Every Day Quotes Week 48
Title: Every Day Quotes
Rating: K
Dec 2
Without friends no one would choose to live, though he had all other goods.
Aristotle (384 BC - 322 BC), Nichomachean Ethics
Tony DiNozzo loved his possessions. His partner regularly told him that he was too possessive of them, but usually only after she had tried to steal something and he’d had to prevent her.
By smacking her hand away.
Possibly not the best thing to do to a Mossad assassin, but she hadn’t killed him yet. Something told him she had a soft spot for him and was unlikely to murder him now.
Or it might have had something to do with Director Shepard informing them that killing a partner was against one of el jefe’s Rules. Part of him wanted to demand the number; another part told him it was a lie and he would rather Ziva didn’t find out.
His possessions meant the world to him. If his apartment building ever caught fire, he would die in it trying to decide what to save. He spent inordinate amounts of money buying new clothes and DVDs, making sure he had the best television for his living room and filling his entire apartment with material goods.
However many possessions he had, he valued his friends more. If he lost his belongings, he could buy new ones. But he would never find such friends again if he searched the world.
~*~*~*~
Dec 3
Thou art all the comfort,
The Gods will diet me with.
William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)
Ziva David required very little in the way of possessions. Comfort was low on her list of priorities. What mattered to her most was survival.
Her apartment was not bare, but it certainly was not full. Jenny had used the term ‘Spartan’ the last time she had come over. While Ziva did not mind collecting a few belongings, she made sure she did not become attached to them. If, for whatever reason, she had to run, she would not be taking much with her.
It was not that she did not treasure certain possessions; it was that they were few and far between. A blanket her mother had knitted for her. An old ring that had been passed down among her mother’s family line. The Star of David she wore around her neck. If she lost them she would be devastated, but she would survive.
She was determined to survive.
But since coming to America, she had grown attach to a different kind of possession, a different kind of comfort. Friends. She had never really had them in Israel; they were co-workers or colleagues. She would die for them as representatives of her country, as fellow soldiers on the same side, not because she cared about them individually.
The comfort of friends had changed her. And she did not think she could survive without them any longer.
~*~*~*~
Dec 4
It's also helpful to realize that this very body that we have, that's sitting right here right now... with its aches and its pleasures... is exactly what we need to be fully human, fully awake, fully alive.
Pema Chodron
Leroy Jethro Gibbs resisted the urge to limp as he entered the Navy Yard. The cold weather and an awkward sleeping position had aggravated his bad knee to the point where it wouldn’t stop aching.
A normal person would have stayed in bed, or dosed up on painkillers before going to work. Not Gibbs. Pain was something to work through. And, after all, he couldn’t leave his team to their own devices for the day. Not if he wanted a team to come back to. Painkillers would only blur his mind and make him less effective in the field.
He stepped onto the elevator, glad no one else dared to join him. He would be in a foul mood today, a way of venting his frustration with his knee onto others around him, whether they knew the underlying problem or not. His team were used to his behavior and would just have to put up with it.
The elevator jolted into action, making him tense involuntarily. Pain flooded through him and he winced. Damn the metal cage for being so old. He was tempted to pull the emergency stop to catch his breath and possibly try to massage the muscles in his knee (if he could even touch them when they were aching like this), but he knew it would only lead to more jolts.
Gritting his teeth as the elevator arrived on his floor and jolted once more, he stalked out into the squad room, fully prepared to vent his agony on someone.
~*~*~*~
Dec 5
The reason people blame things on previous generations is that there's only one other choice.
Doug Larson
Ducky sighed as he put the phone down, wondering when it would ever end.
“The FBI are sending over two bodies they found in Rock Creek Park,” he announced to his assistant, who was busy sowing up Corporal White. “Unfortunately, they already had our next guests on the gurneys before they realized they were both marines.”
Palmer shrugged carelessly. “If it means we don’t have to go to another difficult-to-reach crime scene, doctor.”
“That’s the problem with the youth of today,” Ducky decided, reaching for the necessary paperwork he needed to complete before the van arrived. “If our friends at the FBI did not do a sterling job at the crime scene, we will have very little useful information. I would much rather have been called in immediately.”
“I’m sure they didn’t know they were marines when they arrived,” Palmer tried to argue.
Ducky shook his head. “A simple fingerprint identification does not take long,” he argued. “It should have taken no more than five minutes to determine this was our case, and then it should have been handed straight over to us. Incompetence, that’s what this is.”
Palmer wisely kept his mouth shut and nodded.
He sighed. “What is the world coming to? Where did you learn your bad habits from? Ah, the youth of today, killing each other indiscriminately. And you wonder why we live in such a violent world.”
~*~*~*~
Dec 6
You don't need a weather man to know which way the wind blows.
Bob Dylan (1941 - ), Subterranean Homesick Blues
Timothy McGee hated the wind. It made winter days even more freezing, destroyed his carefully-created hairstyle before he even made it to work, and assaulted him continually with the litter it picked off the streets.
It whipped raindrops into blurred bullets of water. It made his ears and nose turn a delightful shade of red, which more often than not led to Tony singing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. It filled his eyes with dust and dirt, making them sting. It blew umbrellas inside out and stole his NCIS cap straight from his head.
Today, the wind was busy happily blowing a gale. Gusts of air attempted to blow him backwards while he tried to make it into the Navy Yard. He staggered backwards for a moment, before finding the strength to keep pushing onwards. His hands were firmly pushed into his pockets to keep them warm, but he shivered in his coat. It wasn’t designed for this weather.
The fabric of his pants smacked into his legs, his head was bent against the wind. He couldn’t look up from the floor without the cold air gusting into his eyes, making it difficult if not downright impossible to see. Shelter was just ahead. Just ahead…
Somehow he slipped into the building, breathing a sigh of relief as the wind left him alone to play with its next victim. If this held up, at least he would be blown back to his car at the end of the day.
~*~*~*~
Dec 7
Buy the ticket take the Ride
Hunter S. Thompson (1939 - 2005), Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Tony DiNozzo loved his car and hated public transportation.
Unfortunately, after someone stole his most prized possession (and while Abby had offered to boil them from the inside out if they were ever caught, it didn’t quite make up for it), he was forced into using the Metro.
He would never use the bus. McGee used the bus and that summed it up. He was never getting in a car with the Probie either. Ziva had refused to allow him in her car since he had thrown up everywhere after a night out, including over her hair. And he was not able to find the words to ask Gibbs for a lift into work, mainly because he didn’t fancy zero five hundred starts and incredibly late finishes.
So he was stuck taking the Metro until either the Metro cops found his baby or he splashed out on a new one. And until he found out what had happened to his baby, the latter was not an option.
He stared at the ticket machine in horror. How was he supposed to use this? How many options did he have? He only wanted some kind of direct route from his place to the Navy Yard, but this looked like a labyrinth of lines and connections.
Resisting the urge to whimper, he looked about for the nearest information kiosk. There had to be a pretty lady who could explain all this to him…
~*~*~*~
Dec 8
Be mild with the mild, shrewd with the crafty, confiding to the honest, rough to the ruffian, and a thunderbolt to the liar. But in all this, never be unmindful of your own dignity.
John Brown
“He’s going to kill us.”
“No he’s not.”
“Actually kill us. Stab us with a scalpel. Or tie us to the table and perform a live autopsy.”
“Stop over-exaggerating.”
“Oh, fancy you using a long word. And I’m not. He pushed that French cop off a cliff for something much less than this.”
Jennifer Shepard could not understand why Jethro was not taking this more seriously. There were dead unless they could figure out the best way out of this situation. Very dead. And then Ducky would be the one to do the autopsy (possibly the second one) and cover up their painful demises.
She would happily blame all this on him. She might have been the one in the driving seat, but Jethro had been distracting her by bringing up all the times she’d had accidents. Not the most reassuring thing when she was behind the wheel of his car (only because she had stolen his keys and insisted on taking it for a spin).
And then she had accidently reversed into Ducky’s Morgan. About the only thing Ducky prized, and probably irreplaceable. She had been tempted to drive off and pretend she’d never been there, but the damage couldn’t be ignored and the yellow paint flecks from Gibbs’ car would lead the doctor right back to them both.
“We could get McGee to tell him,” Jethro suggested, apparently having realized the danger they were in.
“Or Palmer,” Jenny offered.
They looked at each other as the same idea entered their heads simultaneously.
“DiNozzo.”
Rating: K
Dec 2
Without friends no one would choose to live, though he had all other goods.
Aristotle (384 BC - 322 BC), Nichomachean Ethics
Tony DiNozzo loved his possessions. His partner regularly told him that he was too possessive of them, but usually only after she had tried to steal something and he’d had to prevent her.
By smacking her hand away.
Possibly not the best thing to do to a Mossad assassin, but she hadn’t killed him yet. Something told him she had a soft spot for him and was unlikely to murder him now.
Or it might have had something to do with Director Shepard informing them that killing a partner was against one of el jefe’s Rules. Part of him wanted to demand the number; another part told him it was a lie and he would rather Ziva didn’t find out.
His possessions meant the world to him. If his apartment building ever caught fire, he would die in it trying to decide what to save. He spent inordinate amounts of money buying new clothes and DVDs, making sure he had the best television for his living room and filling his entire apartment with material goods.
However many possessions he had, he valued his friends more. If he lost his belongings, he could buy new ones. But he would never find such friends again if he searched the world.
~*~*~*~
Dec 3
Thou art all the comfort,
The Gods will diet me with.
William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)
Ziva David required very little in the way of possessions. Comfort was low on her list of priorities. What mattered to her most was survival.
Her apartment was not bare, but it certainly was not full. Jenny had used the term ‘Spartan’ the last time she had come over. While Ziva did not mind collecting a few belongings, she made sure she did not become attached to them. If, for whatever reason, she had to run, she would not be taking much with her.
It was not that she did not treasure certain possessions; it was that they were few and far between. A blanket her mother had knitted for her. An old ring that had been passed down among her mother’s family line. The Star of David she wore around her neck. If she lost them she would be devastated, but she would survive.
She was determined to survive.
But since coming to America, she had grown attach to a different kind of possession, a different kind of comfort. Friends. She had never really had them in Israel; they were co-workers or colleagues. She would die for them as representatives of her country, as fellow soldiers on the same side, not because she cared about them individually.
The comfort of friends had changed her. And she did not think she could survive without them any longer.
~*~*~*~
Dec 4
It's also helpful to realize that this very body that we have, that's sitting right here right now... with its aches and its pleasures... is exactly what we need to be fully human, fully awake, fully alive.
Pema Chodron
Leroy Jethro Gibbs resisted the urge to limp as he entered the Navy Yard. The cold weather and an awkward sleeping position had aggravated his bad knee to the point where it wouldn’t stop aching.
A normal person would have stayed in bed, or dosed up on painkillers before going to work. Not Gibbs. Pain was something to work through. And, after all, he couldn’t leave his team to their own devices for the day. Not if he wanted a team to come back to. Painkillers would only blur his mind and make him less effective in the field.
He stepped onto the elevator, glad no one else dared to join him. He would be in a foul mood today, a way of venting his frustration with his knee onto others around him, whether they knew the underlying problem or not. His team were used to his behavior and would just have to put up with it.
The elevator jolted into action, making him tense involuntarily. Pain flooded through him and he winced. Damn the metal cage for being so old. He was tempted to pull the emergency stop to catch his breath and possibly try to massage the muscles in his knee (if he could even touch them when they were aching like this), but he knew it would only lead to more jolts.
Gritting his teeth as the elevator arrived on his floor and jolted once more, he stalked out into the squad room, fully prepared to vent his agony on someone.
~*~*~*~
Dec 5
The reason people blame things on previous generations is that there's only one other choice.
Doug Larson
Ducky sighed as he put the phone down, wondering when it would ever end.
“The FBI are sending over two bodies they found in Rock Creek Park,” he announced to his assistant, who was busy sowing up Corporal White. “Unfortunately, they already had our next guests on the gurneys before they realized they were both marines.”
Palmer shrugged carelessly. “If it means we don’t have to go to another difficult-to-reach crime scene, doctor.”
“That’s the problem with the youth of today,” Ducky decided, reaching for the necessary paperwork he needed to complete before the van arrived. “If our friends at the FBI did not do a sterling job at the crime scene, we will have very little useful information. I would much rather have been called in immediately.”
“I’m sure they didn’t know they were marines when they arrived,” Palmer tried to argue.
Ducky shook his head. “A simple fingerprint identification does not take long,” he argued. “It should have taken no more than five minutes to determine this was our case, and then it should have been handed straight over to us. Incompetence, that’s what this is.”
Palmer wisely kept his mouth shut and nodded.
He sighed. “What is the world coming to? Where did you learn your bad habits from? Ah, the youth of today, killing each other indiscriminately. And you wonder why we live in such a violent world.”
~*~*~*~
Dec 6
You don't need a weather man to know which way the wind blows.
Bob Dylan (1941 - ), Subterranean Homesick Blues
Timothy McGee hated the wind. It made winter days even more freezing, destroyed his carefully-created hairstyle before he even made it to work, and assaulted him continually with the litter it picked off the streets.
It whipped raindrops into blurred bullets of water. It made his ears and nose turn a delightful shade of red, which more often than not led to Tony singing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. It filled his eyes with dust and dirt, making them sting. It blew umbrellas inside out and stole his NCIS cap straight from his head.
Today, the wind was busy happily blowing a gale. Gusts of air attempted to blow him backwards while he tried to make it into the Navy Yard. He staggered backwards for a moment, before finding the strength to keep pushing onwards. His hands were firmly pushed into his pockets to keep them warm, but he shivered in his coat. It wasn’t designed for this weather.
The fabric of his pants smacked into his legs, his head was bent against the wind. He couldn’t look up from the floor without the cold air gusting into his eyes, making it difficult if not downright impossible to see. Shelter was just ahead. Just ahead…
Somehow he slipped into the building, breathing a sigh of relief as the wind left him alone to play with its next victim. If this held up, at least he would be blown back to his car at the end of the day.
~*~*~*~
Dec 7
Buy the ticket take the Ride
Hunter S. Thompson (1939 - 2005), Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Tony DiNozzo loved his car and hated public transportation.
Unfortunately, after someone stole his most prized possession (and while Abby had offered to boil them from the inside out if they were ever caught, it didn’t quite make up for it), he was forced into using the Metro.
He would never use the bus. McGee used the bus and that summed it up. He was never getting in a car with the Probie either. Ziva had refused to allow him in her car since he had thrown up everywhere after a night out, including over her hair. And he was not able to find the words to ask Gibbs for a lift into work, mainly because he didn’t fancy zero five hundred starts and incredibly late finishes.
So he was stuck taking the Metro until either the Metro cops found his baby or he splashed out on a new one. And until he found out what had happened to his baby, the latter was not an option.
He stared at the ticket machine in horror. How was he supposed to use this? How many options did he have? He only wanted some kind of direct route from his place to the Navy Yard, but this looked like a labyrinth of lines and connections.
Resisting the urge to whimper, he looked about for the nearest information kiosk. There had to be a pretty lady who could explain all this to him…
~*~*~*~
Dec 8
Be mild with the mild, shrewd with the crafty, confiding to the honest, rough to the ruffian, and a thunderbolt to the liar. But in all this, never be unmindful of your own dignity.
John Brown
“He’s going to kill us.”
“No he’s not.”
“Actually kill us. Stab us with a scalpel. Or tie us to the table and perform a live autopsy.”
“Stop over-exaggerating.”
“Oh, fancy you using a long word. And I’m not. He pushed that French cop off a cliff for something much less than this.”
Jennifer Shepard could not understand why Jethro was not taking this more seriously. There were dead unless they could figure out the best way out of this situation. Very dead. And then Ducky would be the one to do the autopsy (possibly the second one) and cover up their painful demises.
She would happily blame all this on him. She might have been the one in the driving seat, but Jethro had been distracting her by bringing up all the times she’d had accidents. Not the most reassuring thing when she was behind the wheel of his car (only because she had stolen his keys and insisted on taking it for a spin).
And then she had accidently reversed into Ducky’s Morgan. About the only thing Ducky prized, and probably irreplaceable. She had been tempted to drive off and pretend she’d never been there, but the damage couldn’t be ignored and the yellow paint flecks from Gibbs’ car would lead the doctor right back to them both.
“We could get McGee to tell him,” Jethro suggested, apparently having realized the danger they were in.
“Or Palmer,” Jenny offered.
They looked at each other as the same idea entered their heads simultaneously.
“DiNozzo.”