Non Nobis Domine

The Battle of Agincourt

On this day, in 1415, the Battle of Agincourt was fought.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
- Shakespeare
Just the perfect day to sit down and watch Henry V.

Non Nobis Domine. Not to us, O Lord.



I remember once reading an essay. Something to do with the 'detestable' sanitation of our meat farms. The author wrote the article, at least in part, while waiting for his roast beeft to be served at a restaurant. He poked fun at the irony of the situation. And now, laughing, I place myself in a situation like his...

Yesterday, I spent a couple hours reading Thoreau's Walden. Blanket securely tucked around me, inside a warm and cozy house (in the middle of the city), my settings provided quite a contrast with my reading material.

I didn't quite know what to expect when I pulled the book off the library shelf. My sister and I were quickly going out of the library, well as quickly as possible. Most of the books passing by me merely nodded their heads, not calling any special attention to themselves. Not so with Walden. He almost fell out of his place on the domineering bookshelf, in his enthusiasm to get my attention. Of course, I stopped and picked him up. A solid, hardback copy, the library trademark plastic covering it all, I viewed the book with a small amount of trepidation. The older I become, the more hesitant I am to pick up books that have been so equally praised and criticized. Sometimes I wish I could view all books without hearing the voices of generations of readers whispering in my mind. Mac, in Alcott's Rose in Bloom, called Thoreau one of his best friends. Somewhere I had read that Thoreau's theology was a bit... askew, to say the least. Silencing them all, I firmly tucked the book into my bookbag and checked it out.

And now I have finished it, with an armful of thoughts to prove it. It was a pleasant read, Thoreau's Transcendentalism was quite evident throughout the book, but I enjoyed it. Who knows? I might even pick up a copy someday to add to my library. But for now, I'm enjoying a bit of quiet contemplation.

Some quotes from Thoreau:

"We worship not the Graces, nor the Parcae, but Fashion. She spins and weaves and cuts with full authority. The head monkey at Paris puts on a traveller's cap, and all the monkeys in America do the same."

"Before we can adorn our houses with beautiful objects, the walls must be stripped, and our lives must be stripped, and beautiful housekeeping and beautiful living be laid for a foundation."

"Nations are possesed with an insane ambition to perpetuate the memory of themselves by the amount of hammered stone they leave. What if equal pains were taken to smooth and polish their manners? One piece of good sense would be more memorable than a monument as high as the moon."



Aye, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath!
When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
And sons grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief,
And the year smiles as it draws near its death.
Wind of the sunny south! oh, still delay
In the gay woods and in the golden air,
Like to a good old age released from care,
Journeying, in long serenity, away.
In such a bright, late quiet, would that I
Might wear out life like thee, 'mid bowers and brooks,
And dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks,
And music of kind voices ever nigh;
And when my last sand twinkled in the glass,
Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass.

(William Cullen Bryant)


Autumn Beginnings

The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible.

(Vladimir Nabakov)

With Autumn clouds drifting overhead, it's lovely to finally sit back and actually enjoy the look of my blog.

Welcome to Tolle Scribe.


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