Every Day Quotes Week 36
Title: Every Day Quotes
Rating: K
Sep 9
I know how men in exile feed on dreams of hope.
Aeschylus (525 BC - 456 BC), Agamemnon
Mike Franks loved to hear news from his Probie. While tucked away in his self-imposed exile (or retirement, as Jethro liked to call it), he liked to know a bit about the world beyond his beach every now and then.
He didn’t care about the big stuff or the little stuff. He didn’t care about who was fighting who in the world, or who was dating who, or the latest car to be sold. It didn’t make one bit of difference to him. Unless it was going to directly affect his stretch of beach and his shack, the world could go to hell (and it probably was).
What he liked to hear about was Jethro’s achievements. Well, perhaps not necessarily Jethro’s achievements and he didn’t consider it an achievement to do your damn job, but he liked to hear about cases being solved, criminals brought to justice, and some semblance of law and order enforced on the streets.
He didn’t hear much. Probie was always too busy working on the cases to update him, and he didn’t like his cantina time disturbed too much. But every now and then, when they were both in the mood (and it was rare), they would sit down with a beer each in their respective countries and share the news.
And although Mike would never admit it, it was nice to hear he’d trained his Probie well.
~*~*~*~
Sep 10
Never give a child a sword.
Latin Proverb
Jackson Gibbs enjoyed looking back on the days when his son had been young. They had had such fun together, laughing and joking. Well, until his wife had died, and then things had gone south pretty quick. But there were still some good memories in his head.
Sometimes he wondered if he had raised his kid right. He guessed most people had the same doubts about their kids. He couldn’t have done too badly - Leroy was a fine man, upstanding citizen and determined to help others. He had carved out a good career for himself in law enforcement after an outstanding career in the Marines. No one would ever say he had raised his boy wrong.
Sometimes he looked at his rifle in the store, hanging over the counter where it always was. He glanced up, and for a moment he could see Leroy with his own rifle in hand. A sniper. He had raised a sniper, from a kid who wasn’t permitted to touch a gun.
It made him smile. It made no difference to him what Leroy had become. As long as his boy was good at it and enjoyed it, it didn’t matter to him. As long as his son loved and was loved in return, he didn’t mind what Leroy did.
~*~*~*~
Sep 11
Always aim at complete harmony of thought and word and deed. Always aim at purifying your thoughts and everything will be well.
Mahatma Gandhi (1869 - 1948)
Abby Scuito shut the door to her lab and tried to lock it. Maybe she should do this more often, as the lock was stuff and unused to being utilized.
Then again, she rarely wanted to shut any potential visitors out. She had so few of them and they were so kind to her, and normally she was left all alone in her lab with her babies and Bert, and people wondered why she had started talking to them. But today she needed an hour or so of peace, and it was not going to work if Gibbs thought he might have a result or Tony wanted to plot and either of the men burst into her lab.
She admitted there was the small possibility that they would panic on seeing a locked door, but she would deal with that if it came to it.
Door finally impenetrable, she switched her music off and settled in the far corner of her lab. The incense was burning, though she didn’t really need it. But it helped to relax her mind and that was the plan.
Ziva had been teaching her how to meditate, and now it was time to try it for herself.
In the peaceful lab, Abby soon found herself relaxing. This had been a very good idea.
~*~*~*~
Sep 12
A mind without instruction can no more bear fruit than can a field, however fertile, without cultivation.
Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC)
Leroy Jethro Gibbs rarely spoke to his team. It wasn’t necessary. He was training them to be better agents, not debate his every word. While other Supervisory Agents could teach their teams in whatever way they wished (and while they weren’t bad agents, they were too open to discussions), he would teach his team the way he knew worked.
After all, he’d learnt this way.
When he did speak, his team hung onto and obeyed every word. They weren’t about to cross him in a hurry, or unless they were certain he was going down the wrong path. He encouraged them to anticipate his instructions by saying little. If they weren’t told directly what to do, they had to figure it out for themselves. If they had to figure it out, they rapidly figured out how to investigate on their own.
DiNozzo finished a slightly rambling monologue about a possible suspect. Gibbs allowed him a little leeway - they had been up for thirty hours and were unlikely to be napping any time soon. He took a very brief moment to decide what he wanted his team to do.
“DiNozzo,” he began.
“Locate the girlfriend,” Tony finished, heading back to his desk.
“David.”
“Phone records.”
“McGee.”
“Bank statements, credit cards reports,” the younger man finished, already at his desk.
He allowed himself a quick smirk. They were getting there.
~*~*~*~
Sep 13
Curiosity is the key to creativity.
Akio Morita (1921 - ), Made in Japan (1986)
Tony DiNozzo hated the phrase that said curiosity killed the cat. What cat? How long did it take? Was it definitely curiosity, or did that only play a role? Was it in fact killed by a Mossad ninja?
He knew he was curious about things, but he wanted to understand why things were the way they were. Why did Ziva keep that one drawer of her desk locked and threaten to remove his fingers one by one if he attempted to get inside? Why did Probie-san work so hard when Gibbs wasn’t around? Were Gibbs and his lady Director getting up to sneaky things in the NCIS elevators?
He kicked the rucksack a few times, wincing as some of the mud transferred onto his new shoes. Four hundred dollars - he would have to get them cleaned. He couldn’t go around with them looking like this.
“McGee,” he called, not looking over his shoulder to check if the Probie was coming. If he wasn’t, he would be in trouble for disobeying an order from his Senior Field Agent. Tony grinned. Senior Field Agent…
“What?” McGee snapped, glancing at the bag.
“Open it,” Tony demanded.
“It looks like it took a mud bath,” McCoward noted.
“Exactly why you are opening it.”
“It’s just a rucksack!”
“In our suspect’s home. In Gibbs’ prime suspect’s home. Do you want to explain to Gibbs why we searched everywhere but one little rucksack?”
The Probie sighed, but obediently crouched down to open it. Tony caught some vague mumblings and chose to ignore them. At least he wasn’t the one getting covered in mud.
~*~*~*~
Sep 14
Deep in the human unconscious is a pervasive need for a logical universe that makes sense. But the real universe is always one step beyond logic.
Frank Herbert (1920 - 1986), Dune
Ziva David had met a lot of people and been to a lot of places. But she knew the universe and the people in it would never quite make sense.
When applied correctly, logic seemed to provide an understanding of the world. Even Tony managed to avoid getting hit by a bus or shot by a suspect every other day, and his logic skills were underdeveloped. But once the surface was scratched, things made no sense at all.
People were the most confusing things she came across on a daily basis. Whether it was believing they could get away with murder, believing that murder was right (and while she agreed it could be at times, killing a cheating spouse did not fall into her categories), thinking they could lie to Gibbs and get away with it, thinking they could lie to her and get away with it… The list was endless. Not to mention Tony, who was simply a law of the universe unto himself.
Ziva did not even want to think of the quantum world that Abby had tried and completely failed to explain, though the Goth had pointed out the whole field made no sense anyway, so she was not alone.
Perhaps the whole point of the world was that it would never make sense. Perhaps there was no need to apply logic. Perhaps it was best simply to get on with your life and enjoy it.
~*~*~*~
Sep 15
Fifteen cents of every twenty-cent stamp goes to storage.
Louis Rukeyser
Abby Scuito stamped her platform encased foot on the floor and pouted. This was unfair. She was almost one hundred percent certain she had put it on her desk somewhere.
Stamps were the bane of her life, at the moment anyway. She had bought a nice set with which to send letters to her penpal Kitty over in Arizona, and now she couldn’t lay her hands on them. She had bought them yesterday, put them on her desk, gone to lunch with Ducky and Palmer, come back and worked for hours and hours until el jefe had wandered by and forced her to take a break, shared Chinese takeout with Team Gibbs in the squad room, finished a few analyses and finally gone home. There was no way she had moved them since she’d bought them.
She discarded the thought that someone else could have moved them. No one dared touch her desk. The problem was most likely related to her desk currently looking a little messy.
Picking up her latest forensic journals, she dropped them on the floor. Time to start making piles. She could ask Timmy to move them to their new homes when he next came to see her. Forensic reports for various agents who hadn’t bothered to pick them up yet, new pile on the floor. Oh, there was that chocolate bar Gibbs had given her yesterday afternoon. She couldn’t be too far off.
Apparently chocolate was deceptive. It took another five minutes to find her stamps, and six separate piles for Timmy to move. At least she could see the surface of her desk now. And Kitty’s letter would be mailed when she went for lunch with Tony.
Rating: K
Sep 9
I know how men in exile feed on dreams of hope.
Aeschylus (525 BC - 456 BC), Agamemnon
Mike Franks loved to hear news from his Probie. While tucked away in his self-imposed exile (or retirement, as Jethro liked to call it), he liked to know a bit about the world beyond his beach every now and then.
He didn’t care about the big stuff or the little stuff. He didn’t care about who was fighting who in the world, or who was dating who, or the latest car to be sold. It didn’t make one bit of difference to him. Unless it was going to directly affect his stretch of beach and his shack, the world could go to hell (and it probably was).
What he liked to hear about was Jethro’s achievements. Well, perhaps not necessarily Jethro’s achievements and he didn’t consider it an achievement to do your damn job, but he liked to hear about cases being solved, criminals brought to justice, and some semblance of law and order enforced on the streets.
He didn’t hear much. Probie was always too busy working on the cases to update him, and he didn’t like his cantina time disturbed too much. But every now and then, when they were both in the mood (and it was rare), they would sit down with a beer each in their respective countries and share the news.
And although Mike would never admit it, it was nice to hear he’d trained his Probie well.
~*~*~*~
Sep 10
Never give a child a sword.
Latin Proverb
Jackson Gibbs enjoyed looking back on the days when his son had been young. They had had such fun together, laughing and joking. Well, until his wife had died, and then things had gone south pretty quick. But there were still some good memories in his head.
Sometimes he wondered if he had raised his kid right. He guessed most people had the same doubts about their kids. He couldn’t have done too badly - Leroy was a fine man, upstanding citizen and determined to help others. He had carved out a good career for himself in law enforcement after an outstanding career in the Marines. No one would ever say he had raised his boy wrong.
Sometimes he looked at his rifle in the store, hanging over the counter where it always was. He glanced up, and for a moment he could see Leroy with his own rifle in hand. A sniper. He had raised a sniper, from a kid who wasn’t permitted to touch a gun.
It made him smile. It made no difference to him what Leroy had become. As long as his boy was good at it and enjoyed it, it didn’t matter to him. As long as his son loved and was loved in return, he didn’t mind what Leroy did.
~*~*~*~
Sep 11
Always aim at complete harmony of thought and word and deed. Always aim at purifying your thoughts and everything will be well.
Mahatma Gandhi (1869 - 1948)
Abby Scuito shut the door to her lab and tried to lock it. Maybe she should do this more often, as the lock was stuff and unused to being utilized.
Then again, she rarely wanted to shut any potential visitors out. She had so few of them and they were so kind to her, and normally she was left all alone in her lab with her babies and Bert, and people wondered why she had started talking to them. But today she needed an hour or so of peace, and it was not going to work if Gibbs thought he might have a result or Tony wanted to plot and either of the men burst into her lab.
She admitted there was the small possibility that they would panic on seeing a locked door, but she would deal with that if it came to it.
Door finally impenetrable, she switched her music off and settled in the far corner of her lab. The incense was burning, though she didn’t really need it. But it helped to relax her mind and that was the plan.
Ziva had been teaching her how to meditate, and now it was time to try it for herself.
In the peaceful lab, Abby soon found herself relaxing. This had been a very good idea.
~*~*~*~
Sep 12
A mind without instruction can no more bear fruit than can a field, however fertile, without cultivation.
Cicero (106 BC - 43 BC)
Leroy Jethro Gibbs rarely spoke to his team. It wasn’t necessary. He was training them to be better agents, not debate his every word. While other Supervisory Agents could teach their teams in whatever way they wished (and while they weren’t bad agents, they were too open to discussions), he would teach his team the way he knew worked.
After all, he’d learnt this way.
When he did speak, his team hung onto and obeyed every word. They weren’t about to cross him in a hurry, or unless they were certain he was going down the wrong path. He encouraged them to anticipate his instructions by saying little. If they weren’t told directly what to do, they had to figure it out for themselves. If they had to figure it out, they rapidly figured out how to investigate on their own.
DiNozzo finished a slightly rambling monologue about a possible suspect. Gibbs allowed him a little leeway - they had been up for thirty hours and were unlikely to be napping any time soon. He took a very brief moment to decide what he wanted his team to do.
“DiNozzo,” he began.
“Locate the girlfriend,” Tony finished, heading back to his desk.
“David.”
“Phone records.”
“McGee.”
“Bank statements, credit cards reports,” the younger man finished, already at his desk.
He allowed himself a quick smirk. They were getting there.
~*~*~*~
Sep 13
Curiosity is the key to creativity.
Akio Morita (1921 - ), Made in Japan (1986)
Tony DiNozzo hated the phrase that said curiosity killed the cat. What cat? How long did it take? Was it definitely curiosity, or did that only play a role? Was it in fact killed by a Mossad ninja?
He knew he was curious about things, but he wanted to understand why things were the way they were. Why did Ziva keep that one drawer of her desk locked and threaten to remove his fingers one by one if he attempted to get inside? Why did Probie-san work so hard when Gibbs wasn’t around? Were Gibbs and his lady Director getting up to sneaky things in the NCIS elevators?
He kicked the rucksack a few times, wincing as some of the mud transferred onto his new shoes. Four hundred dollars - he would have to get them cleaned. He couldn’t go around with them looking like this.
“McGee,” he called, not looking over his shoulder to check if the Probie was coming. If he wasn’t, he would be in trouble for disobeying an order from his Senior Field Agent. Tony grinned. Senior Field Agent…
“What?” McGee snapped, glancing at the bag.
“Open it,” Tony demanded.
“It looks like it took a mud bath,” McCoward noted.
“Exactly why you are opening it.”
“It’s just a rucksack!”
“In our suspect’s home. In Gibbs’ prime suspect’s home. Do you want to explain to Gibbs why we searched everywhere but one little rucksack?”
The Probie sighed, but obediently crouched down to open it. Tony caught some vague mumblings and chose to ignore them. At least he wasn’t the one getting covered in mud.
~*~*~*~
Sep 14
Deep in the human unconscious is a pervasive need for a logical universe that makes sense. But the real universe is always one step beyond logic.
Frank Herbert (1920 - 1986), Dune
Ziva David had met a lot of people and been to a lot of places. But she knew the universe and the people in it would never quite make sense.
When applied correctly, logic seemed to provide an understanding of the world. Even Tony managed to avoid getting hit by a bus or shot by a suspect every other day, and his logic skills were underdeveloped. But once the surface was scratched, things made no sense at all.
People were the most confusing things she came across on a daily basis. Whether it was believing they could get away with murder, believing that murder was right (and while she agreed it could be at times, killing a cheating spouse did not fall into her categories), thinking they could lie to Gibbs and get away with it, thinking they could lie to her and get away with it… The list was endless. Not to mention Tony, who was simply a law of the universe unto himself.
Ziva did not even want to think of the quantum world that Abby had tried and completely failed to explain, though the Goth had pointed out the whole field made no sense anyway, so she was not alone.
Perhaps the whole point of the world was that it would never make sense. Perhaps there was no need to apply logic. Perhaps it was best simply to get on with your life and enjoy it.
~*~*~*~
Sep 15
Fifteen cents of every twenty-cent stamp goes to storage.
Louis Rukeyser
Abby Scuito stamped her platform encased foot on the floor and pouted. This was unfair. She was almost one hundred percent certain she had put it on her desk somewhere.
Stamps were the bane of her life, at the moment anyway. She had bought a nice set with which to send letters to her penpal Kitty over in Arizona, and now she couldn’t lay her hands on them. She had bought them yesterday, put them on her desk, gone to lunch with Ducky and Palmer, come back and worked for hours and hours until el jefe had wandered by and forced her to take a break, shared Chinese takeout with Team Gibbs in the squad room, finished a few analyses and finally gone home. There was no way she had moved them since she’d bought them.
She discarded the thought that someone else could have moved them. No one dared touch her desk. The problem was most likely related to her desk currently looking a little messy.
Picking up her latest forensic journals, she dropped them on the floor. Time to start making piles. She could ask Timmy to move them to their new homes when he next came to see her. Forensic reports for various agents who hadn’t bothered to pick them up yet, new pile on the floor. Oh, there was that chocolate bar Gibbs had given her yesterday afternoon. She couldn’t be too far off.
Apparently chocolate was deceptive. It took another five minutes to find her stamps, and six separate piles for Timmy to move. At least she could see the surface of her desk now. And Kitty’s letter would be mailed when she went for lunch with Tony.