Without Lifting A Finger

Unfortunately Kindle erases the breaks. Oh, well ... * We played for the division of matches and then the real game started. It was uncanny how quickly Vigot threw a four-two-one. He reduced his matches to three and I threw the lowest score possible. ‘Nanette,’ Vigot said, pushing me over two matches. When he had got rid of his last match he said, ‘Capitaine,’ and I called the waiter for drinks. ‘Does anybody ever beat you?’ I asked. ‘Not often. Do you want your revenge?’ ‘Another time. What a gambler you could be, Vigot. Do you play any other game of chance?’ He smiled miserably, and for some reason I thought of that blonde wife of his who was said to betray him with his junior officers. ‘Oh well,’ he said, ‘there’s always the biggest of all.’ ‘The biggest?’ ‘“Let us weigh the gain and loss,”’ he quoted, ‘“in wagering that God is, let us estimate these two chances. If you gain, you gain all; if you lose you lose nothing.”’ I quoted Pascal back at him—it was the only passage I r

L'invitation au voyage Mon enfant, ma soeur, Songe à la douceur D'aller là-bas vivre ensemble! Aimer à loisir, Aimer et mourir Au pays qui te ressemble! Les soleils mouillés De ces ciels brouillés Pour mon esprit ont les charmes Si mystérieux De tes traîtres yeux, Brillant à travers leurs larmes. Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté, Luxe, calme et volupté. Des meubles luisants, Polis par les ans, Décoreraient notre chambre; Les plus rares fleurs Mêlant leurs odeurs Aux vagues senteurs de l'ambre, Les riches plafonds, Les miroirs profonds, La splendeur orientale, Tout y parlerait À l'âme en secret Sa douce langue natale. Là, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté, Luxe, calme et volupté. Vois sur ces canaux Dormir ces vaisseaux Dont l'humeur est vagabonde; C'est pour assouvir Ton moindre désir Qu'ils viennent du bout du monde. — Les soleils couchants Revêtent les champs, Les canaux, la ville entière, D'hyacinthe

Started dipping into it just this morning. A friend told me it was a pretty good read. Graham Greene (IMHO) always feels like he's writing for the silver screen. Not necessarily a bad thing. Anyway, the beginning -- slants on love, opium, political intrigue, Baudelaire -- have piqued my interest. We' ll see how that goes. * The snippet from The Quiet American : ‘Don’t worry. He’ll come. Make me another pipe.’ When she bent over the flame the poem of Baudelaire’s came into my mind: ‘Mon enfant, ma soeur …’ How did it go on? Aimer à loisir, Aimer et mourir Au pays qui te ressemble. *

Last day of PLTW. Different venue for the final send-off: Huron High School (The River Rats). Stopped at Gallup Park (stumbled onto) around sunrise for a short walk. Back to CA and Long Beach either Tuesday or Wednesday. School starts Aug. 13th. *