Awe

Passages

Every passage tagged with this emotion in the Vela corpus. Search the body text, narrow by source or register, click through to a book’s profile to see how the passage sits with the rest of the work.

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• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  Map [image file=image_rsrc605.jpg] [image file=image_rsrc606.jpg] CHRONOLOGY311Emperor Constantine publicly favors Christianity; Caecilianists and Donatists begin controversy that divides the African church347ff“The Times of Macarius”: Roman commissioner sent to Africa to make peace between Caecilianists and Donatists; uses force to impose Caecilianist leaders on Donatist churches (including the church in Tagaste, where Augustine’s parents married at about this time)354Augustine born in Tagaste (modern Souk Ahras, Algeria), 13 November, son of Patricius and Monnica361–363Emperor Julian (“the Apostate”) withdraws support for Christianity; Donatism regains primacy in Africa371/72Augustine marries (wife’s name not known); son Adeodatus born within a year372/73Reads Cicero’s Hortensius—turns to philosophical studies375–386Teaching career (Tagaste, Carthage, Rome, Milan)385/86Sends wife back to Africa in order to make a better marriage (never consummated)386/87Religious crisis, culminating in baptism in March 387388Monnica dies in Ostia, Italy 388–391 Retires to Tagaste390Adeodatus dies391Emperor Theodosius bans public practice of traditional religion391Augustine ordained presbyter at Hippo Regius (modern Annaba, Algeria)395/96Ordained bishop at Hippo399Temple-busting and other anti-“pagan” initiatives by imperial government397/401Augustine writes Confessions (perhaps entirely completed in 397)405ffAnti-Donatist laws from emperor; mainly ineffective410Rome “sacked” by “Visigoths,” 24–26 August411Conference at Carthage to adjudicate dispute between Caecilianists and Donatists, 1–6 June412Augustine writes first pamphlets against Pelagius412–426Writes City of God430Dies in Hippo, 28 August431Hippo captured by VandalsPROLOGUEAUGUSTINE’S VOICE In this nothing town, the sun of the Maghreb outside the hall is relentless, but the shade between stone columns within is cool. Men stand on one side, women on the other, all hushed in concentration on the deliberate gestures of one man. He sits, dressed simply and plainly enough to attract attention, one step above the crowd at the end of the hall and listens attentively as a younger man reads a short account of two brothers competing for their father’s attention, a contest the younger wins by trickery. Their names are Jacob and Esau. When the reader finishes, the older man rises and begins to speak. The quiet deepens as his voice fills the space effortlessly. It shapes elegant and well-proportioned sentences and colors them with expression. He is a star performer in a room like this and few of these people have ever seen or heard anything to match him. In a world without mass media, his performance is the kind that gets talked about on other days in other towns. His voice has been the making of him. The story of the two brothers, he tells his listeners, is part of a larger story. All these events happened long ago and in a very different world to people he calls “Judeans,” and the story of the two brothers is one part of a larger story. The Judeans go into exile in Egypt and then escape through miraculous waters, for their god is powerful and favors them, up to a point.

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  Augustine himself when younger tried not to speak or think of such things. The idea that such tokens of the dead could be powerful and worthy of special treatment grew on him slowly. In his early baptized days, he said outright that the age of miracles had passed, that these things were necessary in early days but now no longer. At about the same time, as we have seen, he was saying something similar to the convivial members of his flock: drinking in church was appropriate in earlier days, but now no longer. In many such ways, he sought to enhance the dignity and cultural level of his congregation. In later years, to be sure, he remembered that he had seen and then written in his Confessions about the wonderfully convenient “discovery” by Ambrose of the remains of the martyrs Protasius and Gervasius during Augustine’s Milan days.324 But times change and people change. Augustine changed when Stephen—or what was left of him—came to Africa in the late 410s. Stephen the “protomartyr” was stoned to death and his story told in the Acts of the Apostles (7.59–60) with the unconverted future apostle Paul standing aptly by. After almost four hundred years, his relics appeared. Good relics come with good stories: indeed, without stories, relics are just old trash. This saint has one of the best collections.325 First we have the letter of Lucian, the priest of Caphamargala in Palestine, who tells of sleeping in a shrine (a common ancient practice for inducing visions) and seeing in a dream the saints Stephen, Nicodemus, and Gamaliel. With the usual reluctance to believe found in dreams, he is led to discover the remains—bones and dust—of Stephen and reports the event to Bishop John of Jerusalem, who was at that moment in Diospolis (modern Lod, Israel) for the famous synod that acquitted Pelagius of charges of heresy. At just that moment, the Latin church would find itself saying afterwards, god had providentially chosen to manifest the power of one of his great saints. The reported discovery was followed by the usual cures and the end of a drought.326 Orosius, a friend of Augustine’s from Spain, whom we will meet again, was in Palestine to attend the synod at Diospolis and generally to create trouble. He was the vector who carried the relics and the passion for them and their miracles to Africa. There, shrines popped up and ecclesiastical travelers carried the infection hither and yon.327 (And there is one other gaudier story of the transfer of Stephen’s relics, this one taking him to Constantinople. A senator has himself buried next to Stephen. A few years later, his wife wants to take her husband’s remains to Constantinople, but cannot tell the saint from the senator and so takes the wrong one. On the voyage, Stephen appears to the travelers in a storm, then calms the waters; later an earthquake, demons, and angels come into play, before the saint finds rest in another new land.)

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  The subterfuge was comical: the painter Carterius attends Plotinus’s lectures as if to listen but actually to look, and look hard, at the speaker, then to go out to create just the sort of image that Plotinus abhorred. Though the reluctance to face the painter is soundly based in Plotinus’s philosophical ideas,604 and though his disciples could cite nothing in his doctrines in support of their act, they nonetheless overrode his judgment in order to ensure that he was made a plaster (or pigment) sage according to their preconceptions of the role that was his to play. We leave our holy men no choice: we insist they be saints. One could as easily cite the veneration accorded Socrates or Francis of Assisi. But they did not write, and Plotinus resisted writing, and wrote with difficulty. Is it different when we deal with a figure like Augustine, who wrote as though his life depended on it? Does he not at least deserve to become a Great Book? The authority of books—other than the scriptures—plays a small role in what Augustine wrote. Nonbiblical books are rarely quoted, and names of authors are infrequently cited. When they appear, gradually and late, it is to be cited not as individuals of authority but as supporters of a common tradition of agreement.605 Part of this reticence is literary style of a sort (quotation of anterior texts is relatively infrequent in ancient discursive literature, even when those texts, like the dialogues of Cicero, are pervaded through and through with the ideas and expressions of other older texts). Part of it is a reflection of the specific Christian deference to scripture. Scriptural texts are the waves of the ocean beating on the shore in Augustine’s work, while the quotations from the works of the “fathers” are by comparison occasional glasses of tap water. Part of this reticence should be explained in terms of Augustine’s own standing as bishop: for the church in front of him, he was the living authority, and that standing is explicit in works like Christian Doctrine and implicit everywhere else. Pope Gregory I still resembled Augustine almost two hundred years later. He was a writer who had read widely and deeply in the Latin theological tradition available to him, but who nevertheless rarely quoted or cited those texts, while designedly allowing the ipsissima verba of scripture to permeate his text as fully as they did that of Augustine.

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  Augustine’s god was off the charts. He was one of few ancient gods who could shed foible and whimsy and seek to stand ostentatiously beyond the reach of human outrage and indignation. (Those Christians who tried to sever the god of Christianity from the god of Israel were attempting to protect that majesty and impeccability from the vagaries of the often angry and unpredictable antecedent. It still cost Augustine some effort and special pleading to explain how god could “repent” of what he had done.336) Though some of Augustine’s contemporaries would fret at the ways of a god who could condemn little babies to hell, Augustine himself would be unperturbed. “God” was for him a set term, absolute and inviolable, beyond question or doubt. But the name alone would be the telltale sign of an idiosyncratic generalization. This god has no given name, nor even any namelessness. Instead his name is the generic term for any god (deus in Latin, theos in Greek), taken over into common parlance by a detour through the translationese that represented Hebrew scriptures in Greek and Latin. This god was timeless, unchanging, all-powerful, existing at the extreme limit of what language can say. He reached this exaltation through the intertwining of biblical texts with Platonic thought, and Augustine had acquired him already as a young man in Milan. Indeed, acquiring this god beyond reproaches was a condition of Augustine’s willingness to settle for the religion of his mother, whose god had seemed very ordinary and impugnable. (The thrill of Manicheism was that it both admitted the problem that the existence of evil offered and gave back a resolutely impervious and sure-to-be-invincible deity.) As long as he thought about god in material, limited, attackable terms, Augustine was unable to find a deity that suited him. Once he found that bodiless god, he hung on for dear life. We will come back to that god when we know Augustine a great deal better. But for now, if we found that god more unfamiliar, we would be more inclined than we are to realize that the theological extremes to which Augustine found himself driven late in life were reflections of the god he had chosen. That is to say, a god who is all-knowing and all-powerful and all-good so far transcends ordinary categories of behavior that any narrative into which he intrudes will be seriously disordered. Storytelling doesn’t work if one character violates all the rules and transcends all the limitations that the other characters endure. A jealous, arbitrary, limited god who favored his chosen ones and ignored other humans would be deemed capricious, but he could not be blamed for the misfortunes of those he ignored. Augustine’s absolutist god could not lift a finger in human affairs without becoming responsible for all human affairs, and so Augustine would spend the last two decades of his life evading this quite reasonable conclusion, the reductio ad absurdum to which his contemporaries repeatedly tried to press him.

• From Augustine: A New Biography (2005)

  What followed was a patient and elaborate performance. Hebrew etymologies of proper names (Saul, Abimelech), more or less accurately known from reference works, and passages of scripture made parallel either by their verbal resonance or by their doctrinal content are brought to bear, as the tools that were at hand, and interpretation happens. An eerie clumsiness hangs about much of it, and a strange beauty, like the beauty of found art, in the results. His treatment at the beginning is typical: “Doec means ‘movement’; Idumite means ‘earthly.’ Just see what people this ‘movement’ of Doec stands for: he is not going to abide forever, but rather pass away. ‘Earthly’: why should you expect any profit from an earthly man? It’s the heavenly man that lasts for eternity.”235 Now, Augustine’s text of the psalm, the one he had the lector read to his congregation, gave the name here as Achimelech, but he knows from elsewhere in his scriptures that it can be spelled Abimelech. He likes that because he knows that Abimelech236 means “my father’s kingdom” (patris mei regnum), and “the changing of the name [from one spelling to another] draws our attention to the mystery, so we won’t just study the history and ignore the sacred things that are veiled here.”237 Augustine suggests that the name is appropriate, since David was betrayed when he came to the kingdom of his father. So the verse “you loved malice more than kindness” (dilexisti malitiam super benignitatem) provokes a natural demurral, but two scriptural texts come to mind: Psalm 35 (4–5), “he plotted wickedness in his chamber” (iniquitatem meditatus in cubili suo), where the “malice” of Psalm 51 has called the “wickedness” to mind; but then a few moments later, Augustine thought of the gospel, and began a fresh line of thought, “but if he should do what is written, namely ‘love your neighbor as yourself’” (Matthew 22.39): here the connection is substantive and verbal: diligere is the Latin verb in both passages. Time after time, a verbal echo will call up parallel passages for Augustine (this says something about how his very powerful verbal memory worked), of greater and lesser relevance to the passage under discussion. All these interpretations make the audience dependent on the interpreter. To know etymologies, to know parallel passages of scripture: these are matters for experts, not for inspired novices. To hear Augustine preach in this vein is to understand that you, in the congregation, are watching a master perform. The master’s performances were crowd pleasers. The problem with reading Augustine’s sermons on the page as we do is that we pay too much attention to these details of practice and cannot feel the emotive power: the magic of place, of voice, of the intentionally dazzling effect that flashes of erudition will have, of the effectiveness, finally, of this style of making the psalm texts present and apposite.

• From Vision Quest (1979)

  I smell incredibly bad, but we waltz through her favorite band on the Pachelbel. It fractures me that this music is almost three hundred years old. “What do you weigh?” she asks. “Forty-seven,” I reply proudly. “Wow!” Carla smiles. “Want me to fix you a treat?” “Let’s have yogurt and pineapple for breakfast,” I suggest. * * * I feel her lips on my abdomen. I curse the remaining adipose tissue lurking in the subcutaneous layers. There can’t be much. I flex the muscles of my rectus abdominis. “Narcissus,” Carla whispers. * * * I’m dreaming, but I’m not asleep. Contrary to popular belief, if you’re in really great shape you don’t need much sleep. I’m so hyper in mind and body, so psyched, I don’t feel like sleeping. I lie here and think about Shute, about Mom and Dad, about Carla, and about the short time I’ve got left to be a kid. And finally I drift into a reverie about the river, about the first time I saw it. I’m just a little kid—a fat little Cub Scout—and Mom and Dad and I are driving north on 395 toward Colville. Dad was selling Fords then and we’re in a Thunderbird. Mom’s got her heating pad plugged into the cigarette lighter. She says she’s really feeling pretty good and that she’s glad she decided to come to the picnic. I’m in back with my face in the blast from the air conditioner. A new turbine is being put in Grand Coulee Dam, so they’ve had to let a lot of water out of Lake Roosevelt. The water is so low that my great-grandfather’s old homestead and a lot of other people’s old homesteads are uncovered for the first time since 1941, when the Columbia was dammed and renamed. There’s going to be a big picnic and fireworks. I’m kind of excited to get to see the place where my dad was a kid, but shooting my .22 and eating a lot of great pie and cake and ice cream and seeing the fireworks are what I’m really looking forward to. We pass through Colville and the little town of New Kettle Falls and turn onto a dirt road that goes down to the river. It’s hot and dry as hell. Dust rolls thick from two pickups ahead of us, and Mom comments on her thankfulness for the air conditioner. We stop on the hillside before going down to the river. It’s a beautiful view. But this landscape is totally new to me and I’m blown away by what I see. Lake Roosevelt has always been at least a half-mile wide here. But now that it’s gone back to being the Columbia River it’s about a block wide. A little shit like me could fling a rock across it. “There’s Kettle Falls,” Dad says to me, pointing south toward the bridge. I turn and see where the river drops over a cliff onto a rocky bed.

• From Jesus and the Disinherited (1949)

  There is an intensely private world, all his own; it is intimate, exclusive, sealed. The life working paper of the individual is made up of a creative synthesis of what the man is in all his parts and how he reacts to the living process. It is wide of the mark to say that a man’s working paper is ever wrong; it may not be fruitful, it may be negative, but it is never wrong. For such a judgment would imply that the synthesis is guaranteed to be of a certain kind, of a specific character, resulting in a foreordained end. It can never be determined just what a man will fashion. Two men may be born of the same parents, grow up in the same environment, be steeped in the same culture and inspired by the same faith. Close or even cursory observation may reveal that each has fashioned a life working paper so unique that they take to different roads, each day bringing them farther and farther apart. Or it may be that they move along precisely parallel lines that never meet. Always, then, there is the miracle of the working paper. Wherever there appears in human history a personality whose story is available and whose reach extends far, in all directions, the question of his working paper is as crucial as is the significance of his life. We want to know what were the lines along which he decided to live his life. How did he relate himself to the central issues of his time? What were the questions which he had to answer? Was he under some necessity to give a universal character to his most private experience? Our attention is called to such a figure because of the impact which his life makes upon human history. For what is human history but man’s working paper as he rides high to life caught often in the swirling eddies of tremendous impersonal forces set in motion by vast impulses out of the womb of the Eternal. When a solitary individual is able to mingle his strength with the forces of history and emerge with a name, a character, a personality, it is no ordinary achievement. It is more than the fact that there is a record of his life—as singular as that fact may be. It means that against the background of anonymity he has emerged articulate, and particular. Such a figure was Jesus of Nazareth. To some he is the grand prototype of all the distilled longing of mankind for fulfillment, for wholeness, for perfection. To some he is the Eternal Presence hovering over all the myriad needs of humanity, yielding healing for the sick of body and soul, giving a lift to those whom weariness has overtaken in the long march, and calling out hidden purposes of destiny which are the common heritage. To some he is more than a Presence; he is the God fact, the Divine Moment in human sin and human misery.

• From Martin Luther (2016)

  There was a long tradition of profound devotional identification with Christ reaching back through mystics and saints, which encompassed pious laypeople as well as clerics. Paintings of the Crucifixion or of the Holy Family routinely showed the onlookers, aside from Christ himself, dressed in the sumptuous silks and velvets of the day, with slashed trousers and sleeves with extravagant patterns. This was not because the artists did not know what people wore in biblical times: rather, their devotional images imported the present into the biblical past, allowing viewers to overcome historical time as they entered into devotional time and participated in the stories of Christ’s Passion. In 1500, Albrecht Dürer had painted himself, facing the viewer, with long, curling hair and with his hand raised in blessing in the style of Christ—a self-portrait that was anything but a proclamation of the divine status of the artist. For Dürer this would have been a devotional act, attempting to model himself as closely on Christ as possible as he reached his twenty-ninth year, about the age it was believed that Christ had begun his ministry. Luther’s description of his sufferings as a “passion” was not the only way he understood what was taking place—he had too great a sense of irony ever to credit it completely. But he habitually applied biblical drama to present his experience. On the journey to Worms he interpreted the book of Joshua for those traveling with him in the wagon. It was an interesting choice, for the biblical Joshua was the leader of the Israelites after the death of Moses; he had fought the battle of Jericho, and led the Israelites during their exile in the desert, just as Luther was now leading the members of the true church against the forces of Rome. 36. Hermann von dem Busche’s Passion D Martins Luthers , oder seyn lydung, printed in Strasbourg in 1521. The work is prefaced with an unusual woodcut of Luther, which found no contemporary imitators and owes nothing to Cranach. Luther stands full height, a monumental hero clutching a giant Bible, tonsured and in monastic habit, gazing out at the reader. 72 When Luther later insisted that “the Word did everything,” it was true in the sense that he made himself into Christ’s vessel and tried to resign his own agency, thus greatly strengthening his ability to act and face danger. 73 But his appearance at Worms was even more a devotional act, a sacred drama, where he stood on Christ’s side while his enemies attempted to try him. Identifying his cause with that of Christ gave Luther immense certainty and courage.

• From Vision Quest (1979)

  Where fat lazy Lake Roosevelt had lain in a bed of sand, the Columbia River cut through rock. Northward lay the mudflat that had once been farmland. An olive-drab Dodge Power Wagon was skidding driftwood logs through the mud to dry ground. Its driver and Carla and I were the only folks around. We walked down the rocky trail, across the dry sandy beach, through wet sand, and finally through mud before we reached the boulders that gleamed through the driftwood and trash. It looked like a whole lakeful of litter had lodged where the channel narrowed. The heat drew a dead smell from the mud. Carla walked back to the clean sand to lie in the sun while I worked my way across the rocks and logs to a broad ledge parallel to the falls but higher in elevation and about thirty yards away. White plastic bleach jugs floated in the shallow pools and hung like snowberries in the driftwood jams. I sat on the wet rock, drew my arms around my knees, and gazed south. Thin and blue, the river rolled through a black band of mud bordered by white sand. Where the white sand ended, green pines rose and blurred in the distance to dark high-mountain blue. On the east ran the Huckleberry Mountains and on the west the Kettle River Range. Some of the land between the mountain ranges south to the great bend in the river still belongs to the Spokane and Colville Indian tribes. I felt insulated by the roar of water all around me. I couldn’t hear the cars on the highway, and when I closed my eyes I couldn’t see the trash. I was thinking of something Seattle, Chief of the Duwamish Indians, had said about his people and their land on Puget Sound: When the last red man shall have perished, and the memory of my tribe shall have become a myth among the white man, these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe. . . . They will throng with the returning hosts that once filled and still love this beautiful land. I was thinking of those invisible dead and of my own as I pulled the cassette recorder from my wrestling bag and set it on the rock ledge. A shower of mist blew off the falls and with it fell a great coolness. I watched the tiny points of moisture brighten the black surface of the machine for a second before I pressed “record.” When I got back to the clean part of the beach I found Carla sunning with her shirt off. She opened one eye as she heard my footsteps squinch across the sand. I was slightly crazed by the river I guess, or I wouldn’t have had the nerve to do what I did then. I stood above her and let myself topple from the ankles like a tree. She yelped, but I caught myself before I touched her.

• From Vision Quest (1979)

  Most of the water falls onto a big boulder that looks like a bowl. “See that big rock that looks like a kettle?” Dad asks, pointing to the rock that’s catching all the water. “That’s why the Indians called it Kettle Falls. They used to stand on those big rocks there to the side and spear and net salmon.” I am one astonished little kid. I’d been over the bridge and looked down at that exact spot probably fifty times, but none of this had ever been there. At least I couldn’t see it. All the Swains except Grandpa Harry are sitting around my great-uncle Walker’s old Chevy pickup. My great-aunt Lola is there with a giant lunch. She says she’s saving it until after we take a walk upriver to see the old place. She’s waiting for Grandpa Harry to show up. She calls him “brother.” She gives me a chicken leg because I’m a kid. My four cousins are a lot older. The two girls are in their teens, and they put lunch on the picnic table. The two guys are out of school and logging. They sit on the fenders of the pickup and drink beer. My dad didn’t get married until he was pretty old. He’s the oldest of his generation and I’m the only kid left in mind. Aunt Lola says to Dad that Grandpa Harry has been drinking again. She says she’s worried about him. My uncle Bert says Grandpa’s been boozing hard. He calls him “Dad.” My dad says he’ll drive up to Grandpa’s cabin if he doesn’t show up soon. I hear this clearly from my seat on the bumper of the pickup in the circle of people. After a while Dad says we might as well walk up to look at the old place. He puts his hand on my shoulder. Mom says she’d better not walk, and the other folks want to wait till the cool of the evening. So my great-aunt, my uncle, and Dad and I walk along the river in the wet sand. Around a bend, where Lake Roosevelt is normally over a mile wide, the river bends away from us and flows in a narrow channel, leaving a broad mudflat black and shiny as coal. It must have been great farmland. An old jeep is mired up to its fenders in the mud. “That’s Dad’s jeep,” Uncle Bert says. We all walk out to where the mud gets over our shoes. I see the stone foundation of buildings, fence posts dripping rusty barbed wire, a rusted-through water trough sticking out of the mud. My grandfather is walking through where one of the buildings used to be. He’s talking, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. Dad and Uncle Bert walk out through the mud. Lola points out the foundation of the house where she and Grandpa Harry were born. She says my dad and both my uncles and my aunt were born there too.

• From Jesus and the Disinherited (1949)

  In communities that were completely barren, with no apparent growing edge, without any point to provide light for the disadvantaged, I have seen children grow up without fear, with quiet dignity and such high purpose that the mark which they set for themselves has even been transcended. The charge that such thinking is merely rationalizing cannot be made with easy or accepted grace by the man of basic advantage. It ill behooves the man who is not forced to live in a ghetto to tell those who must how to transcend its limitations. The awareness that a man is a child of the God of religion, who is at one and the same time the God of life, creates a profound faith in life that nothing can destroy. Nothing less than a great daring in the face of overwhelming odds can achieve the inner security in which fear cannot possibly survive. It is true that a man cannot be serene unless he possesses something about which to be serene. Here we reach the high-water mark of prophetic religion, and it is of the essence of the religion of Jesus of Nazareth. Of course God cares for the grass of the field, which lives a day and is no more, or the sparrow that falls unnoticed by the wayside. He also holds the stars in their appointed places, leaves his mark in every living thing. And he cares for me! To be assured of this becomes the answer to the threat of violence—yea, to violence itself. To the degree to which a man knows this , he is unconquerable from within and without. When I was a very small boy, Halley’s comet visited our solar system. For a long time I did not see the giant in the sky because I was not permitted to remain up after sundown. My chums had seen it and had told me perfectly amazing things about it. Also I had heard of what were called “comet pills.” The theory was that if the pills were taken according to directions, then when the tail of the comet struck the earth one would not be consumed. One night I was awakened by my mother, who told me to dress quickly and come with her out into the backyard to see the comet. I shall never forget it if I live forever. My mother stood with me, her hand resting on my shoulder, while I, in utter, speechless awe, beheld the great spectacle with its fan of light spreading across the heavens. The silence was like that of absolute motion. Finally, after what seemed to me an interminable time interval, I found my speech.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  βρόμος. 6, (Bpéuw) Lat. fremitus, any loud noise, as the crackling of fire, Il. 14. 390; roaring of thunder, Pind. O. 2. 45, Eur.; of a storm, Aesch. Theb. 213, Fr. 195; of the drum, Simon. 191; of horses, Aesch. Theb. 476; of the flute, h. Hom. Merc. 452, cf. Soph. Fr. 454 :—hence, rage, fury, Eur. H. F.1212:—rare in Prose, of the wind or sea, Arist. Mund. 4, 17 and 32, Mirab. 130; of a volcano, Id. Fr. 591. βρόμος or βόρμος, ὁ, a kind of oats (in mod. Greek βρῶμι), Theophr. Ho P.820;,2. Gportaros: a, ov thundering Ζεύς Arist. Mund. 7, 2; vepeAat Orph.H.14.9. βροντάω, (v. βροντή). to thunder, Ζεὺς δ᾽ ἄμυδις βρόντησε Od. 14. 305, cf. Il. 8. 133; metaph. of Pericles, Ar. Ach. 531, cf. Vesp. 624. 2. impers., βροντᾷ it thunders, Id. ἘῚ. 142. 4].; βροντήσαντος if it thundered, Arist. H.A. 9. 3,4. II. Pass. to be thunderstruck, Arist. Div.Somn. 1, 9. Bpovreiov, τό, an engine for making stage-thunder, Poll. 4. 130. βροντή, 7, thunder, in Hom. always attributed to Zeus, Διὸς μεγάλοιο κεραυνὸν δεινήν τε Bp. Il. 21. 198; ὑπὸ βροντῆς πατρὸς Διός 13. 796; Ζηνός τε βροντῇ Od. 20. 121; Bp. καὶ ἀστραπή Hat. 3. 86; Bp. στεροπῇ τε Aesch. Supp. 35; Bp. καὶ κεραυνίᾳ φλογί Id. Pr. 1017; βροντῆς μύκημα Ib. 1062, cf. 1083; Bp. δ᾽ ἐρράγη δι’ ἀστραπῆς Soph. Fr. 507, etc. :—in pl. Id. O. C. 1514; χθόνιαι Bp. Ar. Av. 1745. II. the state of one struck with thunder, astonishment, Hdt. 7.10, 5. βροντηδόν, Adv. dike thunder, Or. Sib. 5. 345. βρόντημα, τό, a thunder-clap, Aesch. Pr. 993. Βρόντης, ὁ, Thunderer, one of the three Cyclopes, Hes. Th. 140. Bpovrnot-Képavvos, ov, sending thunder and lightning, νεφέλη Ar. Nub. 265. βροντιαῖος, a, ov, = βρονταῖος, Hipp. 1180 F. βροντο-ποιός, dv, (ποιέω) thunder-making, Pseudo-Luc. Philopatr. 4.24. βροντο-σκοπία, %, divination from thunder, Jo.Lyd.; cf. κεραυνοσκοπία. βροντώδης, ες, (εἶδος) like thunder, thundering, Paul. Sil. 74. 51. βρόξαι, v. sub *Bpdxw. βρότἄχος, 6, Ion. for βάτραχος, q. v. Bporetos, ov, also a, oy Archil. 13, Eur. Hipp. 19 :—poét. Adj. mortal, human, of mortal mould, Aesch. Pr. 116, etc.; Bp. yévos Soph. Fr. 132 ; ψυχὴν βρότειος Eur. Supp. 777; Bp. πόνοι of mortals, Alex. Ὕπν. 1. 9: —in Hom. only βρότεος, 7, ov, Od. 19. 545, h. Hom. Ven. 47; so also in Pind. O. 9. 52, etc., Aesch. Eum. 171. βροτήσιος, a, ov, =foreg., Hes. Op. 771, Eur. Bacch. 4. βροτο-βάμων [a], ov, trampling on men, Anth. P. 15. 21. βροτό-γηρυς, v, with human voice, ψιττακός Anth. P. 9. 562. εὐδοξίᾳ Bp. to be mighty in.., Pind. N. 3.70; εἰ. χειρὶ βρίθεις ves βροτο-δαίμων, ὁ, -- ἡμίθεος, Hesych. ; cf. ἀνθρωποδαίμων. βροτοειδής = Bpvw. βροτο-ειδήῆς, és, like man, of man's nature, Manetho 5. 446. Bporoets, εσσα, ev, (Bpd70s) gory, blood-boltered, of dead men’s armour, ἔναρα Il. 6. 480, etc. ; ἀνδράγρια 14. 509. Bpoto-Képrns, ov, 6, a man-shaver, pedantic word for barber, Alexarch. ap. Ath. 98 E.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  ἐκλάμπω, to shine or beam forth, Hdt. 6.82, Aesch. Pr. 1083, Xen. Cyr. 7.1, 2, εἴς. ; of lightning, Aesch. Fr. 304 :—metaph., δίκας δ᾽ ἐξέλαμψεν ὅσιον φάος Soph. Fr. 11, cf. Plat. Rep. 435 A, etc.:—to burst forth violently, of a fever, Hipp. Vet. Med. 15 :—of sound, ¢o be clearly heard, [ἐκ τῆς κραυγῆς] ἐξέλαμψε τὸ καλεῖν τὸν βασιλέα Polyb. 15. 31, I. II. c. acc. cogn. to flash forth, σέλας Eur. Fr. 332, cf. Bias in Bgk. Lyr. p. 757: to kindle, wip App. Syr. 56, cf. Lyc. Iogt. ἔκλαμψις, ews, 7, a shining forth, exceeding brightness, LXX (?). ἐκλανθάνω, to escape notice utterly:—Med. to forget utterly, c. gen. rei, τοῦδ᾽ ἐκλανθάνει thou forgettest this entirely, Soph. O.C.1005 ; ἐκλ. ὅτι .. Plat. Ax. 369 E. II. Causal in pres. ἐκληθάνω, with aor. 1 ἐξέλησα, Dor. ἐξέλᾶσα ; Ep. redupl. aor. 2 ἐκλέλᾶθον : 1. Act. to make one quite forgetful of a thing, c. gen. rei, ἐκ. δέ we πάντων ληθάνει, ὅσσ᾽ ἔπαθον Od. 7.220; ἔκ μ᾽ ἔλᾶσας ἀλγέων Alcae. g2: c. acc, rei, éx- λέλαθον κιθαριστύν made him quite forget his harping, Il. 2. 600: absol., “Αιδης 6 ἐκλελαθών Theocr. 1. 63. 2. Med. and Pass. to forget utterly, ὀϊζύος ἐκλελαθέσθαι Il. 6. 285; ἀλκῆς ἐξελάθοντο τό. 602; ws ἐκλέλησμαί γ᾽ ἃ πάρος εἴπομεν Eur. Bacch. 1273; c. inf., ἐκλάθετο .. καταβῆναι Od. το. 558; λελάθοντο .. , ov μὰν ἐκλελάθοντο Sappho g4. ἐκλάπάζω, = ἐξαλαπάζω, to cast out from, ἑδωλίων Aesch. Theb. 456. ἐκλάπτω, fut. -λάψομαι, Ar. Pax 885 :—to drink off, Id. Ach. 1229, etc. ἐκλᾶτομέω, to hew out in stone, hew or dig out, LXX (Num. 21. 18). ἐκλᾶχαίνω, fo dig or hollow out, Ap. Rh. 1. 374, Tryph. 208. ἐκλαχανίζομαι, Dep. to cut vegetables, Theophr. H. P. 7. 11, 3. ἐκλεαίνω, fut. ἄν ὦ, to smooth out or away, Tas ῥυτίδας Plat. Symp. 191 A: to wear away, bring to nothing, Hipp. Prorrh. 102. 2. to smooth or polish off, λίθον Diod. 3. 39; ἐκλ. πάθος to smooth it down, Plut. 2.83 C. ἐκλέγω, fut. fw: pf. pass. ἐξείλεγμαι Plat. Alc. 1. 121 E, and in med. sense, Dem. 496. fin., but ἐκλέλεγμαι Diphil. Zwyp. 1, cf. Posidipp. Incert. 1.9. To pick or single out, Thuc. 4.59, etc.; esp. of soldiers, rowers, etc., Xen. Hell. 1. 6, το, cf. Plat. Rep. 535 A; é« πάντων Id. Legg. 811 A :—Pass., Id. Alc. I].c.:—Med. to pick out Sor oneself, choose out, Hdt. I. 199., 3. 38, al., Plat. Symp. 198 Ὁ, al. 2. in Med. also, ἐκλέ- γεσθαι τὰς πολιὰς τρίχας to pull out one’s gray hairs, Ar. Eq. 908, Fr. 360. II. to levy taxes or tribute, χρήματα παρά τινος Thue. 8. 44; Tas ἐπικαρπίας Andoc. 12. 29; ἔν τινων Dem. 1199. 5; also c. ace. pers., ἐκλ. τέλη τοὺς καταπλέοντας Aeschin. 69. 29 :—c. acc. et gen., Xen. Hell. 1. 1, 22.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  ἐμφανής, és, (ἐμφαίνων shewing in itself, reflecting, of mirrors, Plat. Tim. 46 A. II. visible to the eye, manifest, a. of persons, Trag., etc.; esp., like ἐναργής, of the gods appearing bodily among men, Soph. O. T. 9ο9, Eur. Bacch. 22, Ar. Vesp. 733, Plat. Alc. 2. 141 A; 50, ὄψις Eu. ἐνυπνίων Aesch. Pers. 518, cf. Cho. 667; ἐμφανῆ τινα ὁρᾶν, ἰδεῖν to see him bodily, Soph. Aj. 538, Ar. Thesm. 682, cf. Soph. El. 1454; πῶς ἂν ὑμὶν ἐμφανὴς .. γενοίμην ; how could I make it manifest? Id. Ph. 531; ἐμφανὴς τιμαῖσιν -- ἐμφανῶς τιμώμενος Id. O. T. gog :—as law term, ἐμφανῆ παρέχειν τινά to produce a person in open court, Antipho 133. 34, cf. Dem. 1294. 15; so, ἐμφανῆ καταστῆσαι to produce in court, either the property or the vouchers, Dem. 1239.5; ἐμφανῶν κατάστασις, cf. Lat. exhibitio, actio ad exhibendum, Isae. 59. 22, Dem. 1251. 3. b. of things, οὐ yap ἐστι τἀμφανῆ κρύπτειν Soph. O. C. 7553 up. τεκμήρια visible proofs, Id. El. 1109; ἄλγος ἐμφ. Pind. Fr. 229; κλαυθμός Hdt. 1. 111, etc.; τὰ éud. κτήματα the actual property, Xen. Hell. 5. 2, 10. 2. ποιεῖν τι ἐμφανές to do it in public, Lat. in propatulo, Hdt. 1. 203., 3. 101; τὸ ἐμφ. opp. to τὸ μέλλον, Thue. 3. 42; εἰς τοὐμφανὲς ἰέναι to come into light, come forward, Xen. Mem. 4. 3, 13, cf. Ages. 9, 1. 3. open, manifest, palpable, τυραννίς Ar. Vesp. 417; Bia Thuc. 4.86; éup. λόγος a plain speech, Aesch. Eum. 420; ἐν ἐμφανεῖ λόγῳ openly, Thuc. 7. 48; τὴν διάνοιαν ἐμφ. ποιεῖν διὰ τῆς φωνῆς Plat. Theaet. 206 D; ἐμφανές ἐστιν ὅτι .. Xen. Hier. 9, 1ο. 4, manifest, well-known, τὰ ἐμφανῆ Hdt. 2.33; ἐμφανῆ γὰρ ἦν Soph. Ant. 448: conspicuous, notable, Diod. τ. 68. IIT. Adv. -vas, Ion. -νέως, visibly, openly, Lat. palam, Hdt. 1.140, Aesch. Ag. 626, etc.; Eup. ἐλευθεροῦν without doubt, Hdt. 6. 123; up. ἠμύνατο openly, i.e. not secretly or treacherously, Soph. Tr. 278 ; οὐ λόγοις, ἀλλ᾽ ἐμφανῶς but really, Ar. Nub. 611; ἐμφ. ἤδη λέγειν Id. Ach. 312; Comp. -ἔέστερον, Plat. Phileb. 31 E. 2. so in neut. Adj., ἐξ ἐμφανέος or ἐκ τοῦ ἐμφ., Hdt. 3. 150, 4. 120, al.; ἐν τῷ ἐμφανεῖ Thuc. 2. 21, etc. ἐμφᾶνίζω, fut. Att. ἐῶ, to shew forth, manifest, exhibit, ἑαυτόν Eur. Fr. 794, Philoch. ap. Ath. 37 E; ἐμφ. τινὰ ἐπίορκον, φίλον to exhibit or represent him as .., Xen. Ages. I, 12, Dem. 188. 13 :—Pass. to become visible, Diog. L. 1. 7, N. T. 2. to make clear or plain, -- ἐμφανὲς ποιῶ, like ἐμφαίνω, Plat. Soph. 244 A, etc.; ἐμφ. τινί τι Xen. Mem. 4. 3,4 :—with a relat., τὰ παθήματα δι᾽ ἃς αἰτίας γέγονε Eup. Plat. Tim. 61C; ἐμφ. ὅτι... Xen. Cyr. 8. 1, 26. 8. to declare, explain, Arist. An. Pr. 1. 30, 4: to give notice, τινὶ ποιεῖν τι Polyb. 6. 35, 8; περί τινος Inscr. Delph. 68 Curt.

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  one of the most marvellous things (v. 6, 7, τό A. VIII. 7), 7. 137 :—so in Att., even in familiar language, μετὰ σοῦ, τῆς θείας κεφαλῆς Plat. Phaedr. 234 Ὁ; ὦ θεία κεφαλή Liban. 1. 652, etc.; and at Sparta, θεῖος (or rather σεῖος) ἀνήρ was a title of distinction, Plat. Meno gg D, Arist. Eth. N. 7.1, 3; so ὦ θεῖε, used by the Spartan in Plat. Legg. 626 C; cf. ἠθεῖος. IL. as Subst., θεῖον, τό, the Divine Being, the Divinity, Deity, first in Hdt. 1. 32., 3. 108, al., Aesch. Cho. 958; (cf. δῖος) ; ὥσπερ κατὰ θεῖον Ar. Eq. 147. 2. in an abstract sense, divinity, the divine, κεκοινώνηκε .. τοῦ θείου Plat. Phaedr. 246 Ὁ; ἢ μόνον μετέχει τοῦ θείου.., ἢ μάλιστα [ὁ ἄνθρωπος] Arist. P. A. 2. 1ο, 4, etc. 3. θεῖα, τά, divine things, the acts and attributes of the gods, the course of providence, Soph. Ph. 452, Fr. 521, Ar. Av. 961, Plat. Soph. 232 C, etc.: religious observances, Xen. Cyr. 8. 8, 2; ἔρρει τὰ θεῖα religion is out of date, Soph. O. T. gto, cf. O. C. 1537; τὰ ἀΐδια καὶ θεῖα Arist. G. A. 2. Tig Fp δἴο. III. Adv. θείως, in divine manner, by divine provi- dence, like θείᾳ μοίρᾳ (supr. 1. 1), Xen. Cyr. 4. 2, 1, etc. ; θειοτέρως by spectal providence, Hdt. 1. 122; also, μᾶλλόν τι καὶ θειότερον Id. 1. 174. 2. divinely, excellently, εὖ ye καὶ θ. Plat. Theaet. 154 D; θείως εἰρῆσθαι Arist. Metaph. 11. 8, 21. IV. for Comp. dew- TeEpos, V. θεός III. θεῖος, 6, one’s father’s or mother’s brother, uncle, Lat. patruus and avun- culus, Bur. 1.'T. 930, Ar. Nub. 125, Andoc. 3. 34., 15. 35, Plat., etc.; 6 πρὸς μητρὸς 9. Isae. 51. 27; ὁ πρὸς πατρός Philo 2. 172.—Before this, πατροκασίγνητος, πατράδελφος, πάτρως, and μητροκασίγνητος, μητρά- δελῴος, μήτρως were used.—Cf. also ἠθεῖος. II. In Οἷς. Att. 2. 2, I, like patruus, strict, harsh; but v. Orelli. (Curt. refers it to the same Root with τήθη, τηθίς.) θειό-στεπτοξ, θειο-τελής, v. sub θεο--. θειότης, ητος, ἡ, divine nature, divinity, Plut. 2. 665 A, etc. 2: religion, religiousness, Ib. 857 A, Id. Sull. 6; but in these places it is prob. that ὁσιότης (OC — for @€-) is the true reading, as in Isocr. 226 Ὁ ὁσιότητος has been restored from the Cod. Urbin. Dero-pivijs, és, manifested by the gods, Alex.’OAvv0. 1.14; v.1. θειοπαγές. θειό-χροος, ov, contr. —xpous, ov, brimstone-coloured, Diosc. 5. 118. θειόω, Ep. θεειόω, (θεῖον) to smoke with brimstone, fumigate and purify thereby, ὄφρα θεειώσω μέγαρον Od. 22. 482; θειώσας τὰς ἀλλοτρίας émwotas,metaph. from the clothes-cleaner, who used sulfur, Lysipp. Βακχ. 5; cf. θεόω 11:—Med., δῶμα θεειοῦται he fumigates his house, Od. 23. 50: generally, to purify, hallow, θείου .. θεσμὸν αἰθέρος μυχῶν Eur. Hel. 866, v. Herm. ad 1. (882). II. (θεῖος) to make divine, dedicate to a god, Plat. Legg. 771 B. Gelw, Ep. for θέω, to run. :

• From Martin Luther (2016)

  34 Accommodation worthy of nobles, it was situated close by the hall where the Diet was meeting. It was a reversal of the situation at Augsburg: Now it was the papal nuncio Aleander who had to make do with a tiny room without heating, so unpopular was his cause. 35 When the time came for Luther to appear at the Diet in the late afternoon of April 17, the press of people was so great that he had to be taken through a garden and then into the meeting room through a side entrance. “Many climbed to the rooftops in their eagerness to see,” one observer reported in a conscious echo of the crowds who greeted Christ on Palm Sunday. 36 Luther walked past the ranks of German princes, some of whom shouted encouragement. The very splendor of the event must have been intimidating for the monk in his simple black cassock. The princes and nobles crowded into the room were all dressed in their finery, sumptuous cloaks, golden chains, jewelry, and dazzling headwear; and then there was the emperor himself in his magnificent robes. Luther, by contrast, wore a simple black belted cassock. As one delegate described it, “a man was let in who they said was Martin Luther, about forty years old or thereabouts, coarsely built and with a coarse face with not especially good eyes, his countenance restive, which he carelessly changed. He wore a cassock of the Augustinian order with its leather belt, his tonsure large and freshly shorn, his hair badly clipped.” 37 Luther had received only the barest briefing from the imperial marshal, who told him what he would be asked and instructed him simply to answer the questions. They were read aloud first in Latin and then in German, for the proceedings had to be understood by both the scholars and the German princes and nobility. In front of Luther, on a bench, was a pile of the Basle editions of his books, bound specially for the occasion. The secretary of the bishop of Trier asked Luther whether the books were his, and whether he would recant. At this, Hieronymus Schurff, the professor of law at Wittenberg acting for Luther, shouted, “Let the titles of the books be read!” The extraordinary list of titles, which together constituted such a printing sensation, were then read aloud to the estates of the German nation and the emperor, reminding those assembled of the issues at stake. It demonstrated as nothing else could the depth and range of Luther’s attack on the papacy and the established Church.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  According to Eddie Diamond, who heard it from one of the Greenies, she took a greedy pleasure in night patrols. She was good at it; she had the moves. All camouflaged up, her face smooth and vacant, she seemed to flow like water through the dark, like oil, without sound or center. She went barefoot. She stopped carrying a weapon. There were times, apparently, when she took crazy, death-wish chances—things that even the Greenies balked at. It was as if she were taunting some wild creature out in the bush, or in her head, inviting it to show itself, a curious game of hide-and go-seek that was played out in the dense terrain of a nightmare. She was lost inside herself. On occasion, when they were taken under fire, Mary Anne would stand quietly and watch the tracer rounds snap by, a little smile at her lips, intent on some private transaction with the war. Other times she would simply vanish altogether—for hours, for days. And then one morning, all alone, Mary Anne walked off into the mountains and did not come back. No body was ever found. No equipment, no clothing. For all he knew, Rat said, the girl was still alive. Maybe up in one of the high mountain villes, maybe with the Montagnard tribes. But that was guesswork. There was an inquiry, of course, and a week-long air search, and for a time the Tra Bong compound went crazy with MP and CID types. In the end, however, nothing came of it. It was a war and the war went on. Mark Fossie was busted to PFC, shipped back to a hospital in the States, and two months later received a medical discharge. Mary Anne Bell joined the missing. But the story did not end there. If you believed the Greenies, Rat said, Mary Anne was still somewhere out there in the dark. Odd movements, odd shapes. Late at night, when the Greenies were out on ambush, the whole rain forest seemed to stare in at them—a watched feeling—and a couple of times they almost saw her sliding through the shadows. Not quite, but almost. She had crossed to the other side. She was part of the land. She was wearing her culottes, her pink sweater, and a necklace of human tongues. She was dangerous. She was ready for the kill. Stockings Henry Dobbins was a good man, and a superb soldier, but sophistication was not his strong suit. The ironies went beyond him. In many ways he was like America itself, big and strong, full of good intentions, a roll of fat jiggling at his belly, slow of foot but always plodding along, always there when you needed him, a believer in the virtues of simplicity and directness and hard labor. Like his country, too, Dobbins was drawn toward sentimentality. Even now, twenty years later, I can see him wrapping his girlfriend's pantyhose around his neck before heading out on ambush.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  Mitchell Sanders told them to knock it off. The three soldiers moved to the dike, put down their packs and weapons, then waded back to where the boot was showing. The body lay partly wedged under a layer of mud beneath the water. It was hard to get traction; with each movement the muck would grip their feet and hold tight. The rain had come back harder now. Mitchell Sanders reached down and found Kiowa's other boot, and they waited a moment, then Sanders sighed and said, "Okay," and they took hold of the two boots and pulled up hard. There was only a slight give. They tried again, but this time the body did not move at all. After the third try they stopped and looked down for a while. "One more time," Norman Bowker said. He counted to three and they leaned back and pulled. "Stuck," said Mitchell Sanders. "T see that. Christ." They tried again, then called over Henry Dobbins and Rat Kiley, and all five of them put their arms and backs into it, but the body was jammed in tight. Azar moved to the dike and sat holding his stomach. His face was pale. The others stood in a circle, watching the water, then after a time somebody said, "We can't just /eave him there," and the men nodded and got out their entrenching tools and began digging. It was hard, sloppy work. The mud seemed to flow back faster than they could dig, but Kiowa was their friend and they kept at it anyway. Slowly, in little groups, the rest of the platoon drifted over to watch. Only Lieutenant Jimmy Cross and the young soldier were still searching the field. "What we should do, I guess," Norman Bowker said, "is tell the LT." Mitchell Sanders shook his head. "Just mess things up. Besides, the man looks happy out there, real content. Let him be." After ten minutes they uncovered most of Kiowa's lower body. The corpse was angled steeply into the muck, upside down, like a diver who had plunged headfirst off a high tower. The men stood quietly for a few seconds. There was a feeling of awe. Mitchell Sanders finally nodded and said, "Let's get it done," and they took hold of the legs and pulled up hard, then pulled again, and after a moment Kiowa came sliding to the surface. A piece of his shoulder was missing; the arms and chest and face were cut up with shrapnel. He was covered with bluish green mud. "Well," Henry Dobbins said, "it could be worse," and Dave Jensen said, "How, man? Tell me how." Carefully, trying not to look at the body, they carried Kiowa over to the dike and laid him down. They used towels to clean off the scum. Rat Kiley went through the kid's pockets, placed his personal effects in a plastic bag, taped the bag to Kiowa's wrist, then used the radio to call in a dustoff.

• From The Things They Carried (1990)

  In addition to the three standard weapons—the M-60, M-16, and M-79 —they carried whatever presented itself, or whatever seemed appropriate as a means of killing or staying alive. They carried catch-as-catch-can. At various times, in various situations, they carried M-14s and CAR-15s and Swedish Ks and grease guns and captured AK-47s and Chi-Coms and RPGs and Simonov carbines and black market Uzis and .38-caliber Smith & Wesson handguns and 66 mm LAWSs and shotguns and silencers and blackjacks and bayonets and C-4 plastic explosives. Lee Strunk carried a slingshot; a weapon of last resort, he called it. Mitchell Sanders carried brass knuckles. Kiowa carried his grandfather's feathered hatchet. Every third or fourth man carried a Claymore antipersonnel mine—3.5 pounds with its firing device. They all carried fragmentation grenades—14 ounces each. They all carried at least one M-18 colored smoke grenade—24 ounces. Some carried CS or tear gas grenades. Some carried white phosphorus grenades. They carried all they could bear, and then some, including a silent awe for the terrible power of the things they carried. In the first week of April, before Lavender died, Lieutenant Jimmy Cross received a good-luck charm from Martha. It was a simple pebble, an ounce at most. Smooth to the touch, it was a milky white color with flecks of orange and violet, oval-shaped, like a miniature egg. In the accompanying letter, Martha wrote that she had found the pebble on the

• From A Greek-English Lexicon (Liddell-Scott) (1957)

  κρἄτερός, a, dv, Ep. form of κάρτερος, strong, stout, mighty, in Hom. mostly of bodily strength, κρατερός περ ἐὼν καὶ χερσὶ πεποιθώς 1]. τό. 624, cf. 6. 97. etc.; epith. of Ares, 2.515; of lions, Od. 4.3353; χεῖρες 4. 288, Pind., etc.:—also with collat. notion of stern, harsh, of Hades, Il. 13. 415, cf. 21. 566. 2. of things, conditions, etc., strong, mighty, cruel, fierce, xp. ὑσμίνη 1].2.345; ἀνάγκη 0.458; βίη 21.501, etc.:—of weapons, βέλος, τόξον 5. 104., 8. 279; βιός Od. 24. 170; so δεσμός, δεσμοί 1]. 5. 386, Od. 8. 336:—also, hard, χῶρος h. Hom. Merc. 3543; σίδηρος ὅπερ xpatepwrards ἐστιν Hes. Th. 864. 3. of divers passions, strong, vehement, mighty, λύσσα, ἔρις, μένος, πένθος, ἄλγεα, etc., Hom. :—so of acts and words, «p. ἔργα violent deeds, Il. 1. 253 Kp. μῦθος a harsh, rough speech, Ib. 326, etc.; μῦθον ἀπηνέα τε Kp. TE 15. 202.—Cf. καρτερύς, κραταιός, κρατύς. 11. Adv. -ρῶς, strongly, stoutly, xp. μάχεσθαι 1]. 12.152; ἑστάμεναι 15.666; ἔχεσθαι 16. 501, etc.: νεμεσᾶν 13. 16,353; Kad 8 ἔβαλε κρ. dashed roughly to earth, Od. 4. 344; κρ. ἀγορεύειν and ἀποειπεῖν sternly, roughly, Il. 8. 29., 9. 694, etc;-—Of the Trag. Aesch. uses this form once, xp. γυιοπέδαι Pr. 167; whereas καρτερός was in general use. κρἄτερό-φρων, ον, gen. ovos, (φρήν) stout-hearted, dauntless, epith. of Hercules, 1. 14.3245; the Dioscuri, Od. 11.299; of Ulysses, 4.333.,17.124; of the lion, Il. 10.184; ἀδάμαντος ἔχων κρατερόφρονα θυμόν Hes. Ορ. 146. κρἄτερό-χειρ, 6, 77, stout of hand, Auth.P.9. 210, 4, Epigr. Gr. 1034. 20. κρᾶτέρωμα, τό, a kind of bronze, Hesych. κρἄτερῶνυξ, vyos, 6, ἡ, (ὄνυξ) strong-hoofed, solid-hoofed, ἵπποι 1]. 5. 329., 16.724; ἡμίονοι 24. 277, Od. 6. 253, etc.:—strong-clawed, λύκοι κρατερώνυχες ἠδὲ λέοντες 10. 218:—with strong nails, χείρ Matro ap. Ath. 135 B. κράτεσφι [4], Ep. dat. of «pas, Il. 10. 156. κρἄτευταί, ay, oi, the forked stands or frame on which a spit turns, Il. 9. 214, ubi v. Spitzn.; μολύβδιναι kp. Eupol. KoA. 22 :—also κρἄτευ- Thprov, τό, or κρατευτήρια, τά, Poll. 6. 89., 10. 97.