finde, and fall vpon each foe, Whereas his mistres meanes to goe. Before the Knight, is perill plast,  Which he, by skipping ouergoes, And yet that Pawne can worke a cast  To ouerthrow his greatest foes; The Bishops, prudence; prieng still, Which way to worke his masters will. The Rookes poore Pawnes, are sillie swaines,  Which seeidome serue, except by hap, And yet those Pawnes, can lay their traines.  To catch a great man, in a trap: So that I see, sometime a groome May not be sparèd from his roome. The Nature of the Chesse men. The King is stately, looking hie: The Queene doth beare like maiestie: The Knight is hardie, valiant, wise: The Bishop, prudent and precise:  The Rookes, no raungers out of raie  The Pawnes, the pages in the plaie. Lenvoy. Then rule with care, and quicke conceit,  And fight with knowledge, as with force; So beare a braine, to dash deceit,  And worke with reason and remorse: Forgiue a fault when yoong men plaie So giue a mate and go your way And when you plaie beware of Checke Know how to saue and giue a necke: And with a Checke, beware of Mate; But cheefe, ware had I wist too late:  Loose not the Queene, for ten to one.  If she be lost, the game is gone. 47 games, 1882-2006 78 The QGD Slav/Semi-Slav from Zhbugnoimt “Chess is a sea in which a gnat may drink and an elephant may bathe.” ― Indian Proverb “It’s an eminently and emphatically the philosopher’s game.” ― Paul Morphy “The soldier is the Army. No army is better than its soldiers. The Soldier is also a citizen. In fact, the highest obligation and privilege of citizenship is that of bearing arms for one’s country” ― George S. Patton Jr. "The most important single ingredient in the formula of success is knowing how to get along with people." ― Theodore Roosevelt, 26th President of the United States, and former U.S. Army Colonel And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. Luke 2:9, 10. “I will never quit. My nation expects me to be physically harder and mentally stronger than my enemies. If knocked down I will get back up, every time. I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect my teammates and to accomplish our mission. I am never out of the fight.” ― Marcus Luttrell, Lone Survivor: The Eyewitness Account of Operation Redwing and the Lost Heroes of SEAL Team 10 Magnus Carlsen, who has been ranked the No. 1 chess player in the world since 2011, announced he will not defend his world championship title. "The conclusion is very simple that I am not motivated to play another match," the five-time world champion said on his podcast, The Magnus Effect. The championship matches are held every two years and the next is scheduled for 2023. "I simply feel that I don't have a lot to gain," Carlsen added. "I don't particularly like it, and although I'm sure a match would be interesting for historical reasons and all of that, I don't have any inclinations to play and I will simply not play the match." * Good Historical Links: https://www.saund.co.uk/britbase/in... * Attack: Game Collection: 2012-2015 Attacking Games (Naiditsch/Balogh) * Cheating: https://www.chess.com/article/view/... It's not the quantity that counts; it's the quality. * Draws: Game Collection: 2012-2015 Interesting Draws (Naiditsch/Balogh) * Endgames: Game Collection: 2012-2015 Endgames (Naiditsch/Balogh) * Fight! Game Collection: 2012-2015 Fighting Games (Naiditsch/Balogh) * Positional: Game Collection: 2012-2015 Positional Games (Naiditsch/Balogh) * Miscellaneous: Game Collection: ! Miscellaneous games * Internet tracking: https://www.studysmarter.us/magazin... The Rat Retired From The World The sage Levantines have a tale About a rat that weary grew Of all the cares which life assail, And to a Holland cheese withdrew. His solitude was there profound, Extending through his world so round. Our hermit lived on that within; And soon his industry had been With claws and teeth so good, That in his novel hermitage, He had in store, for wants of age, Both house and livelihood. What more could any rat desire? He grew fair, fat, and round. "God's blessings thus redound To those who in His vows retire.' One day this personage devout, Whose kindness none might doubt, Was asked, by certain delegates That came from Rat-United-States, For some small aid, for they To foreign parts were on their way, For succour in the great cat-war. Ratopolis beleaguered sore, Their whole republic drained and poor, No morsel in their scrips they bore. Slight boon they craved, of succour sure In days at utmost three or four. "My friends," the hermit said, "To worldly things I'm dead. How can a poor recluse To such a mission be of use? What can he do but pray That God will aid it on its way? And so, my friends, it is my prayer That God will have you in his care." His well-fed saintship said no more, But in their faces shut the door. What think you, reader, is the service For which I use this niggard rat? To paint a monk? No, but a dervise. A monk, I think, however fat, Must be more bountiful than that. I entered ten puns in our contest to see which would win. No pun in ten did. “Above the clouds I lift my wing To hear the bells of Heaven ring; Some of their music, though my fights be wild, To Earth I bring; Then let me soar and sing!” ― Edmund Clarence Stedman Feb-13-11 keypusher: <scutigera: They give this as one of Myagmarsuren's notable games with 162 others in the database?> notable games are selected based on how many games collections they are in. 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! Apr-05-23 WannaBe: Can a vegan have a 'beef' with you? Or Vegans only have 'beet' with you? I am confused. Apr-05-23 Cassandro: Vegan police officers should be exempt from doing steak-outs. The Road Not Taken Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. “The weak are always anxious for justice and equality. The strong pay no heed to either.” — Aristotle “A species that enslaves other beings is hardly superior — mentally or otherwise.” — Captain Kirk “Now, I don’t pretend to tell you how to find happiness and love, when every day is a struggle to survive. But I do insist that you do survive, because the days and the years ahead are worth living for!” — Edith Keeler “Live long and prosper!” — Spock “The most important thing in life is to stop saying 'I wish' and start saying 'I will.' Consider nothing impossible, then treat possibilities as probabilities.” — Charles Dickens Calories 160 500 games, 1886-2015 92 TacticalArchives General chess advice from Joe Brooks: https://www.reddit.com/r/chess/comm... “On the chessboard lies and hypocrisy do not survive long. The creative combination lays bare the presumption of a lie; the merciless fact, culmination in checkmate, contradicts the hypocrite.” — Emanuel Lasker “Life is like a chess. If you lose your queen, you will probably lose the game.” — Being Caballero "The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity. The fears are paper tigers. You can do anything you decide to do. You can act to change and control your life; and the procedure, the process is its own reward." ― Amelia Earhart “The most important single ingredient in the formula of success is knowing how to get along with people.” ― Theodore Roosevelt, 26th President of the United States, and former U.S. Army Colonel "Chess is life in miniature. Chess is a struggle, chess battles." ― Garry Kasparov "Each person must live their life as a model for others." ― Rosa Parks "Age brings wisdom to some men, and to others chess." ― Evan Esar "Life is not about how fast you run or how high you climb, but how well you bounce." ― Vivian Komori “Almost immediately after Kasparov played the magic move g4, the computer started to self destruct.” — Sam Sloan “In the endgame, it's often better to form a barrier to cut-off the lone king and keep shrinking the barrier than to give check. The mistaken check might give the lone king a choice move toward the center when the idea is to force the lone king to the edge of the board and then checkmate.” — Fredthebear In what country did the first Starbucks open outside of North America? Answer: Japan “Chess is a fairy tale of 1,001 blunders.” ― Savielly Tartakower “The pawns are the soul of chess.” ― Francois-Andre Danican Philidor “A pawn, when separated from his fellows, will seldom or never make a fortune.” ― Francois-Andre Danican Philidor In a website browser address bar, what does “www” stand for? Answer: World Wide Web “Remember us, Should any free soul come across this place, In all the countless centuries yet to be, May our voices whisper to you from the ageless stones, Go tell the Spartans, passerby: That here by Spartan law, we lie.” ― Frank Miller, 300 “Chess is a war over the board. The object is to crush the opponent’s mind.” ― Bobby Fischer “The soldier is the Army. No army is better than its soldiers. The Soldier is also a citizen. In fact, the highest obligation and privilege of citizenship is that of bearing arms for one’s country.” ― George S. Patton Jr. Where were the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights stored during World War II? Answer: Fort Knox "Young players calculate everything, a requirement of their relative inexperience." ― Samuel Reshevsky "When I start to play a game I try to forget about previous games and try to concentrate on this game. This game is now the most important to me. But of course I am not a computer and you cannot simply press a button, delete, and everything you want to forget disappears automatically. But if you want to play well, it's important to concentrate on the now." ― Vassily Ivanchuk "The most important single ingredient in the formula of success is knowing how to get along with people." ― Theodore Roosevelt, 26th President of the United States, and former U.S. Army Colonel * Accidents: Game Collection: Accidents in the opening * Assorted Good games Compiled by rbaglini: Game Collection: assorted Good games * Attack: Game Collection: 2012-2015 Attacking Games (Naiditsch/Balogh) * C45s: https://www.chessgames.com/perl/che... * Cheating: https://www.chess.com/article/view/... * Draws: Game Collection: 2012-2015 Interesting Draws (Naiditsch/Balogh) * Endgames: Game Collection: 2012-2015 Endgames (Naiditsch/Balogh) * Fight! Game Collection: 2012-2015 Fighting Games (Naiditsch/Balogh) * Good Historical Links: https://www.saund.co.uk/britbase/in... * Miscellaneous: Game Collection: ! Miscellaneous games * Philidor Beats: Game Collection: Against the Philidor * Positional: Game Collection: 2012-2015 Positional Games (Naiditsch/Balogh) * GK's Scheveningen: Game Collection: Kasparov - The Sicilian Sheveningen * Stein: Game Collection: Move by Move - Stein (Engqvist) * Internet tracking: https://www.studysmarter.us/magazin... * YS Tactics: Game Collection: Yasser Seirawan's Winning Chess Tactics * Lasker's 200 Hours: https://chessimprover.com/emanuel-l... It's not the quantity that counts; it's the quality. 82181 Who was the first televised President? Answer: Franklin D. Roosevelt I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud William Wordsworth I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils Originally, Amazon only sold what kind of product? Answer: Books “Be active. I do things my way, like skiing when I’m 100. Nobody else does that even if they have energy. And I try to eat pretty correctly and get exercise and fresh air and sunshine.” ― Elsa Bailey, first time skier at age 100 “Don't look at the calendar, just keep celebrating everyday." ― Ruth Coleman, carpe diem at age 101 The Stag and the Vine A stag, by favour of a vine, Which grew where suns most genial shine, And formed a thick and matted bower Which might have turned a summer shower, Was saved from ruinous assault. The hunters thought their dogs at fault, And called them off. In danger now no more The stag, a thankless wretch and vile, Began to browse his benefactress over. The hunters, listening the while, The rustling heard, came back, With all their yelping pack, And seized him in that very place. "This is," said he, "but justice, in my case. Let every black ingrate Henceforward profit by my fate." The dogs fell to – 'twere wasting breath To pray those hunters at the death. They left, and we will not revile "em, A warning for profaners of asylum. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. Luke 2:9, 10. “You can only get good at chess if you love the game.” ― Bobby Fischer In 2009, what became the first Morse code character to be added since WWII? Answer: The "@" symbol The Road Not Taken Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. Which kind of bulbs were once exchanged as a form of currency? Answer: Tulips The Triumph of Life Percy Bysshe Shelley Swift as a spirit hastening to his task Of glory & of good, the Sun sprang forth Rejoicing in his splendour, & the mask Of darkness fell from the awakened Earth. The smokeless altars of the mountain snows Flamed above crimson clouds, & at the birth Of light, the Ocean’s orison arose To which the birds tempered their matin lay, All flowers in field or forest which unclose Their trembling eyelids to the kiss of day, Swinging their censers in the element, With orient incense lit by the new ray Burned slow & inconsumably, & sent Their odorous sighs up to the smiling air, And in succession due, did Continent, Isle, Ocean, & all things that in them wear The form & character of mortal mould Rise as the Sun their father rose, to bear Their portion of the toil which he of old Took as his own & then imposed on them; But I, whom thoughts which must remain untold Had kept as wakeful as the stars that gem The cone of night, now they were laid asleep, Stretched my faint limbs beneath the hoary stem Which an old chestnut flung athwart the steep Of a green Apennine: before me fled The night; behind me rose the day; the Deep Was at my feet, & Heaven above my head When a strange trance over my fancy grew Which was not slumber, for the shade it spread Was so transparent that the scene came through As clear as when a veil of light is drawn O’er evening hills they glimmer; and I knew That I had felt the freshness of that dawn, Bathed in the same cold dew my brow & hair And sate as thus upon that slope of lawn Under the self same bough, & heard as there The birds, the fountains & the Ocean hold Sweet talk in music through the enamoured air. And then a Vision on my brain was rolled. As in that trance of wondrous thought I lay This was the tenour of my waking dream. Methought I sate beside a public way Thick strewn with summer dust, & a great stream Of people there was hurrying to & fro Numerous as gnats upon the evening gleam, All hastening onward, yet none seemed to know Whither he went, or whence he came, or why He made one of the multitude, yet so Was borne amid the crowd as through the sky One of the million leaves of summer’s bier.— Old age & youth, manhood & infancy, Mixed in one mighty torrent did appear, Some flying from the thing they feared & some Seeking the object of another’s fear, And others as with steps towards the tomb Pored on the trodden worms that crawled beneath, And others mournfully within the gloom Of their own shadow walked, and called it death … And some fled from it as it were a ghost, Half fainting in the affliction of vain breath. But more with motions which each other crost Pursued or shunned the shadows the clouds threw Or birds within the noonday ether lost, Upon that path where flowers never grew; And weary with vain toil & faint for thirst Heard not the fountains whose melodious dew Out of their mossy cells forever burst Nor felt the breeze which from the forest told Of grassy paths, & wood lawns interspersed With overarching elms & caverns cold, And violet banks where sweet dreams brood, but they Pursued their serious folly as of old …. And as I gazed methought that in the way The throng grew wilder, as the woods of June When the South wind shakes the extinguished day.— And a cold glare, intenser than the noon But icy cold, obscured with [[blank]] light The Sun as he the stars. Like the young moon When on the sunlit limits of the night Her white shell trembles amid crimson air And whilst the sleeping tempest gathers might Doth, as a herald of its coming, bear The ghost of her dead Mother, whose dim form Bends in dark ether from her infant’s chair, So came a chariot on the silent storm Of its own rushing splendour, and a Shape So sate within as one whom years deform Beneath a dusky hood & double cape Crouching within the shadow of a tomb, And o’er what seemed the head, a cloud like crape, Was bent a dun & faint etherial gloom Tempering the light; upon the chariot’s beam A Janus-visaged Shadow did assume The guidance of that wonder-winged team. The Shapes which drew it in thick lightnings Were lost: I heard alone on the air’s soft stream The music of their ever moving wings. All the four faces of that charioteer Had their eyes banded . . . little profit brings Speed in the van & blindness in the rear, Nor then avail the beams that quench the Sun Or that his banded eyes could pierce the sphere Of all that is, has been, or will be done.— So ill was the car guided, but it past With solemn speed majestically on . . . The crowd gave way, & I arose aghast, Or seemed to rise, so mighty was the trance, And saw like clouds upon the thunder blast The million with fierce song and maniac dance Raging around; such seemed the jubilee As when to greet some conqueror’s advance Imperial Rome poured forth her living sea From senatehouse & prison & theatre When Freedom left those who upon the free Had bound a yoke which soon they stooped to bear. Nor wanted here the true similitude Of a triumphal pageant, for where’er The chariot rolled a captive multitude Was driven; althose who had grown old in power Or misery,—all who have their age subdued, By action or by suffering, and whose hour Was drained to its last sand in weal or woe, So that the trunk survived both fruit & flower; All those whose fame or infamy must grow Till the great winter lay the form & name Of their own earth with them forever low, All but the sacred few who could not tame Their spirits to the Conqueror, but as soon As they had touched the world with living flame Fled back like eagles to their native noon, Of those who put aside the diadem Of earthly thrones or gems, till the last one Were there;—for they of Athens & Jerusalem Were neither mid the mighty captives seen Nor mid the ribald crowd that followed them Or fled before . . Now swift, fierce & obscene The wild dance maddens in the van, & those Who lead it, fleet as shadows on the green, Outspeed the chariot & without repose Mix with each other in tempestuous measure To savage music …. Wilder as it grows, They, tortured by the agonizing pleasure, Convulsed & on the rapid whirlwinds spun Of that fierce spirit, whose unholy leisure Was soothed by mischief since the world begun, Throw back their heads & loose their streaming hair, And in their dance round her who dims the Sun Maidens & youths fling their wild arms in air As their feet twinkle; they recede, and now Bending within each other’s atmosphere Kindle invisibly; and as they glow Like moths by light attracted & repelled, Oft to new bright destruction come & go. Till like two clouds into one vale impelled That shake the mountains when their lightnings mingle And die in rain,—the fiery band which held Their natures, snaps . . . ere the shock cease to tingle One falls and then another in the path Senseless, nor is the desolation single, Yet ere I can say where the chariot hath Past over them; nor other trace I find But as of foam after the Ocean’s wrath Is spent upon the desert shore.—Behind, Old men, and women foully disarrayed Shake their grey hair in the insulting wind, Limp in the dance & strain, with limbs decayed, Seeking to reach the light which leaves them still Farther behind & deeper in the shade. But not the less with impotence of will They wheel, though ghastly shadows interpose Round them & round each other, and fulfill Their work and to the dust whence they arose Sink & corruption veils them as they lie And frost in these performs what fire in those. Struck to the heart by this sad pageantry, Half to myself I said, “And what is this? Whose shape is that within the car? & why”- I would have added—”is all here amiss?” But a voice answered . . “Life” . . . I turned & knew (O Heaven have mercy on such wretchedness!) That what I thought was an old root which grew To strange distortion out of the hill side Was indeed one of that deluded crew, And that the grass which methought hung so wide And white, was but his thin discoloured hair, And that the holes it vainly sought to hide Were or had been eyes.—”lf thou canst forbear To join the dance, which I had well forborne,” Said the grim Feature, of my thought aware, “I will now tell that which to this deep scorn Led me & my companions, and relate The progress of the pageant since the morn; “If thirst of knowledge doth not thus abate, Follow it even to the night, but I Am weary” . . . Then like one who with the weight Of his own words is staggered, wearily He paused, and ere he could resume, I cried, “First who art thou?” . . . “Before thy memory “I feared, loved, hated, suffered, did, & died, And if the spark with which Heaven lit my spirit Earth had with purer nutriment supplied “Corruption would not now thus much inherit Of what was once Rousseau—nor this disguise Stained that within which still disdains to wear it.— “If I have been extinguished, yet there rise A thousand beacons from the spark I bore.”— “And who are those chained to the car?” “The Wise, “The great, the unforgotten: they who wore Mitres & helms & crowns, or wreathes of light, Signs of thought’s empire over thought; their lore “Taught them not this—to know themselves; their might Could not repress the mutiny within, And for the morn of truth they feigned, deep night “Caught them ere evening.” “Who is he with chin Upon his breast and hands crost on his chain?” “The Child of a fierce hour; he sought to win “The world, and lost all it did contain Of greatness, in its hope destroyed; & more Of fame & peace than Virtue’s self can gain “Without the opportunity which bore Him on its eagle’s pinion to the peak From which a thousand climbers have before “Fall’n as Napoleon fell.”—I felt my cheek Alter to see the great form pass away Whose grasp had left the giant world so weak That every pigmy kicked it as it lay— And much I grieved to think how power & will In opposition rule our mortal day— And why God made irreconcilable Good & the means of good; and for despair I half disdained mine eye’s desire to fill With the spent vision of the times that were And scarce have ceased to be . . . “Dost thou behold,” Said then my guide, “those spoilers spoiled, Voltaire, “Frederic, & Kant, Catherine, & Leopold, Chained hoary anarch, demagogue & sage Whose name the fresh world thinks already old— “For in the battle Life & they did wage She remained conqueror—I was overcome By my own heart alone, which neither age “Nor tears nor infamy nor now the tomb Could temper to its object.”—”Let them pass”— I cried—”the world & its mysterious doom “Is not so much more glorious than it was That I desire to worship those who drew New figures on its false & fragile glass “As the old faded.”—”Figures ever new Rise on the bubble, paint them how you may; We have but thrown, as those before us threw, “Our shadows on it as it past away. But mark, how chained to the triumphal chair The mighty phantoms of an elder day— “All that is mortal of great Plato there Expiates the joy & woe his master knew not; That star that ruled his doom was far too fair— “And Life, where long that flower of Heaven grew not, Conquered the heart by love which gold or pain Or age or sloth or slavery could subdue not— “And near [[blank]] walk the [[blank]] twain, The tutor & his pupil, whom Dominion Followed as tame as vulture in a chain.— “The world was darkened beneath either pinion Of him whom from the flock of conquerors Fame singled as her thunderbearing minion; “The other long outlived both woes & wars, Throned in new thoughts of men, and still had kept The jealous keys of truth’s eternal doors “If Bacon’s spirit [[blank]] had not leapt Like lightning out of darkness; he compelled The Proteus shape of Nature’s as it slept “To wake & to unbar the caves that held The treasure of the secrets of its reign— See the great bards of old who inly quelled “The passions which they sung, as by their strain May well be known: their living melody Tempers its own contagion to the vein “Of those who are infected with it—I Have suffered what I wrote, or viler pain!— “And so my words were seeds of misery— Even as the deeds of others.”—”Not as theirs,” I said—he pointed to a company In which I recognized amid the heirs Of Caesar’s crime from him to Constantine, The Anarchs old whose force & murderous snares Had founded many a sceptre bearing line And spread the plague of blood & gold abroad, And Gregory & John and men divine Who rose like shadows between Man & god Till that eclipse, still hanging under Heaven, Was worshipped by the world o’er which they strode For the true Sun it quenched.—”Their power was given But to destroy,” replied the leader—”I Am one of those who have created, even “If it be but a world of agony.”— “Whence camest thou & whither goest thou? How did thy course begin,” I said, “& why? “Mine eyes are sick of this perpetual flow Of people, & my heart of one sad thought.— Speak.”—”Whence I came, partly I seem to know, “And how & by what paths I have been brought To this dread pass, methinks even thou mayst guess; Why this should be my mind can compass not; “Whither the conqueror hurries me still less. But follow thou, & from spectator turn Actor or victim in this wretchedness, “And what thou wouldst be taught I then may learn From thee.—Now listen . . . In the April prime When all the forest tops began to burn “With kindling green, touched by the azure clime Of the young year, I found myself asleep Under a mountain which from unknown time “Had yawned into a cavern high & deep, And from it came a gentle rivulet Whose water like clear air in its calm sweep “Bent the soft grass & kept for ever wet The stems of the sweet flowers, and filled the grove With sound which all who hear must needs forget “All pleasure & all pain, all hate & love, Which they had known before that hour of rest: A sleeping mother then would dream not of “The only child who died upon her breast At eventide, a king would mourn no more The crown of which his brow was dispossest “When the sun lingered o’er the Ocean floor To gild his rival’s new prosperity.— Thou wouldst forget thus vainly to deplore “Ills, which if ills, can find no cure from thee, The thought of which no other sleep will quell Nor other music blot from memory— “So sweet & deep is the oblivious spell.— Whether my life had been before that sleep The Heaven which I imagine, or a Hell “Like this harsh world in which I wake to weep, I know not. I arose & for a space The scene of woods & waters seemed to keep, “Though it was now broad day, a gentle trace Of light diviner than the common Sun Sheds on the common Earth, but all the place “Was filled with many sounds woven into one Oblivious melody, confusing sense Amid the gliding waves & shadows dun; “And as I looked the bright omnipresence Of morning through the orient cavern flowed, And the Sun’s image radiantly intense “Burned on the waters of the well that glowed Like gold, and threaded all the forest maze With winding paths of emerald fire—there stood “Amid the sun, as he amid the blaze Of his own glory, on the vibrating Floor of the fountain, paved with flashing rays, “A shape all light, which with one hand did fling Dew on the earth, as if she were the Dawn Whose invisible rain forever seemed to sing “A silver music on the mossy lawn, And still before her on the dusky grass Iris her many coloured scarf had drawn.— “In her right hand she bore a crystal glass Mantling with bright Nepenthe;—the fierce splendour Fell from her as she moved under the mass “Of the deep cavern, & with palms so tender Their tread broke not the mirror of its billow, Glided along the river, and did bend her “Head under the dark boughs, till like a willow Her fair hair swept the bosom of the stream That whispered with delight to be their pillow.— “As one enamoured is upborne in dream O’er lily-paven lakes mid silver mist To wondrous music, so this shape might seem “Partly to tread the waves with feet which kist The dancing foam, partly to glide along The airs that roughened the moist amethyst, “Or the slant morning beams that fell among The trees, or the soft shadows of the trees; And her feet ever to the ceaseless song “Of leaves & winds & waves & birds & bees And falling drops moved in a measure new Yet sweet, as on the summer evening breeze “Up from the lake a shape of golden dew Between two rocks, athwart the rising moon, Moves up the east, where eagle never flew.— “And still her feet, no less than the sweet tune To which they moved, seemed as they moved, to blot The thoughts of him who gazed on them, & soon “All that was seemed as if it had been not, As if the gazer’s mind was strewn beneath Her feet like embers, & she, thought by thought, “Trampled its fires into the dust of death, As Day upon the threshold of the east Treads out the lamps of night, until the breath “Of darkness reillumines even the least Of heaven’s living eyes—like day she came, Making the night a dream; and ere she ceased “To move, as one between desire and shame Suspended, I said—’If, as it doth seem, Thou comest from the realm without a name, ” ‘Into this valley of perpetual dream, Shew whence I came, and where I am, and why— Pass not away upon the passing stream.’ ” ‘Arise and quench thy thirst,’ was her reply, And as a shut lily, stricken by the wand Of dewy morning’s vital alchemy, “I rose; and, bending at her sweet command, Touched with faint lips the cup she raised, And suddenly my brain became as sand “Where the first wave had more than half erased The track of deer on desert Labrador, Whilst the fierce wolf from which they fled amazed “Leaves his stamp visibly upon the shore Until the second bursts—so on my sight Burst a new Vision never seen before.— “And the fair shape waned in the coming light As veil by veil the silent splendour drops From Lucifer, amid the chrysolite “Of sunrise ere it strike the mountain tops— And as the presence of that fairest planet Although unseen is felt by one who hopes “That his day’s path may end as he began it In that star’s smile, whose light is like the scent Of a jonquil when evening breezes fan it, “Or the soft note in which his dear lament The Brescian shepherd breathes, or the caress That turned his weary slumber to content.— “So knew I in that light’s severe excess The presence of that shape which on the stream Moved, as I moved along the wilderness, “More dimly than a day appearing dream, The ghost of a forgotten form of sleep A light from Heaven whose half extinguished beam “Through the sick day in which we wake to weep Glimmers, forever sought, forever lost.— So did that shape its obscure tenour keep “Beside my path, as silent as a ghost; But the new Vision, and its cold bright car, With savage music, stunning music, crost “The forest, and as if from some dread war Triumphantly returning, the loud million Fiercely extolled the fortune of her star.— “A moving arch of victory the vermilion And green & azure plumes of Iris had Built high over her wind-winged pavilion, “And underneath aetherial glory clad The wilderness, and far before her flew The tempest of the splendour which forbade Shadow to fall from leaf or stone;—the crew Seemed in that light like atomies that dance Within a sunbeam.—Some upon the new “Embroidery of flowers that did enhance The grassy vesture of the desart, played, Forgetful of the chariot’s swift advance; “Others stood gazing till within the shade Of the great mountain its light left them dim.— Others outspeeded it, and others made “Circles around it like the clouds that swim Round the high moon in a bright sea of air, And more did follow, with exulting hymn, “The chariot & the captives fettered there, But all like bubbles on an eddying flood Fell into the same track at last & were “Borne onward.—I among the multitude Was swept; me sweetest flowers delayed not long, Me not the shadow nor the solitude, “Me not the falling stream’s Lethean song, Me, not the phantom of that early form Which moved upon its motion,—but among “The thickest billows of the living storm I plunged, and bared my bosom to the clime Of that cold light, whose airs too soon deform.— “Before the chariot had begun to climb The opposing steep of that mysterious dell, Behold a wonder worthy of the rhyme “Of him whom from the lowest depths of Hell Through every Paradise & through all glory Love led serene, & who returned to tell “In words of hate & awe the wondrous story How all things are transfigured, except Love; For deaf as is a sea which wrath makes hoary “The world can hear not the sweet notes that move The sphere whose light is melody to lovers—- A wonder worthy of his rhyme—the grove “Grew dense with shadows to its inmost covers, The earth was grey with phantoms, & the air Was peopled with dim forms, as when there hovers “A flock of vampire-bats before the glare Of the tropic sun, bring ere evening Strange night upon some Indian isle,—thus were “Phantoms diffused around, & some did fling Shadows of shadows, yet unlike themselves, Behind them, some like eaglets on the wing “Were lost in the white blaze, others like elves Danced in a thousand unimagined shapes Upon the sunny streams & grassy shelves; “And others sate chattering like restless apes On vulgar paws and voluble like fire. Some made a cradle of the ermined capes “Of kingly mantles, some upon the tiar Of pontiffs sate like vultures, others played Within the crown which girt with empire “A baby’s or an idiot’s brow, & made Their nests in it; the old anatomies Sate hatching their bare brood under the shade “Of demon wings, and laughed from their dead eyes To reassume the delegated power Arrayed in which these worms did monarchize “Who make this earth their charnel.—Others more Humble, like falcons sate upon the fist Of common men, and round their heads did soar, “Or like small gnats & flies, as thick as mist On evening marshes, thronged about the brow Of lawyer, statesman, priest & theorist, “And others like discoloured flakes of snow On fairest bosoms & the sunniest hair Fell, and were melted by the youthful glow “Which they extinguished; for like tears, they were A veil to those from whose faint lids they rained In drops of sorrow.—I became aware “Of whence those forms proceeded which thus stained The track in which we moved; after brief space From every form the beauty slowly waned, “From every firmest limb & fairest face The strength & freshness fell like dust, & left The action & the shape without the grace “Of life; the marble brow of youth was cleft With care, and in the eyes where once hope shone Desire like a lioness bereft “Of its last cub, glared ere it died; each one Of that great crowd sent forth incessantly These shadows, numerous as the dead leaves blown “In Autumn evening from a popular tree— Each, like himself & like each other were, At first, but soon distorted, seemed to be “Obscure clouds moulded by the casual air; And of this stuff the car’s creative ray Wrought all the busy phantoms that were there “As the sun shapes the clouds—thus, on the way Mask after mask fell from the countenance And form of all, and long before the day “Was old, the joy which waked like Heaven’s glance The sleepers in the oblivious valley, died, And some grew weary of the ghastly dance “And fell, as I have fallen by the way side, Those soonest from whose forms most shadows past And least of strength & beauty did abide.”— “Then, what is Life?” I said . . . the cripple cast His eye upon the car which now had rolled Onward, as if that look must be the last, And answered …. “Happy those for whom the fold Of … “Life is fun. It’s all up to the person. Be satisfied. You don’t have to be ‘happy’ all the time, you need to be satisfied.” — Lucille Boston Lewis, eternal optimist 101 years old “A man either lives life as it happens to him, meets it head-on and licks it, or he turns his back on it and starts to wither away.” — Dr. Boyce “Everything you've ever wanted is on the other side of fear.” — George Adair “He who imagines himself capable should attempt to perform. Neither originality counts, nor criticism of another’s work. It is not courage, nor self-confidence, nor a sense of superiority that tells. Performance alone is the test.” — Emanuel Lasker “There are no secrets to success. It is the result of preparation, hard work, and learning from failure.” — Colin Powell What was the original purpose of the tiny pocket in jeans? Answer: To store pocket watches. <Luke 8:16-18 New King James Version The Parable of the Revealed Light Jesus said: 16 “No one, when he has lit a lamp, covers it with a vessel or puts it under a bed, but sets it on a lampstand, that those who enter may see the light. 17 For nothing is secret that will not be revealed, nor anything hidden that will not be known and come to light. 18 Therefore take heed how you hear. For whoever has, to him more will be given; and whoever does not have, even what he seems to have will be taken from him.”> "The weak are always anxious for justice and equality. The strong pay no heed to either." — Aristotle "A species that enslaves other beings is hardly superior — mentally or otherwise." — Captain Kirk "Now, I don't pretend to tell you how to find happiness and love, when every day is a struggle to survive. But I do insist that you do survive, because the days and the years ahead are worth living for!" — Edith Keeler "Live long and prosper!" — Spock "The most important thing in life is to stop saying 'I wish' and start saying 'I will.' Consider nothing impossible, then treat possibilities as probabilities." — Charles Dickens What does SPF in sunscreen stand for? Answer: Sun Protection Factor 41y zrbdod: move 21 4Lanzani. zoomer Frit xp dip dip dip Kf2? trolly pickled hiz puter Czerniak breth freshnr. When you die, what part of the body dies last? The pupils… they dilate. 183 games, 1620-2023 98 Granny P & by takasumi Why does the caged bird sing? "There are three constants in life...change, choice and principles." ― Stephen Covey “Chess first of all teaches you to be objective.” ― Alexander Alekhine “Ponder and deliberate before you make a move.” ― Sun Tzu, The Art of War “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 "There is no passion to be found playing small--in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living." ― Nelson Mandela “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 “One may know how to conquer without being able to do it.” ― Sun Tzu, The Art of War "There is no remorse like the remorse of chess." ― H. G. Wells. “We can compare classical chess and rapid chess with theatre and cinema - some actors don't like the latter and prefer to work in the theatre.” ― Boris Spassky “In my opinion, the style of a player should not be formed under the influence of any single great master.” ― Vasily Smyslov “Almost immediately after Kasparov played the magic move g4, the computer started to self destruct.” — Sam Sloan “In the endgame, it's often better to form a barrier to cut-off the lone king and keep shrinking the barrier than to give check. The mistaken check might give the lone king a choice move toward the center when the idea is to force the lone king to the edge of the board and then checkmate.” — Fredthebear * Classic games by great players: Game Collection: Guinness Book - Chess Grandmasters (Hartston) * C-K Minis: Game Collection: Caro-Kann short GM games * 100+ Scandinavian Miniatures: http://www.chessgames.com/perl/ches... * 610_Back rank mating tactics: Game Collection: 610_Back rank mating tactics * Fork Overload (Remove the Defender): Game Collection: FORK-OVERLOAD OR HOOK-AND-LADDER TRICK * Impact of Genius: 500 years of Grandmaster Chess: Game Collection: Impact of Genius : 500 years of Grandmaster Ches * Chess Prehistory Compiled by Joe Stanley: Game Collection: Chess Prehistory * Organized Steinitz collection: Game Collection: Steinitz Gambits * Best (Old) Games of All Time: Game Collection: Best Games of All Time * 'Great Brilliancy Prize Games of the Chess Masters' by Fred Reinfeld: Game Collection: 0 * bengalcat47's favorite games of famous masters: Game Collection: bengalcat47's favorite games * Mil y Una Partidas 1914-1931: Game Collection: Mil y Una Partidas 1914-1931 * Fire Baptisms Compiled by Nasruddin Hodja: Game Collection: Fire Baptisms * maxruen's favorite games III: Game Collection: maxruen's favorite games III * some famous brilliancies: Game Collection: brilliacies * Brilliant games Compiled by madhatter5: Game Collection: Brilliant games * Cheating: https://www.chess.com/article/view/... * The Fireside Book of Chess by Irving Chernev and Fred Reinfeld: Game Collection: Fireside Book of Chess * 'Chess Praxis' by Aron Nimzowitsch: Game Collection: Chess Praxis (Nimzowitsch) * '500 Master Games of Chess' by Savielly Tartakower and Julius Du Mont: Game Collection: 500 Master Games of Chess * Great Combinations Compiled by wwall: Game Collection: Combinations * Middlegame Combinations by Peter Romanovsky: Game Collection: Middlegame Combinations by Peter Romanovsky * Exchange sacs – 1 Compiled by obrit: Game Collection: Exchange sacs - 1 * Secrets of the Russian Chess Masters Volume II: Game Collection: Secrets of the Russian Chess Masters Volume II * Ne5 Holler of a Tree in Fredthebear Country: Game Collection: 5 Ne5 Holler of a Tree in Fredthebear Country * 'The Mammoth Book of the World's Greatest Chess Games' by Graham Burgess, John Nunn and John Emms. New expanded edition-now with 125 games. Game Collection: Mammoth Book-Greatest Games (Nunn/Burgess/Emms) * Best of the British Compiled by Timothy Glenn Forney: Game Collection: Best of the British * The Best Chess Games (part 2): Game Collection: The Best Chess Games (part 2) * Annotated Games: Game Collection: Annotated Games * sapientdust's favorite games: Game Collection: sapientdust's favorite games * shakman's favorite games – 2: Game Collection: shakman's favorite games - 2 * Reti Opening Compiled by KingG: Game Collection: Reti Opening * Veliki majstori saha 16 RETI (Slavko Petrovic): Game Collection: Veliki majstori saha 16 RETI (Petrovic) * Richard Réti's Best Games by Golombek: Game Collection: Richard Réti's Best Games by Golombek * ray keene's favorite games: Game Collection: ray keene's favorite games * (Variety Pack) Compiled by Nova: Game Collection: KID games * JonathanJ's favorite games 4: Game Collection: JonathanJ's favorite games 4 * jorundte's favorite games: Game Collection: jorundte's favorite games * elmubarak: my fav games: Game Collection: elmubarak: my fav games * assorted Good games Compiled by rbaglini: Game Collection: assorted Good games * LAST COLLECTION Compiled by Jaredfchess: Game Collection: LAST COLLECTION This game an Indian Brahmin did invent, The force of Eastern wisdom to express; From thence the same to busy Europe sent; The modern Lombards stil'd it pensive Chess. — Sir John Denham <There are distinct situations where a bishop is preferred (over a knight). For example, two bishops are better than two knights or one of each. Steven Mayer, the author of Bishop Versus Knight, contends, “A pair of bishops is usually considered to be worth six points, but common sense suggests that a pair of active bishops (that are very involved in the formation) must be accorded a value of almost nine under some circumstances.” This is especially true if the player can plant the bishops in the center of the board, as two bishops working in tandem can span up to 26 squares and have the capacity to touch every square. Bishops are also preferable to knights when queens have been exchanged because, Grandmaster Sergey Erenburg, who is ranked 11th in the U.S., explains, “[Bishops and rooks] complement each other, and when well-coordinated, act as a queen.” Conversely, a knight is the preferred minor piece when the queen survives until the late-middlegame or the endgame. Mayer explains, “The queen and knight are [able] to work together smoothly and create a greater number of threats than the queen and bishop.” When forced to say one is better than the other, most anoint the bishop. Mayer concludes, “I think it’s true that the bishops are better than the knights in a wider variety of positions than the knights are better than the bishops.” He continues, “Of course, I’m not sure this does us much good, as we only get to play one position at a time.”> "The most important single ingredient in the formula of success is knowing how to get along with people." ― Theodore Roosevelt, 26th President of the United States, and former U.S. Army Colonel I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud William Wordsworth I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils Once I Had Thoughts Riddle: I don't have eyes, but once I did see. Once I had thoughts, but now I'm white and empty. What am I? Riddle Answer below. The Two Friends Two friends, in Monomotapa, Had all their interests combined. Their friendship, faithful and refined, Our country can't exceed, do what it may. One night, when potent Sleep had laid All still within our planet's shade, One of the two gets up alarmed, Runs over to the other's palace, And hastily the servants rallies. His startled friend, quick armed, With purse and sword his comrade meets, And thus right kindly greets: "You seldom com'st at such an hour; I take you for a man of sounder mind Than to abuse the time for sleep designed. Have lost your purse, by Fortune's power? Here's mine. Have suffered insult, or a blow, I have here my sword – to avenge it let us go." "No," said his friend, "no need I feel Of either silver, gold, or steel; I thank you for your friendly zeal. In sleep I saw you rather sad, And thought the truth might be as bad. Unable to endure the fear, That cursed dream has brought me here." Which think you, reader, loved the most! If doubtful this, one truth may be proposed: There's nothing sweeter than a real friend: Not only is he prompt to lend – An angler delicate, he fishes The very deepest of your wishes, And spares your modesty the task His friendly aid to ask. A dream, a shadow, wakes his fear, When pointing at the object dear. Riddle Answer: I am a skull. "All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better." ― Ralph Waldo Emerson “Never run after a man or a bus, there's always another one in five minutes.” ― Cherry Adair, Kiss and Tell "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 And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. Luke 2:9, 10. Conceive a man by nature and misfortune prone to a pallid hopelessness, can any business seem more fitted to heighten it than that of continually handling these dead letters and assorting them for the flames? For by the cart-load they are annually burned. Sometimes from out the folded paper the pale clerk takes a ring: - the finger it was meant for, perhaps, moulders in the grave; a bank-note sent in swiftest charity: - he whom it would relieve, nor eats nor hungers any more; pardon for those who died despairing; hope for those who died unhoping; good tidings for those who died stifled by unrelieved calamities. On errands of life, these letters speed to death. Ah Bartleby! Ah humanity! — Herman Melville “Whatever you are doing in the game of life, give it all you've got.” — Norman Vincent Peale “What you do today can improve all your tomorrows.” — Ralph Marston “Many have become chess masters, no one has become the master of chess.” ― Siegbert Tarrasch “In the end, it is important to remember that we cannot become what we need to be by remaining what we are.” — Max De Pree <Luke 8:16-18 New King James Version The Parable of the Revealed Light Jesus said: 16 “No one, when he has lit a lamp, covers it with a vessel or puts it under a bed, but sets it on a lampstand, that those who enter may see the light. 17 For nothing is secret that will not be revealed, nor anything hidden that will not be known and come to light. 18 Therefore take heed how you hear. For whoever has, to him more will be given; and whoever does not have, even what he seems to have will be taken from him.”> 37 games, 1851-2013 A First Book of Morphy All the games from the book "A first book of Morphy" in the order presented in the book written by Frisco Del Rosario. Games 1 - 30: Opening. Games 31 - 52: Middlegame. Games 53 - 69: Endgame. * Morphy Miniatures: http://www.chessgames.com/perl/ches... * How to Play Chess! http://www.serverchess.com/play.htm... * Glossary of Chess Terms: http://www.arkangles.com/kchess/glo... * Garry Kasparov Teaches Chess (Batsford 1986): Game Collection: Garry Kasparov Teaches Chess * JC shows the way: https://chessplayeratlarge.blogspot... * Forney's Collection: Game Collection: Brutal Attacking Chess * Video of common gambits: https://saintlouischessclub.org/blo... General chess advice from Joe Brooks: https://www.reddit.com/r/chess/comm... "On the chessboard lies and hypocrisy do not survive long. The creative combination lays bare the presumption of a lie; the merciless fact, culmination in checkmate, contradicts the hypocrite." -- Emanuel Lasker The Chess Play by Nicholas Breton A Secret many yeeres vnseene,  In play at Chesse, who knowes the game First of the King, and then the Queene,  Knight, Bishop, Rooke, and so by name. Of euerie Pawne I will descrie The nature with the qualitie. The King. The King himselfe is haughtie Care  Which ouerlooketh all his men And when he seeth how they fare.  He steps among them now and then, Whom when his foe presumes to checke His seruants stand, to giue the necke. The Queene. The Queene is queint, and quicke Conceit,  Which makes hir walke which way she list And rootes them vp, that lie in wait  To worke hir treason, ere she wist: Hir force is such, against hir foes, That whom she meetes, she ouerthrowes. The Knight. The Knight is knowledge how to fight  Against his Princes enimies, He neuer makes his walke outright,  But leaps and skips, in wilie wise. To take by sleight a traitrous foe, Might slilie seeke their ouerthrowe. The Bishop. The Bishop he is wittie braine,  That chooseth Crossest pathes to pace. And euermore he pries with paine,  To see who seekes him most disgrace: Such straglers when he findes astraie, He takes them vp, and throwes awaie. The Rookes The Rookes are reason on both sides,  Which keepe the corner houses still. And warily stand to watch their tides.  By secret art to worke their will, To take sometime a theefe vnseene, Might mischiefe meane to King or Queene. The Paiones. The Pawne before the King, is peace  Which he desires to keepe at home, Practise the Queenes, which doth not cease  Amid the world abroad to roame. To finde, and fall vpon each foe, Whereas his mistres meanes to goe. Before the Knight, is perill plast,  Which he, by skipping ouergoes, And yet that Pawne can worke a cast  To ouerthrow his greatest foes; The Bishops, prudence; prieng still, Which way to worke his masters will. The Rookes poore Pawnes, are sillie swaines,  Which seeidome serue, except by hap, And yet those Pawnes, can lay their traines.  To catch a great man, in a trap: So that I see, sometime a groome May not be sparèd from his roome. The Nature of the Chesse men. The King is stately, looking hie: The Queene doth beare like maiestie: The Knight is hardie, valiant, wise: The Bishop, prudent and precise:  The Rookes, no raungers out of raie  The Pawnes, the pages in the plaie. Lenvoy. Then rule with care, and quicke conceit,  And fight with knowledge, as with force; So beare a braine, to dash deceit,  And worke with reason and remorse: Forgiue a fault when yoong men plaie So giue a mate and go your way And when you plaie beware of Checke Know how to saue and giue a necke: And with a Checke, beware of Mate; But cheefe, ware had I wist too late:  Loose not the Queene, for ten to one.  If she be lost, the game is gone. The Road Not Taken Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. Acronyms and Initialisms: Worksheet Printouts Click Here for K-3 Themes An acronym is a pronounceable word that is formed using the first letters of the words in a phrase (sometimes, other parts of the words are also used). Some common acronyms include NASA (which stands for "National Aeronautical and Space Administration"), scuba ("Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus") and laser ("Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation"). An initialism is a word that is formed using the first letters of the words in a phrase -- it is pronounced like a series of letters, not like a word. Some common initialisms include UFO (which stands for "Unidentified Flying Object") and LOL (which stands for "Laughing Out Loud"). Note: Some people consider both of these to be acronyms. Some common acronyms (and initialisms) include: AC - Air Conditioning AD - Anno Domini ("In the Year of Our Lord") AKA - Also Known As AM - Ante Meridiem (before noon) AM - Amplitude Modification (radio) ASAP - As Soon As Possible ATM - Automated Teller Machine B&B - Bed and Breakfast BC - Before Christ or Because BCE - Before the Common Era BLT - Bacon, Lettuce, Tomato BTW - By The Way CC - Credit Card CIA - Central Intelligence Agency CO - Commanding Officer CST - Central Standard Time DOA - Dead on Arrival DOT - Department of Transportation DST - Daylight Saving Time EST - Eastern Standard Time ET - Extra-Terrestrial FAQ - Frequently-Asked Questions FBI - Federal Bureau of Investigation FDR - Franklin Delano Roosevelt FM - Frequency Modification (radio) FYI - For Your Information GI - Government Issue GMO - Genetically Modified IM - Instant Message IMO - In My Opinion IMHO - In My Humble Opinion HAZ-MAT - Hazardous Material HMO - Health Maintenence Organization ID - Identification IQ - Intelligence Quotient ISBN - International Standard Book Number JFK - John Fitzgerald Kennedy JV - Junior Varsity KO - Knockout laser - Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation LCD - Liquid Crystal Display LED - Light Emitting Diode LOL - Laughing Out Loud MC - Master of Ceremonies MLK - Martin Luther King, Jr. MO - Modus Operandi MRE - Meals Ready to Eat MS - Manuscript MST - Mountain Standard Time MTG - Magic: The Gathering MTD - Month To Date NIB - New In the Box NAFTA - North American Free Trade Agreement NASA - National Aeronautical and Space Administration NATO - North Atlantic Treaty Organization NBA - National Basketball Association NIB - New In the Box NIMBY - Not In My Backyard OJ - Orange Juice OPEC - Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries PBJ - Peanut Butter and Jelly PC - Politically Correct PI - Private Investigator PIN - Personal Identification Number PM - Post Meridiem (after noon) POTUS - President of the United States POW - Prisoner of War PPS - Post-Postscript PS - Postscript PR - Public Relations PSI - Pounds Per Square Inch PST - Pacific Standard Time Q&A - Question and Answer R&R - Rest and Relaxation RAM - Random Access Memory RGB - Red, Green, Blue RIP - Rest in Peace (from the Latin, "Requiescat In Pace") ROM - Read Only Memory ROTC - Reserve Officers Training Corps ROYGBIV - Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet RPG - Role Playing Game RSVP - Répondez S'il Vous Plaît (in French, this means "Please respond") RV - Recreational Vehicle scuba - Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus SNAFU - Systems Normal, All Fouled Up SOP - Standard Operating Procedure SOS - Save Our Souls (decided after the fact - SOS was chosen because it was short in Morse code) SPF - Sun Protection Factor (how sunscreen lotion is rated) TBA - To Be Announced TEOTWAWKI - The End Of The World As We Know It TGIF - Thank God It's Friday TLC - Tender Loving Care TV - Television UFO - Unidentified Flying Object UN - United Nations UNICEF - United Nations Children's Fund UPC - Universal Product Code VIP - Very Important Person VP - Vice President WASP - White Anglo Saxon Protestant WHO - World Health Organization WOM - Word of Mouth WoW - World of Warcraft WYSIWYG - What You See Is What You Get YTD - Year To Date ZIP (code) - Zone Improvement Plan 74 games, 1848-1997 A King Thames River * 1914-1931: Game Collection: Mil y Una Partidas 1914-1931 * 1924 New York: Game Collection: Alekhine, A. NEW YORK 1924 * 1925 Baden Baden: Game Collection: Baden Baden 1925 * 1920-1929 Checkmates: Game Collection: Checkmate 1920-1929 * 1930 Liege: Game Collection: Liege 1930 * 1931 USSR Championship: Game Collection: USSR Championship 1931 * 1924-1937 Alekhine Games: Game Collection: My Best Games Of Chess 1924-1937 by A. Alekhine * 1946 Groningen: Game Collection: Groningen 1946 * 1932-1949: Game Collection: Mil y Una Partidas 1932-1949 * 500 Master Games: Game Collection: 500 Master Games of Chess * 2008 Puzzle of the Day: Game Collection: Puzzle of the Day 2008 * 2009 Puzzle of the Day: Game Collection: Puzzle of the Day 2009 * 2010 GOTD: Game Collection: Game of the Day 2010 * 2014 GOTD: Game Collection: Game of the Day 2014 * 2011-2017 Sunday Puzzles: Game Collection: Sunday Puzzles, 2011-2017 * Art of Attack: Game Collection: Art of Attack in Chess Vladamir Vukovic & Chess * Art of Planning: Game Collection: Art of Planning (McDonald) * Art of Sacrifice: Game Collection: Art of Sacrifice in Chess, R. Spielmann * Aagaard's Attacking Manual 2: Game Collection: Attacking Manual Volume 2- Aagaard * Beginner's Repertoire: Game Collection: Beginners's Repertoire * Botvinnik's 100: Game Collection: Botvinnik: One Hundred Selected Games * Brilliant Minis: Game Collection: Brilliant Miniatures * Brutal Attacks: Game Collection: Brutal Attacking Chess * Carlsen's Shorts: Game Collection: Carlsen's winning miniatures * Chernev: The Russians Play Chess: Game Collection: Chernev: The Russians Play Chess * Chess Highlights of the 20th Century: Game Collection: 20th Century Highlights (Burgess) * Chess Praxis: Game Collection: Chess Praxis (Nimzowitsch) * Albert's Chess Course 2: Game Collection: Comprehensive Chess Course V2 games * Nunn's Chess Course (Lasker games): Game Collection: John Nunn's Chess Course copy * Dutch Dooziez: Game Collection: Mating Net's Dutch Doozies * Dutch Stonewall Intro: Game Collection: Dutch Stonewall Intro by Aagaard * Early Knockouts: Game Collection: Early Knockouts * Emilio says: Game Collection: great attack games, 2 * French for Black: Game Collection: French Repertoire for Black, Simplified * French Ideas: Game Collection: Ideas In The French Defense * Games by Yourself: Game Collection: Chess by Yourself - Reinfeld * The Game of Chess by Golombek: Game Collection: Game of Chess (Golombek) * The Golden Dozen by Chernev: Game Collection: Golden Dozen (Chernev) * GM RAM book: Game Collection: GM RAM Game Selection * Greatest Ever Opening Ideas: Game Collection: Greatest Opening Ideas (Scheerer) * Walter K.F. Haas: Mittelspiel mit dem Läufer auf dem Feld b2: Game Collection: Mittelspiel mit dem Läufer auf dem Feld b2, Haas * Honza's Favorites 3: Game Collection: Honza Cervenka's favorite games3 * Karpov's book Find the Right Plan: Game Collection: Karpov Right Plan * Kasparov's Predecessors I: Game Collection: Garry Kasparov's On My Great Predecessors (1A) * Kasparov's Predecessors 2: Game Collection: Garry Kasparov's On My Great Predecessors (2) * KID Invite: Game Collection: An invitation to the King's Indian * KingG says: Game Collection: Brilliant Miniatures * King's Gambit love: Game Collection: EVERYONE loves the King's Gambit * Learn from the Legends: Game Collection: Learn from the Legends (Marin) * Lipnitsky's book: Game Collection: Lipnitsky Modern Chess Theory * Lasker's Manual of Chess: Game Collection: Manual of Chess (Lasker) * The Mammoth Book of... Game Collection: 125 Greatest Chess Games * Marshall's 50 Years of Chess: Game Collection: My Fifty Years of Chess (Marshall) * Why Lasker Matters: Game Collection: Why Lasker Matters by Andrew Soltis * Mating Attack: Game Collection: Mating Attack * Mating Patterns: Game Collection: Mating Patterns * Wall's Miniatures XIII: Game Collection: Chess Miniatures, Collection VIII * Wall's Miniatures XVII: Game Collection: Chess Miniatures, Collection XVII * Modern Chess 1: Game Collection: Modern Chess 1 (Kasparov) * oZeRo's Favorites 2: Game Collection: 0ZeR0's collected games volume 2 * Pachman's Modern Chess Strategy: Game Collection: Modern Chess Strategy II by Ludek Pachman * Pawn Power by Kmoch: Game Collection: Pawn Power (Kmoch) * POTD Sicilian 1: Game Collection: POTD Sicilian Defense 1 * Reinfeld's book on Capablanca: Game Collection: Immortal Games of Capablanca, F. Reinfeld * Sharpen Your Tactics: Game Collection: Sharpen Your Tactics 849-999 * Sicilians: Game Collection: Sicilian * Solitaire Chess Column: Game Collection: Solitaire Chess column in Chess Review * Attacking the Sicilian: Game Collection: Attacking games * Starting Out: 1.d4! Game Collection: Starting out: 1 d4! * Starting Out: The Dutch: Game Collection: Neil McDonald: Starting Out: The Dutch * Stunners: Game Collection: Stunners * Surprise! Game Collection: They were surprised * IM Jeremy Silman's book: Game Collection: IM Jeremy Silman: "How to Reassess Your Chess" * Vladimir Simagin: Game Collection: Vladimir Simagin * Tactical Themes: Game Collection: Tactical Themes * Tal's Finest Benoni Games: Game Collection: Tal the tactician -//- The benoni as black * Jan Timman's book: Game Collection: On the attack Timman * The World's Great Chess Games by Reuben Fine: Game Collection: World's Great Chess Games (Fine) Thank you Fredthebear, GrahamClayton!! page 136 of Amy Lowell: Selected Poems edited by Honor Moore (New York, 2004): Still Life Moonlight Striking upon a Chess-Board I am so aching to write That I could make a song out of a chess-board And rhyme the intrigues of knights and bishops And the hollow fate of a checkmated king. I might have been a queen, but I lack the proper century; I might have been a poet, but where is the adventure to Explode me into flame. Cousin Moon, our kinship is curiously demonstrated, For I, too, am a bright, cold corpse Perpetually circling above a living world. Our correspondent notes that in 1926, the year after her death, Amy Lowell was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry. She was a cousin of Robert Lowell, two of whose works were given on pages 67-68 of The Poetry of Chess edited by Andrew Waterman (London, 1981). A Game of Chess - by T. S. Eliot II. A GAME OF CHESS The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne, Glowed on the marble, where the glass Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines From which a golden Cupidon peeped out (Another hid his eyes behind his wing) Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra Reflecting light upon the table as The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it, From satin cases poured in rich profusion; In vials of ivory and coloured glass Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes, Unguent, powdered, or liquid — troubled, confused And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air That freshened from the window, these ascended In fattening the prolonged candle-flames, Flung their smoke into the laquearia, Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling. Huge sea-wood fed with copper Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone, In which sad light a carved dolphin swam. Above the antique mantel was displayed As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale Filled all the desert with inviolable voice And still she cried, and still the world pursues, " Jug Jug " to dirty ears. And other withered stumps of time Were told upon the walls; staring forms Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed. Footsteps shuffled on the stair. Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair Spread out in fiery points Glowed into words, then would be savagely still. " My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me. " Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak. — " What are you thinking of? What thinking? What? " I never know what you are thinking. Think. " I think we are in rats' alley Where the dead men lost their bones. " What is that noise? " The wind under the door. " What is that noise now? What is the wind doing? " Nothing again nothing. " Do " You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember " Nothing? " — I remember Those are pearls that were his eyes. " Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head? " But O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag — It's so elegant So intelligent " What shall I do now? What shall I do? " " I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street " With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow? " What shall we ever do? " The hot water at ten. And if it rains, a closed car at four. And we shall play a game of chess, Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door. When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said — I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself, H URRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Now Albert's coming back, make yourself a bit smart. He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there. You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set, He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you. And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert, He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time, And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said. Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said. Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look. H URRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said. Others can pick and choose if you can't. But if Albert makes off, it won't be for lack of telling. You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique. (And her only thirty-one.) I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face, It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said. (She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.) The chemist said it would be all right, but I've never been the same. You are a proper fool, I said. Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said, What you get married for if you don't want children? H URRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon, And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot — H URRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME H URRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight. Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night. "There just isn't enough televised chess." — David Letterman "Do the things that interest you and do them with all your heart. Don't be concerned about whether people are watching you or criticizing you. The chances are that they aren't paying any attention to you. It's your attention to yourself that is so stultifying. But you have to disregard yourself as completely as possible. If you fail the first time then you'll just have to try harder the second time. After all, there's no real reason why you should fail. Just stop thinking about yourself." — Eleanor Roosevelt "Many have become chess masters, no one has become the master of chess." — Siegbert Tarrasch 350 games, 1560-2023 A01 Larsen Plays the Larsen by willyfly "Chess is my profession. I am my own boss; I am free. I like literature and music, classical especially. I am in fact quite normal; I have a Bohemian profession without being myself a Bohemian. I am neither a conformist nor a great revolutionary." Bent Larsen "For me, chess is at the same time a game, a sport, a science and an art. And perhaps even more than that. There is something hard to explain to those who do not know the game well. One must first learn to play it correctly in order to savor its richness." Bent Larsen It's not the quantity that counts; it's the quality. "Chess is a beautiful mistress." Bent Larsen "A gambit never becomes sheer routine as long as you fear you may lose the king and pawn ending!" Bent Larsen "Lack of patience is probably the most common reason for losing a game, or drawing games that should have been won." Bent Larsen "Nimzovitch became then for me more or less the author of the only book which could help me get away from these Euwe books, which, I admit, are very good for the ordinary club player. But once you've reached a certain strength you get the impression that everything that Euwe writes is a lie." Bent Larsen "A chess player never has a heart attack in a good position." Bent Larsen "I often play a move I know how to refute." Bent Larsen "A draw may be the beautiful and logical result of fine attacks and parries; and the public ought to appreciate such games, in contrast, of course, to the fear-and-laziness draws." Bent Larsen "All chess masters have on occasion played a magnificent game and then lost it by a stupid mistake, perhaps in time pressure and it may perhaps seem unjust that all their beautiful ideas get no other recognition than a zero on the tournament table." Bent Larsen "The stomach is an essential part of the Chess master." Bent Larsen "Most of all I like "bad" lines, that is those considered bad, in my opinion unjustly, by theory. The reason for the last quotation marks is that most so-called theory is only a collection of examples from master practice." Bent Larsen "Among top grandmasters the Dutch is a rare defense, which is good reason to play it! It has not been studied very deeply by many opponents, and theory, based on a small number of 'reliable' games, must be rather unreliable." Bent Larsen "Had I not played the Sicilian with Black I could have saved myself the trouble of studying for more than 20 years all the more popular lines of this opening, which comprise probably more than 25 percent of all published opening theory!" Bent Larsen "I don't care very much for miniatures. I don't try to beat my opponents quickly because if they are strong, I think I should respect them. It is too risky to play sharply to beat them in 20 moves." Bent Larsen "One charming characteristic of many flank attacks I could mention is that they do not very often lead to simplification: if the attack is parried, there usually are still opportunities left for initiating action in another sector." Bent Larsen "Play the open variation of the Ruy is my advice to all ordinary club players, and I recently even wrote a book about it, seen from Black's point of view. Why does everybody try to copy the grandmasters' strange positional maneuvers in the 5. ... B-K2 variation, instead of fighting for the in initiative?" Bent Larsen "The books say that it is not so serious to lose time in a closed position; I am lucky, since these comments have not harmed me too much." Bent Larsen "In my opinion the Open variation is absolutely correct - and more interesting than the Closed." Bent Larsen * Best Games: Game Collection: Best Games (Larsen) * Bagirov: Game Collection: it's Bagirov to play and win with the NLA * Blatny: Game Collection: Blatny plays to win with A01 * Cheating: https://www.chess.com/article/view/... It's not the quantity that counts; it's the quality. * Keene's book: Game Collection: Nimzowitsch/Larsen Attack by Raymond Keene * Soltis' book: Game Collection: Larsen's Opening P-QN3 by Andrew Soltis * Jacobs & Tait book: Game Collection: Nimzo-Larsen Attack - Jacobs & Tait * Simple Chess: Game Collection: Simple Chess (Stean) * YS Tactics: Game Collection: Yasser Seirawan's Winning Chess Tactics I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud William Wordsworth I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils "Be active. I do things my way, like skiing when I’m 100. Nobody else does that even if they have energy. And I try to eat pretty correctly and get exercise and fresh air and sunshine.” ― Elsa Bailey, first time skier at age 100 "Don't look at the calendar, just keep celebrating every day." ― Ruth Coleman, carpe diem at age 101 The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge – Part I It is an ancient mariner And he stoppeth one of three. –“By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stoppest thou me? The bridegroom’s doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: Mayst hear the merry din.” He holds him with his skinny hand, “There was a ship,” quoth he. “Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!” Eftsoons his hand dropped he. He holds him with his glittering eye– The wedding-guest stood still, And listens like a three-years’ child: The mariner hath his will. The wedding-guest sat on a stone: He cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed mariner. “The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top. The sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea. Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon–” The wedding-guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon. The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy. The wedding-guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed mariner. “And now the storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong; He struck with his o’ertaking wings, And chased us south along. With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled. Listen, stranger! Mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice mast-high came floating by, As green as emerald. And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken– The ice was all between. The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound! At length did cross an albatross, Thorough the fog it came; As if it had been a Christian soul, We hailed it in God’s name. It ate the food it ne’er had eat, And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit; The helmsman steered us through! And a good south wind sprung up behind; The albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariners’ hollo! In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white moon-shine.” “God save thee, ancient mariner! From the fiends, that plague thee thus!– Why lookst thou so?” “With my crossbow I shot the albatross. – Part II The sun now rose upon the right: Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariners’ hollo! And I had done an hellish thing, And it would work ‘em woe: For all averred, I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow! Nor dim nor red, like God’s own head, The glorious sun uprist: Then all averred, I had killed the bird That brought the fog and mist. ‘Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, That bring the fog and mist. The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The furrow followed free; We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea. Down dropped the breeze, the sails dropped down, ‘Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea! All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, everywhere, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink. The very deeps did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea. About, about, in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night; The water, like a witch’s oils, Burnt green, and blue and white. And some in dreams assured were Of the spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow. And every tongue, through utter drought, Was withered at the root; We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. Ah! wel-a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the albatross About my neck was hung. – Part III There passed a weary time. Each throat Was parched, and glazed each eye. A weary time! A weary time! How glazed each weary eye, When looking westward, I beheld A something in the sky. At first it seemed a little speck, And then it seemed a mist; It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape, I wist. A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! And still it neared and neared: As if it dodged a water sprite, It plunged and tacked and veered. With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drouth all dumb we stood! I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, And cried, A sail! a sail! With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call: Gramercy! they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in, As they were drinking all. See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more! Hither to work us weal; Without a breeze, without a tide, She steadies with upright keel! The western wave was all aflame. The day was well nigh done! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the sun. And straight the sun was flecked with bars, (Heaven’s mother send us grace!) As if through a dungeon grate he peered With broad and burning face. Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears! Are those her sails that glance in the sun, Like restless gossameres? Are those her ribs through which the sun Did peer, as through a grate? And is that woman all her crew? Is that a Death? and are there two? Is Death that woman’s mate? Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin was as white as leprosy, The nightmare Life-in-Death was she, Who thicks man’s blood with cold. The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice; ‘The game is done! I’ve won! I’ve won!’ Quoth she, and whistles thrice. The sun’s rim dips; the stars rush out: At one stride comes the dark; With far-heard whisper, o’er the sea, Off shot the spectre bark. We listened and looked sideways up! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My lifeblood seemed to sip! The stars were dim, and thick the night, The steersman’s face by his lamp gleamed white; From the sails the dews did drip– Till clomb above the eastern bar The horned moon, with one bright star Within the nether tip. One after one, by the star-dogged moon, Too quick for groan or sigh, Each turned his face with ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye. Four times fifty living men, (And I heard nor sigh nor groan) With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, They dropped down one by one. Their souls did from their bodies fly– They fled to bliss or woe! And every soul, it passed me by, Like the whizz of my crossbow!” – Part IV “I fear thee, ancient mariner! I fear thy skinny hand! And thou art long, and lank, and brown, As is the ribbed sea-sand. I fear thee and thy glittering eye, And thy skinny hand, so brown.”– “Fear not, fear not, thou wedding-guest! This body dropped not down. Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony. The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I. I looked upon the rotting sea, And drew my eyes away; I looked upon the rotting deck, And there the dead men lay. I looked to heaven, and tried to pray; But or ever a prayer had gushed, A wicked whisper came, and made My heart as dry as dust. I closed my lids, and kept them close, Till the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet. The cold sweat melted from their limbs, Nor rot nor reek did they: The look with which they looked on me Had never passed away. An orphan’s curse would drag to hell A spirit from on high; But oh! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man’s eye! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die. The moving moon went up the sky, And nowhere did abide: Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside– Her beams bemocked the sultry main, Like April hoar-frost spread; But where the ship’s huge shadow lay, The charmed water burnt alway A still and awful red. Beyond the shadow of the ship, I watched the water snakes: They moved in tracks of shining white, And when they reared, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes. Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire: Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire. O happy living things! No tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware: Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I blessed them unaware. The selfsame moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea. – Part V Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary-Queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle sleep from heaven, That slid into my soul. The silly buckets on the deck, That had so long remained, I dreamt that they were filled with dew; And when I awoke, it rained. My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank; Sure I had drunken in my dreams, And still my body drank. I moved, and could not feel my limbs: I was so light–almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessed ghost. And soon I heard a roaring wind: It did not come anear; But with its sound it shook the sails, That were so thin and sere. The upper air bursts into life! And a hundred fire-flags sheen, To and fro they were hurried about! And to and fro, and in and out, The wan stars danced between. And the coming wind did roar more loud, And the sails did sigh like sedge; And the rain poured down from one black cloud; The moon was at its edge. The thick black cloud was cleft, and still The moon was at its side: Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning fell with never a jag, A river steep and wide. The loud wind never reached the ship, Yet now the ship moved on! Beneath the lightning and the moon The dead men gave a groan. They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, Nor spake, nor moved their eyes; It had been strange, even in a dream, To have seen those dead men rise. The helmsman steered, the ship moved on; Yet never a breeze up-blew; The mariners all ‘gan work the ropes, Where they were wont to do; They raised their limbs like lifeless tools– We were a ghastly crew. The body of my brother’s son Stood by me, knee to knee: The body and I pulled at one rope, But he said nought to me.” “I fear thee, ancient mariner!” “Be calm, thou wedding-guest! ‘Twas not those souls that fled in pain, Which to their corses came again, But a troop of spirits blessed. For when it dawned–they dropped their arms, And clustered round the mast; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, And from their bodies passed. Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the sun; Slowly the sounds came back again, Now mixed, now one by one. Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the skylark sing; Sometimes all little birds that are, How they seemed to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning! And now ‘twas like all instruments, Now like a lonely flute; And now it is an angel’s song, That makes the heavens be mute. It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune. Till noon we silently sailed on, Yet never a breeze did breathe: Slowly and smoothly went the ship, Moved onward from beneath. Under the keel nine fathom deep, From the land of mist and snow, The spirit slid: and it was he That made the ship to go. The sails at noon left off their tune, And the ship stood still also. The sun, right up above the mast, Had fixed her to the ocean: But in a minute she ‘gan stir, With a short uneasy motion– Backwards and forwards half her length With a short uneasy motion. Then like a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound: It flung the blood into my head, And I fell down in a swound. How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare; But ere my living life returned, I heard and in my soul discerned Two voices in the air. ‘Is it he?’ quoth one, ‘Is this the man? By him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless albatross. The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow.’ The other was a softer voice, As soft as honeydew: Quoth he, ‘The man hath penance done, And penance more will do.’ – Part VI FIRST VOICE ‘But tell me, tell me! speak again, Thy soft response renewing– What makes that ship drive on so fast? What is the ocean doing?’ SECOND VOICE ‘Still as a slave before his lord, The ocean hath no blast; His great bright eye most silently Up to the moon is cast– If he may know which way to go; For she guides him smooth or grim. See, brother, see! how graciously She looketh down on him.’ FIRST VOICE ‘But why drives on that ship so fast, Without or wave or wind?’ SECOND VOICE ‘The air is cut away before, And closes from behind. Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high! Or we shall be belated: For slow and slow that ship will go, When the mariner’s trance is abated.’ I woke, and we were sailing on As in a gentle weather: ‘Twas night, calm night, the moon was high; The dead men stood together. All stood together on the deck, For a charnel-dungeon fitter: All fixed on me their stony eyes, That in the moon did glitter. The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never passed away: I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Nor turn them up to pray. And now this spell was snapped: once more I viewed the ocean green, And looked far forth, yet little saw Of what had else been seen– Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread. But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made: Its path was not upon the sea, In ripple or in shade. It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek Like a meadow-gale of spring– It mingled strangely with my fears, Yet it felt like a welcoming. Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, Yet she sailed softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze– On me alone it blew. O dream of joy! is this indeed The lighthouse top I see? Is this the hill? is this the kirk? Is this mine own country? We drifted o’er the harbour bar, And I with sobs did pray– O let me be awake, my God! Or let me sleep alway! The harbour bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn! And on the bay the moonlight lay, And the shadow of the moon. The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, That stands above the rock: The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weathercock. And the bay was white with silent light, Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came. A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: I turned my eyes upon the deck– O Christ! what saw I there! Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, And, by the holy rood! A man all light, a seraph man, On every corse there stood. This seraph band, each waved his hand: It was a heavenly sight! They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light; This seraph band, each waved his hand, No voice did they impart– No voice; but oh! the silence sank Like music on my heart. But soon I heard the dash of oars, I heard the pilot’s cheer; My head was turned perforce away And I saw a boat appear. The pilot and the pilot’s boy, I heard them coming fast: Dear Lord in heaven! it was a joy The dead men could not blast. I saw a third–I heard his voice: It is the hermit good! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He’ll shrieve my soul, he’ll wash away The albatross’s blood. – Part VII This hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with mariners That come from a far country. He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve– He hath a cushion plump: It is the moss that wholly hides The rotted old oak stump. The skiff boat neared: I heard them talk, ‘Why, this is strange, I trow! Where are those lights so many and fair, That signal made but now?’ ‘Strange, by my faith!’ the hermit said– ‘And they answered not our cheer! The planks look warped! and see those sails, How thin they are and sere! I never saw aught like to them, Unless perchance it were Brown skeletons of leaves that lag My forest-brook along; When the ivy tod is heavy with snow, And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, That eats the she-wolf’s young.’ ‘Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look,’ The pilot made reply, ‘I am a-feared’–‘Push on, push on!’ Said the hermit cheerily. The boat came closer to the ship, But I nor spake nor stirred; The boat came close beneath the ship, And straight a sound was heard. Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: It reached the ship, it split the bay; The ship went down like lead. Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote Like one that hath been seven days drowned My body lay afloat; But swift as dreams, myself I found Within the pilot’s boat. Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, The boat spun round and round; And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound. I moved my lips–the pilot shrieked And fell down in a fit; The holy hermit raised his eyes, And prayed where he did sit. I took the oars: the pilot’s boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laughed loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro. ‘Ha! ha!’ quoth he, ‘full plain I see, The devil knows how to row.’ And now, all in my own country, I stood on the firm land! The hermit stepped forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand. ‘Oh shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!’ The hermit crossed his brow. ‘Say quick,’ quoth he, ‘I bid thee say– What manner of man art thou?’ Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched With a woeful agony, Which forced me to begin my tale; And then it left me free. Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns: And till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns. I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; The moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me: To him my tale I teach. What loud uproar bursts from that door! The wedding-guests are there: But in the garden-bower the bride And bridemaids singing are: And hark the little vesper bell, Which biddeth me to prayer! O wedding-guest! This soul hath been Alone on a wide wide sea: So lonely ‘twas, that God himself Scarce seemed there to be. Oh sweeter than the marriage feast, ‘Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company!– To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends And youths and maidens gay! Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou wedding-guest! He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all.” The mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone: and now the wedding-guest Turned from the bridegroom’s door. He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn. “The weak are always anxious for justice and equality. The strong pay no heed to either.” — Aristotle “A species that enslaves other beings is hardly superior — mentally or otherwise.” — Captain Kirk “Now, I don’t pretend to tell you how to find happiness and love, when every day is a struggle to survive. But I do insist that you do survive, because the days and the years ahead are worth living for!” — Edith Keeler “Live long and prosper!” — Spock “The most important thing in life is to stop saying 'I wish' and start saying 'I will.' Consider nothing impossible, then treat possibilities as probabilities.” — Charles Dickens Calories 160 48 zb12cr: move 49 xappa zp. zooter Fritz puff daddy drippy driip drip Kg2? trolly pickled hiz puter Diez 51 games, 1968-1995 A23-E23 * Fabulous chess brilliancies: https://www.chess.com/article/view/... * Anti-KG: Game Collection: anti kb * Exceptional Miniatures: Game Collection: Exceptional miniatures * Beauty Prizes Game Collection: Les Prix de Beauté aux Echecs (I) * Cheating: https://www.chess.com/article/view/... It's not the quantity that counts; it's the quality. * Lasker Matters: Game Collection: Why Lasker Matters by Andrew Soltis * Wonders and Curiosities: Game Collection: Wonders and Curiosities of Chess (Chernev) * GoY's 40 Favs: Game Collection: GoY's favorite games * Evolution: Game Collection: # Chess Evolution Volumes 51-100 * Seirawan's Tactics: Game Collection: Yasser Seirawan's Winning Chess Tactics * Tata Steel Masters 2023: Tata Steel Masters (2023) Michael Jordan made number 23 famous for the Chicago Bulls, winning six world championships in professional basketball. All the ballplayers today want to wear #23 to "be like Mike." But no, the number became famous before MJ wore it. The "latest" is not always the "greatest" as the media would have us believe. The original #23 produced a record-setting 44 points per game for his Poppa at Louisiana State University. His NBA all-star career was cut short by a knee injury. He died in mid-life of a heart attack, but had the good fortune of finding the Lord Jesus Christ before his earthly life was cut short. It was learned that he had a defective heart and should have never been playing basketball. Who has heard of Oscar Schmidt? Perhaps the MJ of chess is not a player - but a piece...the queen! “Do not overrate what you have received, nor envy others. He who envies others does not obtain peace of mind.” — Buddha “For God so loved the World that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.” — Jesus Christ “Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated.” — Confucius “Now then, my sons, listen to me; blessed are those who keep my ways. Listen to my instruction and be wise; do not ignore it.” — Proverbs 8:32-33 My child, pay attention to what I say. Listen carefully to my words. … Guard your heart above all else, for it determines the course of your life. — Proverbs 4:20, 23 NLT “Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can't help them, at least don't hurt them.” — Dalai Lama “Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.” — William Shakespeare "To keep the body in good health is a duty... otherwise we shall not be able to keep our mind strong and clear." — Buddha "Chaos is inherent in all compounded things. Strive on with diligence." — Buddha "Those who are free of resentful thoughts surely find peace." — Buddha "However many holy words you read, however many you speak, what good will they do you if you do not act on upon them?" — Buddha "Hatred does not cease by hatred, but only by love; this is the eternal rule." —Buddha "In a controversy the instant we feel anger we have already ceased striving for the truth, and have begun striving for ourselves." — Buddha "The wise ones fashioned speech with their thought, sifting it as grain is sifted through a sieve." — Buddha C.J.S. Purdy (Five times Australian Champion, IM, and the first World Champion of Correspondence Chess) summed up the answer to your question in one simple phrase: "Look for moves that smite!" "No legacy is so rich as honesty." — William Shakespeare "It is never safe to take the queen knight pawn with the queen – even when it is safe." — Hungarian proverb "Man's nature is as thin as sheets of tissue paper; the world is like a game of chess, varying at every move." — Chinese proverb "Even a mistake may turn out to be the one thing necessary to a worthwhile achievement." — Henry Ford "No legacy is so rich as honesty." — William Shakespeare "To be idle is a short road to death and to be diligent is a way of life; foolish people are idle, wise people are diligent." — Buddha "A man of high principles is someone who can watch a chess game without passing comment." — Chinese Proverb "The foot feels the foot when it feels the ground." — Buddha "One gets to know people well when playing at chess and on journeys." — Russian Proverb "It is never safe to take the queen knight pawn with the queen – even when it is safe." — Hungarian proverb “You must work and do good, not be lazy and gamble, if you wish to earn happiness. Laziness may appear attractive, but work gives satisfaction.... I can’t understand people who don’t like work ...” — Anne Frank (1929–1945) “Those who think that it’s easy to play chess are mistaken. During a game, a player lives on his nerves, and at the same time he must be perfectly composed.” — Victor Kortchnoi “Chess players are an impecunious lot.” — Samuel Reshevsky "It is a man's own mind, not his enemy or foe, that lures him to evil ways." —Buddha "Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God." — Jesus Christ "In chess the important thing is to apply what you know…it is important to understand that during a game of chess we do not learn things...we apply things we know (I keep stressing this)." — Tartajubow "It doesn’t require much for misfortune to strike in the King’s Gambit – one incautious move, and Black can be on the edge of the abyss." — Anatoly Karpov "It is no secret that any talented player must in his soul be an artist, and what could be dearer to his heart and soul than the victory of the subtle forces of reason over crude material strength! Probably everyone has his own reason for liking the King's Gambit, but my love for it can be seen in precisely those terms." — David Bronstein "It would be as naive to study the song of the nightingale, as it would be ridiculous to try and win a King’s Gambit against a representative of the old chess guard." — David Bronstein "Why are not more King’s Gambits played nowadays? Well, in the first place, if you offered the King’s Gambit to a master, eight times out of ten he would decline it, either with 2. … d5 or 2. … Bc5." — Frank Marshall "By what right does White, in an absolutely even position, such as after move one, when both sides have advanced 1. e4, sacrifice a pawn, whose recapture is quite uncertain, and open up his kingside to attack? And then follow up this policy by leaving the check of the black queen open? None whatever!" — Emanuel Lasker "Theory regards this opening as incorrect, but it is impossible to agree with this. Out of the five tournament games played by me with the King’s Gambit, I have won all five." — David Bronstein “First-class players lose to second-class players because second-class players sometimes play a first-class game.” — Siegbert Tarrasch “Weak points or holes in the opponent’s position must be occupied by pieces not pawns.” — Siegbert Tarrasch “It is not enough to be a good player… you must also play well.” — Siegbert Tarrasch “Tactics flow from a superior position.” — Bobby Fischer “In Chess, as it is played by masters, chance is practically eliminated.” — Emanuel Lasker “The passion for playing Chess is one of the most unaccountable in the world” — H.G. Wells "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me." — Jesus Christ “The older I grow, the more I value Pawns.” — Paul Keres The sign of a great Master is his ability to win a won game quickly and painlessly.” — Irving Chernev “One bad move nullifies forty good ones.” — Bernhard Horwitz “Every Pawn is a potential Queen.” — James Mason “Chess is 99 percent tactics.” — Richard Teichmann "Discovered check is the dive-bomber of the chessboard." — Reuben Fine “Chess is war over the board. The object is to crush the opponents mind.” — Bobby Fischer “Chess demands total concentration.” — Bobby Fischer “Chess is everything: art, science and sport.” — Anatoly Karpov “Chess is the art which expresses the science of logic.” — Mikhail Botvinnik “I quote another man’s saying; unluckily, that other withdraws himself in the same way, and quotes me.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882) “Boxing is like a chess. You encourage your opponent to make mistakes so you can capitalize on it. People think you get in the ring and see the red mist, but it is not about aggression. Avoiding knockout is tactical.” — Nicola Adams “Drawing is rather like playing chess. Your mind races ahead of time that you eventually make.” — David Hockney "No fantasy, however rich, no technique, however masterly, no penetration into the psychology of the opponent, however deep, can make a chess game a work of art, if these qualities do not lead to the main goal – the search for truth." — Vasily Smyslov "When my opponent’s clock is going I discuss general considerations in an internal dialogue with myself. When my own clock is going I analyze concrete variations." — Mikhail Botvinnik “In life, as in chess, one’s own pawns block one’s way. A man’s very wealth, ease, leisure, children, books, which should help him to win, more often checkmate him.” — Charles Buxton "Life is like a game of chess. To win you have to make a move. Knowing which move to make comes with IN-SIGHT and knowledge, and by learning the lessons that are acculated along the way. We become each and every piece within the game called life!" — Allan Rufus “Chess is a war over the board. The object is to crush the opponent’s mind.” — Bobby Fischer "Women, by their nature, are not exceptional chess players: they are not great fighters." — Gary Kasparov "A computer once beat me at chess, but it was no match for me at kick boxing." — Emo Philips “Chess does not drive people mad, it keeps mad people sane.” — Bill Hartston “Chess is life in miniature. Chess is a struggle, chess battles.” — Garry Kasparov "In action a great heart is the chief qualification. In work, a great head." — Arthur Schopenhauer "During a Chess competition a Chessmaster should be a combination of a beast of prey and a monk." — Alexander Alekhine “Age brings wisdom to some men, and to others chess.” — Evan Esar The most powerful weapon in Chess is to have the next move.” — David Bronstein “Chess is the art of analysis.” — Mikhail Botvinnik “Chess makes a man wiser & clear-sighted.” — Vladimir Putin “You can only get good at chess if you love the game.” — Bobby Fischer “The essence of chess is thinking about what CHESS is.” — David Bronstein “Chess isn’t for the timid.” — Irving Chernev “Chess is a sea in which a gnat may drink and an elephant may bathe.” — Indian Proverb "The history of chess is largely a chronicle of self-imposed intimidation and untimely excitement." — W.E. Napier “If you have made a mistake or committed an inaccuracy there is no need to become annoyed and to think that everything is lost. You have to reorientate yourself quickly and find a new plan in the new situation.” — David Bronstein “You need to have that edge, you need to have that confidence, you need to have that absolute belief you’re the best, and that you’ll win every time.” — Magnus Carlsen “Without error there can be no brilliancy.” — Emanuel Lasker “Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat.” — Sun Tzu. “The blunders are all there on the board, waiting to be made.” — Savielly Tartakower “Strategy requires thought, tactics require observation.” — Max Euwe “He who has a slight disadvantage plays more attentively, inventively and more boldly than his antagonist who either takes it easy or aspires after too much. Thus a slight disadvantage is very frequently seen to convert into a good, solid advantage.” — Emanuel Lasker “Things often did not reach the endgame!” — Boris Spassky “After a bad opening, there is hope for the middle game. After a bad middle game, there is hope for the endgame. But once you are in the endgame, the moment of truth has arrived.” — Edmar Mednis “The passed pawn is a criminal, who should be kept under lock and key. Mild measures, such as police surveillance, are not sufficient.” — Aron Nimzowitsch “Sometimes the hardest thing to do in a pressure situation is to allow the tension to persist. The temptation is to make a decision, any decision, even if it is an inferior choice.” — Garry Kasparov “Chess is a great game. It’s a lot of fun, but sometimes you wonder what else is out there.” — Hikaru Nakamura “There are two classes of men; those who are content to yield to circumstances and who play whist; those who aim to control circumstances, and who play chess.” — Mortimer Collins “Chess is a game where all different sorts of people can come together, not a game in which people are divided because of their religion or country of origin.” — Hikaru Nakamura “Chess is life and every game is like a new life.” — Eduard Gufeld “It’s an eminently and emphatically the philosopher’s game.” — Paul Morphy “Chess is as much a mystery as women.” — C.J.S. Purdy “Chess is an infinitely complex game, which one can play in infinitely numerous & varied ways.” — Vladimir Kramnik “Chess is played with the mind and not with the hands.” — Renaud & Kahn “Chess is a terrific way for kids to build self-image and self-esteem.” — Saudin Robovic “In life, unlike chess the game continues after checkmate.” — Isaac Asimov “Chess isn’t always about winning. Sometimes, it is simply about learning and so is life.” — Anonymous "Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall." — Confucius "There is no passion to be found playing small - in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living." — Nelson Mandela "It is by loving and not by being loved that one can come nearest to the soul of another." — George MacDonald "Dream big, stay positive, work hard, and enjoy the journey." — Urijah Faber "Great minds discuss ideas; average minds discuss events; small minds discuss people." — Eleanor Roosevelt "Some men have thousands of reasons why they cannot do what they want to, when all they need is one reason why they can." — Martha Graham "The secret of getting ahead is getting started. The secret of getting started is breaking your complex overwhelming tasks into small manageable tasks, and starting on the first one." — Mark Twain "Satisfaction consists in freedom from pain, which is the positive element of life." — Arthur Schopenhauer “When your house is on fire, you cannot be bothered with the neighbors. Or, as we say in chess, if your King is under attack, do not worry about losing a pawn on the queenside.” — Garry Kasparov “Learn to play many roles, to be whatever the moment requires. Adapt your mask to the situation.” — Robert Greene “Tactics is knowing what to do when there’s something to do. Strategy is knowing what to do when there’s nothing what to do.” — Savielly Tartakower “Some part of a mistake is always correct.” — Savielly Tartakower “It’s always better to sacrifice your opponent’s men.” — Savielly Tartakower “The most important feature of the Chess position is the activity of the pieces. This is absolutely fundamental in all phases of the game: Opening, Middlegame and especially Endgame. The primary constraint on a piece’s activity is the pawn structure.” — Michael Stean “That’s what chess is all about. One day you give your opponent a lesson, the next day he gives you one.” — Bobby Fischer “Winning is not a secret that belongs to a very few, winning is something that we can learn by studying ourselves, studying the environment, and making ourselves ready for any challenge that is in front of us.” — Garry Kasparov “I see only one move ahead, but always the best move.” — Charles Jaffe "Your only task in the opening is to reach a playable middlegame." — Lajos Portisch “The highest part of the chess player lies in not allowing your opponent to show you what he can do.” — Garry Kasparov “If you wish to succeed, you must brave the risk of failure.” — Garry Kasparov “There are more adventures on a chessboard than on all the seas of the world.” — Pierre Mac Orlan “To play for a draw, at any rate with white, is to some degree a crime against chess.” — Mikhail Tal “I go over many games collections and pick up something from the style of each player.” — Mikhail Tal “The shortcoming of hanging pawns is that they present a convenient target for attack. As the exchange of men proceeds, their potential strength lessens and during the endgame they turn out, as a rule, to be weak.” — Boris Spassky “As proved by evidence, it (chess) is more lasting in its being and presence than all books and achievements; the only game that belongs to all people and all ages; of which none knows the divinity that bestowed it on the world, to slay boredom, to sharpen the senses, to exhilarate the spirit.” — Stefan Zweig “Chess is a sport. The main object in the game of chess remains the achievement of victory.” — Max Euwe “Life is like a chess. If you lose your queen, you will probably lose the game.” — Being Caballero “Half the variations which are calculated in a tournament game turn out to be completely superfluous. Unfortunately, no one knows in advance which half.” — Jan Timman “The moment we believe that success is determined by an ingrained level of ability as opposed to resilience and hard work, we will be brittle in the face of adversity.” — Joshua Waitzkin “It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt.” — Mark Twain “My crown is called content, a crown that seldom kings enjoy.” — William Shakespeare <Shakespearean Puns Perhaps no writer is better known for the use of puns than William Shakespeare. He plays with "tide" and "tied" in Two Gentlemen of Verona: "Panthino Away, ass! You'll lose the tide if you tarry any longer. Launce It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. Panthino What's the unkindest tide? Launce Why, he that's tied here, Crab, my dog." In the opening of Richard III, the sun refers to the blazing sun on Edward IV's banner and the fact that he is the son of the Duke of York: "Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York." In this line from Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare plays on the different meanings of heavy (which also means sad) and light: "Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy I will bear the light." Later in Romeo and Juliet, a morbid pun comes from a fatally-stabbed Mercutio, where grave means serious, but also alludes to his imminent death: "Ask for me tomorrow, you shall find me a grave man." If you open any Shakesperean play, you're likely to find at least one pun on the page! Keep an eye out for a clever play on words example the next time you read Hamlet or watch As You Like It on the stage.> 497 games, 1788-2020 Accidents in the opening Bishop Blougrams Apology by Robert Browning NO more wine? then we'll push back chairs and talk. A final glass for me, though: cool, i' faith! We ought to have our Abbey back, you see. It's different, preaching in basilicas, And doing duty in some masterpiece Like this of brother Pugin's, bless his heart! I doubt if they're half baked, those chalk rosettes, Ciphers and stucco-twiddlings everywhere; It's just like breathing in a lime-kiln: eh? These hot long ceremonies of our church Cost us a little--oh, they pay the price, You take me--amply pay it! Now, we'll talk. So, you despise me, Mr. Gigadibs. No deprecation,--nay, I beg you, sir! Beside 't is our engagement: don't you know, I promised, if you'd watch a dinner out, We'd see truth dawn together?--truth that peeps Over the glasses' edge when dinner's done, And body gets its sop and holds its noise And leaves soul free a little. Now's the time: 'T is break of day! You do despise me then. And if I say, "despise me,"--never fear! I know you do not in a certain sense-- Not in my arm-chair, for example: here, I well imagine you respect my place ( Status, entourage , worldly circumstance) Quite to its value--very much indeed: --Are up to the protesting eyes of you In pride at being seated here for once-- You'll turn it to such capital account! When somebody, through years and years to come, Hints of the bishop,--names me--that's enough: "Blougram? I knew him"--(into it you slide) "Dined with him once, a Corpus Christi Day, "All alone, we two; he's a clever man: "And after dinner,--why, the wine you know,-- "Oh, there was wine, and good!--what with the wine . . "'Faith, we began upon all sorts of talk! "He's no bad fellow, Blougram; he had seen "Something of mine he relished, some review: "He's quite above their humbug in his heart, "Half-said as much, indeed--the thing's his trade. "I warrant, Blougram's sceptical at times: "How otherwise? I liked him, I confess!" Che che , my dear sir, as we say at Rome, Don't you protest now! It's fair give and take; You have had your turn and spoken your home-truths: The hand's mine now, and here you follow suit. Thus much conceded, still the first fact stays-- You do despise me; your ideal of life Is not the bishop's: you would not be I. You would like better to be Goethe, now, Or Buonaparte, or, bless me, lower still, Count D'Orsay,--so you did what you preferred, Spoke as you thought, and, as you cannot help, Believed or disbelieved, no matter what, So long as on that point, whate'er it was, You loosed your mind, were whole and sole yourself. --That, my ideal never can include, Upon that element of truth and worth Never be based! for say they make me Pope-- (They can't--suppose it for our argument!) Why, there I'm at my tether's end, I've reached My height, and not a height which pleases you: An unbelieving Pope won't do, you say. It's like those eerie stories nurses tell, Of how some actor on a stage played Death, With pasteboard crown, sham orb and tinselled dart, And called himself the monarch of the world; Then, going in the tire-room afterward, Because the play was done, to shift himself, Got touched upon the sleeve familiarly, The moment he had shut the closet door, By Death himself. Thus God might touch a Pope At unawares, ask what his baubles mean, And whose part he presumed to play just now? Best be yourself, imperial, plain and true! So, drawing comfortable breath again, You weigh and find, whatever more or less I boast of my ideal realized, Is nothing in the balance when opposed To your ideal, your grand simple life, Of which you will not realize one jot. I am much, you are nothing; you would be all, I would be merely much: you beat me there. No, friend, you do not beat me: hearken why! The common problem, yours, mine, every one's, Is--not to fancy what were fair in life Provided it could be,--but, finding first What may be, then find how to make it fair Up to our means: a very different thing! No abstract intellectual plan of life Quite irrespective of life's plainest laws, But one, a man, who is man and nothing more, May lead within a world which (by your leave) Is Rome or London, not Fool's-paradise. Embellish Rome, idealize away, Make paradise of London if you can, You're welcome, nay, you're wise. A simile! We mortals cross the ocean of this world Each in his average cabin of a life; The best's not big, the worst yields elbow-room. Now for our six months' voyage--how prepare? You come on shipboard with a landsman's list Of things he calls convenient: so they are! An India screen is pretty furniture, A piano-forte is a fine resource, All Balzac's novels occupy one shelf, The new edition fifty volumes long; And little Greek books, with the funny type They get up well at Leipsic, fill the next: Go on! slabbed marble, what a bath it makes! And Parma's pride, the Jerome, let us add! 'T were pleasant could Correggio's fleeting glow Hang full in face of one where'er one roams, Since he more than the others brings with him Italy's self,--the marvellous Modenese!-- Yet was not on your list before, perhaps. --Alas, friend, here's the agent . . . is't the name? The captain, or whoever's master here-- You see him screw his face up; what's his cry Ere you set foot on shipboard? "Six feet square!" If you won't understand what six feet mean, Compute and purchase stores accordingly-- And if, in pique because he overhauls Your Jerome, piano, bath, you come on board Bare--why, you cut a figure at the first While sympathetic landsmen see you off; Not afterward, when long ere half seas over, You peep up from your utterly naked boards Into some snug and well-appointed berth, Like mine for instance (try the cooler jug-- Put back the other, but don't jog the ice!) And mortified you mutter "Well and good; "He sits enjoying his sea-furniture; "'T is stout and proper, and there's store of it: "Though I've the better notion, all agree, "Of fitting rooms up. Hang the carpenter, "Neat ship-shape fixings and contrivances-- "I would have brought my Jerome, frame and all!" And meantime you bring nothing: never mind-- You've proved your artist-nature: what you don't You might bring, so despise me, as I say. Now come, let's backward to the starting-place. See my way: we're two college friends, suppose. Prepare together for our voyage, then; Each note and check the other in his work,-- Here's mine, a bishop's outfit; criticize! What's wrong? why won't you be a bishop too? Why first, you don't believe, you don't and can't, (Not statedly, that is, and fixedly And absolutely and exclusively) In any revelation called divine. No dogmas nail your faith; and what remains But say so, like the honest man you are? First, therefore, overhaul theology! Nay, I too, not a fool, you please to think, Must find believing every whit as hard: And if I do not frankly say as much, The ugly consequence is clear enough. Now wait, my friend: well, I do not believe-- If you'll accept no faith that is not fixed, Absolute and exclusive, as you say. You're wrong--I mean to prove it in due time. Meanwhile, I know where difficulties lie I could not, cannot solve, nor ever shall, So give up hope accordingly to solve-- (To you, and over the wine). Our dogmas then With both of us, though in unlike degree, Missing full credence--overboard with them! I mean to meet you on your own premise: Good, there go mine in company with yours! And now what are we? unbelievers both, Calm and complete, determinately fixed To-day, to-morrow and for ever, pray? You'll guarantee me that? Not so, I think! In no wise! all we've gained is, that belief, As unbelief before, shakes us by fits, Confounds us like its predecessor. Where's The gain? how can we guard our unbelief, Make it bear fruit to us?--the problem here. Just when we are safest, there's a sunset-touch, A fancy from a flower-bell, some one's death, A chorus-ending from Euripides,-- And that's enough for fifty hopes and fears As old and new at once as nature's self, To rap and knock and enter in our soul, Take hands and dance there, a fantastic ring, Round the ancient idol, on his base again,-- The grand Perhaps! We look on helplessly. There the old misgivings, crooked questions are-- This good God,--what he could do, if he would, Would, if he could--then must have done long since: If so, when, where and how? some way must be,-- Once feel about, and soon or late you hit Some sense, in which it might be, after all. Why not, "The Way, the Truth, the Life?" --That way Over the mountain, which who stands upon Is apt to doubt if it be meant for a road; While, if he views it from the waste itself, Up goes the line there, plain from base to brow, Not vague, mistakeable! what's a break or two Seen from the unbroken desert either side? And then (to bring in fresh philosophy) What if the breaks themselves should prove at last The most consummate of contrivances To train a man's eye, teach him what is faith? And so we stumble at truth's very test! All we have gained then by our unbelief Is a life of doubt diversified by faith, For one of faith diversified by doubt: We called the chess-board white,--we call it black. "Well," you rejoin, "the end's no worse, at least; "We've reason for both colours on the board: "Why not confess then, where I drop the faith "And you the doubt, that I'm as right as you?" Because, friend, in the next place, this being so, And both things even,--faith and unbelief Left to a man's choice,--we'll proceed a step, Returning to our image, which I like. A man's choice, yes--but a cabin-passenger's-- The man made for the special life o' the world-- Do you forget him? I remember though! Consult our ship's conditions and you find One and but one choice suitable to all; The choice, that you unluckily prefer, Turning things topsy-turvy--they or it Going to the ground. Belief or unbelief Bears upon life, determines its whole course, Begins at its beginning. See the world Such as it is,--you made it not, nor I; I mean to take it as it is,--and you, Not so you'll take it,--though you get nought else. I know the special kind of life I like, What suits the most my idiosyncrasy, Brings out the best of me and bears me fruit In power, peace, pleasantness and length of days. I find that positive belief does this For me, and unbelief, no whit of this. --For you, it does, however?--that, we'll try! 'T is clear, I cannot lead my life, at least, Induce the world to let me peaceably, Without declaring at the outset, "Friends, "I absolutely and peremptorily "Believe!"--I say, faith is my waking life: One sleeps, indeed, and dreams at intervals, We know, but waking's the main point with us And my provision's for life's waking part. Accordingly, I use heart, head and hand All day, I build, scheme, study, and make friends; And when night overtakes me, down I lie, Sleep, dream a little, and get done with it, The sooner the better, to begin afresh. What's midnight doubt before the dayspring's faith? You, the philosopher, that disbelieve, That recognize the night, give dreams their weight-- To be consistent you should keep your bed, Abstain from healthy acts that prove you man, For fear you drowse perhaps at unawares! And certainly at night you'll sleep and dream, Live through the day and bustle as you please. And so you live to sleep as I to wake, To unbelieve as I to still believe? Well, and the common sense o' the world calls you Bed-ridden,--and its good things come to me. Its estimation, which is half the fight, That's the first-cabin comfort I secure: The next . . . but you perceive with half an eye! Come, come, it's best believing, if we may; You can't but own that! Next, concede again, If once we choose belief, on all accounts We can't be too decisive in our faith, Conclusive and exclusive in its terms, To suit the world which gives us the good things. In every man's career are certain points Whereon he dares not be indifferent; The world detects him clearly, if he dare, As baffled at the game, and losing life. He may care little or he may care much For riches, honour, pleasure, work, repose, Since various theories of life and life's Success are extant which might easily Comport with either estimate of these; And whoso chooses wealth or poverty, Labour or quiet, is not judged a fool Because his fellow would choose otherwise: We let him choose upon his own account So long as he's consistent with his choice. But certain points, left wholly to himself, When once a man has arbitrated on, We say he must succeed there or go hang. Thus, he should wed the woman he loves most Or needs most, whatsoe'er the love or need-- For he can't wed twice. Then, he must avouch, Or follow, at the least, sufficiently, The form of faith his conscience holds the best, Whate'er the process of conviction was: For nothing can compensate his mistake On such a point, the man himself being judge: He cannot wed twice, nor twice lose his soul. Well now, there's one great form of Christian faith I happened to be born in--which to teach Was given me as I grew up, on all hands, As best and readiest means of living by; The same on examination being proved The most pronounced moreover, fixed, precise And absolute form of faith in the whole world-- Accordingly, most potent of all forms For working on the world. Observe, my friend! Such as you know me, I am free to say, In these hard latter days which hamper one, Myself--by no immoderate exercise Of intellect and learning, but the tact To let external forces work for me, --Bid the street's stones be bread and they are bread; Bid Peter's creed, or rather, Hildebrand's, Exalt me o'er my fellows in the world And make my life an ease and joy and pride; It does so,--which for me's a great point gained, Who have a soul and body that exact A comfortable care in many ways. There's power in me and will to dominate Which I must exercise, they hurt me else: In many ways I need mankind's respect, Obedience, and the love that's born of fear: While at the same time, there's a taste I have, A toy of soul, a titillating thing, Refuses to digest these dainties crude. The naked life is gross till clothed upon: I must take what men offer, with a grace As though I would not, could I help it, take! An uniform I wear though over-rich-- Something imposed on me, no choice of mine; No fancy-dress worn for pure fancy's sake And despicable therefore! now folk kneel And kiss my hand--of course the Church's hand. Thus I am made, thus life is best for me, And thus that it should be I have procured; And thus it could not be another way, I venture to imagine. You'll reply, So far my choice, no doubt, is a success; But were I made of better elements, With nobler instincts, purer tastes, like you, I hardly would account the thing success Though it did all for me I say. But, friend, We speak of what is; not of what might be, And how't were better if't were otherwise. I am the man you see here plain enough: Grant I'm a beast, why, beasts must lead beasts' lives! Suppose I own at once to tail and claws; The tailless man exceeds me: but being tailed I'll lash out lion fashion, and leave apes To dock their stump and dress their haunches up. My business is not to remake myself, But make the absolute best of what God made. Or--our first simile--though you prove me doomed To a viler berth still, to the steerage-hole, The sheep-pen or the pig-stye, I should strive To make what use of each were possible; And as this cabin gets upholstery, That hutch should rustle with sufficient straw. But, friend, I don't acknowledge quite so fast I fail of all your manhood's lofty tastes Enumerated so complacently, On the mere ground that you forsooth can find In this particular life I choose to lead No fit provision for them. Can you not? Say you, my fault is I address myself To grosser estimators than should judge? And that's no way of holding up the soul, Which, nobler, needs men's praise perhaps, yet knows One wise man's verdict outweighs all the fools'-- Would like the two, but, forced to choose, takes that. I pine among my million imbeciles (You think) aware some dozen men of sense Eye me and know me, whether I believe In the last winking Virgin, as I vow, And am a fool, or disbelieve in her And am a knave,--approve in neither case, Withhold their voices though I look their way: Like Verdi when, at his worst opera's end (The thing they gave at Florence,--what's its name?) While the mad houseful's plaudits near out-bang His orchestra of salt-box, tongs and bones, He looks through all the roaring and the wreaths Where sits Rossini patient in his stall. Nay, friend, I meet you with an answer here-- That even your prime men who appraise their kind Are men still, catch a wheel within a wheel, See more in a truth than the truth's simple self, Confuse themselves. You see lads walk the street Sixty the minute; what's to note in that? You see one lad o'erstride a chimney-stack; Him you must watch--he's sure to fall, yet stands! Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things. The honest thief, the tender murderer, The superstitious atheist, demirep That loves and saves her soul in new French books-- We watch while these in equilibrium keep The giddy line midway: one step aside, They're classed and done with. I, then, keep the line Before your sages,--just the men to shrink From the gross weights, coarse scales and labels broad You offer their refinement. Fool or knave? Why needs a bishop be a fool or knave When there's a thousand diamond weights between? So, I enlist them. Your picked twelve, you'll find, Profess themselves indignant, scandalized At thus being held unable to explain How a superior man who disbelieves May not believe as well: that's Schelling's way! It's through my coming in the tail of time, Nicking the minute with a happy tact. Had I been born three hundred years ago They'd say, "What's strange? Blougram of course believes;" And, seventy years since, "disbelieves of course. " But now, "He may believe; and yet, and yet "How can he?" All eyes turn with interest. Whereas, step off the line on either side-- You, for example, clever to a fault, The rough and ready man who write apace, Read somewhat seldomer, think perhaps even less-- You disbelieve! Who wonders and who cares? Lord So-and-so--his coat bedropped with wax, All Peter's chains about his waist, his back Brave with the needlework of Noodledom-- Believes! Again, who wonders and who cares? But I, the man of sense and learning too, The able to think yet act, the this, the that, I, to believe at this late time of day! Enough; you see, I need not fear contempt. --Except it's yours! Admire me as these may, You don't. But whom at least do you admire? Present your own perfection, your ideal, Your pattern man for a minute--oh, make haste Is it Napoleon you would have us grow? Concede the means; allow his head and hand, (A large concession, clever as you are) Good! In our common primal element Of unbelief (we can't believe, you know-- We're still at that admission, recollect!) Where do you find--apart from, towering o'er The secondary temporary aims Which satisfy the gross taste you despise-- Where do you find his star?--his crazy trust God knows through what or in what? it's alive And shines and leads him, and that's all we want. Have we aught in our sober night shall point Such ends as his were, and direct the means Of working out our purpose straight as his, Nor bring a moment's trouble on success With after-care to justify the same? --Be a Napoleon, and yet disbelieve-- Why, the man's mad, friend, take his light away! What's the vague good o' the world, for which you dare With comfort to yourself blow millions up? We neither of us see it! we do see The blown-up millions--spatter of their brains And writhing of their bowels and so forth, In that bewildering entanglement Of horrible eventualities Past calculation to the end of time! Can I mistake for some clear word of God (Which were my ample warrant for it all) His puff of hazy instinct, idle talk, "The State, that's I," quack-nonsense about crowns, And (when one beats the man to his last hold) A vague idea of setting things to rights, Policing people efficaciously, More to their profit, most of all to his own; The whole to end that dismallest of ends By an Austrian marriage, cant to us the Church, And resurrection of the old r?gime ? Would I, who hope to live a dozen years, Fight Austerlitz for reasons such and such? No: for, concede me but the merest chance Doubt may be wrong--there's judgment, life to come! With just that chance, I dare not. Doubt proves right? This present life is all?--you offer me Its dozen noisy years, without a chance That wedding an archduchess, wearing lace, And getting called by divers new-coined names, Will drive off ugly thoughts and let me dine, Sleep, read and chat in quiet as I like! Therefore I will not. Take another case; Fit up the cabin yet another way. What say you to the poets? shall we write Hamlet, Othello--make the world our own, Without a risk to run of either sort? I can't--to put the strongest reason first. "But try," you urge, "the trying shall suffice; "The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life: "Try to be Shakespeare, leave the rest to fate!" Spare my self-knowledge--there's no fooling me! If I prefer remaining my poor self, I say so not in self-dispraise but praise. If I'm a Shakespeare, let the well alone; Why should I try to be what now I am? If I'm no Shakespeare, as too probable,-- His power and consciousness and self-delight And all we want in common, shall I find-- Trying for ever? while on points of taste Wherewith, to speak it humbly, he and I Are dowered alike--I'll ask you, I or he, Which in our two lives realizes most? Much, he imagined--somewhat, I possess. He had the imagination; stick to that! Let him say, "In the face of my soul's works "Your world is worthless and I touch it not "Lest I should wrong them"--I'll withdraw my plea. But does he say so? look upon his life! Himself, who only can, gives judgment there. He leaves his towers and gorgeous palaces To build the trimmest house in Stratford town; Saves money, spends it, owns the worth of things, Giulio Romano's pictures, Dowland's lute; Enjoys a show, respects the puppets, too, And none more, had he seen its entry once, Than "Pandulph, of fair Milan cardinal. " Why then should I who play that personage, The very Pandulph Shakespeare's fancy made, Be told that had the poet chanced to start From where I stand now (some degree like mine Being just the goal he ran his race to reach) He would have run the whole race back, forsooth, And left being Pandulph, to begin write plays? Ah, the earth's best can be but the earth's best! Did Shakespeare live, he could but sit at home And get himself in dreams the Vatican, Greek busts, Venetian paintings, Roman walls, And English books, none equal to his own, Which I read, bound in gold (he never did). --Terni's fall, Naples' bay and Gothard's top-- Eh, friend? I could not fancy one of these; But, as I pour this claret, there they are: I've gained them--crossed St. Gothard last July With ten mules to the carriage and a bed Slung inside; is my hap the worse for that? We want the same things, Shakespeare and myself, And what I want, I have: he, gifted more, Could fancy he too had them when he liked, But not so thoroughly that, if fate allowed, He would not have them also in my sense. We play one game; I send the ball aloft No less adroitly that of fifty strokes Scarce five go o'er the wall so wide and high Which sends them back to me: I wish and get He struck balls higher and with better skill, But at a poor fence level with his head, And hit--his Stratford house, a coat of arms, Successful dealings in his grain and wool,-- While I receive heaven's incense in my nose And style myself the cousin of Queen Bess. Ask him, if this life's all, who wins the game? Believe--and our whole argument breaks up. Enthusiasm's the best thing, I repeat; Only, we can't command it; fire and life Are all, dead matter's nothing, we agree: And be it a mad dream or God's very breath, The fact's the same,--belief's fire, once in us, Makes of all else mere stuff to show itself: We penetrate our life with such a glow As fire lends wood and iron--this turns steel, That burns to ash--all's one, fire proves its power For good or ill, since men call flare success. But paint a fire, it will not therefore burn. Light one in me, I'll find it food enough! Why, to be Luther--that's a life to lead, Incomparably better than my own. He comes, reclaims God's earth for God, he says, Sets up God's rule again by simple means, Re-opens a shut book, and all is done. He flared out in the flaring of mankind; Such Luther's luck was: how shall such be mine? If he succeeded, nothing's left to do: And if he did not altogether--well, Strauss is the next advance. All Strauss should be I might be also. But to what result? He looks upon no future: Luther did. What can I gain on the denying side? Ice makes no conflagration. State the facts, Read the text right, emancipate the world-- The emancipated world enjoys itself With scarce a thank-you: Blougram told it first It could not owe a farthing,--not to him More than Saint Paul! 't would press its pay, you think? Then add there's still that plaguy hundredth chance Strauss may be wrong. And so a risk is run-- For what gain? not for Luther's, who secured A real heaven in his heart throughout his life, Supposing death a little altered things. "Ay, but since really you lack faith," you cry, "You run the same risk really on all sides, "In cool indifference as bold unbelief. "As well be Strauss as swing 'twixt Paul and him. "It's not worth having, such imperfect faith, "No more available to do faith's work "Than unbelief like mine. Whole faith, or none!" Softly, my friend! I must dispute that point Once own the use of faith, I'll find you faith. We're back on Christian ground. You call for faith: I show you doubt, to prove that faith exists. The more of doubt, the stronger faith, I say, If faith o'ercomes doubt. How I know it does? By life and man's free will, God gave for that! To mould life as we choose it, shows our choice: That's our one act, the previous work's his own. You criticize the soul? it reared this tree-- This broad life and whatever fruit it bears! What matter though I doubt at every pore, Head-doubts, heart-doubts, doubts at my fingers' ends, Doubts in the trivial work of every day, Doubts at the very bases of my soul In the grand moments when she probes herself-- If finally I have a life to show, The thing I did, brought out in evidence Against the thing done to me underground By hell and all its brood, for aught I know? I say, whence sprang this? shows it faith or doubt? All's doubt in me; where's break of faith in this? It is the idea, the feeling and the love, God means mankind should strive for and show forth Whatever be the process to that end,-- And not historic knowledge, logic sound, And metaphysical acumen, sure! "What think ye of Christ," friend? when all's done and said, Like you this Christianity or not? It may be false, but will you wish it true? Has it your vote to be so if it can? Trust you an instinct silenced long ago That will break silence and enjoin you love What mortified philosophy is hoarse, And all in vain, with bidding you despise? If you desire faith--then you've faith enough: What else seeks God--nay, what else seek ourselves? You form a notion of me, we'll suppose, On hearsay; it's a favourable one: "But still" (you add), "there was no such good man, "Because of contradiction in the facts. "One proves, for instance, he was born in Rome, "This Blougram; yet throughout the tales of him "I see he figures as an Englishman. " Well, the two things are reconcileable. But would I rather you discovered that, Subjoining--"Still, what matter though they be? "Blougram concerns me nought, born here or there. " Pure faith indeed--you know not what you ask! Naked belief in God the Omnipotent, Omniscient, Omnipresent, sears too much The sense of conscious creatures to be borne. It were the seeing him, no flesh shall dare Some think, Creation's meant to show him forth: I say it's meant to hide him all it can, And that's what all the blessed evil's for. Its use in Time is to environ us, Our breath, our drop of dew, with shield enough Against that sight till we can bear its stress. Under a vertical sun, the exposed brain And lidless eye and disemprisoned heart Less certainly would wither up at once Than mind, confronted with the truth of him. But time and earth case-harden us to live; The feeblest sense is trusted most; the child Feels God a moment, ichors o'er the place, Plays on and grows to be a man like us. With me, faith means perpetual unbelief Kept quiet like the snake 'neath Michael's foot Who stands calm just because he feels it writhe. Or, if that's too ambitious,--here's my box-- I need the excitation of a pinch Threatening the torpor of the inside-nose Nigh on the imminent sneeze that never comes. "Leave it in peace" advise the simple folk: Make it aware of peace by itching-fits, Say I--let doubt occasion still more faith! You'll say, once all believed, man, woman, child, In that dear middle-age these noodles praise. How you'd exult if I could put you back Six hundred years, blot out cosmogony, Geology, ethnology, what not (Greek endings, each the little passing-bell That signifies some faith's about to die), And set you square with Genesis again,-- When such a traveller told you his last news, He saw the ark a-top of Ararat But did not climb there since 't was getting dusk And robber-bands infest the mountain's foot! How should you feel, I ask, in such an age, How act? As other people felt and did; With soul more blank than this decanter's knob, Believe--and yet lie, kill, rob, fornicate Full in belief's face, like the beast you'd be! No, when the fight begins within himself, A man's worth something. God stoops o'er his head, Satan looks up between his feet--both tug-- He's left, himself, i' the middle: the soul wakes And grows. Prolong that battle through his life! Never leave growing till the life to come! Here, we've got callous to the Virgin's winks That used to puzzle people wholesomely: Men have outgrown the shame of being fools. What are the laws of nature, not to bend If the Church bid them?--brother Newman asks. Up with the Immaculate Conception, then-- On to the rack with faith!--is my advice. Will not that hurry us upon our knees, Knocking our breasts, "It can't be--yet it shall! "Who am I, the worm, to argue with my Pope? "Low things confound the high things!" and so forth. That's better than acquitting God with grace As some folk do. He's tried--no case is proved, Philosophy is lenient--he may go! You'll say, the old system's not so obsolete But men believe still: ay, but who and where? King Bomba's lazzaroni foster yet The sacred flame, so Antonelli writes; But even of these, what ragamuffin-saint Believes God watches him continually, As he believes in fire that it will burn, Or rain that it will drench him? Break fire's law, Sin against rain, although the penalty Be just a singe or soaking? "No," he smiles; "Those laws are laws that can enforce themselves. " The sum of all is--yes, my doubt is great, My faith's still greater, then my faith's enough. I have read much, thought much, experienced much, Yet would die rather than avow my fear The Naples' liquefaction may be false, When set to happen by the palace-clock According to the clouds or dinner-time. I hear you recommend, I might at least Eliminate, decrassify my faith Since I adopt it; keeping what I must And leaving what I can--such points as this. I won't--that is, I can't throw one away. Supposing there's no truth in what I hold About the need of trial to man's faith, Still, when you bid me purify the same, To such a process I discern no end. Clearing off one excrescence to see two, There's ever a next in size, now grown as big, That meets the knife: I cut and cut again! First cut the Liquefaction, what comes last But Fichte's clever cut at God himself? Experimentalize on sacred things! I trust nor hand nor eye nor heart nor brain To stop betimes: they all get drunk alike. The first step, I am master not to take. You'd find the cutting-process to your taste As much as leaving growths of lies unpruned, Nor see more danger in it,--you retort. Your taste's worth mine; but my taste proves more wise When we consider that the steadfast hold On the extreme end of the chain of faith Gives all the advantage, makes the difference With the rough purblind mass we seek to rule: We are their lords, or they are free of us, Just as we tighten or relax our hold. So, others matters equal, we'll revert To the first problem--which, if solved my way And thrown into the balance, turns the scale-- How we may lead a comfortable life, How suit our luggage to the cabin's size. Of course you are remarking all this time How narrowly and grossly I view life, Respect the creature-comforts, care to rule The masses, and regard complacently "The cabin," in our old phrase. Well, I do. I act for, talk for, live for this world now, As this world prizes action, life and talk: No prejudice to what next world may prove, Whose new laws and requirements, my best pledge To observe then, is that I observe these now, Shall do hereafter what I do meanwhile. Let us concede (gratuitously though) Next life relieves the soul of body, yields Pure spiritual enjoyment: well, my friend, Why lose this life i' the meantime, since its use May be to make the next life more intense? Do you know, I have often had a dream (Work it up in your next month's article) Of man's poor spirit in its progress, still Losing true life for ever and a day Through ever trying to be and ever being-- In the evolution of successive spheres-- Before its actual sphere and place of life, Halfway into the next, which having reached, It shoots with corresponding foolery Halfway into the next still, on and off! As when a traveller, bound from North to South, Scouts fur in Russia: what's its use in France? In France spurns flannel: where's its need in Spain? In Spain drops cloth, too cumbrous for Algiers! Linen goes next, and last the skin itself, A superfluity at Timbuctoo. When, through his journey, was the fool at ease? I'm at ease now, friend; worldly in this world, I take and like its way of life; I think My brothers, who administer the means, Live better for my comfort--that's good too; And God, if he pronounce upon such life, Approves my service, which is better still. If he keep silence,--why, for you or me Or that brute beast pulled-up in to-day's "Times," What odds is't, save to ourselves, what life we lead? You meet me at this issue: you declare,-- All special-pleading done with--truth is truth, And justifies itself by undreamed ways. You don't fear but it's better, if we doubt, To say so, act up to our truth perceived However feebly. Do then,--act away! 'T is there I'm on the watch for you. How one acts Is, both of us agree, our chief concern: And how you'll act is what I fain would see If, like the candid person you appear, You dare to make the most of your life's scheme As I of mine, live up to its full law Since there's no higher law that counterchecks. Put natural religion to the test You've just demolished the revealed with--quick, Down to the root of all that checks your will, All prohibition to lie, kill and thieve, Or even to be an atheistic priest! Suppose a pricking to incontinence-- Philosophers deduce you chastity Or shame, from just the fact that at the first Whoso embraced a woman in the field, Threw club down and forewent his brains beside, So, stood a ready victim in the reach Of any brother savage, club in hand; Hence saw the use of going out of sight In wood or cave to prosecute his loves: I read this in a French book t' other day. Does law so analysed coerce you much? Oh, men spin clouds of fuzz where matters end, But you who reach where the first thread begins, You'll soon cut that!--which means you can, but won't, Through certain instincts, blind, unreasoned-out, You dare not set aside, you can't tell why, But there they are, and so you let them rule. Then, friend, you seem as much a slave as I, A liar, conscious coward and hypocrite, Without the good the slave expects to get, In case he has a master after all! You own your instincts? why, what else do I, Who want, am made for, and must have a God Ere I can be aught, do aught?--no mere name Want, but the true thing with what proves its truth, To wit, a relation from that thing to me, Touching from head to foot--which touch I feel, And with it take the rest, this life of ours! I live my life here; yours you dare not live. --Not as I state it, who (you please subjoin) Disfigure such a life and call it names, While, to your mind, remains another way For simple men: knowledge and power have rights, But ignorance and weakness have rights too. There needs no crucial effort to find truth If here or there or anywhere about: We ought to turn each side, try hard and see, And if we can't, be glad we've earned at least The right, by one laborious proof the more, To graze in peace earth's pleasant pasturage. Men are not angels, neither are they brutes: Something we may see, all we cannot see. What need of lying? I say, I see all, And swear to each detail the most minute In what I think a Pan's face--you, mere cloud: I swear I hear him speak and see him wink, For fear, if once I drop the emphasis, Mankind may doubt there's any cloud at all. You take the simple life--ready to see, Willing to see (for no cloud's worth a face)-- And leaving quiet what no strength can move, And which, who bids you move? who has the right? I bid you; but you are God's sheep, not mine: " Pastor est tui Dominus . " You find In this the pleasant pasture of our life Much you may eat without the least offence, Much you don't eat because your maw objects, Much you would eat but that your fellow-flock Open great eyes at you and even butt, And thereupon you like your mates so well You cannot please yourself, offending them; Though when they seem exorbitantly sheep, You weigh your pleasure with their butts and bleats And strike the balance. Sometimes certain fears Restrain you, real checks since you find them so; Sometimes you please yourself and nothing checks: And thus you graze through life with not one lie, And like it best. But do you, in truth's name? If so, you beat--which means you are not I-- Who needs must make earth mine and feed my fill Not simply unbutted at, unbickered with, But motioned to the velvet of the sward By those obsequious wethers' very selves. Look at me, sir; my age is double yours: At yours, I knew beforehand, so enjoyed, What now I should be--as, permit the word, I pretty well imagine your whole range And stretch of tether twenty years to come. We both have minds and bodies much alike: In truth's name, don't you want my bishopric, My daily bread, my influence and my state? You're young. I'm old; you must be old one day; Will you find then, as I do hour by hour, Women their lovers kneel to, who cut curls From your fat lap-dog's ear to grace a brooch-- Dukes, who petition just to kiss your ring-- With much beside you know or may conceive? Suppose we die to-night: well, here am I, Such were my gains, life bore this fruit to me, While writing all the same my articles On music, poetry, the fictile vase Found at Albano, chess, Anacreon's Greek. But you--the highest honour in your life, The thing you'll crown yourself with, all your days, Is--dining here and drinking this last glass I pour you out in sign of amity Before we part for ever. Of your power And social influence, worldly worth in short, Judge what's my estimation by the fact, I do not condescend to enjoin, beseech, Hint secrecy on one of all these words! You're shrewd and know that should you publish one The world would brand the lie--my enemies first, Who'd sneer--"the bishop's an arch-hypocrite "And knave perhaps, but not so frank a fool. " Whereas I should not dare for both my ears Breathe one such syllable, smile one such smile, Before the chaplain who reflects myself-- My shade's so much more potent than your flesh. What's your reward, self-abnegating friend? Stood you confessed of those exceptional And privileged great natures that dwarf mine-- A zealot with a mad ideal in reach, A poet just about to print his ode, A statesman with a scheme to stop this war, An artist whose religion is his art-- I should have nothing to object: such men Carry the fire, all things grow warm to them, Their drugget's worth my purple, they beat me. But you,--you're just as little those as I-- You, Gigadibs, who, thirty years of age, Write statedly for Blackwood's Magazine, Believe you see two points in Hamlet's soul Unseized by the Germans yet--which view you'll print-- Meantime the best you have to show being still That lively lightsome article we took Almost for the true Dickens,--what's its name? "The Slum and Cellar, or Whitechapel life "Limned after dark!" it made me laugh, I know, And pleased a month, and brought you in ten pounds. --Success I recognize and compliment, And therefore give you, if you choose, three words (The card and pencil-scratch is quite enough) Which whether here, in Dublin or New York, Will get you, prompt as at my eyebrow's wink, Such terms as never you aspired to get In all our own reviews and some not ours. Go write your lively sketches! be the first "Blougram, or The Eccentric Confidence"-- Or better simply say, "The Outward-bound. " Why, men as soon would throw it in my teeth As copy and quote the infamy chalked broad About me on the church-door opposite. You will not wait for that experience though, I fancy, howsoever you decide, To discontinue--not detesting, not Defaming, but at least--despising me! Over his wine so smiled and talked his hour Sylvester Blougram, styled in partibus Episcopus, nec non --(the deuce knows what It's changed to by our novel hierarchy) With Gigadibs the literary man, Who played with spoons, explored his plate's design, And ranged the olive-stones about its edge, While the great bishop rolled him out a mind Long crumpled, till creased consciousness lay smooth. For Blougram, he believed, say, half he spoke. The other portion, as he shaped it thus For argumentatory purposes, He felt his foe was foolish to dispute. Some arbitrary accidental thoughts That crossed his mind, amusing because new, He chose to represent as fixtures there, Invariable convictions (such they seemed Beside his interlocutor's loose cards Flung daily down, and not the same way twice) While certain hell deep instincts, man's weak tongue Is never bold to utter in their truth Because styled hell-deep ('t is an old mistake To place hell at the bottom of the earth) He ignored these,--not having in readiness Their nomenclature and philosophy: He said true things, but called them by wrong names. "On the whole," he thought, "I justify myself "On every point where cavillers like this "Oppugn my life: he tries one kind of fence, "I close, he's worsted, that's enough for him. "He's on the ground: if ground should break away "I take my stand on, there's a firmer yet "Beneath it, both of us may sink and reach. "His ground was over mine and broke the first: "So, let him sit with me this many a year!" He did not sit five minutes. Just a week Sufficed his sudden healthy vehemence. Something had struck him in the "Outward-bound" Another way than Blougram's purpose was: And having bought, not cabin-furniture But settler's-implements (enough for three) And started for Australia--there, I hope, By this time he has tested his first plough, And studied his last chapter of St. John. # 162 games, 1560-2006 Alekhine's Defense-White wins 1 e4 Nf6 2 e5 A. 2...Nd5 3 d4 A1. 3...d6 4 c4 Nb6 5 exd6 A2. 3...Nb6 4 c4 A3. 3...e6 4 c4 A4. 3...c6 4 c4 A5. 3...Nc6 4 c4 Nb6 5 d5 Nxe5 6 c5 B. 2...Ng8 3 d4 B1. 3...d6 4 Nf3 B2. 3...d5 C. 2...Ne4 3 d3 * Starting Out book series: Game Collection: Starting Out: Alekhine's Defence General chess advice from Joe Brooks: https://www.reddit.com/r/chess/comm... "On the chessboard lies and hypocrisy do not survive long. The creative combination lays bare the presumption of a lie; the merciless fact, culmination in checkmate, contradicts the hypocrite." -- Emanuel Lasker “The soldier is the Army. No army is better than its soldiers. The Soldier is also a citizen. In fact, the highest obligation and privilege of citizenship is that of bearing arms for one’s country” ― George S. Patton Jr. "The most important single ingredient in the formula of success is knowing how to get along with people." ― Theodore Roosevelt, 26th President of the United States, and former U.S. Army Colonel And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. Luke 2:9, 10. “I will never quit. My nation expects me to be physically harder and mentally stronger than my enemies. If knocked down I will get back up, every time. I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect my teammates and to accomplish our mission. I am never out of the fight.” ― Marcus Luttrell, Lone Survivor: The Eyewitness Account of Operation Redwing and the Lost Heroes of SEAL Team 10 The Triumph of Life Percy Bysshe Shelley Swift as a spirit hastening to his task Of glory & of good, the Sun sprang forth Rejoicing in his splendour, & the mask Of darkness fell from the awakened Earth. The smokeless altars of the mountain snows Flamed above crimson clouds, & at the birth Of light, the Ocean’s orison arose To which the birds tempered their matin lay, All flowers in field or forest which unclose Their trembling eyelids to the kiss of day, Swinging their censers in the element, With orient incense lit by the new ray Burned slow & inconsumably, & sent Their odorous sighs up to the smiling air, And in succession due, did Continent, Isle, Ocean, & all things that in them wear The form & character of mortal mould Rise as the Sun their father rose, to bear Their portion of the toil which he of old Took as his own & then imposed on them; But I, whom thoughts which must remain untold Had kept as wakeful as the stars that gem The cone of night, now they were laid asleep, Stretched my faint limbs beneath the hoary stem Which an old chestnut flung athwart the steep Of a green Apennine: before me fled The night; behind me rose the day; the Deep Was at my feet, & Heaven above my head When a strange trance over my fancy grew Which was not slumber, for the shade it spread Was so transparent that the scene came through As clear as when a veil of light is drawn O’er evening hills they glimmer; and I knew That I had felt the freshness of that dawn, Bathed in the same cold dew my brow & hair And sate as thus upon that slope of lawn Under the self same bough, & heard as there The birds, the fountains & the Ocean hold Sweet talk in music through the enamoured air. And then a Vision on my brain was rolled. As in that trance of wondrous thought I lay This was the tenour of my waking dream. Methought I sate beside a public way Thick strewn with summer dust, & a great stream Of people there was hurrying to & fro Numerous as gnats upon the evening gleam, All hastening onward, yet none seemed to know Whither he went, or whence he came, or why He made one of the multitude, yet so Was borne amid the crowd as through the sky One of the million leaves of summer’s bier.— Old age & youth, manhood & infancy, Mixed in one mighty torrent did appear, Some flying from the thing they feared & some Seeking the object of another’s fear, And others as with steps towards the tomb Pored on the trodden worms that crawled beneath, And others mournfully within the gloom Of their own shadow walked, and called it death … And some fled from it as it were a ghost, Half fainting in the affliction of vain breath. But more with motions which each other crost Pursued or shunned the shadows the clouds threw Or birds within the noonday ether lost, Upon that path where flowers never grew; And weary with vain toil & faint for thirst Heard not the fountains whose melodious dew Out of their mossy cells forever burst Nor felt the breeze which from the forest told Of grassy paths, & wood lawns interspersed With overarching elms & caverns cold, And violet banks where sweet dreams brood, but they Pursued their serious folly as of old …. And as I gazed methought that in the way The throng grew wilder, as the woods of June When the South wind shakes the extinguished day.— And a cold glare, intenser than the noon But icy cold, obscured with [[blank]] light The Sun as he the stars. Like the young moon When on the sunlit limits of the night Her white shell trembles amid crimson air And whilst the sleeping tempest gathers might Doth, as a herald of its coming, bear The ghost of her dead Mother, whose dim form Bends in dark ether from her infant’s chair, So came a chariot on the silent storm Of its own rushing splendour, and a Shape So sate within as one whom years deform Beneath a dusky hood & double cape Crouching within the shadow of a tomb, And o’er what seemed the head, a cloud like crape, Was bent a dun & faint etherial gloom Tempering the light; upon the chariot’s beam A Janus-visaged Shadow did assume The guidance of that wonder-winged team. The Shapes which drew it in thick lightnings Were lost: I heard alone on the air’s soft stream The music of their ever moving wings. All the four faces of that charioteer Had their eyes banded . . . little profit brings Speed in the van & blindness in the rear, Nor then avail the beams that quench the Sun Or that his banded eyes could pierce the sphere Of all that is, has been, or will be done.— So ill was the car guided, but it past With solemn speed majestically on . . . The crowd gave way, & I arose aghast, Or seemed to rise, so mighty was the trance, And saw like clouds upon the thunder blast The million with fierce song and maniac dance Raging around; such seemed the jubilee As when to greet some conqueror’s advance Imperial Rome poured forth her living sea From senatehouse & prison & theatre When Freedom left those who upon the free Had bound a yoke which soon they stooped to bear. Nor wanted here the true similitude Of a triumphal pageant, for where’er The chariot rolled a captive multitude Was driven; althose who had grown old in power Or misery,—all who have their age subdued, By action or by suffering, and whose hour Was drained to its last sand in weal or woe, So that the trunk survived both fruit & flower; All those whose fame or infamy must grow Till the great winter lay the form & name Of their own earth with them forever low, All but the sacred few who could not tame Their spirits to the Conqueror, but as soon As they had touched the world with living flame Fled back like eagles to their native noon, Of those who put aside the diadem Of earthly thrones or gems, till the last one Were there;—for they of Athens & Jerusalem Were neither mid the mighty captives seen Nor mid the ribald crowd that followed them Or fled before . . Now swift, fierce & obscene The wild dance maddens in the van, & those Who lead it, fleet as shadows on the green, Outspeed the chariot & without repose Mix with each other in tempestuous measure To savage music …. Wilder as it grows, They, tortured by the agonizing pleasure, Convulsed & on the rapid whirlwinds spun Of that fierce spirit, whose unholy leisure Was soothed by mischief since the world begun, Throw back their heads & loose their streaming hair, And in their dance round her who dims the Sun Maidens & youths fling their wild arms in air As their feet twinkle; they recede, and now Bending within each other’s atmosphere Kindle invisibly; and as they glow Like moths by light attracted & repelled, Oft to new bright destruction come & go. Till like two clouds into one vale impelled That shake the mountains when their lightnings mingle And die in rain,—the fiery band which held Their natures, snaps . . . ere the shock cease to tingle One falls and then another in the path Senseless, nor is the desolation single, Yet ere I can say where the chariot hath Past over them; nor other trace I find But as of foam after the Ocean’s wrath Is spent upon the desert shore.—Behind, Old men, and women foully disarrayed Shake their grey hair in the insulting wind, Limp in the dance & strain, with limbs decayed, Seeking to reach the light which leaves them still Farther behind & deeper in the shade. But not the less with impotence of will They wheel, though ghastly shadows interpose Round them & round each other, and fulfill Their work and to the dust whence they arose Sink & corruption veils them as they lie And frost in these performs what fire in those. Struck to the heart by this sad pageantry, Half to myself I said, “And what is this? Whose shape is that within the car? & why”- I would have added—”is all here amiss?” But a voice answered . . “Life” . . . I turned & knew (O Heaven have mercy on such wretchedness!) That what I thought was an old root which grew To strange distortion out of the hill side Was indeed one of that deluded crew, And that the grass which methought hung so wide And white, was but his thin discoloured hair, And that the holes it vainly sought to hide Were or had been eyes.—”lf thou canst forbear To join the dance, which I had well forborne,” Said the grim Feature, of my thought aware, “I will now tell that which to this deep scorn Led me & my companions, and relate The progress of the pageant since the morn; “If thirst of knowledge doth not thus abate, Follow it even to the night, but I Am weary” . . . Then like one who with the weight Of his own words is staggered, wearily He paused, and ere he could resume, I cried, “First who art thou?” . . . “Before thy memory “I feared, loved, hated, suffered, did, & died, And if the spark with which Heaven lit my spirit Earth had with purer nutriment supplied “Corruption would not now thus much inherit Of what was once Rousseau—nor this disguise Stained that within which still disdains to wear it.— “If I have been extinguished, yet there rise A thousand beacons from the spark I bore.”— “And who are those chained to the car?” “The Wise, “The great, the unforgotten: they who wore Mitres & helms & crowns, or wreathes of light, Signs of thought’s empire over thought; their lore “Taught them not this—to know themselves; their might Could not repress the mutiny within, And for the morn of truth they feigned, deep night “Caught them ere evening.” “Who is he with chin Upon his breast and hands crost on his chain?” “The Child of a fierce hour; he sought to win “The world, and lost all it did contain Of greatness, in its hope destroyed; & more Of fame & peace than Virtue’s self can gain “Without the opportunity which bore Him on its eagle’s pinion to the peak From which a thousand climbers have before “Fall’n as Napoleon fell.”—I felt my cheek Alter to see the great form pass away Whose grasp had left the giant world so weak That every pigmy kicked it as it lay— And much I grieved to think how power & will In opposition rule our mortal day— And why God made irreconcilable Good & the means of good; and for despair I half disdained mine eye’s desire to fill With the spent vision of the times that were And scarce have ceased to be . . . “Dost thou behold,” Said then my guide, “those spoilers spoiled, Voltaire, “Frederic, & Kant, Catherine, & Leopold, Chained hoary anarch, demagogue & sage Whose name the fresh world thinks already old— “For in the battle Life & they did wage She remained conqueror—I was overcome By my own heart alone, which neither age “Nor tears nor infamy nor now the tomb Could temper to its object.”—”Let them pass”— I cried—”the world & its mysterious doom “Is not so much more glorious than it was That I desire to worship those who drew New figures on its false & fragile glass “As the old faded.”—”Figures ever new Rise on the bubble, paint them how you may; We have but thrown, as those before us threw, “Our shadows on it as it past away. But mark, how chained to the triumphal chair The mighty phantoms of an elder day— “All that is mortal of great Plato there Expiates the joy & woe his master knew not; That star that ruled his doom was far too fair— “And Life, where long that flower of Heaven grew not, Conquered the heart by love which gold or pain Or age or sloth or slavery could subdue not— “And near [[blank]] walk the [[blank]] twain, The tutor & his pupil, whom Dominion Followed as tame as vulture in a chain.— “The world was darkened beneath either pinion Of him whom from the flock of conquerors Fame singled as her thunderbearing minion; “The other long outlived both woes & wars, Throned in new thoughts of men, and still had kept The jealous keys of truth’s eternal doors “If Bacon’s spirit [[blank]] had not leapt Like lightning out of darkness; he compelled The Proteus shape of Nature’s as it slept “To wake & to unbar the caves that held The treasure of the secrets of its reign— See the great bards of old who inly quelled “The passions which they sung, as by their strain May well be known: their living melody Tempers its own contagion to the vein “Of those who are infected with it—I Have suffered what I wrote, or viler pain!— “And so my words were seeds of misery— Even as the deeds of others.”—”Not as theirs,” I said—he pointed to a company In which I recognized amid the heirs Of Caesar’s crime from him to Constantine, The Anarchs old whose force & murderous snares Had founded many a sceptre bearing line And spread the plague of blood & gold abroad, And Gregory & John and men divine Who rose like shadows between Man & god Till that eclipse, still hanging under Heaven, Was worshipped by the world o’er which they strode For the true Sun it quenched.—”Their power was given But to destroy,” replied the leader—”I Am one of those who have created, even “If it be but a world of agony.”— “Whence camest thou & whither goest thou? How did thy course begin,” I said, “& why? “Mine eyes are sick of this perpetual flow Of people, & my heart of one sad thought.— Speak.”—”Whence I came, partly I seem to know, “And how & by what paths I have been brought To this dread pass, methinks even thou mayst guess; Why this should be my mind can compass not; “Whither the conqueror hurries me still less. But follow thou, & from spectator turn Actor or victim in this wretchedness, “And what thou wouldst be taught I then may learn From thee.—Now listen . . . In the April prime When all the forest tops began to burn “With kindling green, touched by the azure clime Of the young year, I found myself asleep Under a mountain which from unknown time “Had yawned into a cavern high & deep, And from it came a gentle rivulet Whose water like clear air in its calm sweep “Bent the soft grass & kept for ever wet The stems of the sweet flowers, and filled the grove With sound which all who hear must needs forget “All pleasure & all pain, all hate & love, Which they had known before that hour of rest: A sleeping mother then would dream not of “The only child who died upon her breast At eventide, a king would mourn no more The crown of which his brow was dispossest “When the sun lingered o’er the Ocean floor To gild his rival’s new prosperity.— Thou wouldst forget thus vainly to deplore “Ills, which if ills, can find no cure from thee, The thought of which no other sleep will quell Nor other music blot from memory— “So sweet & deep is the oblivious spell.— Whether my life had been before that sleep The Heaven which I imagine, or a Hell “Like this harsh world in which I wake to weep, I know not. I arose & for a space The scene of woods & waters seemed to keep, “Though it was now broad day, a gentle trace Of light diviner than the common Sun Sheds on the common Earth, but all the place “Was filled with many sounds woven into one Oblivious melody, confusing sense Amid the gliding waves & shadows dun; “And as I looked the bright omnipresence Of morning through the orient cavern flowed, And the Sun’s image radiantly intense “Burned on the waters of the well that glowed Like gold, and threaded all the forest maze With winding paths of emerald fire—there stood “Amid the sun, as he amid the blaze Of his own glory, on the vibrating Floor of the fountain, paved with flashing rays, “A shape all light, which with one hand did fling Dew on the earth, as if she were the Dawn Whose invisible rain forever seemed to sing “A silver music on the mossy lawn, And still before her on the dusky grass Iris her many coloured scarf had drawn.— “In her right hand she bore a crystal glass Mantling with bright Nepenthe;—the fierce splendour Fell from her as she moved under the mass “Of the deep cavern, & with palms so tender Their tread broke not the mirror of its billow, Glided along the river, and did bend her “Head under the dark boughs, till like a willow Her fair hair swept the bosom of the stream That whispered with delight to be their pillow.— “As one enamoured is upborne in dream O’er lily-paven lakes mid silver mist To wondrous music, so this shape might seem “Partly to tread the waves with feet which kist The dancing foam, partly to glide along The airs that roughened the moist amethyst, “Or the slant morning beams that fell among The trees, or the soft shadows of the trees; And her feet ever to the ceaseless song “Of leaves & winds & waves & birds & bees And falling drops moved in a measure new Yet sweet, as on the summer evening breeze “Up from the lake a shape of golden dew Between two rocks, athwart the rising moon, Moves up the east, where eagle never flew.— “And still her feet, no less than the sweet tune To which they moved, seemed as they moved, to blot The thoughts of him who gazed on them, & soon “All that was seemed as if it had been not, As if the gazer’s mind was strewn beneath Her feet like embers, & she, thought by thought, “Trampled its fires into the dust of death, As Day upon the threshold of the east Treads out the lamps of night, until the breath “Of darkness reillumines even the least Of heaven’s living eyes—like day she came, Making the night a dream; and ere she ceased “To move, as one between desire and shame Suspended, I said—’If, as it doth seem, Thou comest from the realm without a name, ” ‘Into this valley of perpetual dream, Shew whence I came, and where I am, and why— Pass not away upon the passing stream.’ ” ‘Arise and quench thy thirst,’ was her reply, And as a shut lily, stricken by the wand Of dewy morning’s vital alchemy, “I rose; and, bending at her sweet command, Touched with faint lips the cup she raised, And suddenly my brain became as sand “Where the first wave had more than half erased The track of deer on desert Labrador, Whilst the fierce wolf from which they fled amazed “Leaves his stamp visibly upon the shore Until the second bursts—so on my sight Burst a new Vision never seen before.— “And the fair shape waned in the coming light As veil by veil the silent splendour drops From Lucifer, amid the chrysolite “Of sunrise ere it strike the mountain tops— And as the presence of that fairest planet Although unseen is felt by one who hopes “That his day’s path may end as he began it In that star’s smile, whose light is like the scent Of a jonquil when evening breezes fan it, “Or the soft note in which his dear lament The Brescian shepherd breathes, or the caress That turned his weary slumber to content.— “So knew I in that light’s severe excess The presence of that shape which on the stream Moved, as I moved along the wilderness, “More dimly than a day appearing dream, The ghost of a forgotten form of sleep A light from Heaven whose half extinguished beam “Through the sick day in which we wake to weep Glimmers, forever sought, forever lost.— So did that shape its obscure tenour keep “Beside my path, as silent as a ghost; But the new Vision, and its cold bright car, With savage music, stunning music, crost “The forest, and as if from some dread war Triumphantly returning, the loud million Fiercely extolled the fortune of her star.— “A moving arch of victory the vermilion And green & azure plumes of Iris had Built high over her wind-winged pavilion, “And underneath aetherial glory clad The wilderness, and far before her flew The tempest of the splendour which forbade Shadow to fall from leaf or stone;—the crew Seemed in that light like atomies that dance Within a sunbeam.—Some upon the new “Embroidery of flowers that did enhance The grassy vesture of the desart, played, Forgetful of the chariot’s swift advance; “Others stood gazing till within the shade Of the great mountain its light left them dim.— Others outspeeded it, and others made “Circles around it like the clouds that swim Round the high moon in a bright sea of air, And more did follow, with exulting hymn, “The chariot & the captives fettered there, But all like bubbles on an eddying flood Fell into the same track at last & were “Borne onward.—I among the multitude Was swept; me sweetest flowers delayed not long, Me not the shadow nor the solitude, “Me not the falling stream’s Lethean song, Me, not the phantom of that early form Which moved upon its motion,—but among “The thickest billows of the living storm I plunged, and bared my bosom to the clime Of that cold light, whose airs too soon deform.— “Before the chariot had begun to climb The opposing steep of that mysterious dell, Behold a wonder worthy of the rhyme “Of him whom from the lowest depths of Hell Through every Paradise & through all glory Love led serene, & who returned to tell “In words of hate & awe the wondrous story How all things are transfigured, except Love; For deaf as is a sea which wrath makes hoary “The world can hear not the sweet notes that move The sphere whose light is melody to lovers—- A wonder worthy of his rhyme—the grove “Grew dense with shadows to its inmost covers, The earth was grey with phantoms, & the air Was peopled with dim forms, as when there hovers “A flock of vampire-bats before the glare Of the tropic sun, bring ere evening Strange night upon some Indian isle,—thus were “Phantoms diffused around, & some did fling Shadows of shadows, yet unlike themselves, Behind them, some like eaglets on the wing “Were lost in the white blaze, others like elves Danced in a thousand unimagined shapes Upon the sunny streams & grassy shelves; “And others sate chattering like restless apes On vulgar paws and voluble like fire. Some made a cradle of the ermined capes “Of kingly mantles, some upon the tiar Of pontiffs sate like vultures, others played Within the crown which girt with empire “A baby’s or an idiot’s brow, & made Their nests in it; the old anatomies Sate hatching their bare brood under the shade “Of demon wings, and laughed from their dead eyes To reassume the delegated power Arrayed in which these worms did monarchize “Who make this earth their charnel.—Others more Humble, like falcons sate upon the fist Of common men, and round their heads did soar, “Or like small gnats & flies, as thick as mist On evening marshes, thronged about the brow Of lawyer, statesman, priest & theorist, “And others like discoloured flakes of snow On fairest bosoms & the sunniest hair Fell, and were melted by the youthful glow “Which they extinguished; for like tears, they were A veil to those from whose faint lids they rained In drops of sorrow.—I became aware “Of whence those forms proceeded which thus stained The track in which we moved; after brief space From every form the beauty slowly waned, “From every firmest limb & fairest face The strength & freshness fell like dust, & left The action & the shape without the grace “Of life; the marble brow of youth was cleft With care, and in the eyes where once hope shone Desire like a lioness bereft “Of its last cub, glared ere it died; each one Of that great crowd sent forth incessantly These shadows, numerous as the dead leaves blown “In Autumn evening from a popular tree— Each, like himself & like each other were, At first, but soon distorted, seemed to be “Obscure clouds moulded by the casual air; And of this stuff the car’s creative ray Wrought all the busy phantoms that were there “As the sun shapes the clouds—thus, on the way Mask after mask fell from the countenance And form of all, and long before the day “Was old, the joy which waked like Heaven’s glance The sleepers in the oblivious valley, died, And some grew weary of the ghastly dance “And fell, as I have fallen by the way side, Those soonest from whose forms most shadows past And least of strength & beauty did abide.”— “Then, what is Life?” I said . . . the cripple cast His eye upon the car which now had rolled Onward, as if that look must be the last, And answered …. “Happy those for whom the fold Of … Around The World Riddle: What travels around the world but stays in one spot? Answer: A stamp. The Road Not Taken Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. “You can only get good at chess if you love the game.” ― Bobby Fischer "Be active. I do things my way, like skiing when I’m 100. Nobody else does that even if they have energy. And I try to eat pretty correctly and get exercise and fresh air and sunshine.” ― Elsa Bailey, first time skier at age 100 "Don't look at the calendar, just keep celebrating everyday." ― Ruth Coleman, carpe diem at age 101 18 games, 1905-2017 Alligator's Artful Checkmate Patterns Learning these checkmate patterns will immediately improve your chess results. Many of the final positions can be found in the book by Renaud and Kahn- The Art of The Checkmate. Other games can be found in Irving Chernev's popular book- Logical Chess: Move by Move (LC). * First of each ECO: Game Collection: First of Each ECO “Life has, indeed, many ills, but the mind that views every object in its most cheering aspect, and every doubtful dispensation as replete with latent good, bears within itself a powerful and perpetual antidote. The gloomy soul aggravates misfortune, while a cheerful smile often dispels those mists that portend a storm.” ― Lydia Sigourney "It is amazing what you can accomplish if you do not care who gets the credit." ― Harry S Truman, 33rd President of the United States, and former Colonel in the U.S. Army "All of the real heroes are not storybook combat fighters either. Every single man in this Army play a vital role. Don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is unimportant. Every man has a job to do and he must do it. Every man is a vital link in the great chain.” ― General George S. Patton, U.S. Army I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud William Wordsworth I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils General chess advice from Joe Brooks: https://www.reddit.com/r/chess/comm... “On the chessboard lies and hypocrisy do not survive long. The creative combination lays bare the presumption of a lie; the merciless fact, culmination in checkmate, contradicts the hypocrite.” ― Emanuel Lasker “Life is like a chess. If you lose your queen, you will probably lose the game.” ― Being Caballero “Chess is life in miniature. Chess is a struggle, chess battles.” ― Garry Kasparov “Age brings wisdom to some men, and to others chess.” ― Evan Esar * Good Historical Links: https://www.saund.co.uk/britbase/in... * Attack: Game Collection: 2012-2015 Attacking Games (Naiditsch/Balogh) * Cheating: https://www.chess.com/article/view/... It's not the quantity that counts; it's the quality. * Draws: Game Collection: 2012-2015 Interesting Draws (Naiditsch/Balogh) * Endgames: Game Collection: 2012-2015 Endgames (Naiditsch/Balogh) * Fight! Game Collection: 2012-2015 Fighting Games (Naiditsch/Balogh) * Positional: Game Collection: 2012-2015 Positional Games (Naiditsch/Balogh) * Miscellaneous: Game Collection: ! Miscellaneous games * Internet tracking: https://www.studysmarter.us/magazin... poem by B.H. Wood, entitled ‘The Drowser’: Ah, reverie! Ten thousand heads I see Bent over chess-boards, an infinity Of minds engaged in battle, fiendishly, Keenly, or calmly, as the case may be: World-wide, the neophyte, the veteran, The studious problemist, the fairy fan ... “What’s that? – I’m nearly sending you to sleep? Sorry! – but this position’s rather deep.” Source: Chess Amateur, September 1929, page 268. “Chess is a sea in which a gnat may drink and an elephant may bathe.” ― Indian Proverb “For beginning chess players, studying a Carlsen game is like wanting to be an electrical engineer and beginning with studying an iPhone.” ― Garry Kasparov “All warfare is based on deception.” ― Sun Tzu, The Art of War “Opportunities multiply as they are seized.” ― Sun Tzu, The Art of War The Ass and the Little Dog One's native talent from its course Cannot be turned aside by force; But poorly apes the country clown The polished manners of the town. Their Maker chooses but a few With power of pleasing to imbue; Where wisely leave it we, the mass, Unlike a certain fabled ass, That thought to gain his master's blessing By jumping on him and caressing. "What!" said the donkey in his heart; "Ought it to be that puppy's part To lead his useless life In full companionship With master and his wife, While I must bear the whip? What does the cur a kiss to draw? Forsooth, he only gives his paw! If that is all there needs to please, I'll do the thing myself, with ease." Possessed with this bright notion, – His master sitting on his chair, At leisure in the open air, – He ambled up, with awkward motion, And put his talents to the proof; Upraised his bruised and battered hoof, And, with an amiable mien, His master patted on the chin, The action gracing with a word – The fondest bray that ever was heard! O, such caressing was there ever? Or melody with such a quaver? "Ho! Martin! here! a club, a club bring!" Out cried the master, sore offended. So Martin gave the ass a drubbing, – And so the comedy was ended. The Sun and the Frogs Rejoicing on their tyrant's wedding-day, The people drowned their care in drink; While from the general joy did Aesop shrink, And showed its folly in this way. "The sun," said he, "once took it in his head To have a partner for his bed. From swamps, and ponds, and marshy bogs, Up rose the wailings of the frogs. "What shall we do, should he have progeny?" Said they to Destiny; "One sun we scarcely can endure, And half-a-dozen, we are sure, Will dry the very sea. Adieu to marsh and fen! Our race will perish then, Or be obliged to fix Their dwelling in the Styx!" For such an humble animal, The frog, I take it, reasoned well." A Psalm of Life Henry Wadsworth Longfellow What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist. Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world’s broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act,— act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o’erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. “Life is fun. It’s all up to the person. Be satisfied. You don’t have to be ‘happy’ all the time, you need to be satisfied.” — Lucille Boston Lewis, eternal optimist 101 years old “A man either lives life as it happens to him, meets it head-on and licks it, or he turns his back on it and starts to wither away.” — Dr. Boyce “Everything you've ever wanted is on the other side of fear.” — George Adair “He who imagines himself capable should attempt to perform. Neither originality counts, nor criticism of another’s work. It is not courage, nor self-confidence, nor a sense of superiority that tells. Performance alone is the test.” — Emanuel Lasker “There are no secrets to success. It is the result of preparation, hard work, and learning from failure.” — Colin Powell “The most important single ingredient in the formula of success is knowing how to get along with people.” ― Theodore Roosevelt, 26th President of the United States, and former U.S. Army Colonel # 94 games, 1620-2011 attaching lessns says Bo Thank you prashla Did you hear about the guy whose whole left side was cut off? He's all right now. “A man who is willing to commit suicide has the initiative.” ― Boris Spassky “Nowadays there is more dynamism in chess, modern players like to take the initiative. Usually they are poor defenders though.” ― Boris Spassky “The computer age has arrived, and it influences everything: analysis, preparation, information. Now a different talent is required - the ability to synthesize ideas.” ― Boris Spassky “We can compare classical chess and rapid chess with theatre and cinema - some actors don't like the latter and prefer to work in the theatre.” ― Boris Spassky “Time control directly influences the quality of play.” ― Boris Spassky “Nowadays the dynamic element is more important in chess - players more often sacrifice material to obtain dynamic compensation.” ― Boris Spassky “For example, computer defends well, but for humans it is harder to defend than attack, particularly with the modern time control.” ― Boris Spassky “Which do I prefer? Sex or chess? It depends on the position.” ― Boris Spassky “My forte was the middlegame. I had a good feeling for the critical moments of the play. This undoubtedly compensated for my lack of opening preparation and, possibly, not altogether perfect play in the endgame. In my games things often did not reach the endgame!” ― Boris Spassky “The best indicator of a Chess Player's form is his ability to sense the Climax of the game.” ― Boris Spassky “Often, in the Ruy Lopez, one must be patient, wait and carry on a lengthy and wearisome struggle.” ― Boris Spassky “When I am in form, my style is a little bit stubborn, almost brutal. Sometimes I feel a great spirit of fight which drives me on.” ― Boris Spassky “After I won the title, I was confronted with the real world. People do not behave naturally anymore - hypocrisy is everywhere.” ― Boris Spassky “The best tournament that I have ever played in was in 1950. It was great - a waiter came to you during the game, and you could order anything you wanted to drink (even some vodka, if you liked). Pity, there are no longer tournaments organized in this manner.” ― Boris Spassky “Bobby Fischer has an enormous knowledge of chess and his familiarity with the chess literature of the USSR is immense.” ― Boris Spassky “When you play Bobby, it is not a question if you win or lose. It is a question if you survive.” ― Boris Spassky “In my country, at that time, being a champion of chess was like being a King. At that time I was a King and when you are King you feel a lot of responsibility, but there is nobody there to help you.” ― Boris Spassky “I still hope to kill Fischer.” ― Boris Spassky “The shortcoming of hanging pawns is that they present a convenient target for attack. As the exchange of men proceeds, their potential strength lessens and during the endgame they turn out, as a rule, to be weak." ― Boris Spassky “The power of hanging Pawns is based precisely in their Mobility, in their Ability to create acute situations instantly.” ― Boris Spassky “I also follow chess on the Internet, where Kasparov's site is very interesting.” ― Boris Spassky “Recently I saw Kasparov and he looked to me as still young and potent champion.” ― Boris Spassky “I think that the World Champion should try to defend the quality of play more than anyone else.” ― Boris Spassky “There is only one thing Fischer does in Chess without pleasure: to lose!” ― Boris Spassky “Nowadays young people have great choice of occupations, hobbies, etc, so chess is experiencing difficulties because of the high competition. Now it's hard to make living in chess, so our profession does attract young people.” ― Boris Spassky It's not the quantity that counts; it's the quality. 25619 “Just before a game, I try to keep a clear mind so that I can focus better. I'm the kind of person who plays fast and relies a lot on intuition, so being at peace with myself is vital. Saying my daily prayers helps me achieve this heightened state of mind.” ― Viswanathan Anand “It is important that you don't let your opponent impose his style of play on you. A part of that begins mentally. At the chessboard if you start blinking every time he challenges you then in a certain sense you are withdrawing. That is very important to avoid.” ― Viswanathan Anand “Methodical thinking is of more use in chess than inspiration.” ― C.J.S. Purdy * Accidents: Game Collection: Accidents in the opening * Cheating: https://www.chess.com/article/view/... It's not the quantity that counts; it's the quality. * Paul Morphy: Game Collection: Morphy games * Philidor Beats: Game Collection: Against the Philidor * Double Attack: Game Collection: Double Attack * Alexander Alekhine: Game Collection: Learn from the great Alekhine * Mikhail Tal, part 2: Game Collection: The Life and Games of Mikhail Tal (part 2) * BF's M60MG: Game Collection: Bobby Fischer's "60 Memorable Games" * Windmills: Game Collection: World Champs and Windmills * World Champions: History of the World Chess Championship * YS Tactics: Game Collection: Yasser Seirawan's Winning Chess Tactics May-07-12 Domdaniel: I'll believe that computers are intelligent -- well, vaguely sentient anyway -- the day they start to have slanging matches and call one another 'idiot' and 'moron'. - Your motherboard was an egg timer! A *failed* egg timer! - Were you built by *humans*? May-07-12 Shams: <Domdaniel> There's always Alex P. Keaton's "I'd get a better game from the microwave!" He was playing against whatever you could buy at Radio Shack in 1986 though, so he may not have been far off. <Shakespearean Puns Perhaps no writer is better known for the use of puns than William Shakespeare. He plays with "tide" and "tied" in Two Gentlemen of Verona: "Panthino Away, ass! You'll lose the tide if you tarry any longer. Launce It is no matter if the tied were lost; for it is the unkindest tied that ever any man tied. Panthino What's the unkindest tide? Launce Why, he that's tied here, Crab, my dog." In the opening of Richard III, the sun refers to the blazing sun on Edward IV's banner and the fact that he is the son of the Duke of York: "Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this sun of York." In this line from Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare plays on the different meanings of heavy (which also means sad) and light: "Give me a torch: I am not for this ambling; Being but heavy I will bear the light." Later in Romeo and Juliet, a morbid pun comes from a fatally-stabbed Mercutio, where grave means serious, but also alludes to his imminent death: "Ask for me tomorrow, you shall find me a grave man." If you open any Shakesperean play, you're likely to find at least one pun on the page! Keep an eye out for a clever play on words example the next time you read Hamlet or watch As You Like It on the stage.> The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge – Part I It is an ancient mariner And he stoppeth one of three. –“By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stoppest thou me? The bridegroom’s doors are opened wide, And I am next of kin; The guests are met, the feast is set: Mayst hear the merry din.” He holds him with his skinny hand, “There was a ship,” quoth he. “Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!” Eftsoons his hand dropped he. He holds him with his glittering eye– The wedding-guest stood still, And listens like a three-years’ child: The mariner hath his will. The wedding-guest sat on a stone: He cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed mariner. “The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared, Merrily did we drop Below the kirk, below the hill, Below the lighthouse top. The sun came up upon the left, Out of the sea came he! And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the sea. Higher and higher every day, Till over the mast at noon–” The wedding-guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon. The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy. The wedding-guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed mariner. “And now the storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong; He struck with his o’ertaking wings, And chased us south along. With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast, And southward aye we fled. Listen, stranger! Mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold: And ice mast-high came floating by, As green as emerald. And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen: Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken– The ice was all between. The ice was here, the ice was there, The ice was all around: It cracked and growled, and roared and howled, Like noises in a swound! At length did cross an albatross, Thorough the fog it came; As if it had been a Christian soul, We hailed it in God’s name. It ate the food it ne’er had eat, And round and round it flew. The ice did split with a thunder-fit; The helmsman steered us through! And a good south wind sprung up behind; The albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariners’ hollo! In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perched for vespers nine; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmered the white moon-shine.” “God save thee, ancient mariner! From the fiends, that plague thee thus!– Why lookst thou so?” “With my crossbow I shot the albatross. – Part II The sun now rose upon the right: Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariners’ hollo! And I had done an hellish thing, And it would work ‘em woe: For all averred, I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow! Nor dim nor red, like God’s own head, The glorious sun uprist: Then all averred, I had killed the bird That brought the fog and mist. ‘Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, That bring the fog and mist. The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The furrow followed free; We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea. Down dropped the breeze, the sails dropped down, ‘Twas sad as sad could be; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea! All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, everywhere, And all the boards did shrink; Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink. The very deeps did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea. About, about, in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night; The water, like a witch’s oils, Burnt green, and blue and white. And some in dreams assured were Of the spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow. And every tongue, through utter drought, Was withered at the root; We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. Ah! wel-a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young! Instead of the cross, the albatross About my neck was hung. – Part III There passed a weary time. Each throat Was parched, and glazed each eye. A weary time! A weary time! How glazed each weary eye, When looking westward, I beheld A something in the sky. At first it seemed a little speck, And then it seemed a mist; It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape, I wist. A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! And still it neared and neared: As if it dodged a water sprite, It plunged and tacked and veered. With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could nor laugh nor wail; Through utter drouth all dumb we stood! I bit my arm, I sucked the blood, And cried, A sail! a sail! With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call: Gramercy! they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in, As they were drinking all. See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more! Hither to work us weal; Without a breeze, without a tide, She steadies with upright keel! The western wave was all aflame. The day was well nigh done! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the sun. And straight the sun was flecked with bars, (Heaven’s mother send us grace!) As if through a dungeon grate he peered With broad and burning face. Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears! Are those her sails that glance in the sun, Like restless gossameres? Are those her ribs through which the sun Did peer, as through a grate? And is that woman all her crew? Is that a Death? and are there two? Is Death that woman’s mate? Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin was as white as leprosy, The nightmare Life-in-Death was she, Who thicks man’s blood with cold. The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice; ‘The game is done! I’ve won! I’ve won!’ Quoth she, and whistles thrice. The sun’s rim dips; the stars rush out: At one stride comes the dark; With far-heard whisper, o’er the sea, Off shot the spectre bark. We listened and looked sideways up! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My lifeblood seemed to sip! The stars were dim, and thick the night, The steersman’s face by his lamp gleamed white; From the sails the dews did drip– Till clomb above the eastern bar The horned moon, with one bright star Within the nether tip. One after one, by the star-dogged moon, Too quick for groan or sigh, Each turned his face with ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye. Four times fifty living men, (And I heard nor sigh nor groan) With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, They dropped down one by one. Their souls did from their bodies fly– They fled to bliss or woe! And every soul, it passed me by, Like the whizz of my crossbow!” – Part IV “I fear thee, ancient mariner! I fear thy skinny hand! And thou art long, and lank, and brown, As is the ribbed sea-sand. I fear thee and thy glittering eye, And thy skinny hand, so brown.”– “Fear not, fear not, thou wedding-guest! This body dropped not down. Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony. The many men, so beautiful! And they all dead did lie: And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on; and so did I. I looked upon the rotting sea, And drew my eyes away; I looked upon the rotting deck, And there the dead men lay. I looked to heaven, and tried to pray; But or ever a prayer had gushed, A wicked whisper came, and made My heart as dry as dust. I closed my lids, and kept them close, Till the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet. The cold sweat melted from their limbs, Nor rot nor reek did they: The look with which they looked on me Had never passed away. An orphan’s curse would drag to hell A spirit from on high; But oh! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man’s eye! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die. The moving moon went up the sky, And nowhere did abide: Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside– Her beams bemocked the sultry main, Like April hoar-frost spread; But where the ship’s huge shadow lay, The charmed water burnt alway A still and awful red. Beyond the shadow of the ship, I watched the water snakes: They moved in tracks of shining white, And when they reared, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes. Within the shadow of the ship I watched their rich attire: Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coiled and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire. O happy living things! No tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware: Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I blessed them unaware. The selfsame moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea. – Part V Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary-Queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle sleep from heaven, That slid into my soul. The silly buckets on the deck, That had so long remained, I dreamt that they were filled with dew; And when I awoke, it rained. My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank; Sure I had drunken in my dreams, And still my body drank. I moved, and could not feel my limbs: I was so light–almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessed ghost. And soon I heard a roaring wind: It did not come anear; But with its sound it shook the sails, That were so thin and sere. The upper air bursts into life! And a hundred fire-flags sheen, To and fro they were hurried about! And to and fro, and in and out, The wan stars danced between. And the coming wind did roar more loud, And the sails did sigh like sedge; And the rain poured down from one black cloud; The moon was at its edge. The thick black cloud was cleft, and still The moon was at its side: Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning fell with never a jag, A river steep and wide. The loud wind never reached the ship, Yet now the ship moved on! Beneath the lightning and the moon The dead men gave a groan. They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, Nor spake, nor moved their eyes; It had been strange, even in a dream, To have seen those dead men rise. The helmsman steered, the ship moved on; Yet never a breeze up-blew; The mariners all ‘gan work the ropes, Where they were wont to do; They raised their limbs like lifeless tools– We were a ghastly crew. The body of my brother’s son Stood by me, knee to knee: The body and I pulled at one rope, But he said nought to me.” “I fear thee, ancient mariner!” “Be calm, thou wedding-guest! ‘Twas not those souls that fled in pain, Which to their corses came again, But a troop of spirits blessed. For when it dawned–they dropped their arms, And clustered round the mast; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, And from their bodies passed. Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the sun; Slowly the sounds came back again, Now mixed, now one by one. Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the skylark sing; Sometimes all little birds that are, How they seemed to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning! And now ‘twas like all instruments, Now like a lonely flute; And now it is an angel’s song, That makes the heavens be mute. It ceased; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune. Till noon we silently sailed on, Yet never a breeze did breathe: Slowly and smoothly went the ship, Moved onward from beneath. Under the keel nine fathom deep, From the land of mist and snow, The spirit slid: and it was he That made the ship to go. The sails at noon left off their tune, And the ship stood still also. The sun, right up above the mast, Had fixed her to the ocean: But in a minute she ‘gan stir, With a short uneasy motion– Backwards and forwards half her length With a short uneasy motion. Then like a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound: It flung the blood into my head, And I fell down in a swound. How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare; But ere my living life returned, I heard and in my soul discerned Two voices in the air. ‘Is it he?’ quoth one, ‘Is this the man? By him who died on cross, With his cruel bow he laid full low The harmless albatross. The spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow, He loved the bird that loved the man Who shot him with his bow.’ The other was a softer voice, As soft as honeydew: Quoth he, ‘The man hath penance done, And penance more will do.’ – Part VI FIRST VOICE ‘But tell me, tell me! speak again, Thy soft response renewing– What makes that ship drive on so fast? What is the ocean doing?’ SECOND VOICE ‘Still as a slave before his lord, The ocean hath no blast; His great bright eye most silently Up to the moon is cast– If he may know which way to go; For she guides him smooth or grim. See, brother, see! how graciously She looketh down on him.’ FIRST VOICE ‘But why drives on that ship so fast, Without or wave or wind?’ SECOND VOICE ‘The air is cut away before, And closes from behind. Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high! Or we shall be belated: For slow and slow that ship will go, When the mariner’s trance is abated.’ I woke, and we were sailing on As in a gentle weather: ‘Twas night, calm night, the moon was high; The dead men stood together. All stood together on the deck, For a charnel-dungeon fitter: All fixed on me their stony eyes, That in the moon did glitter. The pang, the curse, with which they died, Had never passed away: I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Nor turn them up to pray. And now this spell was snapped: once more I viewed the ocean green, And looked far forth, yet little saw Of what had else been seen– Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turned round walks on, And turns no more his head; Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread. But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made: Its path was not upon the sea, In ripple or in shade. It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek Like a meadow-gale of spring– It mingled strangely with my fears, Yet it felt like a welcoming. Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, Yet she sailed softly too: Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze– On me alone it blew. O dream of joy! is this indeed The lighthouse top I see? Is this the hill? is this the kirk? Is this mine own country? We drifted o’er the harbour bar, And I with sobs did pray– O let me be awake, my God! Or let me sleep alway! The harbour bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn! And on the bay the moonlight lay, And the shadow of the moon. The rock shone bright, the kirk no less, That stands above the rock: The moonlight steeped in silentness The steady weathercock. And the bay was white with silent light, Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came. A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: I turned my eyes upon the deck– O Christ! what saw I there! Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, And, by the holy rood! A man all light, a seraph man, On every corse there stood. This seraph band, each waved his hand: It was a heavenly sight! They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light; This seraph band, each waved his hand, No voice did they impart– No voice; but oh! the silence sank Like music on my heart. But soon I heard the dash of oars, I heard the pilot’s cheer; My head was turned perforce away And I saw a boat appear. The pilot and the pilot’s boy, I heard them coming fast: Dear Lord in heaven! it was a joy The dead men could not blast. I saw a third–I heard his voice: It is the hermit good! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He’ll shrieve my soul, he’ll wash away The albatross’s blood. – Part VII This hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea. How loudly his sweet voice he rears! He loves to talk with mariners That come from a far country. He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve– He hath a cushion plump: It is the moss that wholly hides The rotted old oak stump. The skiff boat neared: I heard them talk, ‘Why, this is strange, I trow! Where are those lights so many and fair, That signal made but now?’ ‘Strange, by my faith!’ the hermit said– ‘And they answered not our cheer! The planks look warped! and see those sails, How thin they are and sere! I never saw aught like to them, Unless perchance it were Brown skeletons of leaves that lag My forest-brook along; When the ivy tod is heavy with snow, And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, That eats the she-wolf’s young.’ ‘Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look,’ The pilot made reply, ‘I am a-feared’–‘Push on, push on!’ Said the hermit cheerily. The boat came closer to the ship, But I nor spake nor stirred; The boat came close beneath the ship, And straight a sound was heard. Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: It reached the ship, it split the bay; The ship went down like lead. Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote Like one that hath been seven days drowned My body lay afloat; But swift as dreams, myself I found Within the pilot’s boat. Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, The boat spun round and round; And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound. I moved my lips–the pilot shrieked And fell down in a fit; The holy hermit raised his eyes, And prayed where he did sit. I took the oars: the pilot’s boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laughed loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro. ‘Ha! ha!’ quoth he, ‘full plain I see, The devil knows how to row.’ And now, all in my own country, I stood on the firm land! The hermit stepped forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand. ‘Oh shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!’ The hermit crossed his brow. ‘Say quick,’ quoth he, ‘I bid thee say– What manner of man art thou?’ Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched With a woeful agony, Which forced me to begin my tale; And then it left me free. Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns: And till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns. I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; The moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me: To him my tale I teach. What loud uproar bursts from that door! The wedding-guests are there: But in the garden-bower the bride And bridemaids singing are: And hark the little vesper bell, Which biddeth me to prayer! O wedding-guest! This soul hath been Alone on a wide wide sea: So lonely ‘twas, that God himself Scarce seemed there to be. Oh sweeter than the marriage feast, ‘Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company!– To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends And youths and maidens gay! Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou wedding-guest! He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all.” The mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone: and now the wedding-guest Turned from the bridegroom’s door. He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn. The Road Not Taken Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. Luke 2:9, 10. “You can only get good at chess if you love the game.” ― Bobby Fischer “Be active. I do things my way, like skiing when I’m 100. Nobody else does that even if they have energy. And I try to eat pretty correctly and get exercise and fresh air and sunshine.” ― Elsa Bailey, first time skier at age 100 “Don't look at the calendar, just keep celebrating every day.” ― Ruth Coleman, carpe diem at age 101 803 zerpl: move 29 Zukertort retort. zooter Frit z drip drip drip Kh7? lubes hiz own Szabo rechrgbl electrk shavr What sits at the bottom of the sea and twitches? A nervous wreck. 261 games, 1620-2023 Attks a2/a7, b2/b7 and c2/c7 ECO C These games feature a piece capturing a queenside pawn or two, for better or worse, and queenside checkmates. This pawn removal may or may not be materially important to the eventual outcome of the game. (The pawn capture sometimes serves as a self-inflicted displacement of the capturing piece leaving it out-of-bounds.) Again, the pawn capture on the queenside may have little or no impact on the outcome. * Overloaded! Game Collection: OVERLOADED! * Famous Chess Photos: https://tr.pinterest.com/pin/585256... * Starting Out: French Defense: Game Collection: Starting out : The French * Gambits against the French Defense: Game Collection: alapin gambit -alapin diemer gambit + reti gam * Common Checkmate Patterns: http://gambiter.com/chess/Checkmate... * Fabulous chess brilliancies: https://www.chess.com/article/view/... * Mr. Harvey's Puzzle Challenge: https://wtharvey.com/ * Women: https://www.thefamouspeople.com/wom... * Best Games of 2018: Game Collection: Best Games of 2018 * Glossary: https://www.peoriachess.com/Glossar... * Opening Tree: https://www.shredderchess.com/onlin... Question: What’s the brightest star in the sky? Answer: Sirius – also known as the Dog Star or Sirius A, Sirius is the brightest star in Earth’s night sky. The star is outshone only by several planets and the International Space Station. Question: What’s the difference between a cemetery and a graveyard? Answer: Graveyards are attached to churches while cemeteries are stand-alone. Patty Loveless "You'll Never Leave Harlan Alive" https://www.bing.com/videos/rivervi... The Chess Play by Nicholas Breton A Secret many yeeres vnseene,  In play at Chesse, who knowes the game First of the King, and then the Queene,  Knight, Bishop, Rooke, and so by name. Of euerie Pawne I will descrie The nature with the qualitie. The King. The King himselfe is haughtie Care  Which ouerlooketh all his men And when he seeth how they fare.  He steps among them now and then, Whom when his foe presumes to checke His seruants stand, to giue the necke. The Queene. The Queene is queint, and quicke Conceit,  Which makes hir walke which way she list And rootes them vp, that lie in wait  To worke hir treason, ere she wist: Hir force is such, against hir foes, That whom she meetes, she ouerthrowes. The Knight. The Knight is knowledge how to fight  Against his Princes enimies, He neuer makes his walke outright,  But leaps and skips, in wilie wise. To take by sleight a traitrous foe, Might slilie seeke their ouerthrowe. The Bishop. The Bishop he is wittie braine,  That chooseth Crossest pathes to pace. And euermore he pries with paine,  To see who seekes him most disgrace: Such straglers when he findes astraie, He takes them vp, and throwes awaie. The Rookes The Rookes are reason on both sides,  Which keepe the corner houses still. And warily stand to watch their tides.  By secret art to worke their will, To take sometime a theefe vnseene, Might mischiefe meane to King or Queene. The Paiones. The Pawne before the King, is peace  Which he desires to keepe at home, Practise the Queenes, which doth not cease  Amid the world abroad to roame. To finde, and fall vpon each foe, Whereas his mistres meanes to goe. Before the Knight, is perill plast,  Which he, by skipping ouergoes, And yet that Pawne can worke a cast  To ouerthrow his greatest foes; The Bishops, prudence; prieng still, Which way to worke his masters will. The Rookes poore Pawnes, are sillie swaines,  Which seeidome serue, except by hap, And yet those Pawnes, can lay their traines.  To catch a great man, in a trap: So that I see, sometime a groome May not be sparèd from his roome. The Nature of the Chesse men. The King is stately, looking hie: The Queene doth beare like maiestie: The Knight is hardie, valiant, wise: The Bishop, prudent and precise:  The Rookes, no raungers out of raie  The Pawnes, the pages in the plaie. Lenvoy. Then rule with care, and quicke conceit,  And fight with knowledge, as with force; So beare a braine, to dash deceit,  And worke with reason and remorse: Forgiue a fault when yoong men plaie So giue a mate and go your way And when you plaie beware of Checke Know how to saue and giue a necke: And with a Checke, beware of Mate; But cheefe, ware had I wist too late:  Loose not the Queene, for ten to one.  If she be lost, the game is gone. 498 games, 1497-2020 B2 Bombers These lines are anti-Sicilian approaches. Sicilian Defence Andreaschek Gambit – B21 – 1.e4 c5 2.d4 cxd4 3.Nf3 e5 4.c3 Bronstein Gambit – B52 – 1.e4 c5 2.Nf3 d6 3.Bb5+ Bd7 4.Bxd7+ Qxd7 5.O-O Nc6 6.c3 Nf6 7.d4 Kasparov Gambit – B44 – 1. e4 c5 2. Nf3 e6 3. d4 cxd4 4. Nxd4 Nc6 5. Nb5 d6 6. c4 Nf6 7.N1c3 a6 8. Na3 d5 Morra Gambit – B32 – 1.e4 c5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.d4 cxd4 4.c3 Portsmouth Gambit – B30 – 1.e4 c5 2.Nf3 Nc6 3.b4 Rubinstein Countergambit – B29 – 1.e4 c5 2.Nf3 Nf6 3.e5 Nd5 4.Nc3 e6 5.Nxd5 exd5 6.d4 Nc6 Sicilian Gambit – B45 – 1.e4 c5 2.Nf3 e6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5.Nc3 Nc6 6.Be2 Bb4 7.O-O Smith-Morra Gambit – B21 – 1.e4 c5 2.d4 cxd4 3.c3 Wing Gambit Deferred [Sicilian 2...d6] – B50 – 1.e4 c5 2.Nf3 d6 (or 2...e6) 3.b4 Wing Gambit – B20 – 1.e4 c5 2.b4 Zollner Gambit – B73 – 1.e4 c5 2.Nf3 d6 3.d4 cxd4 4.Nxd4 Nf6 5.Nc3 g6 6.Be2 Bg7 7.Be3 Nc6 8.O-O O-O 9.f4 Qb6 10.e5 The King's Indian Attack and Sicilian Wing Gambit have separate files. Many of the 2.c3 Alapin Sicilians and Closed Sicilians/Grand Prix will be moved to those particular files and deleted from here. The Waste Land BY T. S. ELIOT ‘Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Σίβυλλα τί θέλεις; respondebat illa: άποθανεîν θέλω.’ For Ezra Pound il miglior fabbro. I. The Burial of the Dead April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s, My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust. Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du? ‘You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; ‘They called me the hyacinth girl.’ —Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, Looking into the heart of light, the silence. Oed’ und leer das Meer. Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, Had a bad cold, nevertheless Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she, Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor, (Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!) Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks, The lady of situations. Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel, And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card, Which is blank, is something he carries on his back, Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring. Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone, Tell her I bring the horoscope myself: One must be so careful these days. Unreal City, Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: 'Stetson! ‘You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! ‘That corpse you planted last year in your garden, ‘Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? ‘Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed? ‘Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men, ‘Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again! ‘You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!” II. A Game of Chess The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne, Glowed on the marble, where the glass Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines From which a golden Cupidon peeped out (Another hid his eyes behind his wing) Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra Reflecting light upon the table as The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it, From satin cases poured in rich profusion; In vials of ivory and coloured glass Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes, Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air That freshened from the window, these ascended In fattening the prolonged candle-flames, Flung their smoke into the laquearia, Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling. Huge sea-wood fed with copper Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone, In which sad light a carvéd dolphin swam. Above the antique mantel was displayed As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale Filled all the desert with inviolable voice And still she cried, and still the world pursues, ‘Jug Jug’ to dirty ears. And other withered stumps of time Were told upon the walls; staring forms Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed. Footsteps shuffled on the stair. Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair Spread out in fiery points Glowed into words, then would be savagely still. ‘My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me. Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak. What are you thinking of? What thinking? What? I never know what you are thinking. Think.’ I think we are in rats’ alley Where the dead men lost their bones. ‘What is that noise?’ The wind under the door. ‘What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?’ Nothing again nothing. ‘Do ‘You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember ‘Nothing?’ I remember Those are pearls that were his eyes. ‘Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?’ But O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag— It’s so elegant So intelligent ‘What shall I do now? What shall I do?’ ‘I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street ‘With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow? ‘What shall we ever do?’ The hot water at ten. And if it rains, a closed car at four. And we shall play a game of chess, Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door. When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said— I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself, HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart. He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there. You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set, He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you. And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert, He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time, And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said. Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said. Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look. HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said. Others can pick and choose if you can’t. But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling. You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique. (And her only thirty-one.) I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face, It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said. (She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.) The chemist said it would be all right, but I’ve never been the same. You are a proper fool, I said. Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said, What you get married for if you don’t want children? HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon, And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot— HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight. Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night. III. The Fire Sermon The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers, Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed. And their friends, the loitering heirs of City directors; Departed, have left no addresses. By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . . Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song, Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long. But at my back in a cold blast I hear The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear. A rat crept softly through the vegetation Dragging its slimy belly on the bank While I was fishing in the dull canal On a winter evening round behind the gashouse Musing upon the king my brother’s wreck And on the king my father’s death before him. White bodies naked on the low damp ground And bones cast in a little low dry garret, Rattled by the rat’s foot only, year to year. But at my back from time to time I hear The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring. O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter And on her daughter They wash their feet in soda water Et O ces voix d’enfants, chantant dans la coupole! Twit twit twit Jug jug jug jug jug jug So rudely forc’d. Tereu Unreal City Under the brown fog of a winter noon Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants C.i.f. London: documents at sight, Asked me in demotic French To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel Followed by a weekend at the Metropole. At the violet hour, when the eyes and back Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits Like a taxi throbbing waiting, I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives, Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea, The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights Her stove, and lays out food in tins. Out of the window perilously spread Her drying combinations touched by the sun’s last rays, On the divan are piled (at night her bed) Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays. I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest— I too awaited the expected guest. He, the young man carbuncular, arrives, A small house agent’s clerk, with one bold stare, One of the low on whom assurance sits As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire. The time is now propitious, as he guesses, The meal is ended, she is bored and tired, Endeavours to engage her in caresses Which still are unreproved, if undesired. Flushed and decided, he assaults at once; Exploring hands encounter no defence; His vanity requires no response, And makes a welcome of indifference. (And I Tiresias have foresuffered all Enacted on this same divan or bed; I who have sat by Thebes below the wall And walked among the lowest of the dead.) Bestows one final patronising kiss, And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . . She turns and looks a moment in the glass, Hardly aware of her departed lover; Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass: 'Well now that’s done: and I’m glad it’s over.’ When lovely woman stoops to folly and Paces about her room again, alone, She smooths her hair with automatic hand, And puts a record on the gramophone. ‘This music crept by me upon the waters’ And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street. O City city, I can sometimes hear Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, The pleasant whining of a mandoline And a clatter and a chatter from within Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls Of Magnus Martyr hold Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold. The river sweats Oil and tar The barges drift With the turning tide Red sails Wide To leeward, swing on the heavy spar. The barges wash Drifting logs Down Greenwich reach Past the Isle of Dogs. Weialala leia Wallala leialala Elizabeth and Leicester Beating oars The stern was formed A gilded shell Red and gold The brisk swell Rippled both shores Southwest wind Carried down stream The peal of bells White towers Weialala leia Wallala leialala ‘Trams and dusty trees. Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.’ ‘My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart Under my feet. After the event He wept. He promised a ‘new start.’ I made no comment. What should I resent?’ ‘On Margate Sands. I can connect Nothing with nothing. The broken fingernails of dirty hands. My people humble people who expect Nothing.’ la la To Carthage then I came Burning burning burning burning O Lord Thou pluckest me out O Lord Thou pluckest burning IV. Death by Water Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead, Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell And the profit and loss. A current under sea Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell He passed the stages of his age and youth Entering the whirlpool. Gentile or Jew O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you. V. What the Thunder Said After the torchlight red on sweaty faces After the frosty silence in the gardens After the agony in stony places The shouting and the crying Prison and palace and reverberation Of thunder of spring over distant mountains He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience Here is no water but only rock Rock and no water and the sandy road The road winding above among the mountains Which are mountains of rock without water If there were water we should stop and drink Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand If there were only water amongst the rock Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit There is not even silence in the mountains But dry sterile thunder without rain There is not even solitude in the mountains But red sullen faces sneer and snarl From doors of mudcracked houses If there were water And no rock If there were rock And also water And water A spring A pool among the rock If there were the sound of water only Not the cicada And dry grass singing But sound of water over a rock Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop But there is no water Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman —But who is that on the other side of you? What is that sound high in the air Murmur of maternal lamentation Who are those hooded hordes swarming Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth Ringed by the flat horizon only What is the city over the mountains Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air Falling towers Jerusalem Athens Alexandria Vienna London Unreal A woman drew her long black hair out tight And fiddled whisper music on those strings And bats with baby faces in the violet light Whistled, and beat their wings And crawled head downward down a blackened wall And upside down in air were towers Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells. In this decayed hole among the mountains In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel There is the empty chapel, only the wind’s home. It has no windows, and the door swings, Dry bones can harm no one. Only a cock stood on the rooftree Co co rico co co rico In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust Bringing rain Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves Waited for rain, while the black clouds Gathered far distant, over Himavant. The jungle crouched, humped in silence. Then spoke the thunder DA Datta: what have we given? My friend, blood shaking my heart The awful daring of a moment’s surrender Which an age of prudence can never retract By this, and this only, we have existed Which is not to be found in our obituaries Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor In our empty rooms DA Dayadhvam: I have heard the key Turn in the door once and turn once only We think of the key, each in his prison Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison Only at nightfall, aethereal rumours Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus DA Damyata: The boat responded Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar The sea was calm, your heart would have responded Gaily, when invited, beating obedient To controlling hands I sat upon the shore Fishing, with the arid plain behind me Shall I at least set my lands in order? London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down Poi s’ascose nel foco che gli affina Quando fiam uti chelidon—O swallow swallow Le Prince d’Aquitaine à la tour abolie These fragments I have shored against my ruins Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo’s mad againe. Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata. Shantih shantih shantih T. S. Eliot, "The Waste Land" from Collected Poems: 1909-1962. Copyright © 2020 by T. S. Eliot. Reprinted by permission of Faber and Faber, Ltd.. gladiator# 293 games, 1620-2023 Basic Endins This collection of 38 games was compiled by avidfan. Fredthebear copied it from avidfan. Thank you avidfan! Endings must be mastered in early training. Begin with the end in mind. Tactics, positional sacrifices, king opposition, zugzwang, triangulation may be relevant. * 100 Best Chess Books of All Time: https://www.shortform.com/best-book... The list has some excellent recommendations, but it's hardly correct. The order of the books is HORRENDOUS. FTB owns hundreds of chess books and has read many, so here's some help. 01) Bobby Fischer Teaches Chess must be thoroughly mastered by ALL beginners. 02) Silman's book is overrated. Better to read Middlegame books & tournament collections. 03) Chernev's books are excellent for advanced beginners and intermediates. 04) M60MG is a classic, but you should read 59 other books before this one. 05) When you think you're a smart chess player, read Polgar's brick cover-cover. 06) Silman's book is overrated. Better to read Middlegame books & tournament collections. 07) Silman's Complete Endgame Course is useful, perhaps confidence-inspiring. 08) The 48 Laws of Power does not belong on this list whatsoever. 09) Zurich 1953 is a classic. Let this be the 53rd chess book that you read. 10) The Life and Games of Mikhail Tal is a favorite world-wide!! 11) A History of Chess by David Shenk is excellent for history buffs. 12) My System by Aron Nimzovich is a true classic, but very wordy. 13) Art of Attack in Chess by Vladimir Vukovic is a true classic, must read!! 14) Dvoretsky's Endgame Manual is a modern classic for top-level players. 15) Seirawan's Winning Chess Tactics, revised is recommended for beginners. 16) Silman's Complete Book of Chess Strategy is not complete, but useful. 17) I don't recommend reading books about suicidal people. It's not an option. 18) Endgame by Frank Brady. Let's read those 60 other books first, O.K.? 19) Chess Fundamentals by Jose Capablanca is NOT for beginners. 20) Seirawan's Play Winning Chess is much better for beginners. 21) Chess for Dummies is NOT for dummies; read before Capablanca's book. 22) My Great Predecessors, Part 1. Save it back for the next decade. 23) The Art of Learning by Josh Waitzkin. Does the cover match the contents? 24) MCO 15th edition by Nick De Firmian is essential for tournament players. 25) Tal-Botvinnik 1960 highly recommended for tournament players. 26) Think Like A Grandmaster is for GMs. Better to think like Chernev, Reinfeld. 27) Game Changer is a good book for master players and above. 28) Understanding Chess Move by Move is for tournament players. 29) My Great Predecessors, Part IV. Save it back for the next decade. 30) Bobby Fischer Goes to War. Let's read those 60 other books first, O.K.? 31) The Luzhin Defense is a fictional novel. It will not improve your chess game. 32) My Great Predecessors, Part 2. Save it back for the next decade. 33) Pawn Structure Chess by Andrew Soltis. Read it sometime after Nunn. 34) Mammoth Book of the World's Greatest Chess Games, after Polgar's brick. 35) 100 Endgames You Must Know is advanced. There's no rush on this one. 36) Silman's book is overrated. Better to read Middlegame books & tournament collections. 37) There's no need to read Searching for Bobby Fischer, but you can if you like. 38) Seirawan's Winning Chess Strategies is for advanced beginners. 39) My Best Games of Chess, 1908-1937. Read this instead of Silman. 39) My Best Games of Chess, 1908-1937. Read this book again, chess hombre! 40) Pandolfini's Ultimate Guide to Chess helps casual club players improve. 41) FCO Paul Van der Sterren is a useful book for intermediates. 42) How Life Imitates Chess. Garry seems well-informed about matters. 43) How to Beat Your Dad at Chess should be read frequently, grown-ups too! 44) Yusupov's Build up your Chess 1 is a fine series for serious, advanced players. 45) My Great Predecessors, Part 3. Save it back for the next decade. 46) Chess mastery does not come easily. It takes steady studies. Skip this book. 47) My Great Predecessors, Part 5. Save it back for the next decade. 48) Chernev's books are useful. Read at least a dozen books before this one. 49) I prefer Lasker's Manual of Chess over Nimzowitch's System and Silman. 50) 1001 Winning Sacrifices and Combinations. Read Lasker's Manual first. 51) Seirawan's Winning Chess Openings. Get FCO Paul Van der Sterren instead. 52) Pachman's Modern Chess Strategy. Read after Alexander Alekhine's book. 53) Deep Thinking? You need to think like Chernev, Reinfeld, Capa, Alekhine. 54) Secrets of Modern Chess Strategy by Watson is a must for master players. 55) Chess Tactics for Champions should be read EVERY six months. Some typos. 56) The Seven Deadly Chess Sins is a good book, but it can wait a few years. 57) Capablanca's Best Chess Endings is a good book, but it can wait a few years. 58) Simple Chess is not so simple. Let it wait at least a year. 59) Mastering the Chess Openings Vol. 1 after FCO Paul Van der Sterren. 60) Practical Chess Exercises will help intermediates and club players. 61) Masters of the Chessboard. Try it after Practical Chess Exercises. 62) Kasparov vs Karpov 1975-1985. This can wait until after the Fischer books. 63) Chess for Kids by Michael Basman is the FIRST BOOK to be read. 64) Chess Praxis, 21st Century edition is understandable, instructive. 65) Re-printed as "How to Play Chess Like a Boss". Recommended. 66) The best way to pump up your rating is to replay complete master games with notes each and every day. 67) Chess for Zebras can wait until you've read all the old classics. 68) Don't rush Best Lessons. Read Seirawan, Polgar, Chernev books first. 69) Read Gelfand's book when you become a grandmaster. 70) Read One Hundred Selected Games after Alekhine and Pachman's books. 70) Read One Hundred Selected Games again. Your competency is elevated. 71) Read How to See 3 Moves Ahead your first year of studies. 72) Studying Chess Made Easy. You should read 3-4 Dan Heisman books first. 73) Shereshevsky's Endgame Strategy is a classic for advanced players. 74) Yusupov's series is for serious, master candidates and beyond. 75) Ideas Behind the Openings for experienced players who know all the names. 76) Fundamental Chess Endings is for masters and grandmasters. 77) The Art of the Middle Game after Alekhine, Pachman, & Botvinnik's books. 78) Chess Master vs. Chess Amateur after you've read the Logical books. 79) Weapons of Chess should be read your first year of playing chess. 80) After Basman & Seirawn, read Traps and Zaps a half-dozen times!! 80) There's a Traps and Zaps II on Semi-Open games. Get that one also. 81) Read Tal's book sometime after The Art of Attack by Vukovic. 82) Garry Kasparov on Garry Kasparov, Part 1 after all the Fischer books. 83) The Flanders Panel - Skip it if you're serious about chess. 84) Pawn Power in Chess sometime after The Art of the Middle Game. 85) The Mammoth Book of Chess shortly after Polgar's tactics, Traps and Zaps. 86) Pandolfini's Endgame Course after The Mammoth Book of Chess. 87) The Middlegame, Book 2 after Pawn Power in Chess. 88) Read Chess for Beginners after Bobby Fischer Teaches Chess at the top. 89) Intermediates must not skip The Game of Chess by Siegbert Tarrasch!! 90) Read Chess: The Art of Logical Thinking after Pandolfini's Endgame Course. 91) Books written by Mark Dvoretsky are for grandmasters. 92) The Queen of Katwe is a real-life success story. Highly recommended!! 93) I have not read this book. Consider the reviews on Amazon.com. 94) 500 Master Games of Chess is an instructive classic! Learn descriptive notation and replay 1-2 games from it each evening. 95) The Turk. Sure, read it if you wish, but don't ever think of cheating. 96) Seirawan's Winning Chess Endings. This is MUST KNOW info for beginners!! 97) Grandmaster Preparation - Calculation. Masters would benefit from this. 98) Don't forget The Immortal Game by David Shenk. It's a history book. 99) Seirawan's Winning Chess Brilliancies. A good read for advanced beginners. 100) Modern Ideas in Chess is a classic for intermediate players and up! * Top 50 Starter Books Listed in Advancing Study Order: 63 - Chess for Kids by Michael Basman and Mary Ling 01 - Bobby Fischer Teaches Chess by Bobby Fischer, Stuart Margulies, Don Mosenfelder 20 - Play Winning Chess by Yasser Seirawan 43 - How to Beat Your Dad at Chess by Murray Chandler 88 - Chess for Beginners Know the Rules, Choose Your Strategy, and Start Winning by Yelizaveta Orlova 80 - Chess Openings Traps And Zaps by Bruce Pandolfini 15 - Winning Chess Tactics, revised by Yasser Seirawan 03 - Logical Chess Move By Move Every Move Explained New Algebraic Edition by Irving Chernev 79 - Weapons of Chess An Omnibus of Chess Strategies by Bruce Pandolfini 65 - The Complete Idiot's Guide to Chess/Play Like a Boss by Patrick Wolff 99 - Winning Chess Brilliancies by Yasser Seirawan 55 - Chess Tactics for Champions A step-by-step guide to using tactics and combinations the Polgar way by Susan Polgar and Paul Truong Xtra - More Chess Openings: Traps and Zaps 2 by Bruce Pandolfini 21 - Chess for Dummies by James Eade 96 - Winning Chess Endings by Yasser Seirawan 40 - Pandolfini's Ultimate Guide to Chess by Bruce Pandolfini 96 - Winning Chess Endings by Yasser Seirawan. Read it again; know it! 55 - Chess Tactics for Champions A step-by-step guide to using tactics and combinations the Polgar way by Susan Polgar and Paul Truong 38 - Winning Chess Strategies by Yasser Seirawan 90 - Chess: The Art of Logical Thinking From the First Move to the Last by Neil McDonald 16 - Complete Book of Chess Strategy by Jeremy Silman 68 - Best Lessons of a Chess Coach by Sunil Weeramantry, Edward V. Eusebi, Bruce Pandolfini 55 - Chess Tactics for Champions A step-by-step guide to using tactics and combinations the Polgar way by Susan Polgar and Paul Truong 19 - Chess Fundamentals by Jose Capablanca 86 - Pandolfini's Endgame Course by Bruce Pandolfini 85 - The Mammoth Book of Chess by Graham Burgess. Explains 125 games. 71 - Winning Chess How To See Three Moves Ahead by Irving Chernev and Fred Reinfeld. It's descriptive notation, so it dropped here. 78 - Chess Master vs. Chess Amateur by Max Euwe, Walter Meiden Xtra - The Art of the Checkmate by Renaud & Kahn. 89 - The Game of Chess by Siegbert Tarrasch. Xtra - 300 Games of Chess by Siegbert Tarrasch. 75 - Ideas Behind the Chess Openings Algebraic Edition by Reuben Fine 71 - Winning Chess How To See Three Moves Ahead by Irving Chernev and Fred Reinfeld. Read it again. Solving tactics should come easy by now. 48 - The Most Instructive Games of Chess Ever Played by Irving Chernev 49 - Lasker's Manual of Chess by Emanuel Lasker 7 - Silman's Complete Endgame Course From Beginner to Master by Jeremy Silman. This should be read at least once a year, every year. 61 - Masters of the Chessboard by Richard Reti, Sam Sloan, Horace Ransom Bigelow 50 - 1001 Winning Chess Sacrifices and Combinations by Fred Reinfeld 94 - 500 Master Games of Chess by Dr. S. Tartakower, J. du Mont 41 - FCO Fundamental Chess Openings by Paul Van der Sterren 58 - Simple Chess New Algebraic Edition by Michael Stean 05 - Chess 5334 Problems, Combinations and Games László Polgár and Bruce Pandolfini. The reader is overly prepared at this point for this challenge. 57 - Capablanca's Best Chess Endings by Irving Chernev. 39 - My Best Games of Chess, 1908-1937 by Alexander Alekhine 24 - Modern Chess Openings 15th edition by Nick De Firmian 100 - Modern Ideas in Chess by Richard Reti. 13 - Art of Attack in Chess by Vladimir Vukovic. 12 - My System by Aron Nimzovich. The reader is ready for Hypermodernism. 64 - Chess Praxis by Aron Nimzowitsch, Ken Artz 60 - Practical Chess Exercises 600 Lessons from Tactics to Strategy by Ray Cheng 52 - Modern Chess Strategy by Ludek Pachman, Allen S. Russell 84 - Pawn Power in Chess by Hans Kmoch 70 - One Hundred Selected Games by Mikhail Botvinnik, Stephen Garry 77 - The Art of the Middle Game by Paul Keres, Alexander Kotov 09 - The Chess Struggle in Practice Candidates Tournament, Zurich 1953 by David Ionovich Bronstein 10 - The Life and Games of Mikhail Tal by Mikhail Tal "Whatever you are doing in the game of life, give it all you've got." — Norman Vincent Peale "What you do today can improve all your tomorrows." — Ralph Marston Romans 12:2, King James Bible And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God. The laughter of a child lights up the house. ~ Swahili proverb “Enthusiasm is one of the most powerful engines of success. When you do a thing, do it with all your might. Put your whole soul into it. Stamp it with your own personality. Be active, be energetic, be enthusiastic and faithful, and you will accomplish your object. Nothing great was ever achieved without enthusiasm.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson “Win with grace, lose with dignity!” ― Susan Polgar “What does it take to be a champion? Desire, dedication, determination, personal and professional discipline, focus, concentration, strong nerves, the will to win, and yes, talent!” ― Susan Polgar “No matter how successful you are (or will be), never ever forget the people who helped you along the way, and pay it forward! Don’t become arrogant and conceited just because you gained a few rating points or made a few bucks. Stay humble and be nice, especially to your fans!” ― Susan Polgar All that glitters is not gold – this line can be found in a text from c.1220: ‘ Nis hit nower neh gold al that ter schineth.’ A friend in need is a friend indeed – a proverb from c.1035 say this: ‘Friend shall be known in time of need.’ All’s well that ends well – a line from the mid-13th century is similar: ‘Wel is him te wel ende mai.’ Meanwhile, Henry Knighton’s Chronicle from the late 14th-century one can read: ‘ If the ende be wele, than is alle wele.’ Hay dos maneras de hermosura: una del alma y otra del cuerpo; la del alma campea y se muestra en el entendimiento, en la honestidad, en el buen proceder, en la liberalidad y en la buena crianza, y todas estas partes caben y pueden estar en un hombre feo; y cuando se pone la mira en esta hermosura, y no en la del cuerpo, suele nacer el amor con ímpetu y con ventajas. (There are two kinds of beauty: one of the soul and the other of the body; that of the soul shows and demonstrates itself in understanding, in honesty, in good behavior, in generosity and in good breeding, and all these things can find room and exist in an ugly man; and when one looks at this type of beauty, and not bodily beauty, love is inclined to spring up forcefully and overpoweringly.) ― Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (1547-1616) Cuando una puerta se cierra, otra se abre. (When one door is closed, another is opened.) ― Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (1547-1616) Dijo la sartén a la caldera, quítate allá ojinegra. (The frying pan said to the cauldron, "Get out of here, black-eyed one." This is believed to be the source of the phrase "the pot calling the kettle black.") ― Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra * One of Pandolfini's Best: Game Collection: Solitaire Chess by Bruce Pandolfini * Two Great Attackers: https://www.chessgames.com/perl/che... * Capablanca's Double Attack — having the initiative is important: https://lichess.org/study/tzrisL1R * Anderssen - Steinitz Match: Anderssen - Steinitz (1866) * Chessmaster 2000 Classic Games: Game Collection: Chessmaster '86 * Golden Treasury of Chess (Wellmuth/Horowitz): Game Collection: 0 * Glossary: https://www.nytimes.com/2022/06/13/... * GK: Game Collection: Kasparov - The Sicilian Sheveningen * GPA: https://chesstier.com/grand-prix-at... * B20s: Game Collection: Grand Prix (Ginger’s Models) * How dumb is it? Game Collection: Diemer-Duhm Gambit * King Registration: https://www.kingregistration.com/to... * Make a Stand: https://www.history.com/topics/amer... * MC Move-by-Move: Game Collection: Move by Move - Carlsen (Lakdawala) * Tactical Games: Game Collection: Yasser Seirawan's Winning Chess Tactics “In chess as in life, when defending or attacking, a good chess player understands that one rash, ill-conceived, bad move can worsen the position and lose the game.” ― John Bain, chess author “For a period of ten years--between 1946 and 1956--Reshevsky was probably the best chessplayer in the world. I feel sure that had he played a match with Botvinnik during that time he would have won and been World Champion.” ― Bobby Fischer <Oct-04-23 HeMateMe: I play 3/2 blitz occasionally on Lichess. I find it an excellent site, none of the delays/cancellations that ruined chess.com (for me). Oct-04-23 Cassandro: Yes, lichess is by far the best site for online chess. And you never know, apparently you may even get to play against a living legend like the highly esteemed Leonard Barden there!> FTB plays all about but has always been happy with FICS: https://www.freechess.org/ Mark 3:25 And if a house be divided against itself, that house cannot stand. Drive sober or get pulled over. “For surely of all the drugs in the world, chess must be the most permanently pleasurable.” — Assiac Once I asked Pillsbury whether he used any formula for castling. He said his rule was absolute and vital: castle because you will or because you must; but not because you can.’ — W.E. Napier (1881-1952) Connecticut: Windsor Established in: 1633 Windsor was Connecticut's first English settlement, with a perfect location on the water. Today, the city uses its "first town" status to create a historical atmosphere ideal for tourism. * Chess History: https://www.uschesstrust.org/chess-... The Kings of Chess: A History of Chess, Traced Through the Lives of Its Greatest Players by William Hartston William Hartson traces the development of the game from its Oriental origins to the present day through the lives of its greatest exponents - men like Howard Staunton, who transformed what had been a genteel pastime into a competitive science; the brilliant American Paul Morphy, who once played a dozen simultaneous games blindfold; the arrogant and certified insane Wilhelm Steinitz; the philosopher and mathematician Emanual Lasker; Bobby Fischer, perhaps the most brilliant and eccentric of them all; and many other highly gifted individuals. Hartson depicts all their colorful variety with a wealth of rare illustrations. Format: Hardcover Language: English ISBN: 006015358X ISBN13: 9780060153588 Release Date: January 1985 Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Length: 192 Pages Weight: 1.80 lbs. Q: What do you call something that goes up when the rain comes down? A: An umbrella. Q: What do you call a doctor who fixes websites? A: A URL-ologist. Q: What do you call a sleeping dinosaur? A: A dinosnore. Q: What do you call a Christmas tree that knows karate A: Spruce Lee. Q: What does a triangle call a circle? A: Pointless. Q: What do you call a piece of sad cheese? A: Blue cheese. Q: What do you call a cow in an earthquake? A: A milkshake. Q: What do you call an M&M that went to college? A: A smarty. * Riddle-xp-freee: https://chessimprover.com/chess-rid... Maximo wrote: My Forking Knight's Mare Gracefully over the squares, as a blonde or a brunette, she makes moves that not even a queen can imitate. Always active and taking the initiative, she likes to fork. She does it across the board, taking with ease not only pawns, but also kings, and a bad bishop or two. Sometimes she feels like making quiet moves, at other times, she adopts romantic moods, and makes great sacrifices. But, being hers a zero-sum game, she often forks just out of spite. An expert at prophylaxis, she can be a swindler, and utter threats, skewering men to make some gains. Playing with her risks a conundrum, and also catching Kotov’s syndrome. Nonetheless, despite having been trampled by her strutting ways my trust in her remains, unwavering, until the endgame. “When you’re lonely, when you feel yourself an alien in the world, play Chess. This will raise your spirits and be your counselor in war” ― Aristotle “The habit of holding a Man in the hand, and moving it first to one square and then to another, in order to engage the assistance of the eye in deciding where it shall actually be placed, is not only annoying to the adversary but a practical infraction of the touch-and-move principle.” ― Howard Staunton “A bad plan is better than none at all.” ― Frank Marshall The Dog That Dropped The Substance For The Shadow This world is full of shadow-chasers, Most easily deceived. Should I enumerate these racers, I should not be believed. I send them all to Aesop's dog, Which, crossing water on a log, Espied the meat he bore, below; To seize its image, let it go; Plunged in; to reach the shore was glad, With neither what he hoped, nor what he'd had. Isaiah 66:24 24 "And they will go out and look on the dead bodies of those who rebelled against me; the worms that eat them will not die, the fire that burns them will not be quenched, and they will be loathsome to all mankind." “Believe in yourself. Have faith in your abilities. Without humble but reasonable confidence in your own powers, you cannot be successful or happy.” ― Norman Vincent Peale “Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” ― Martin Luther King Jr. Game Collection: New York 1916 (Rice Memorial) 39 games, 1912-2005 Borrowed Selections * Soltis: Game Collection: The Stonewall Attack - Soltis * D00: Game Collection: 98_D00_gimmickry * Rick's Dutch: Game Collection: RickL's favorite games Dutch * "Baroque Chess Openings" (1972) by Richard Wincor * Botvinnik 100: Game Collection: Selected Games (Botvinnik) * London: Game Collection: London system * Passed Pawns: Game Collection: Pretty Maids All in a Row: 3 Connected Ps on 7th Apr-05-23 WannaBe: Can a vegan have a 'beef' with you? Or Vegans only have 'beet' with you? I am confused. Apr-05-23 Cassandro: Vegan police officers should be exempt from doing steak-outs. General chess advice from Joe Brooks: https://www.reddit.com/r/chess/comm... “On the chessboard lies and hypocrisy do not survive long. The creative combination lays bare the presumption of a lie; the merciless fact, culmination in checkmate, contradicts the hypocrite.” — Emanuel Lasker “Life is like chess. If you lose your queen, you will probably lose the game.” — Being Caballero “Chess is life in miniature. Chess is a struggle, chess battles.” — Garry Kasparov “Age brings wisdom to some men, and to others chess.” — Evan Esar * Good Historical Links: https://www.saund.co.uk/britbase/in... * Internet tracking: bad link poem by B.H. Wood, entitled ‘The Drowser’: Ah, reverie! Ten thousand heads I see Bent over chess-boards, an infinity Of minds engaged in battle, fiendishly, Keenly, or calmly, as the case may be: World-wide, the neophyte, the veteran, The studious problemist, the fairy fan ... “What’s that? – I’m nearly sending you to sleep? Sorry! – but this position’s rather deep.” Source: Chess Amateur, September 1929, page 268. The Ass and the Little Dog One's native talent from its course Cannot be turned aside by force; But poorly apes the country clown The polished manners of the town. Their Maker chooses but a few With power of pleasing to imbue; Where wisely leave it we, the mass, Unlike a certain fabled ass, That thought to gain his master's blessing By jumping on him and caressing. "What!" said the donkey in his heart; "Ought it to be that puppy's part To lead his useless life In full companionship With master and his wife, While I must bear the whip? What does the cur a kiss to draw? Forsooth, he only gives his paw! If that is all there needs to please, I'll do the thing myself, with ease." Possessed with this bright notion, – His master sitting on his chair, At leisure in the open air, – He ambled up, with awkward motion, And put his talents to the proof; Upraised his bruised and battered hoof, And, with an amiable mien, His master patted on the chin, The action gracing with a word – The fondest bray that ever was heard! O, such caressing was there ever? Or melody with such a quaver? "Ho! Martin! here! a club, a club bring!" Out cried the master, sore offended. So Martin gave the ass a drubbing, – And so the comedy was ended. The Sun and the Frogs Rejoicing on their tyrant's wedding-day, The people drowned their care in drink; While from the general joy did Aesop shrink, And showed its folly in this way. "The sun," said he, "once took it in his head To have a partner for his bed. From swamps, and ponds, and marshy bogs, Up rose the wailings of the frogs. "What shall we do, should he have progeny?" Said they to Destiny; "One sun we scarcely can endure, And half-a-dozen, we are sure, Will dry the very sea. Adieu to marsh and fen! Our race will perish then, Or be obliged to fix Their dwelling in the Styx!" For such an humble animal, The frog, I take it, reasoned well." “Learn to play many roles, to be whatever the moment requires. Adapt your mask to the situation.” ― Robert Greene “Get a great education. That is something that no one can take away from you." ― Margie Hammargren, former CIA agent, 101 years old Head And Tail Riddle Question: What has a head, a tail, is brown, and has no legs? A brown trout? Riddle Answer: A Penny. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. Luke 2:9, 10. Conceive a man by nature and misfortune prone to a pallid hopelessness, can any business seem more fitted to heighten it than that of continually handling these dead letters and assorting them for the flames? For by the cart-load they are annually burned. Sometimes from out the folded paper the pale clerk takes a ring: - the finger it was meant for, perhaps, moulders in the grave; a bank-note sent in swiftest charity: - he whom it would relieve, nor eats nor hungers any more; pardon for those who died despairing; hope for those who died unhoping; good tidings for those who died stifled by unrelieved calamities. On errands of life, these letters speed to death. Ah Bartleby! Ah humanity! — Herman Melville “Many of life's failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.” ― Thomas A. Edison “Learning from our mistakes is critical for improving, but even I don't have patience for ranking my regrets. Regret is a negative emotion that inhibits the optimism required to take on new challenges. You risk living in an alternative universe, z where if only you had done this or that differently, things would be better. That's a poor substitute for making your actual life better, or improving the lives of others. Regret briefly, analyze and understand, and then move on, improving the only life you have.” ― Garry Kasparov A Psalm of Life Henry Wadsworth Longfellow What The Heart Of The Young Man Said To The Psalmist. Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world’s broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act,— act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o’erhead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. May-07-12 Domdaniel: I'll believe that computers are intelligent -- well, vaguely sentient anyway -- the day they start to have slanging matches and call one another 'idiot' and 'moron'. - Your motherboard was an egg timer! A *failed* egg timer! - Were you built by *humans*? May-07-12 Shams: <Domdaniel> There's always Alex P. Keaton's "I'd get a better game from the microwave!" He was playing against whatever you could buy at Radio Shack in 1986 though, so he may not have been far off. The Road Not Taken Robert Frost Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. Luke 2:9, 10. “You can only get good at chess if you love the game.” ― Bobby Fischer “Be active. I do things my way, like skiing when I’m 100. Nobody else does that even if they have energy. And I try to eat pretty correctly and get exercise and fresh air and sunshine.” ― Elsa Bailey, first time skier at age 100 “Don't look at the calendar, just keep celebrating every day.” ― Ruth Coleman, carpe diem at age 101 340 games, 1802-2016 BSicilian 2.b3 Snyder Variation * Balashov's Sicilian B20: http://www.chessgames.com/perl/ches... * First of each ECO: Game Collection: First of Each ECO “Life has, indeed, many ills, but the mind that views every object in its most cheering aspect, and every doubtful dispensation as replete with latent good, bears within itself a powerful and perpetual antidote. The gloomy soul aggravates misfortune, while a cheerful smile often dispels those mists that portend a storm.” ― Lydia Sigourney "It is amazing what you can accomplish if you do not care who gets the credit." ― Harry S Truman, 33rd President of the United States, and former Colonel in the U.S. Army "All of the real heroes are not storybook combat fighters either. Every single man in this Army play a vital role. Don't ever let up. Don't ever think that your job is unimportant. Every man has a job to do and he must do it. Every man is a vital link in the great chain.” ― General George S. Patton, U.S. Army Joshua 1:9 Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud William Wordsworth I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils Philomel And Progne From home and city spires, one day, The swallow Progne flew away, And sought the bosky dell Where sang poor Philomel. "My sister," Progne said, "how do you do? It's now a thousand years since you Have been concealed from human view; I'm sure I have not seen your face Once since the times of Thrace. Pray, will you never quit this dull retreat?" "Where could I find," said Philomel, "so sweet?" "What! sweet?" cried Progne – 'sweet to waste Such tones on beasts devoid of taste, Or on some rustic, at the most! Should you by deserts be engrossed? Come, be the city's pride and boast. Besides, the woods remind of harms That Tereus in them did your charms." "Alas!" replied the bird of song, "The thought of that so cruel wrong Makes me, from age to age, Prefer this hermitage; For nothing like the sight of men Can call up what I suffered then." How many chess openings are there? Well, White has 20 possible 1st moves. Black can respond with 20 of its own. That’s 400, and we’re ready for move 2. I don’t know them, but I would not be at all surprised if there was a name for each of them. People are like that. You really, really don’t need to know them all. If you follow the rules of thumb for good opening play, I promise you that you’ll be playing a named opening. Just put the 1st 3 moves in google, and you’ll get the opening’s name. With that information you can find other games that started the way your game started, likely by some very good players. Also, with the name you can read about it on Wikipedia, and find out what people think of it, who plays it, and its particular traps and idiosyncrasies. Once again, The Rules of Thumb for Good Opening Play: - Develop your pieces quickly with an eye towards controlling the center. Not necessarily occupying the center but controlling it certainly. - Castle your king just as soon as it’s practical to do so. - Really try not to move a piece more than once during the opening, it’s a waste of valuable time. - Connect your rooks. This marks the end of the opening. Connected rooks means that only your rooks and your castled king are on the back rank. - Respond to threats appropriately, even if you have to break the rules. They’re rules of thumb, not scripture, or physical laws. If you and your opponent follow these rules of thumb, you’ll reach the middle game ready to fight. If only you follow these rules of thumb, you’re already winning! Good Hunting. -- Eric H. As Time Goes By Songwriter: Max Steiner. You must remember this A kiss is just a kiss A sigh is just a sigh The fundamental things apply As time goes by And when two lovers woo They still say, "I love you" On that you can rely No matter what the future brings As time goes by Moonlight and love songs Never out of date Hearts full of passion Jealousy and hate Woman needs man, and man must have his mate That no one can deny It's still the same old story A fight for love and glory A case of do-or-die The world will always welcome lovers As time goes by Moonlight and love songs Never out of date Hearts full of passion Jealousy and hate Woman needs man, and man must have his mate That no one can deny It's still the same old story A fight for love and glory A case of do-or-die The world will always welcome lovers As time goes by You don’t have to be a polymath like Beth Harmon in The Queen’s Gambit to improve your game by Stephen Moss The first thing to say about chess is that we are not all natural geniuses like Beth Harmon, the star of The Queen’s Gambit, who is taught the game by grumpy but lovable janitor Mr Shaibel at the age of nine and is very soon beating him. The daughter of a maths PhD, she sees the patterns and movement in chess immediately, can visualise effortlessly – being able to memorise moves and play without a board is the sign of chess mastery – and sees whole games on the ceiling of her orphanage dormitory. She is a prodigy, just like world champion Bobby Fischer, on whom Walter Tevis based the novel from which the TV series is drawn. We are mere mortals. So how do we get good? First, by loving chess. “You can only get good at chess if you love the game,” Fischer said. You need to be endlessly fascinated by it and see its infinite potential. Be willing to embrace the complexity; enjoy the adventure. Every game should be an education and teach us something. Losing doesn’t matter. Garry Kasparov, another former world champion, likes to say you learn far more from your defeats than your victories. Eventually you will start winning, but there will be a lot of losses on the way. Play people who are better than you, and be prepared to lose. Then you will learn. If you are a beginner, don’t feel the need to set out all the pieces at once. Start with the pawns, and then add the pieces. Understand the potential of each piece – the way a pair of bishops can dominate the board, how the rooks can sweep up pawns in an endgame, why the queen and a knight can work together so harmoniously. Find a good teacher – your own Mr Shaibel, but without the communication issues. Once you have established the basics, start using computers and online resources to play and to help you analyse games. lichess.org, chess.com and chess24.com are great sites for playing and learning. chessbomb.com is a brilliant resource for watching top tournaments. chessgames.com is a wonderful database of games. chesspuzzle.net is a great practice program. decodechess.com attempts to explain chess moves in layperson’s language. There are also plenty of sophisticated, all-purpose programs, usually called chess engines, such as Fritz and HIARCs that, for around £50, help you deconstruct your games and take you deeply into positions. But don’t let the computer do all the work. You need to engage your own brain on the analysis. And don’t endlessly play against the computer. Find human opponents, either online or, when the pandemic is over, in person. Bobby Fischer was stripped of his world title in 1975 after he refused to defend the title due to a row over the format. Photograph: RFS/AP Study the games of great masters of the past. Find a player you like and follow their careers. Fischer is a great starting point – his play is clear and comprehensible, and beautifully described in his famous book My 60 Memorable Games. Morphy (Harmon’s favourite), Alekhine, Capablanca, Tal, Korchnoi and Shirov are other legendary figures with whom the aspiring player might identify. They also have fascinating life stories, and chess is about hot human emotions as well as cold calculation. Modern grandmaster chess, which is based heavily on a deep knowledge of opening theory, is more abstruse and may be best avoided until you have acquired deep expertise. The current crop of leading grandmasters are also, if we are brutally honest, a bit lacking in personality compared with the giants of the past. Children will often find their school has a chess club, and that club may even have links with Chess in Schools and Communities, which supplies expert tutors to schools. Provision tends to be much better at primary than secondary level, and after 11 children will probably be left to their own devices if they want to carry on playing. If a player is really serious, she or he should join their local chess club. There is likely to be one meeting nearby, or there will be once the Covid crisis is over. At the moment, clubs are not meeting and there is very little over-the-board chess being played. Players are keeping their brains active online, where you can meet players from all over the world. That is fun, but be aware that some players are likely to be cheating – using chess engines to help them, making it hard for you to assess how good your play is. And you also get some abuse online from players who want to trash-talk. You are also likely to be playing at very fast time controls – so-called blitz chess – and that is no way to learn to really think about chess. If you want to start playing over-the-board tournaments (when they resume), you will need to join the chess federation in your respective country. After you’ve played the requisite number of official games, you will get a rating – a bit like a handicap in golf – and can then start being paired with players of your own strength in matches. But until then, the key is to keep enjoying chess and searching for the elusive “truth” in a position. If you see a good move, look for a better one. You can always dig a little deeper in the pursuit of something remarkable and counterintuitive. Beauty and truth: the essence of chess. Stephen Moss is the author of The Rookie: An Odyssey through Chess (and Life), published by Bloomsbury Apr-05-23 WannaBe: Can a vegan have a 'beef' with you? Or Vegans only have 'beet' with you? I am confused. Apr-05-23 Cassandro: Vegan police officers should be exempt from doing steak-outs. The Deserted Village BY OLIVER GOLDSMITH (1730-1774) Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheared the labouring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed, Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loitered o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endeared each scene! How often have I paused on every charm, The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made! How often have I blest the coming day, When toil remitting lent its turn to play, And all the village train, from labour free, Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree, While many a pastime circled in the shade, The young contending as the old surveyed; And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, And slights of art and feats of strength went round; And still as each repeated pleasure tired, Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired; The dancing pair that simply sought renown By holding out to tire each other down; The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, While secret laughter tittered round the place; The bashful virgin's side-long looks of love, The matron's glance that would those looks reprove! These were thy charms, sweet village; sports like these, With sweet succession, taught even toil to please; These round thy bowers their chearful influence shed, These were thy charms—But all these charms are fled. Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, And desolation saddens all thy green: One only master grasps the whole domain, And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain; No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, But, choaked with sedges, works its weedy way; Along thy glades, a solitary guest, The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. Sunk are thy bowers, in shapeless ruin all, And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall; And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, Far, far away, thy children leave the land. Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay: Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade; A breath can make them, as a breath has made; But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroyed, can never be supplied. A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintained its man; For him light labour spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life required, but gave no more: His best companions, innocence and health; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. But times are altered; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land and dispossess the swain; Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose, Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose; And every want to oppulence allied, And every pang that folly pays to pride. Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, Those calm desires that asked but little room, Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, Lived in each look, and brightened all the green; These, far departing seek a kinder shore, And rural mirth and manners are no more. Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour, Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. Here as I take my solitary rounds, Amidst thy tangling walks, and ruined grounds, And, many a year elapsed, return to view Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. In all my wanderings round this world of care, In all my griefs—and God has given my share— I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down; To husband out life's taper at the close, And keep the flame from wasting by repose. I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, Amidst the swains to shew my book-learned skill, Around my fire an evening groupe to draw, And tell of all I felt, and all I saw; And, as an hare whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations past, Here to return—and die at home at last. O blest retirement, friend to life's decline, Retreats from care that never must be mine, How happy he who crowns, in shades like these A youth of labour with an age of ease; Who quits a world where strong temptations try, And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly! For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep; No surly porter stands in guilty state To spurn imploring famine from the gate, But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending virtue's friend; Bends to the grave with unperceived decay, While resignation gently slopes the way; And, all his prospects brightening to the last, His Heaven commences ere the world be past! Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; There, as I past with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came soften'd from below; The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung, The sober herd that lowed to meet their young, The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school, The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind, These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And filled each pause the nightingale had made. But now the sounds of population fail, No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, No busy steps the grass-grown foot-way tread, For all the bloomy flush of life is fled. All but yon widowed, solitary thing That feebly bends beside the plashy spring; She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread, To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn; She only left of all the harmless train, The sad historian of the pensive plain. Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden-flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher's modest mansion rose. A man he was, to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change his place; Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings but relieved their pain; The long-remembered beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allowed; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sate by his fire, and talked the night away; Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and shewed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe; Careless their merits, or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And even his failings leaned to Virtue's side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all. And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies; He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed where parting life was layed, And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns, dismayed The reverend champion stood. At his control Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whispered praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorned the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. The service past, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; Even children followed, with endearing wile, And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile. His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest: To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, Tho' round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, The village master taught his little school; A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew; Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace The day's disasters in his morning face; Full well they laughed, with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had he: Full well the busy whisper circling round, Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned; Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault; The village all declared how much he knew; 'Twas certain he could write, and cypher too; Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And ev'n the story ran that he could gauge. In arguing too, the parson owned his skill, For even tho' vanquished, he could argue still; While words of learned length and thundering sound, Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around; And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, That one small head could carry all he knew. But past is all his fame. The very spot Where many a time he triumphed, is forgot. Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, Where grey-beard mirth and smiling toil retired, Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, And news much older than their ale went round. Imagination fondly stoops to trace The parlour splendours of that festive place; The white-washed wall, the nicely sanded floor, The varnished clock that clicked behind the door; The chest contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day; The pictures placed for ornament and use, The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose; The hearth, except when winter chill'd the day, With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay; While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for shew, Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row. Vain transitory splendours! Could not all Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall! Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart An hour's importance to the poor man's heart; Thither no more the peasant shall repair To sweet oblivion of his daily care; No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail; No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear; The host himself no longer shall be found Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest, Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, These simple blessings of the lowly train; To me more dear, congenial to my heart, One native charm, than all the gloss of art; Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined. But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed, In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, The toiling pleasure sickens into pain; And, even while fashion's brightest arts decoy, The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy. Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey The rich man's joys encrease, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land. Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, And shouting Folly hails them from her shore; Hoards even beyond the miser's wish abound, And rich men flock from all the world around. Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name That leaves our useful products still the same. Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds: The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth, Has robbed the neighbouring fields of half their growth; His seat, where solitary sports are seen, Indignant spurns the cottage from the green: Around the world each needful product flies, For all the luxuries the world supplies. While thus the land adorned for pleasure, all In barren splendour feebly waits the fall. As some fair female unadorned and plain, Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies, Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes. But when those charms are past, for charms are frail, When time advances, and when lovers fail, She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, In all the glaring impotence of dress. Thus fares the land, by luxury betrayed: In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed; But verging to decline, its splendours rise, Its vistas strike, its palaces surprize; While, scourged by famine from the smiling land, The mournful peasant leads his humble band; And while he sinks, without one arm to save, The country blooms—a garden, and a grave. Where then, ah where, shall poverty reside, To scape the pressure of contiguous pride? If to some common's fenceless limits strayed, He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, And ev'n the bare-worn common is denied. If to the city sped—What waits him there? To see profusion that he must not share; To see ten thousand baneful arts combined To pamper luxury, and thin mankind; To see those joys the sons of pleasure know, Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. Here while the courtier glitters in brocade, There the pale artist plies the sickly trade; Here while the proud their long-drawn pomps display, There the black gibbet glooms beside the way. The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign, Here, richly deckt, admits the gorgeous train; Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy! Sure these denote one universal joy! Are these thy serious thoughts?—Ah, turn thine eyes Where the poor houseless shivering female lies. She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest, Has wept at tales of innocence distrest; Her modest looks the cottage might adorn Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn: Now lost to all; her friends, her virtue fled, Near her betrayer's door she lays her head, And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from the shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour When idly first, ambitious of the town, She left her wheel and robes of country brown. Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train, Do thy fair tribes participate her pain? Even now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, At proud men's doors they ask a little bread! Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. Far different there from all that charm'd before, The various terrors of that horrid shore; Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, And fiercely shed intolerable day; Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling; Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned, Where the dark scorpion gathers death around; Where at each step the stranger fears to wake The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake; Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, And savage men, more murderous still than they; While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. Far different these from every former scene, The cooling brook, the grassy vested green, The breezy covert of the warbling grove, That only shelter'd thefts of harmless love. Good Heaven! what sorrows gloom'd that parting day, That called them from their native walks away; When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, Hung round their bowers, and fondly looked their last, And took a long farewell, and wished in vain For seats like these beyond the western main; And shuddering still to face the distant deep, Returned and wept, and still returned to weep. The good old sire the first prepared to go To new found worlds, and wept for others woe. But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, The fond companion of his helpless years, Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, And left a lover's for a father's arms. With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, And blessed the cot where every pleasure rose; And kist her thoughtless babes with many a tear, And claspt them close, in sorrow doubly dear; Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief In all the silent manliness of grief. O luxury! thou curst by Heaven's decree, How ill exchanged are things like these for thee! How do thy potions, with insidious joy, Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! Kingdoms, by thee, to sickly greatness grown, Boast of a florid vigour not their own; At every draught more large and large they grow, A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe; Till sapped their strength, and every part unsound, Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. Even now the devastation is begun, And half the business of destruction done; Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, I see the rural virtues leave the land: Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail, That idly waiting flaps with every gale, Downward they move, a melancholy band, Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. Contented toil, and hospitable care, And kind connubial tenderness, are there; And piety with wishes placed above, And steady loyalty, and faithful love. And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade; Unfit in these degenerate times of shame, To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame; Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, My shame in crowds, my solitary pride; Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; Thou guide by which the nobler arts excell, Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well! Farewell, and O where'er thy voice be tried, On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side, Whether were equinoctial fervours glow, Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, Redress the rigours of the inclement clime; Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain, Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain; Teach him, that states of native strength possest, Tho' very poor, may still be very blest; That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away; While self-dependent power can time defy, As rocks resist the billows and the sky. Banana peels have almost no friction. Banana peels have felled many cartoon characters, Mario Kart players, and average people alike. However, what makes it so slippery in the first place? To answer this, four Japanese scientists measured the amount of friction between a shoe, a banana skin, and the floor. Turns out, the friction coefficient was at an almost nonexistent 0.07 – walking with the banana peel was 6 times slippier than normal friction between a shoe and the floor. 53 games, 1843-2020

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