Never Hate Your Enemies -- Even You Father.

Mr. Corleone, all Bastards are Liars. 

Shakespeare wrote poems about it.

Michael, you know Vincent Mancini -- 

Sonny’s Boy.

 

 

PLUTARCH'S MORALS.

ON EDUCATION.

§ i. Come let us consider what one might say on the education of free children, and by what training they would become good citizens.

§ ii. It is perhaps best to begin with birth: I would therefore warn those who desire to be fathers of notable sons, not to form connections with any kind of women, such as courtesans or mistresses: for those who either on the father or mother's side are ill-born have the disgrace of their origin all their life long irretrievably present with them, and offer a ready handle to abuse and vituperation. So that the poet was wise, who said, "Unless the foundation of a house be well laid, the descendants must of necessity be unfortunate."  

Good birth indeed brings with it a store of assurance, which ought to be greatly valued by all who desire legitimate offspring. For the spirit of those who are a spurious and bastard breed is apt to be mean and abject: for as the poet truly says, "It makes a man even of noble spirit servile, when he is conscious of the ill fame of either his father or mother." 

On the other hand the sons of illustrious parents are full of Pride and arrogance. As an instance of this it is recorded of Diophantus, the son of Themistocles, that he often used to say to various people "that he could do what he pleased with the Athenian people, for what he wished his mother wished, and what she wished Themistocles wished, and what Themistocles wished all the Athenians wished." 

All praise also ought we to bestow on the Lacedæmonians for their loftiness of soul in fining their King Archidamus for venturing to marry a small woman, for they charged him with intending to furnish them not with Kings but Kinglets.

§ iii. Next must we mention, what was not overlooked even by those who handled this subject before us, that those who approach their wives for procreation must do so either without having drunk any wine or at least very little. For those children, that their parents begot in drink, are wont to be fond of wine and apt to turn out drunkards. And so Diogenes, seeing a youth out of his mind and crazy, said, "Young man, your father was drunk when he begot you." 

 Let this hint serve as to Procreation: now let us discuss Education.

 

 

  

 

 

 

CUT TO: A helicopter carrying Michael and Vincent. They are traveling to the meeting that Don Altobello had arranged at Michael's request.

VINCENT

I'd like to take Joey Zasa up for a ride in this and drop him.

MICHAEL

Joey Zasa is nothing. He's a small time enforcer – Mobs, threats, nothing. We'll be able to see him coming, a mile away.

VINCENT

We should kill him before he kills --

MICHAEL

No!

(then)

Never Hate Your Enemies. It affects your Judgment.

CUT TO: Outside an Atlantic City casino where the Commission meeting is to take place, as set up by Don Altobello on Michael’s request. The Text Over reads: Atlantic City, New Jersey.

<Michael and Vincent are welcomed ["Nice to see you again, Mr. Corleone. Mr. Mancini."].

CUT TO: Suite where Commission meeting is to be held.

<A band is playing and women are milling about the busy room full of Dons. Joey Zasa enters and Michael and Vincent enter shortly after. On Michael's arrival the band stops playing and the women are ushered from the room. Vincent nods at Joey Zasa. Once the room is cleared of all but those at the meeting, Don Altobello begins proceedings.>

DON ALTOBELLO (addressing Michael to the Commission)

We entrusted you to manage our money in the casinos. It's not even, twenty years. You sold the casinos, and you made fortunes for all of us. Bravo Don Corleone!

<The room applauds Michael. Joey Zasa gives a half-hearted clap.>

MICHAEL

Thank you. Friends, I have come here, because, our business together is done. We have prospered, and now it is time for us, to dissolve, the business relationship between us.

<There are murmurs of protest.>

MICHAEL

That's it. But I do have a little surprise

(then, to Neri)

Al?

<Al removes a bundle of envelopes from his jacket.>

MICHAEL

Your shares, in the casinos. I thought I'd cut through all the red tape so you can get your money right away.

<This news is met with a more positive response.>

A DON

Fifty million dollars!

<Vincent is passing out envelopes.>

MICHAEL

Not everyone gets the same…

VINCENT (whispering into Joey Zasa’s ear)

Nothing for you…

MICHAEL

…It depends how much you invested, and how long for.

<The Dons all marvel at how much they have just received, "Wonderful! Woah! Grazie!">

A DON

Michael, this is really generous!

A DON

Hey, Perisi, how much did you invest?

DON PERISI (putting his envelope in his jacket pocket)

I don’t remember…

DON ALTOBELLO

Michael, you're blessed.

<Joey Zasa has heard enough.>

ZASA

My family has done much of the hard work; taken many risks. All to make money, for the rest of the families.

MICHAEL

You all know Joey Zasa. He is, I admit, an important man. His picture is on the cover of the New York Times magazine. He gets the Esquire magazine award, for the best-dressed gangster! The newspapers praise him, because, he hires Blacks into his family, which shows he has a good heart. He, is famous. Who knows? Maybe one day, he will make all of you, popular.

ZASA

It's true. I make more of a, bella figura, that is my nature. But I also want to make a move into, legitimate enterprises. I'd like to get a little pin from the Pope. Sure, I take the Blacks and the Spanish into my family, because, that's America.

MICHAEL

And you guarantee, they don't deal drugs in those neighborhoods.

ZASA

I don't guarantee that. I guarantee I'll kill anybody who does.

DON ALTOBELLO

Let me talk to him, let me talk to him.

MICHAEL

Who can refuse, Don Altobello…

<The Dons are passing around a tray full of gold jewelry and pearls, and each take one.>

DON ALTOBELLO

Joey...

JOEY (interrupts)

NO! I say to all of you, I have been treated this day, with no respect. I've earned you all money. I've made you rich, and I asked for little. Good. You will not give, I'll take! As for Don, Corleone, well he makes it, very clear to me today, that he is my enemy. You must choose between us.

<Joey storms out. Don Altobello chases after him.>

ALTOBELLO

Hey Joey – no – Joey – no – Joey …

(then, to Michael)

We can reason together – no – Michael, Michael – please, let’s agreed, huh?

MICHAEL

No, Altobello…

<Altobello exists the room>

PERISI

Uh, Michael, Michael. The news is everywhere. Everyone is saying that, you control Immobiliare.

<The Dons begin talking at once.>

A DON

Immobiliare already is laundering money in Peru, in Nassau, we know that…

A DON

Listen to me, Michael…

A DON

Michael, why shouldn’t…

A DON

We should wet our beaks a little…

A DON

We want to do business with you, Michael – we’ve been together for many…

A DON

We could wash our money clean … with holy water…

<Michael stays silent as everyone talks to him, but the talking suddenly stops as a rumbling noise is heard and the room starts to shake. Vincent reacts first.>

VINCENT (to Michael): It’s a hit -- Let's go.

<The meeting disbands and everyone leaps up to leave. "Let’s get outta here!" On the outside of the room, someone snaps a pair of handcuffs over the doorknobs, locking the Dons in the room. A helicopter appears overhead and machine gun fire rips through the glass ceiling of the room. Vincent protects Michael as a massacre ensues.>

VOICE (to a Don)

Forget your coat!

A DON (trying to retrieve his coat before being riddled with bullets)

It’s my lucky coat! It’s my lucky coat!

<Al Neri retrieves a shotgun from behind the bar and blasts a door open.>

AL NERI

Mikey, this way!

<Michael and Vincent escape through this door.>

A DON (laying, bleeding, on the floor)

Zasa! You son of a bitch!

Vincent breaks into a car and opens the door for Michael.

VINCENT

Come on. We're outta here.

<Vincent and Michael escape as we see shots of the remains of the room, and of the bodies that fill it.>
 

 

 

 

SCENE I. King Lear's palace.

    Enter KENT, GLOUCESTER, and EDMUND

KENT

    I thought the king had more affected the Duke of
    Albany than Cornwall.

GLOUCESTER

    It did always seem so to us: but now, in the
    division of the kingdom, it appears not which of
    the dukes he values most; for equalities are so
    weighed, that curiosity in neither can make choice
    of either's moiety.

KENT

    Is not this your son, my lord?

GLOUCESTER

    His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have
    so often blushed to acknowledge him, that now I am
    brazed to it.

KENT

    I cannot conceive you.

GLOUCESTER

    Sir, this young fellow's mother could: whereupon
    she grew round-wombed, and had, indeed, sir, a son
    for her cradle ere she had a husband for her bed.
    Do you smell a fault?

KENT

    I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it
    being so proper.

GLOUCESTER

    But I have, sir, a son by order of law, some year
    elder than this, who yet is no dearer in my account:
    though this knave came something saucily into the
    world before he was sent for, yet was his mother
    fair; there was good sport at his making, and the
    whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this
    noble gentleman, Edmund?

EDMUND

    No, my lord.

GLOUCESTER

    My lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my
    honourable friend.

EDMUND

    My services to your lordship.

KENT

    I must love you, and sue to know you better.

EDMUND

    Sir, I shall study deserving.

GLOUCESTER

    He hath been out nine years, and away he shall
    again. The King is coming.


    Sennet. Enter KING LEAR, CORNWALL, ALBANY, GONERIL, REGAN, CORDELIA, and Attendants

KING LEAR

    Attend The Lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.

GLOUCESTER

    I shall, My Liege.

    Exeunt GLOUCESTER and EDMUND -- The Bastard Goes WITH Him.




SCENE II. The Earl of Gloucester's castle.

    Enter EDMUND, with a letter

EDMUND

    Thou, nature, art my goddess; to thy law
    My services are bound. Wherefore should I
    Stand in the plague of custom, and permit
    The curiosity of nations to deprive me,
    For that I am some twelve or fourteen moon-shines
    Lag of a brother? Why bastard? wherefore base?
    When my dimensions are as well compact,
    My mind as generous, and my shape as true,
    As honest madam's issue? Why brand they us
    With base? with baseness? bastardy? base, base?
    Who, in the lusty stealth of nature, take
    More composition and fierce quality
    Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed,
    Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops,
    Got 'tween asleep and wake? Well, then,
    Legitimate Edgar, I must have your land:
    Our Father's love is to the bastard Edmund
    As to the legitimate: fine word,--legitimate!
    Well, my legitimate, if this letter speed,
    And my invention thrive, Edmund The Base
    Shall top The Legitimate. I grow; I prosper:
    Now, Gods, Stand Up for Bastards!

    Enter GLOUCESTER

King John receives an ambassador from France who demands with a threat of war that he renounce his throne in favour of his nephew, Arthur, whom the French King Philip believes to be the rightful heir to the throne.

John adjudicates an inheritance dispute between Robert Faulconbridge and his older brother Philip the Bastard, during which it becomes apparent that Philip is the illegitimate son of King Richard I. Queen Eleanor, mother to both Richard and John, recognises the family resemblance and suggests that he renounce his claim to the Faulconbridge land in exchange for a knighthood. 

John Knights Philip The Bastard under the name Richard.

A 19th century drawing by Thomas Nast

In France, King Philip and his forces besiege the English-ruled town of Angers, threatening attack unless its citizens support Arthur. Philip is supported by Austria, who is believed to have killed King Richard. The English contingent arrives; and then Eleanor trades insults with Constance, Arthur’s mother. Kings Philip and John stake their claims in front of Angers’ citizens, but to no avail: their representative says that they will support the rightful king, whoever that turns out to be.

The French and English armies clash, but no clear victor emerges. Each army dispatches a herald claiming victory, but Angers’ citizens continue to refuse to recognize either claimant because neither army has proven victorious.

The Bastard proposes that England and France unite to punish the rebellious citizens of Angers, at which point the citizens propose an alternative: Philip’s son, Louis the Dauphin, should marry John’s niece Blanche (a scheme that gives John a stronger claim to the throne) while Louis gains territory for France. Though a furious Constance accuses Philip of abandoning Arthur, Louis and Blanche are married.

Cardinal Pandolf arrives from Rome bearing a formal accusation that John has disobeyed the Pope and appointed an archbishop contrary to his desires. John refuses to recant, whereupon he is excommunicated. Pandolf pledges his support for Louis, though Philip is hesitant, having just established family ties with John. Pandolf brings him round by pointing out that his links to the church are older and firmer.

War breaks out; Austria is beheaded by the Bastard in revenge for his father’s death; and both Angers and Arthur are captured by the English. Eleanor is left in charge of English possessions in France, while the Bastard is sent to collect funds from English monasteries. John orders Hubert to kill Arthur. Pandolf suggests to Louis that he now has as strong a claim to the English throne as Arthur (and indeed John), and Louis agrees to invade England.

A Lithograph depicting Act III Scene I

Hubert finds himself unable to kill Arthur. John’s nobles urge Arthur’s release. John agrees, but is wrong-footed by Hubert’s announcement that Arthur is dead. The nobles, believing he was murdered, defect to Louis’ side. Equally upsetting, and more heartbreaking to John, is the news of his mother’s death, along with that of Lady Constance. The Bastard reports that the monasteries are unhappy about John’s attempt to seize their gold. Hubert has a furious argument with John, during which he reveals that Arthur is still alive. John, delighted, sends him to report the news to the nobles.

Arthur dies jumping from a castle wall. 

(It is open to interpretation whether he deliberately kills himself or just makes a risky escape attempt.) 

The nobles believe he was murdered by John, and refuse to believe Hubert’s entreaties. John attempts to make a deal with Pandolf, swearing allegiance to the Pope in exchange for Pandolf’s negotiating with the French on his behalf. John orders the Bastard, one of his few remaining loyal subjects, to lead the English army against France.

While John’s former noblemen swear allegiance to Louis, Pandolf explains John’s scheme, but Louis refuses to be taken in by it. The Bastard arrives with the English army and threatens Louis, but to no avail. War breaks out with substantial losses on each side, including Louis’ reinforcements, who are drowned during the sea crossing. Many English nobles return to John’s side after a dying French nobleman, Melun, warns them that Louis plans to kill them after his victory.

John is poisoned by a disgruntled monk. His nobles gather around him as he dies. 

The Bastard plans the final assault on Louis’ forces, until he is told that Pandolf has arrived with a peace treaty. The English nobles swear allegiance to John’s son Prince Henry, and the Bastard reflects that this episode has taught that internal bickering could be as perilous to England’s fortunes as foreign invasion.

Act of War


The Exception That is The Rule

The Bohemian Wanderer

Teeth + Curls :


CIA Acolyte : 

We foresee A Time when They will 

have destroyed all other lifeforms and 

become The Dominant Creature 

in The Universe. 

Tom : 

That's possible. Tell on. 


CIA Acolyte :  

We'd like you to return to Skaro at 

a point in time before the Daleks evolved. 

Tom : 

Do you mean avert their creation? 


CIA Acolyte : 

Or, affect their genetic development 

so that they evolve into 

less aggressive creatures.

Tom : 

Hmm. That's feasible. 


CIA Acolyte :  

Alternatively, if you learn enough about 

their very beginnings, you might discover 

some inherent weakness. 

Steve Rogers: 

I know you've suffered.

Ultron: 

Uuughh! Captain America. 

God's Righteous Man, 

pretending you could live without A War. 

I can't physically throw up in my mouth, but...

Thor: 

If you believe in Peace, then let us keep it.

Ultron: 

I think you're confusing Peace with Quiet.

Tony Stark: 

Yuh-huh. What's the Vibranium for?

Ultron: 

I'm glad you asked that, because I wanted to take this time to explain my evil plan! 

[Steve and Stark are chopping wood outside Barton's house]

Tony Stark: 

Thor didn't say where he was going for answers?

Steve Rogers: 

Sometimes my teammates don't tell me things. 

I was kind of hoping Thor would be the exception.

Tony Stark: 

Yeah, give him time. We don't know what the Maximoff kid showed him.

Steve Rogers: 

“Earth's Mightiest Heroes." 

Pulled us apart like cotton candy.

Tony Stark: 

Seems like you walked away all right.

Steve Rogers: 

Is that a problem?

Tony Stark: 

I don't trust a guy without a Dark Side. 

Call me old fashioned.

Steve Rogers: 

Well let's just say you haven't seen it yet.

Tony Stark: You know Ultron is trying to tear us apart, right?

Steve Rogers: 

Well I guess you'd know. 

Whether you tell us is a bit of a question.

Tony Stark: Banner and I were doing research.

Steve Rogers: 

That would affect the team.

Tony Stark: That would END The Team. 

Isn't that The Mission? Isn't that the "Why" We Fght, so we can END The Fight, so we get to go home?

Steve Rogers: 

Every time someone tries to win a war before it starts, innocent people die. EVERY time. 

THE FUTURISTS

"Who is Man? Is He a rational being?

If He is, then The Goals can be achieved.

But if He isn't, there seems little point in attempting  The Effort."

Robert McNamarra,

Montreal, 1967

“I believe that in 130-200 years, if things go all well, 95% of The World’s Population will be living at higher than current American Standards of Living

Young Men will come from everywhere  poor, everywhere in danger of hunger and starvation to a Life where The Technology largely insulates you from The State of Nature.”

— Herman Kahn, 

RAND Corporation Futurist, 

1965

My Armor was never a distraction or a hobby, it was a cocoon, and now I'm a Changed Man. 

You can take away My House, all My Tricks and Toys, but one thing you can't take away - 

I am Iron Man.

— Tony Stark,

Futurist, 2013

So let Us infect Them.
Infect Them to the point where They Become Us.
Where there’s nothing left in This World, but Us.

And then Some Kid’ll come up and fuck that as well.
And that’ll be Exactly What We Need at the time.

And that’s me finished, so thank you very much. 

 

  

The Futurist : 

I see, a Suit of Armour around The World.

The Doctor : 

Sounds like Pretty Cold World, Tony

Orion, The Huntsman : 

The Futurist, gentlemen! 

The Futurist is here! 

He sees ALL ! 

He sees ALL ! 

He knows What's Best for You, 

Whether your like it or not.

The Futurist : 

Give me a break, Barton. 

I had no idea they'll put you here. Come on.

Orion, The Huntsman :

[spits] 

Yeah, well, you knew they'd put us somewhere, Tony.

The Futurist : 

Yeah, but not some super-max floating ocean pokey. 

You know, this place is for maniacs. 

This is a place for . . .

Orion, The Huntsman :

Criminals? 

[He stands up.] 

Criminals, Tony. 

Think that's The Word you're looking for. 

[He eyes Tony through the bars.] 

Right? That didn't used to mean Me. 

Or Sam, or Wanda. 

But Here We Are.

The Futurist : 

Because you broke The Law.

Orion, The Huntsman :

Yeah.

The Futurist  : 

I didn't make you.

Orion, The Huntsman :

La, la, la, la, la . . .

The Futurist : 

You Read it, you Broke it.

Orion, The Huntsman :

La, la, la, la la…

The Futurist : 

Alright, you're all grown up, you got a wife and kids. 

I don't understand, why didn't you think about them before you chose The Wrong Side? 

[He walks away.]

Orion, The Huntsman :

You gotta watch your back with This Guy. 

There's a chance he's gonna break it.

The Little Guy : 

Hank Pym always said, you never can Trust a Stark.

The Futurist : 

Who are you?

The Little Guy : 

Come on, man!

Q.

There were things that Thor did when 

Something Went Wrong;

The First Thing he did 

was ask himself 

if What Had Happened 

was Loki's fault -- 

 

Maybe Q. did The Right Thing for The Wrong Reasons.

 OR

Maybe Q. did The Wrong Thing  for The Right Reasons

OR

Maybe Q. did The Right Thing for The Right Reasons....

Q: 

They will follow this ship until you exhaust your fuel. 

They will wear down your defences. 

Then, you will be Theirs. 

Admit it, Picard. You're out of your league. 

You should have stayed where you belonged.

You can't outrun them. 

You can't destroy them. 

If you damage them, the essence of what they are remains. 

They regenerate and keep coming. 

Eventually you will weaken, your reserves will be gone. 

They are RELENTLESS.

Where's your stubbornness now, Picard, your arrogance? 

Do you still profess to be prepared for what awaits you?

I'll be leaving now. You thought you could handle it, so handle it.

PICARD : 

Q. End this.

Q : 

Moi? What makes you think I am either inclined or capable to terminate this encounter?

PICARD : 

If we all die, here, now.... you will not be able to gloat..!! 

You wanted to frighten us. 

We're frightened. 

You wanted to show us that we were inadequate. 

For the moment, I grant that. 

You wanted me to say that I need you. 

I NEED You!

(With a snap of Q's fingers, the Enterprise goes whirling through space again)

Q: 

That was a difficult admission. 

Another Man would have been humiliated to say those words. 

Another Man would have rather DIED than ask for Help.

PICARD:

I understand what you've done here, Q --

But I think The Lesson could have been learned without the loss of eighteen members of my crew.

Q: 

If you can't take a little bloody nose, maybe you ought to go back home and crawl under your bed. It's not safe out here. It's wondrous, with treasures to satiate desires both subtle and gross -- but it's NOT for The Timid.

[Ten forward]

(Guinan and Picard are playing Chess)

GUINAN: 

Q set a series of events into motion, bringing contact with The Borg much sooner than it should have come. 

Now, perhaps when you're ready, it might be possible to establish A Relationship with them. 

But for now, for right now, you're just raw material to Them. 

Since They are aware of your existence --

PICARD: 

They WILL Be Coming.

GUINAN: 

You can bet on it.

PICARD: 

Maybe Q did The Right Thing for The Wrong Reason.

GUINAN: 

How so?

PICARD: 

Well, perhaps what we most needed was a kick in our complacency, to prepare us ready for what lies ahead. 

Well-Disposed Towards People, Generally

Q : 

Who Are You?

A : 

A Friend.

Arthur Dent : 

I see — anyone’s friend in particular, or are you just well-disposed towards People, generally?

Q : 

WHAT ARE YOU?!?

A :

I’M BATMAN.

KIRK: 

Bones -- There's A Thing out there...

McCOY: 

Why is any object we don't understand always called 'A Thing'?
 

 

KIRK: 

...headed this way. I Need You. 

Dammit Bones, I Need you. Badly!

 

 

*****

 

KIRK: 

Human Beings...
 

SPOCK: 

But Captain, we both know that I am Not Human.

KIRK: 

Do you want to know something? 

...Everybody's Human.

 
SPOCK: 

I find that remark ...insulting.

KIRK: 

Come on, I Need You.

*****

PICARD : 

Q. End this.

Q : 

Moi? What makes you think I am either inclined or capable to terminate this encounter?

PICARD : 

If we all die, here, now.... you will not be able to gloat..!! 

You wanted to frighten us. 

We're frightened. 

You wanted to show us that we were inadequate. 

For the moment, I grant that. 

You wanted me to say that I need you. 

I NEED You!

(With a snap of Q's fingers, the Enterprise goes whirling through space again)

Q: 

That was a difficult admission. 

Another Man would have been humiliated to say those words. 

Another Man would have rather DIED than ask for Help.

“Friendship arises out of mere Companionship when two or more of the companions discover that they have in common some insight or interest or even taste which the others do not share and which, till that moment, each believed to be his own unique treasure (or burden). The typical expression of opening Friendship would be something like, “What? You too? I thought I was the only one.” 

We can imagine that among those early hunters and warriors single individuals — one in a century? one in a thousand years? — saw what others did not; saw that the deer was beautiful as well as edible, that hunting was fun as well as necessary, dreamed that his gods might be not only powerful but holy. 

But as long as each of these percipient persons dies without finding a kindred soul, nothing (I suspect) will come of it; art or sport or spiritual religion will not be born. It is when two such persons discover one another, when, whether with immense difficulties and semi-articulate fumblings or with what would seem to us amazing and elliptical speed, they share their vision — it is then that Friendship is born. 

And instantly they stand together in an immense solitude. Lovers seek for privacy. Friends find this solitude about them, this barrier between them and the herd, whether they want it or not. They would be glad to reduce it. The first two would be glad to find a third. In our own time Friendship arises in the same way. For us of course the shared activity and therefore the companionship on which Friendship supervenes will not often be a bodily one like hunting or fighting. 

It may be a common religion, common studies, a common profession, even a common recreation. All who share it will be our companions; but one or two or three who share something more will be our Friends. In this kind of love, as Emerson said, Do you love me? means Do you see the same truth? — Or at least, “Do you care about the same truth?” 

The Man who agrees with us that some question, little regarded by others, is of great importance, can be our Friend. He need not agree with us about The Answer. 

Notice that Friendship thus repeats on a more individual and less socially necessary level the character of the Companionship which was its matrix. The Companionship was between people who were doing something together—hunting, studying, painting or what you will. The Friends will still be doing something together, but something more inward, less widely shared and less easily defined; still hunters, but of some immaterial quarry; still collaborating, but in some work the world does not, or not yet, take account of; still travelling companions, but on a different kind of journey. Hence we picture lovers face to face but Friends side by side; their eyes look ahead. 

That is why those pathetic people who simply “want friends” can never make any. The very condition of having Friends is can arise — though Affection of course may. There would be nothing for the Friendship to be about; and Friendship must be about something, even if it were only an enthusiasm for dominoes or white mice. 

Those who have nothing can share nothing; 

those who are going nowhere can have no fellow-travellers.

 

 

 

 

 

 UHURA: 

Captain, Starfleet reports our last six crewmembers are ready to beam up - 

...but one of them is refusing to step into the transporter.
 

KIRK: 

Oh? I'll see that he beams up! 

...Transporter room.

[Enterprise transporter room]

KIRK: 

Ellen.

ELLEN: 

Yes sir.

KIRK: 

What was the problem down there?

ELLEN: 

He insisted we go first, sir. 

Said something about first seeing how it scrambled our molecules.
 

KIRK: 

That has a familiar ring, doesn't it? 

Starfleet, this is Captain Kirk [NO IT ISN'T.]. 

Beam that officer up now! 

 

IN ANTICIPATION OF THE SIGHT OF HIS OLD FRIEND, REAR-ADMIRAL JAMES T. KIRK HAS FORGOTTEN HIMSELF

 

...Well, for a man who swore he'd never return to Starfleet.

McCOY: 

Just a moment, Captain, sir. I'll explain what happened. 

Your revered Admiral Nogura invoked a little known, and seldom used, reserve activation clause...

...in simpler language, Captain, they drafted me!

 

BONES HAS NOT NOTICED/DOES NOT CARE THAT JIM IS NOW AN ADMIRAL

 

and Kirk Does Not Care to correct him.

 

 
KIRK:

They didn't!
 

McCOY: 

This was your idea! 

This was your idea, wasn't it?

KIRK: 

Bones -- There's A Thing out there...

McCOY: 

Why is any object we don't understand always called 'A Thing'?
 

 

KIRK: 

...headed this way. I Need You. 

Dammit Bones, I need you. Badly!

McCOY: 

Permission to come aboard?

RAND (OC): 

Permission granted, sir.

McCOY: 

Well, Jim, I hear Chapel's an MD now. 

Well, I'm gonna need a top nurse, not a Doctor who'll argue every little diagnosis with me. 

And ...They've probably redesigned the whole sickbay, too. 

 

I know engineers. 

They LOVE to change things.....

 

Have Some Courtesy

Thank You, Barney.

“ We hear a great deal about the rudeness of the rising generation. I am an oldster myself and might be expected to take the oldsters’ side, but in fact I have been far more impressed by the bad manners of parents to children than by those of children to parents. Who has not been the embarrassed guest at family meals where the father or mother treated their grown-up offspring with an incivility which, offered to any other young people, would simply have terminated the acquaintance? 

Dogmatic assertions on matters which the children understand and their elders don’t, ruthless interruptions, flat contradictions, ridicule of things the young take seriously—sometimes of their religion—insulting references to their friends, all provide an easy answer to the question “Why are they always out? Why do they like every house better than their home?” 

Who does not prefer civility to barbarism? 

If you asked any of these insufferable people—they are not all parents of course—why they behaved that way at home, they would reply, “Oh, hang it all, one comes home to relax. A chap can’t be always on his best behaviour. If a man can’t be himself in his own house, where can he? Of course we don’t want Company Manners at home. We’re a happy family. We can say anything to one another here. No one minds. We all understand.” 

Once again it is so nearly true yet so fatally wrong. Affection is an affair of old clothes, and ease, of the unguarded moment, of liberties which would be ill-bred if we took them with strangers. But old clothes are one thing; to wear the same shirt till it stank would be another. There are proper clothes for a garden party; but the clothes for home must be proper too, in their own different way. 

Similarly there is a distinction between public and domestic courtesy. The root principle of both is the same: “that no one give any kind of preference to himself.” But the more public the occasion, the more our obedience to this principle has been “taped” or formalised. 

There are “rules” of good manners. The more intimate the occasion, the less the formalisation; but not therefore the less need of courtesy. 

On the contrary, Affection at its best practises a courtesy which is incomparably more subtle, sensitive, and deep than the public kind. In public a ritual would do. At home you must have the reality which that ritual represented, or else the deafening triumphs of the greatest egoist present. You must really give no kind of preference to yourself; at a party it is enough to conceal the preference. 

Hence the old proverb “come live with me and you’ll know me”. Hence a man’s familiar manners first reveal the true value of his (significantly odious phrase!) “Company” or “Party” manners. Those who leave their manners behind them when they come home from the dance or the sherry party have no real courtesy even there. They were merely aping those who had. 

“We can say anything to one another.” The truth behind this is that Affection at its best can say whatever Affection at its best wishes to say, regardless of the rules that govern public courtesy; for Affection at its best wishes neither to wound nor to humiliate nor to domineer. 

You may address the wife of your bosom as “Pig!” when she has inadvertently drunk your cocktail as well as her own. You may roar down the story which your father is telling once too often. You may tease and hoax and banter. 

You can say “Shut up. I want to read”. 

You can do anything in the right tone and at the right moment — the tone and moment which are not intended to, and will not, hurt.

 The better the Affection the more unerringly it knows which these are (every love has its art of love). But the domestic Rudesby means something quite different when he claims liberty to say “anything”. Having a very imperfect sort of Affection himself, or perhaps at that moment none, he arrogates to himself the beautiful liberties which only the fullest Affection has a right to or knows how to manage. He then uses them spitefully in obedience to his resentments; or ruthlessly in obedience to his egoism; or at best stupidly, lacking the art. And all the time he may have a clear conscience. He knows that Affection takes liberties. He is taking liberties. Therefore (he concludes) he is being affectionate. Resent anything and he will say that the defect of love is on your side. He is hurt. He has been misunderstood. 

He then sometimes avenges himself by getting on his high horse and becoming elaborately “polite”. The implication is of course, “Oh! So we are not to be intimate? We are to behave like mere acquaintances? I had hoped—but no matter. Have it your own way.” This illustrates prettily the difference between intimate and formal courtesy. Precisely what suits the one may be a breach of the other. To be free and easy when you are presented to some eminent stranger is bad manners; to practice formal and ceremonial courtesies [57]at home (“public faces in private places”) is—and is always intended to be—bad manners. There is a delicious illustration of really good domestic manners in Tristram Shandy. At a singularly unsuitable moment Uncle Toby has been holding forth on his favourite theme of fortification. 

“My Father,” driven for once beyond endurance, violently interrupts. Then he sees his brother’s face; the utterly unretaliating face of Toby, deeply wounded, not by the slight to himself—he would never think of that—but by the slight to the noble art. My Father at once repents. There is an apology, a total reconciliation. Uncle Toby, to show how complete is his forgiveness, to show that he is not on his dignity, resumes the lecture on fortification. 

But we have not yet touched on jealousy. I suppose no one now believes that jealousy is especially connected with erotic love. If anyone does the behaviour of children, employees, and domestic animals, ought soon to undeceive him. Every kind of love, almost every kind of association, is liable to it. The jealousy of Affection is closely connected with its reliance on what is old and familiar. So also with the total, or relative, unimportance for Affection of what I call Appreciative love. We don’t want the “old, familiar faces” to become brighter or more beautiful, the old ways to be changed even for the better, the old jokes and interests to be replaced by exciting novelties. Change is a threat to Affection. 

A brother and sister, or two brothers—for sex here is not at work—grow to a certain age sharing everything. They have read the same comics, climbed the [58]same trees, been pirates or spacemen together, taken up and abandoned stamp-collecting at the same moment. 

Then a dreadful thing happens. One of them flashes ahead—discovers poetry or science or serious music or perhaps undergoes a religious conversion. His life is flooded with the new interest. The other cannot share it; he is left behind. 

I doubt whether even the infidelity of a wife or husband raises a more miserable sense of desertion or a fiercer jealousy than this can sometimes do. It is not yet jealousy of the new friends whom the deserter will soon be making. 

That will come; at first it is jealousy of the thing itself—of this science, this music, of God (always called “religion” or “all this religion” in such contexts). 

The jealousy will probably be expressed by ridicule. The new interest is “^{all silly nonsense}”, contemptibly childish (or contemptibly grown-up), or else the deserter is not really interested in it at all—he’s showing off, swanking; it’s all affectation. 

Presently the books will be hidden, the scientific specimens destroyed, the radio forcibly switched off the classical programmes. For Affection is the most instinctive, in that sense the most animal, of the loves; its jealousy is proportionately fierce. It snarls and bares its teeth like a dog whose food has been snatched away. And why would it not? Something or someone has snatched away from the child I am picturing his life-long food, his second self. His world is in ruins. 

But it is not only children who react thus. 

Few things in the ordinary peacetime life of a civilised country are more nearly fiendish than the rancour with which a whole unbelieving family will turn on the one member of it who has become a Christian, or a whole lowbrow family on the one who shows signs of becoming An Intellectual. 

This is not, as I once thought, simply the innate and, as it were, disinterested hatred of Darkness for Light. A church-going family in which one has gone atheist will not always behave any better. 

It is the reaction to a desertion, even to robbery. Someone or something has stolen “our” boy (or girl). He who was one of Us has become one of Them. What right had anybody to do it? He is ours. 

But once change has thus begun, who knows where it will end? (And we all so happy and comfortable before and doing no harm to no one!) 

Sometimes a curious double jealousy is felt, or rather two inconsistent jealousies which chase each other round in the sufferer’s mind. On the other hand “This” is “All nonsense, all bloody high-brow nonsense, all canting humbug”. But on the other, “Supposing—it can’t be, it mustn’t be, but just supposing—there were something in it?” Supposing there really were anything in literature, or in Christianity? How if the deserter has really entered a new world which the rest of us never suspected? But, if so, how unfair! Why him? Why was it never opened to us? “A chit of a girl—a whipper-snapper of a boy—being shown things that are hidden from their elders?” And since that is clearly incredible and unendurable, jealousy returns to the hypothesis “All nonsense”. 

Parents in this state are much more comfortably placed than brothers and sisters. Their past is unknown [60]to their children. Whatever the deserter’s new world is, they can always claim that they have been through it themselves and come out the other end. “It’s a phase,” they say, “It’ll blow over.” Nothing could be more satisfactory. It cannot be there and then refuted, for it is a statement about the future. It stings, yet—so indulgently said—is hard to resent. Better still, the elders may really believe it. Best of all, it may finally turn out to have been true. It won’t be their fault if it doesn’t. 

“Boy, boy, these wild courses of yours will break your mother’s heart.” That eminently Victorian appeal may often have been true. Affection was bitterly wounded when one member of the family fell from the homely ethos into something worse—gambling, drink, keeping an opera girl. Unfortunately it is almost equally possible to break your mother’s heart by rising above the homely ethos. The conservative tenacity of Affection works both ways. It can be a domestic counterpart to that nationally suicidal type of education which keeps back the promising child because the idlers and dunces might be “hurt” if it were undemocratically moved into a higher class than themselves. 

All these perversions of Affection are mainly connected with Affection as a Need-love. But Affection as a Gift-love has its perversions too. 

I am thinking of Mrs. Fidget, who died a few months ago. It is really astonishing how her family have brightened up. The drawn look has gone from her husband’s face; he begins to be able to laugh. The younger boy, whom I had always thought an embittered, peevish little creature, turns out to be quite [61]human. The elder, who was hardly ever at home except when he was in bed, is nearly always there now and has begun to reorganise the garden. The girl, who was always supposed to be “delicate” (though I never found out what exactly the trouble was), now has the riding lessons which were once out of the question, dances all night, and plays any amount of tennis. Even the dog who was never allowed out except on a lead is now a well-known member of the Lamp-post Club in their road. 

Mrs. Fidget very often said that she lived for her family. And it was not untrue.Everyone in the neighbourhood knew it. “She lives for her family,” they said; “what a wife and mother!” She did all the washing; true, she did it badly, and they could have afforded to send it out to a laundry, and they frequently begged her not to do it. But she did. There was always a hot lunch for anyone who was at home and always a hot meal at night (even in midsummer). They implored her not to provide this. They protested almost with tears in their eyes (and with truth) that they liked cold meals. It made no difference. She was living for her family. She always sat up to “welcome” you home if you were out late at night; two or three in the morning, it made no odds; you would always find the frail, pale, weary face awaiting you, like a silent accusation. Which meant of course that you couldn’t with any decency go out very often. She was always making things too; being in her own estimation (I’m no judge myself) an excellent amateur dressmaker and a great knitter. And of course, unless you were a heartless [62]brute, you had to wear the things. (The Vicar tells me that, since her death, the contributions of that family alone to “sales of work” outweigh those of all his other parishioners put together). And then her care for their health! She bore the whole burden of that daughter’s “delicacy” alone. The Doctor—an old friend, and it was not being done on National Health—was never allowed to discuss matters with his patient. After the briefest examination of her, he was taken into another room by the mother. The girl was to have no worries, no responsibility for her own health. Only loving care; caresses, special foods, horrible tonic wines, and breakfast in bed. For Mrs. Fidget, as she so often said, would “work her fingers to the bone” for her family. They couldn’t stop her. Nor could they—being decent people—quite sit still and watch her do it. They had to help. Indeed they were always having to help. That is, they did things for her to help her to do things for them which they didn’t want done. As for the dear dog, it was to her, she said, “just like one of the children.” It was in fact as like one of them as she could make it. But since it had no scruples it got on rather better than they, and though vetted, dieted and guarded within an inch of its life, contrived sometimes to reach the dustbin or the dog next door. 

The Vicar says Mrs. Fidget is now at rest. Let us hope she is. What’s quite certain is that her family are. 

It is easy to see how liability to this state is, so to speak, congenital in the maternal instinct. This, as we saw, is a Gift-love, but one that needs to give; therefore needs to be needed. But the proper aim of giving [63]is to put the recipient in a state where he no longer needs our gift. We feed children in order that they may soon be able to feed themselves; we teach them in order that they may soon not need our teaching. Thus a heavy task is laid upon this Gift-love. It must work towards its own abdication. We must aim at making ourselves superfluous. The hour when we can say “They need me no longer” should be our reward. But the instinct, simply in its own nature, has no power to fulfil this law. The instinct desires the good of its object, but not simply; only the good it can itself give. A much higher love—a love which desires the good of the object as such, from whatever source that good comes—must step in and help or tame the instinct before it can make the abdication. And of course it often does. But where it does not, the ravenous need to be needed will gratify itself either by keeping its objects needy or by inventing for them imaginary needs. It will do this all the more ruthlessly because it thinks (in one sense truly) that it is a Gift-love and therefore regards itself as “unselfish”. 

It is not only mothers who can do this. All those other Affections which, whether by derivation from parental instinct or by similarity of function, need to be needed may fall into the same pit. The Affection of patron for protégé is one. 

In Jane Austen’s novel, Emma intends that Harriet Smith should have a happy life; but only the sort of happy life which Emma herself has planned for her. 

My own profession—that of a university teacher—is in this way dangerous. If we are any good we must always be working towards the moment at which our pupils are fit to become our critics and rivals. We should be delighted when it arrives, as the fencing master is delighted when his pupil can pink and disarm him. 

And many are. But not all. I am old enough to remember the sad case of Dr. Quartz. No university boasted a more effective or devoted teacher. He spent the whole of himself on his pupils. He made an indelible impression on nearly all of them. He was the object of much well merited hero-worship. Naturally, and delightfully, they continued to visit him after the tutorial relation had ended—went round to his house of an evening and had famous discussions. But the curious thing is that this never lasted. Sooner or later—it might be within a few months or even a few weeks—came the fatal evening when they knocked on his door and were told that the Doctor was engaged. After that he would always be engaged. They were banished from him forever. This was because, at their last meeting, they had rebelled. They had asserted their independence—differed from the master and supported their own view, perhaps not without success. 

Faced with that very independence which he had laboured to produce and which it was his duty to produce if he could, Dr. Quartz could not bear it. 

Wotan had toiled to create the free Siegfried; presented with the free Siegfried, he was enraged. 

Dr. Quartz was An Unhappy Man.

EAST WALL

Clint Barton: 

I know what I need to do. 

The Dining Room! 

If I knock out that East Wall, 

it'll make a nice work space for Laura, huh? 

Put up some baffling, she can't hear the kids 

running around, what do you think?

Natasha Romanoff:

Kids always eat in the kitchen anyway.

Clint Barton:

No one eats in a dining room...

I don’t think I’ve ever felt something so strange... 

Like it’s all broken up from one minute to the next.

There HAS to be a way to FIX this.

And the first thing we have to do is find those guys 

who went to defend The EAST WALL!