Abstract: This ghost was haunted by someone or something else.None of her doing, but prevented her from moving on. Everytime someone would try to talk to her, the castle around her started collapsing on that visitor. John Earl Stark was given this assignment with the help of his spirit-guides Sal, and Jude. Unlike the others they had completed together, this one required skills they never before had to develop. A double haunting. And mortal risk.In this story, John, Sal, and Jude also explore an undercurrent of their deepening relationships.This story adds to The Ghost Hunters saga with a new part, as their cosy paranormal mysteries continue.Excerpt: "I don't know why castles and ghosts always seem to need dark and overcast weather to be so dramatic." I said when the shimmering stopped.We were at the castle in one of the upper rooms. A high, vaulted roof was partially still intact overhead. There were only blank walls, and the floor had a massive hole in it, directly below the missing roof portion. Sal and Jude both had lit spectrals in their hands. Little blue-white flames that appeared just off the tip of one finger. Bright enough to show what a person needed to see, but too bright to look at directly.I'd read about these, but this was the first I'd seen either of them using one.Sal nodded, "These should help with the general gloom. Just to give you the layout."Jude added, "We are going to put them out and stand over to each side as lookouts. When the specter shows up the room will be bright enough. But don't wait to engage her. We think the light is what brings the interference.'At that, they both moved away from me, skirting the piles of rubble that appeared here and there across the floor.They extinguished their spectrals and we waited.Not long.A yellow-greenish light appeared and a woman walked in from beyond the wall, dressed in some white linen with some sort of gold or light tan rope that crossed her chest and circled her waist. Fetching, even in the light she gave. From her knees down, she fades to transparent, and the movement of her knees and hips, along her forward motion were the only indicators she was walking. Both hands held a single tapered candle in front of her. The greenish light came from its tip. But there wasn't a natural shadow below her, or an unnatural one. It simply went dark before and after her. The light seemed to go through her as well, like a glowing sphere of light that had nothing to do with a flame. It showed up the wall as she came through it, then faded as she walked away from it and toward me.I could see well enough to know that there were no rubble piles between us. I started walking immediately in her direction, with a long pasture-covering gate. "Hey there! What's your name and how can I help you?"The specter stopped at this, a puzzled look crossing her face. "I'm Margaret. And, sir, who are you?""Call me John. Do you know what date it is?"Margaret's puzzlement turned into a frown. "The 4th of January.""Can you tell me what year it is?"The frown deepened. "1898, of course. Are you jesting with me? Everyone here knows…" She took one arm to include the room and an expected audience but found only the bare walls, and myself standing in front of her. "I think you are playing a trick on me, sir. Where have you hidden the party? What have you done with the party decorations, the tapestries, the long tables of food and drink?""Margaret, this isn't some sort of jest. You've been dead for some time...""Dead?!?"Get Your Copy Now.

Abstract: The story continues, as two young girls find their power by becoming ghosts, then spirit guides. This is their origin-story...Barely escaping discovery by soldiers from a nearby dukedom, Sal and Jude's dad starts training them to survive in the forest. While gathering herbs in a clearing, Sal and Jude find they can communicate to the animals. But find something else - their mother's ghost can appear to them. They can see and hear her voice in their mind.One morning their dad returns early. He tells them he has seen soldiers forcing local village men to build a road access road through a ravine - that will let them the army find their hut in the forest...Excerpt:One day Da was late coming home. When he did arrive, he came through one of the other paths and had no game with him. He put out the fire and had us get into the storage space below the floor. Most cabins in this day were simply dirt floors. Walls of cabins in the woods were often mud and woven wicker. Ours was an old hunting hut, abandoned years ago. It was made with trimmed logs, and chinked with mud and grasses against the weather. On its back wall, there was an opening just big enough for Da to squeeze through. This led to a small dugout area that had its own roof. We stored vegetables and meat here, as the temperature was the same all year long and never froze.This is where Da had us go that day. He opened the dugout door wide and put all our food and toys with us then he scattered dirt all around our table and shelves. When we tried to ask him, he shushed us and said we were going to practice waiting for wild game. We had to be very, very quiet for a long time.He climbed in with us, and we watched from that hole in the wall, waiting.Soon we heard the thumping of heavy boots coming up the path toward our front door.They kicked the door open. Men covered in leather and shiny metal came in our little hut, shouting to each other until one made them all be quiet. He was wearing more colors than the rest and so seemed to be in charge. Da could understand what they were saying. And he quietly put the cover over that hole, the one that looked like part of the log wall. He sat with his back to that cover and braced his feet against the other side of the dugout.We now sat in complete darkness and silence. And waited while we listened.More men came into the little hut and were talking for awhile. Da told us later that someone had said it looked like some bandits had been using the hut as to hide out in. The man in the colors was talking about burning it down.But then the men all got very quiet.And we heard a woman singing. She was singing an old song, one we hadn't heard before. Soon the men were trying to get out of the hut all at once. Maybe the song was to get them to find her. Both Jude and I tried to get out, but Da just held us close and pushed against the back wall of the dugout to keep us all inside. And we kept quiet.Then we heard horses whinny and scream, then the sound of them galloping away. We heard men who were shouting loudly go after them, clanking in their metal and squeaking in their leather.Da didn't let us go for a very long time after that...  

Abstract: In the days when people were owned by the land, two young girls found their power by becoming ghosts, then spirit guides. This is their origin-story...Their parents were serfs, and belonged to two different dukedoms. Falling in love endangered them both. Becoming pregnant with twins made this even worse.Their Dad had to raise them by himself, as Mother died shortly after birthing them. But her spirit remained on Earth to watch over them. Sal and Jude could see her, and knew their Dad could feel her presence. But the problem in survival was staying hidden, because they were on hunting land the King claimed as his own. And forces were at work to find them...Excerpt:We were both born as twins. But as you can see, we were never identical. Jude had black hair and I had blond. And our Da told us that we were more alike than not, otherwise. We liked to drink our milk and smile and gurgle. And neither of us cried much.But we didn't know our Ma much, well not at first. She caught a fever a few days after we were born and died soon after. Da was upset by this, but he often told us that our smiles and gurgles took all the pain away. That, and when he went out to hunt that night, he found a white and black spotted milk goat who had wandered off into the woods and was following him around as he tried to hunt. Her udders were full, and looked tight and painful to Da. So he took the goat home to us, so we could have some milk until he could find where she had wandered off from.It was that night where we saw our Ma again. She was smiling at us, and we smiled back. Da couldn't see her, so he didn't understand why we were so happy. But with full bellies, we went to sleep and Da milked the rest from that goat and put the milk into skins to make into cheese. Then he tethered the goat right outside the hut to graze.He never did find out who that goat belonged to. No farm around us was missing any. And we had that goat until we could eat solid food, Da said. And then it wandered off again one day. But it wasn't the last time both tame and wild life around our cabin would take care of us.We grew like sprouts, Da told us. Soon we were walking and getting into trouble. When he went off to hunt food for us to eat, he soon devised a system of tying us to opposite corners of the cabin, just long enough to not get us tangled with each other or anything else. Everything up and out of our reach, and secured so it couldn't fall on us.What he didn't know is that the mice and birds would come to entertain us while he was gone. We would hear symphonies by the birds, and watch balancing and tumbling acts by the mice. And we knew Da was close when they would combine the most dramatic action with the trilling accompaniment of the birds. And when the door opened, the birds and mice would vanish, leaving us smiling and clapping just as Da opened the door with some game he had caught.. . .In those days, the land wasn't owned by people, it was all property of the King or Queen or Prince, depending on who was in power when. And where the land was deeded to a local count or baron, the property title could be withdrawn at any time.People were property of the land. And were supposed to stay with it. Our family, our Da and Ma, were from two different deeds. They'd met at a trading festival and fell in love.Both Dukes wanted both of them, or would be just as happy to split them up so they could re-mate to someone else within the land deed they belonged to. But our parents eloped into hiding - and away from everyone they knew, to keep their families and themselves safe.And of course, Da and Ma loved each other very much. When Ma found she was pregnant, that made the problem very serious. You can't split a child...

Abstract: Carol and Reggie were different. They thought different. Reggie could talk "the ears off a corn stalk." He was an expert on history, like a walking Wikipedia on ancient times (if people could stand to listen to him.) Carol hardly talked, but her hugs could tell you the world. She could solve quintic polynomial equations. And a 4x4 Rubic's cube with one hand.They were autists. "Special needs" people. Savants, kind of.They were perfect for each other. Or maybe not. So different.Between them, they understood the universe.It was no small surprise that they were part of the next stage in human evolution. The one that's already here. Of course they knew it. But most of humanity didn't...Excerpt:Reggie could talk until tomorrow came. Gawd that guy liked to talk. When he couldn't talk, he'd write.Me, I liked to hug.And children. I love children.And what most people think are "difficult" math problems.They just don't try to understand what that equation wants. How it smells right when it's accomplished what it wants.So they use math to solve really dumb things like how a rocket jerks in flight. Instead of looking for things that want to fly, they have to build something truly inefficient that makes a big sound and blows up with a louder one. Because they don't feel when it's right.I moved into Reggie's apartment after we danced that one time. His room mate swapped apartments with me, since I lived near a bunch of other girls and he was tired of listening to Reggie. (But I don't think so, it's probably that he'd rather listen to girls giggle while they co-flirted.)[Is "co-flirted" a word? Too bad if it's not. Bag and Cat are now disjointed from mutual proxmity.]So I'd come back in from work to find Reggie tapping out yet another over-long essay on his computer.I'd hug him and he'd pause. And his heartbeat would slow to match mine.Then I'd let him go and move into the kitchenette to make a couple of sandwiches for us. I knew he probably hadn't eaten. Or he would eat a sandwich I made just to make me happy.And he would finish up whatever he was blogging about. I'd have the sandwiches on a plate and a big mug of sweet tea or something cold (or hot, depending on the season) with two straws. Then I'd come out of the kitchen and bring them all out into the great room. (Why people call it a "living" room is non-sequitur. Living is an action. But they sit and watch do-less TV in it, which is couch-potato logic.)Our big screen was set to a live feed from one of Cal-Tech's telescopes. (No commercials. No fake news.)We'd sit and cuddle the night away watching stars without having to be uncomfortable outside.Sometimes we'd have sex or make love.Felt good either way...

Abstract: The meteor talked to Tig as he watched it land. Meteors came now and then. But never one that screamed like it was afraid of landing. All he wanted to do was to make sure his pack was safe against the fire from the sky. But the meteor had called him, somehow. He was there when the meteor turned out to be an escape pod. And opened...His surprise was that the meteor had brought a human female back. She said her name was Sue. And she could talk to wolves like him. That had never happened before. Even when the Hoomans were here.Sue was unlike anything he had ever encountered. He knew she was the solution to their problems - and more.Sue had her own issues, her own reason for returning to Earth. Those would have to wait. First Tig had to get her to safety. Even though she was not as fast or skilled at what she needed in order to survive on her own. There were miles of rough terrain ahead, days of travel, and the ferals had set a trap for them....Excerpt:Tig heard the screams in his mind.Someone falling from a great height. From inside that smoking, red-orange meteor headed toward them. He saw it coming from the bleached-white rock cliffs he stood on.Then he heard the sonic booms with the roar of a meteor burning through the atmosphere.The crash, and the flames. But no explosion.Tig then did what he shouldn't have. He didn't do what "normal" wolves do.There was a fire. If it spread, his pack could be in danger.He knew that if the fire got out of control, it could ultimately reach the valley his pack lived in. He ran toward the fire, toward the meteor strike. Not that he could put it out but he needed to know.- - - -When he arrived. He was relieved to find the only thing burning was an old snag. Nothing around it but rocks.But this meteor was a strange one. They were used to meteors.This meteor left a streak. It didn't come down and explode.This one had screamed in his mind.He looked back where it came from. It left a trail and he could see it coming down off the mountain. It had bounced and skipped and then skidded to where it stopped against that old tree. It wasn't burning up, as the other ones did. The descent had burnt off most of what surrounded it, leaving a smooth surface. Scratched and seared, but not pitted like a cinder.Tig's curiosity kept him going closer. It was either going to explode or not.Suddenly something popped and opened a hole in its side. Tig froze. He couldn't see what it was clearly through the smoke.- - - -Sue knew it was a rough landing. She felt sorry for the cyborg pilot Ben who was more part of the equipment than he was alive. Still, she felt for everything that lived, whether stuck in machinery or able to move around on its own. Sue remembered her cats, parakeets, fish. They'd look at her like they wanted to tell her something, and she wanted to say something to them. She didn't know the right way to tell them, the right words to use.But she shook her head to clear her senses. As she swung the bar on the hatch, it just hissed open. The acrid air of tree burning nearby flowed into the cabin. Clouds of smoke.She started coughing as she came out climbing up over the seats and the control panel. She knew she had to get air. One arm up. Get her shoulders up. Keep scrambling. Couldn't see very well. The smoke stung her eyes.She knew it was more blue in that direction so she kept climbing. Had to get out. She lifted herself up until she was able to lean over at the waist across the opening, and at last breathe in some fresh air.Then everything went black...  

Abstract: In the days when people were owned by the land, two young girls found their power by becoming ghosts, then spirit guides.This is their origin-story...Their parents were serfs, and belonged to two different dukedoms. Falling in love endangered them both. Becoming pregnant with twins made this even worse.Their Dad had to raise them by himself, as Mother died shortly after birthing them. But as a spirit, she remained on Earth to watch over them. Sal and Jude could see her, and knew their Dad could feel her presence. The King's soldiers have visited the forest and found their hut, only to be chased away by a specter.In Spring, they returned, forcing nearby villagers to make a crossing into the ravine that will enable wagons to bring a hunting party.Their Dad starts training Sal and Jude to hide themselves in the forest as they hunt and forage for food. What they find in their training is unexpected...Excerpt:Da returned one cold morning and was worried. He had been near the ravine and saw that some workers were improving the road. There was a seldom used trail that led to the one crossing horses could take their riders across. These workers were widening this road so that a wagon could travel it.He told us that he had seen them bring tools in their carts so that they could bring gravel and small rocks up from the bottom of the ravine to make the road solid. They wanted it passable and keep wagons from getting mired in mud during wet weather.Da said he saw the captain and some soldiers nearby. They were all mounted on horses and looked to be arguing with the men who were getting rocks out of the ravines. At any loud noise, even a crow's caw, the men would run up the side of the ravine and then have to be forced back to their work of getting the rock and gravel. Everyone's faces were white with strain.Da's face was coated with mud and clay so that it couldn't be seen by them. So he watched for a good while and then crept quietly away.He came back to our hut and got us ready. But today we didn't need our packs. We each got a small bag of the meat-berry-fat mix instead.Da again said we were going to practice being ghosts. We were going to make no sound and leave no trace of our passing. "Like Ma?" we both asked at once.Da cocked his head to the side, and smiled. "You've felt her too?""Yes," we both replied as one. And started to tell him our stories of seeing her, but he held his finger up to his lips."We must first learn to be quiet inside our little hut," he said. "You'll be able to tell me later, and I want to hear all about it. But right now, we must practice being as good as your mother in being able to disappear anytime we need to. No one can ever be allowed to follow us back to this hut, or anywhere we go. Our family staying together depends on us being able to vanish whenever we need to."That day, we never said another word until we returned to the hut and had closed the door again...

Abstract: An Epic Road Trip and Fantastical Semi-MemoirLiving life is nothing that any moron or better couldn't accomplish, even without setting one's mind to it. The trick is to do something with that life. Or live several at once, so that one could at least be a success in one of them. Herbert, having endured his mid-life crisis with all the aplomb possibly available to him, now was set on making a new life for himself. This is his book. Such a book has parallels with our own. That is life for you - it sneaks up on you and drops some odd segue or link into some other person's scene and then just nips away, as if it was mainlining pixie dust or some super-quantum Dune drug. Blue eyes and all. You see, Herbert does live more than one life at once. Shackled to the mundane world of the Midwest warehouse laborer, he yet lives in worlds of extreme science, wild fantasy environments and incredibly sensuous surroundings. For Herbert reads books, surfs the Internet and has an overactive imagination. But let's meet our hero... - - - -Excerpt:Driving down Interstate 40 after leaving LA was a bit of a non-scene. Desert and highway didn't change that much after Barstow. Modern highways are built to be safe and wide in America. Deserts were designed by God to be hostile and unforgiving for any who broke down out there. Highways had the occasional road-side phone and also Patrol coming along. Deserts had cacti, dust and not much else. Herbert. That's me. There's about 5 or 6 variations of that name, but only one I would answer to. Comes from being raised in a family of 10. You had to pick an identity and stick with it, or drown in the uncertain melange of other lives around you. This is my life, at least as I recall it. 40+ years old and leaving the known for the formerly known in order to make some sense of my life. Not that I was confused. But what I had been doing didn't make sense anymore, so I was now driving from LA, away from the nonsensical, toward the sensible. Barstow itself hadn't changed much since I had been there some 20 years ago. I had gone to Vegas to get married and found that Barstow was an interesting rest stop. I was the only one with a license,and so was the elected driver. We took off late after work - two couples in one car, both seeking an instant marriage and abbreviated honeymoon on the way back. We had essentially 48 hours to pull the whole thing off. So, with the late start and nerves keeping me up the night before, lack of sleep started taking its toll after midnight. Pulled over by a trooper, who noticed the car was weaving. So we stopped in Barstow for a couple of hours - they went in and had some food, I slept (but first my wife-to-be and I "made out" in the front seat, just short of having sex - which was forbidden as part of the Center. A rise in the highway brought my attention back to the current, swerving the heavy loaded rental truck to stay between the lines. Topping the slight rise, I saw only the black parallel bars of highway stretching again into the darkening desert, the sun behind me along with a tail wind, pushing me ever home and away from Center forever. Center had been something which promised answers to all my many questions about how the universe operated. They said that you just had to follow their exact path and keep studying the books and lectures of their founder. One day, in an ever-increasing but gentle gradient, you would know Truth and this hope kept you going - along with the required annual celebrations you were required to attend where the official PR was read out by executives...

Abstract: Charged with action and suspense, yet profoundly spiritual, Kim vividly expresses the sounds and smells, colors and characters, opulence and squalor of complex, contradictory India under British rule. The book abounds in brilliant descriptions of Indian scenes and deeply sympathetic portraits of her people. Long recognized as Kipling's finest work, Kim was a key factor in his winning the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1907.

Abstract: Maggie: A Girl of the Streets is about an attractive young woman from the Bowery who falls for a man who promises to rescue her from poverty and solitude. This classic novella was initially rejected by publishers who considered the realistic social themes risqué for 1893. Author Stephen Crane – who was 22 years old at the time – financed the book's publication himself. After the great success of his Red Badge of Courage in 1895, Maggie was reissued to wide acclaim.

Abstract: Two Months of Published Short Stories in One Collected VolumeFeaturing original works by S. H. Marpel and J. R. KruzeThis anthology contains:By S. H. Marpel:Ghost HuntersWhen Fireballs CollideWhy Vampires Suck At HauntingThe Haunted Ghost Ghost Exterminators Inc.Two Ghost's Salvation 01-04By J. R. KruzeThe AutistsExcerpt from "When Fireballs Collide": AND THERE CAME ANOTHER ONE. BAM!Right against the car we were crouched behind. We were stuck behind a red subcompact, a recent American model.  Here at the Los Angeles Observatory parking lot. The night was clear, a very rare occurrence, very unusual for this city of smoke and fog. The stars above mirroring the endless street and building lights that marched out to their California coast. But a clear sky didn't help our situation any.Getting pummeled by red-orange fireballs behind this car couldn't last forever. Especially since they smell of sulfur like a whole case of rotten eggs being broken at once.Big, really huge fireballs had been coming at us for something like 15 minutes. Heat and stench. Coming one right after the last one.The red car was shaking like it would never stop. It was going to need a paint job after this. If they could stand the smell to get it into the shop.Jude and Sal were there with me. Hunkered down like I was. At least I was in my blue jeans and work boots, gray sweatshirt. Sal was in her regular tailored beige suit with gold pinstripes, low-heeled dress shoes. An outfit more ideal for turning heads on Rodeo Drive instead of crouching on dirty asphalt and gravel in a remote parking lot. Jude was at least better off in her black jeans and a tailored black leather jacket, with her clunky black Timberland boots. (OK, she likes black. And looks good in it.)Admiring these two beauties wasn't helping to get us out of this."Hey, can't we just teleport out of here?" I asked, behind my sweatshirt sleeve covering my nose.."If we were able to concentrate. Not when they are coming a few seconds apart," said Sal."And it's all I can do just to keep this car in one piece," said Jude."Wait, that explains how there was suddenly this car appearing on an empty parking lot." I replied."Just keep it quiet, so I can keep on keeping it there, in between those fireballs and us," said Jude."With that noise, I'm surprised we can think at all," I added."Wait. That's it! It's how we are thinking..." Sal said.At that, Sal suddenly stood straight up and walked out away from the red car.She shouted out, "Hey - you. Fireball Guy. Yeah, that's you. Is that all you got? Really?"And the fireballs started coming right at her - all in a row and streaming right at her, twice as many than were coming at us before.But Sal just stood there.And the fireballs passed right through her. She flinched at the first ones, but after a few of them she just stood there. Straight, tall, defiant. And started laughing. Complete glee.I thought she'd lost it. But her actions gave Jude enough time to disappear the car and get us out of there.The scene shimmered, like usual. Fireballs, parking lot, all it just disappeared...

Abstract: Born in 'the hellish aftermath of Pearl Harbor,' the Seabees began as barely armed civilians with no military training. They had an average age of 35. GI's would joke, "Never hit a Seabee, for his son might be a Marine." But America's bulldozing, jungle-hacking, 'Jap-cracking' Construction Battalion or the Seabees ('C.B.'s) soon proved themselves miracle-construction-workers in seemingly impassable combat zones. Before World War 2, Marines were the ones to 'get their first,' but the need for roads in the muddy battlefields of the Pacific meant that claim would pass to the Construction Battalion. Their early motto was 'Can Do!'This new 2018 edition of Can Do! The Story of the Seabees includes annotations and original photographs from World War 2. 

Abstract: It has been remarked, my HERMIPPUS, that though the ancient philosophers conveyed most of their instruction in the form of dialogue, this method of composition has been little practised in later ages, and has seldom succeeded in the hands of those who have attempted it. Accurate and regular argument, indeed, such as is now expected of philosophical inquirers, naturally throws a man into the methodical and didactic manner; where he can immediately, without preparation, explain the point at which he aims; and thence proceed, without interruption, to deduce the proofs on which it is established. To deliver a SYSTEM in conversation, scarcely appears natural; and while the dialogue-writer desires, by departing from the direct style of composition, to give a freer air to his performance, and avoid the appearance of Author and Reader, he is apt to run into a worse inconvenience, and convey the image of Pedagogue and Pupil. Or, if he carries on the dispute in the natural spirit of good company, by throwing in a variety of topics, and preserving a proper balance among the speakers, he often loses so much time in preparations and transitions, that the reader will scarcely think himself compensated, by all the graces of dialogue, for the order, brevity, and precision, which are sacrificed to them..._____[Halls of Wisdom] From Buddha to Confucius to Plato and down the spiral of time to Kant, Nietzsche and Russell, the Halls of Wisdom are filled to overflowing, yet barely full. Explore the cavernous teachings of the masters, get lost in the art of wonder, and fall in love with wisdom.The only thing you can lose are your chains.

Abstract: Escrito por J.R. Miller, um dos mais importantes autores cristãos do século 19.Seus livros inspirados na Palavra de Deus, tem contribuído para o crescimento espiritual de cristãos em todo o mundo.Em Aprendendo a Amar o autor nos apresenta o verdadeiro significado do amor cristão tendo Cristo como nosso Guia.Ele nos traz de forma clara o desafio e o chamado diário para amar, perdoar e seguir doando-se a um amor verdadeiro e profundo que nos aproxima mais de Deus e de nosso próximo.

Abstract: Deus amou o mundo de tal maneira que deu Seu Filho unigênito para que todo aquele que nEle crê não pereça, mas tenha a vida eterna. - João 3.16Nesse maravilhoso sermão , Charles Finney nos convida a meditação através de João 3.16.O autor nos apresenta três pontos importantes no Evangelho de João: O objeto deste amor,Sua natureza, As razões pelas quais este amor entrega o filho unigênito de Deus em favor dos seres humanos. Portanto, o que o leitor encontrará nas páginas desse livro é de imenso valor, pois foi escrito por alguém que um dia foi verdadeiramente tocado e transformado por esse amor.Charles Grandison Finney (Warren, 24 de agosto de 1792 - Oberlin, 16 de agosto de 18751 ) foi um pregador, professor, teólogo, abolicionista e avivalista estado-unidense, um dos líderes do Segundo Grande Despertar (Second Great Awakening).Introduziu várias inovações no ministério religioso, tais como a censura pública e nominal de pessoas durante o sermão, a permissão da manifestação das mulheres em cultos para ambos os gêneros e outros.Era também famoso por realizar seus sermões de improviso. É autor da obra TEOLOGIA SISTEMÁTICA, considerada até hoje por muitos a maior obra teológica da história da igreja.

Abstract: For some time much has been said, in England and on the Continent, concerning "Positivism" and "the Positive Philosophy." Those phrases, which during the life of the eminent thinker who introduced them had made their way into no writings or discussions but those of his very few direct disciples, have emerged from the depths and manifested themselves on the surface of the philosophy of the age. It is not very widely known what they represent, but it is understood that they represent something. They are symbols of a recognised mode of thought, and one of sufficient importance to induce almost all who now discuss the great problems of philosophy, or survey from any elevated point of view the opinions of the age, to take what is termed the Positivist view of things into serious consideration, and define their own position, more or less friendly or hostile, in regard to it. Indeed, though the mode of thought expressed by the terms Positive and Positivism is widely spread, the words themselves are, as usual, better known through the enemies of that mode of thinking than through its friends; and more than one thinker who never called himself or his opinions by those appellations, and carefully guarded himself against being confounded with those who did, finds himself, sometimes to his displeasure, though generally by a tolerably correct instinct, classed with Positivists, and assailed as a Positivist. This change in the bearings of philosophic opinion commenced in England earlier than in France, where a philosophy of a contrary kind had been more widely cultivated, and had taken a firmer hold on the speculative minds of a generation formed by Royer-Collard, Cousin, Jouffroy, and their compeers. The great treatise of M. Comte was scarcely mentioned in French literature or criticism, when it was already working powerfully on the minds of many British students and thinkers. But, agreeably to the usual course of things in France, the new tendency, when it set in, set in more strongly. Those who call themselves Positivists are indeed not numerous; but all French writers who adhere to the common philosophy, now feel it necessary to begin by fortifying their position against "the Positivist school." And the mode of thinking thus designated is already manifesting its importance by one of the most unequivocal signs, the appearance of thinkers who attempt a compromise or juste milieu between it and its opposite. The acute critic and metaphysician M. Taine, and the distinguished chemist M. Berthelot, are the authors of the two most conspicuous of these attempts...___[Halls of Wisdom] From Buddha to Confucius to Plato and down the spiral of time to Kant, Nietzsche and Russell, the Halls of Wisdom are filled to overflowing, yet barely full. Explore the cavernous teachings of the masters, get lost in the art of wonder, and fall in love with wisdom.The only thing you can lose are your chains.

Abstract: All speculations concerning forms of government bear the impress, more or less exclusive, of two conflicting theories respecting political institutions; or, to speak more properly, conflicting conceptions of what political institutions are.By some minds, government is conceived as strictly a practical art, giving rise to no questions but those of means and an end. Forms of government are assimilated to any other expedients for the attainment of human objects. They are regarded as wholly an affair of invention and contrivance. Being made by man, it is assumed that man has the choice either to make them or not, and how or on what pattern they shall be made. Government, according to this conception, is a problem, to be worked like any other question of business. The first step is to define the purposes which governments are required to promote. The next, is to inquire what form of government is best fitted to fulfill those purposes. Having satisfied ourselves on these two points, and ascertained the form of government which combines the greatest amount of good with the least of evil, what further remains is to obtain the concurrence of our countrymen, or those for whom the institutions are intended, in the opinion which we have privately arrived at. To find the best form of government; to persuade others that it is the best; and, having done so, to stir them up to insist on having it, is the order of ideas in the minds of those who adopt this view of political philosophy. They look upon a constitution in the same light (difference of scale being allowed for) as they would upon a steam plow, or a threshing machine....___[Halls of Wisdom] From Buddha to Confucius to Plato and down the spiral of time to Kant, Nietzsche and Russell, the Halls of Wisdom are filled to overflowing, yet barely full. Explore the cavernous teachings of the masters, get lost in the art of wonder, and fall in love with wisdom.The only thing you can lose are your chains.

Abstract: If this Discourse appear too long to be read at once, it may be divided into six Parts: and, in the first, will be found various considerations touching the Sciences; in the second, the principal rules of the Method which the Author has discovered, in the third, certain of the rules of Morals which he has deduced from this Method; in the fourth, the reasonings by which he establishes the existence of God and of the Human Soul, which are the foundations of his Metaphysic; in the fifth, the order of the Physical questions which he has investigated, and, in particular, the explication of the motion of the heart and of some other difficulties pertaining to Medicine, as also the difference between the soul of man and that of the brutes; and, in the last, what the Author believes to be required in order to greater advancement in the investigation of Nature than has yet been made, with the reasons that have induced him to write...______[Halls of Wisdom] From Buddha to Confucius to Plato and down the spiral of time to Kant, Nietzsche and Russell, the Halls of Wisdom are filled to overflowing, yet barely full. Explore the cavernous teachings of the masters, get lost in the art of wonder, and fall in love with wisdom.The only thing you can lose are your chains.

Abstract: The Crito seems intended to exhibit the character of Socrates in one light only, not as the philosopher, fulfilling a divine mission and trusting in the will of heaven, but simply as the good citizen, who having been unjustly condemned is willing to give up his life in obedience to the laws of the state . . .The days of Socrates are drawing to a close; the fatal ship has been seen off Sunium, as he is informed by his aged friend and contemporary Crito, who visits him before the dawn has broken; he himself has been warned in a dream that on the third day he must depart. Time is precious, and Crito has come early in order to gain his consent to a plan of escape. This can be easily accomplished by his friends, who will incur no danger in making the attempt to save him, but will be disgraced for ever if they allow him to perish. He should think of his duty to his children, and not play into the hands of his enemies. Money is already provided by Crito as well as by Simmias and others, and he will have no difficulty in finding friends in Thessaly and other places.Socrates is afraid that Crito is but pressing upon him the opinions of the many; whereas, all his life long he has followed the dictates of reason only and the opinion of the one wise or skilled man. There was a time when Crito himself had allowed the propriety of this. And although someone will say 'the many can kill us,' that makes no difference; but a good life, in other words, a just and honourable life, is alone to be valued. All considerations of loss of reputation or injury to his children should be dismissed: the only question is whether he would be right in attempting to escape. Crito, who is a disinterested person not having the fear of death before his eyes, shall answer this for him. Before he was condemned they had often held discussions, in which they agreed that no man should either do evil, or return evil for evil, or betray the right. Are these principles to be altered because the circumstances of Socrates are altered? Crito admits that they remain the same. Then is his escape consistent with the maintenance of them? To this Crito is unable or unwilling to reply...___[Halls of Wisdom] From Buddha to Confucius to Plato and down the spiral of time to Kant, Nietzsche and Russell, the Halls of Wisdom are filled to overflowing, yet barely full. Explore the cavernous teachings of the masters, get lost in the art of wonder, and fall in love with wisdom.The only thing you can lose are your chains.

Abstract: The special subject of the greater part of the letters and essays of Schiller contained in this volume is Aesthetics; and before passing to any remarks on his treatment of the subject it will be useful to offer a few observations on the nature of this topic, and on its treatment by the philosophical spirit of different ages.First, then, aesthetics has for its object the vast realm of the beautiful, and it may be most adequately defined as the philosophy of art or of the fine arts. To some the definition may seem arbitrary, as excluding the beautiful in nature; but it will cease to appear so if it is remarked that the beauty which is the work of art is higher than natural beauty, because it is the offspring of the mind. Moreover, if, in conformity with a certain school of modern philosophy, the mind be viewed as the true being, including all in itself, it must be admitted that beauty is only truly beautiful when it shares in the nature of mind, and is mind's offspring.Viewed in this light, the beauty of nature is only a reflection of the beauty of the mind, only an imperfect beauty, which as to its essence is included in that of the mind. Nor has it ever entered into the mind of any thinker to develop the beautiful in natural objects, so as to convert it into a science and a system. The field of natural beauty is too uncertain and too fluctuating for this purpose. Moreover, the relation of beauty in nature and beauty in art forms a part of the science of aesthetics, and finds again its proper place..._____[Halls of Wisdom] From Buddha to Confucius to Plato and down the spiral of time to Kant, Nietzsche and Russell, the Halls of Wisdom are filled to overflowing, yet barely full. Explore the cavernous teachings of the masters, get lost in the art of wonder, and fall in love with wisdom.The only thing you can lose are your chains.

Abstract: (1)Men would never be superstitious, if they could govern all their circumstances by set rules, or if they were always favoured by fortune: but being frequently driven into straits where rules are useless, and being often kept fluctuating pitiably between hope and fear by the uncertainty of fortune's greedily coveted favours, they are consequently, for the most part, very prone to credulity. (2) The human mind is readily swayed this way or that in times of doubt, especially when hope and fear are struggling for the mastery, though usually it is boastful, over - confident, and vain...______[Halls of Wisdom] From Buddha to Confucius to Plato and down the spiral of time to Kant, Nietzsche and Russell, the Halls of Wisdom are filled to overflowing, yet barely full. Explore the cavernous teachings of the masters, get lost in the art of wonder, and fall in love with wisdom.The only thing you can lose are your chains.