A.i. Quotes

- If you fail, never give up because F.A.I.L. means "first Attempt In Learning" - End is not the end, if fact E.N.D. means "Effort Never Dies" - If you get No as an answer, remember N.O. means "Next Opportunity". So Let's be positive. "Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam of feel LIFE

Do you—do you think I want to—do you think I give a—I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY!" Harry roared. "You will," said Dumbledore sadly. "Because you are not nearly as mad at me as you ought to be. If you are to attack me, as I know you are close to doing, I would like to have thoroughly earned it.

Q: Why write about slavery? Haven’t we had enough stories about slavery? Why do we need another one? A: I could have written about upper middle class white people who feel sad sometimes, but there’s a lot of competition.

The next morning-at least, I assumed it was morning, since we were all waking up- I felt like one of those twelve dancing princesses, who danced all night, wore holes in their shoes, and had to sleep it off the next day. Except, oh yeah: a)I'm not a princess; b)sleeping in a subway tunnel and having another brain attack aren't that much like dancing all night; and c) my combat boots were still in good shape. Other than that, it was exactly the same.

A:I just want to talk,you dont have to try and scare me. K:There's hardly any room for fear when your so bloody turned on.

The cat’s A.I. was realistic, right down to the total lack of loyalty.

People look at a chair and say, “It’s just a chair,” but I like to think it’s more than a chair. I like to seek deeper meaning in things, even inanimate things. I know this makes me sound like a complete nutcase, but (a) I swear I’m not, and (b) it’s just an example.

It was like either: (A) I was a terrible guy who was knowingly doing this rotten thing over and over, or (B) it wasn’t so rotten, really, just normal, and the way to confirm it was normal was to keep doing it, over and over.

Like Rabe'a, I didn't think people should believe in God because of heaven and hell. But I didn't feel a need to run around with a torch. You can't burn down a made-up place. 

Okay, so either (a) I just teleported somewhere else entirely (b) they can fold space like no one's business or (c) they are simply ignoring all the rules.

Mr. Buckley, let me explain it this way. And I'll do so very carefully and slowly so that even you will understand it. If I was the sheriff, I would not have arrested him. If I was on the grand jury, I would not have indicted him. If I was the judge, I would not try him. If I was the D.A., I would not prosecute him. If I was on the trial jury, I would vote to give him a key to the city, a plaque to hang on his wall, and I would send him home to his family. And, Mr. Buckley, if my daughter is ever raped, I hope I have the guts to do what he did.

If we don't know what we want we're less likely to get it.

Q: Do you feel concerned that after all this work, people won't treat [Starship Titanic] with the gravity of, say, a movie or a book? That they won't treat it as an art form? D.A.: I hope that's the case, yes. I get very worried about this idea of art. Having been an English literary graduate, I've been trying to avoid the idea of doing art ever since. I think the idea of art kills creativity. ... [I]f somebody wants to come along and say, "Oh, it's art," that's as may be. I don't really mind that much. But I think that's for other people to decide after the fact. It isn't what you should be aiming to do. There's nothing worse than sitting down to write a novel and saying, "Well, okay, I'm going to do something of high artistic worth." ... I think you get most of the most interesting work done in fields where people don't think they're doing art, but merely practicing a craft, and working as good craftsmen. ... I tend to get very suspicious of anything that thinks it's art while it's being created.

I don’t just like you…I really like you. I think I’m… I don’t know…hyper-focusing on you like I do with my plans and my A.I. work. But you’re not a robot. You’re a human woman, and I’m afraid I’m going to scare you away because I don’t just like you. I unhealthily like you.

She was an artist, like you. With a—I don’t know how to say this well—an ego that is large but self-esteem that is small?

Hey, man, I'm old school. Don't make me bust out the Easy-E and the N.W.A I will got straight up gangsta on your ass. No one is more hardcore than a rich, suburban white girl.

Q: What were you thinking when your colleagues were out there making cosmic history? A: I just kept reminding myself that every single component in this spacecraft was provided by the guy who submitted the cheapest tender.

If you Fail, Never Give Up because, F.A.I.L means "First Attempt In Learning".

Q. Is it possible to build a jetpack using downward-firing machine guns? —Rob B A. I WAS SORT OF surprised to find that the answer was yes! But to really do it right, you’ll want to talk to the Russians.

Sorry," I said to the Duke. "Eh, it's not your fault. It's Carla's fault. You were turning the wheel. Carla just wasn't listening. I knew I shouldn't have loved her. She's like all the others, Tobin; as soon as I confess my love, she abandons me." I laughed. "I never abandoned you," I said patting on her back. "Yeah, well, (a.) I never confessed my love to you, and (b.) I'm not even female to you.

Iubirea e nesăţioasă, de un egoism sălbatic, vrea să-i sacrifici tot fără a-i cere nimic în schimb, mulţumindu-te doar cu ceea ce-ţi oferă. Eu am rîvnit totul de la tine pentru că îţi dădusem totul. Oricum, ceva mai bun decît mine nu puteam să-ţi dau. De aici a pornit eroarea, de la acest schimb în aparenţă just. Dar ce experienţă aveam, de unde să ştiu că iubirea dintre două fiinţe nu e egală, că balanţa atîrnă cînd într-o parte, cînd într-alta după imponderabile de care arar ne dăm seama. În cazul nostru balanţa atîrna în favoarea ta, lanţurile cu care mă încătuşai erau mai puternice decît ale mele. De ce te-am judecat luîndu-mă pe mine drept unitate de măsură? Bărbatul, datorită se vede eului său aşa-zis "superior", se dă dragostei cu prudenţă, păstrînd rezerve pentru sine, de aceea îşi păstrează, măcar parţial, echilibrul. Pe cînd noi, femeile, cînd iubim, ne dăm integral mistuindu-ne în aşa fel încît nu ne rămîne decît umbra celor ce am fost. Iată de ce prăbuşirea noastră în lipsa coloanei vertebrale e aşa de catastrofală.

Every mistake is your "Good Teacher" in your life!

A: I like your apartment. B: It's nice, but it's only big enough for one person – or two people who are very close. A: You know two people who are very close?

A few seconds later, her reply came in. WTF an A! I blinked, sure I was misreading. But no, the letters didn't change. Me: Nana, do U know what WTF means?? Her: Of course silly, it means "well, that's fantastic.

It's not right, man,” Jay said, following my stare. “Some guys have all the luck.” “What?” I finally broke my trance to look at Jay. “That guy, the drummer? Get this. He's a killer musician, he gets tons of chicks, his dad's loaded, and as if that wasn't enough, he's got a friggin' English accent!” I had to smile at Jay's mix of envy and admiration. “What's his name?” I hollered as the third song started. “Kaidan Rowe. Oh, and that's another thing. A cool name! Bastard.” “How do you spell it?” I asked. It sounded like Ky-den. Jay spelled it for me. “It's A-I, like Thai food,” he explained. Kai, like Thai, only yummier. Gah! Who was this girl invading my brain?

When people bore me, I close my eyes and try to remember the order the Seven Dwarfs marched in. But it's not always the dwarfs I think about. Sometimes aI try to list all of the Canadian provinces.

If you behave like 'Sheep', the other's will eat you. But if you roar like 'Lion', others will afraid of you!

Always look down, when you are at the top!

Q: Have you been released or are you still a Beta version? A: No official release of myself will ever follow! Q: Then, you are not! A: I

F-A-I-T-H The Fundamental Authority of Irrefutable Truth that assures confident Hope

Is it possible that future generations will regard our present agribuisness and eating practices in much the same way we now view Nero's entertainments or Mengele's experiments? My own initial reaction is that such a comparison is hysterical, extreme - and yet the reason it seems extreme to me appears to be that I believe animals are less morally important than human behings; and when it comes to defending such a belief, even to myself, I have to acknowledge that (a) I have an obvious selfish interest in this belief, since I like to eat certain kinds of animals and want to be able to keep doing it, and (b) I haven't succeeded in working out any sort of personal ethical system in which the belief is truly defensible instead of just selfishly convenient.

Traaaiiinnn,” Roc repeats slowly, sounding out the word for me like I’m stupid. “T-R-A-I-N. Spell it with me, Tristan.

It's just the Time that show you the sucess!

Look the "GOD" Inside of your Body!

If you want to 'Earn', then you should have to 'Learn'!

The life is a wick of a candle, so try to always glow!

Try to being a 'Spider' in life, because spider always climb after he falls!

Humans are not mortals, but their achievements are always!

Always read the 'Moral' of the story, it will teach you something!

One 'TRUTH' is always powerful, than thousands of 'LIE's !

Self belief is the 'Power' to get success!

Maybe your 'Words' are false, but your 'Eyes' never!

If you born to win you get the 'EGO', but if you born to learn you get 'SUCCESS'.

Nobody always with you, but your shadow is always with you!

You always have to look behind for your foots marks.

Involuntar îi caut din nou ochii, în încercarea de a-i desluși adâncurile întunecate. Zadarnic, cum să pătrunzi o statuie? Cu siguranță, e gol pe dinăuntru, nu are inimă, nici suflet.

Well, if it’s not an engagement ring, what is it?" He lifted my hand again and studied the ring. “It’s a... ‘I promise to be with you forever, or at least until you’re totally sick of me’ ring,” he declared. “I see. A bit wordy. But seriously, next time you want to buy me jewelry - think ‘small’.

We created Him, yes. The Neon God is our mess. Our digital hive-mind. Our A.I.,’ said Aurora, watching the man absent-mindedly gape at the ceiling. ‘We built Him to manage our finances, our logistics, our armies, our wealth distribution…. and… and He went crazy. 'Because we filled Him with crappy commercials and stopped maintaining His morals. He’s only like this because of us, all of us. It’s His Algorithm – the one you wrote, the one you keep feeding to Him – we need to watch out for. That’s the Neon God’s soul. That’s His Justice.

F-A-I-T-H: Forsaking all, I trust him.

In our period, new technology has been developed, but remains in need of a guiding philosophy.

TO BE HAPPY, BE VIRTUOUS. THERE ARE ONLY TWO REASONS TO EVER DO ANYTHING; TO BE HAPPY, AND TO HELP OTHER PEOPLE BE HAPPY. ALL VIRTUE LIES IN THE SECOND HALF OF THAT, IN WORKING FOR OTHERS, IN PROTECTING THE WEAK FROM THE STRONG.

I wanted to skewer her with a stare, flay her with a frown, impale her with a—I say, what are you doing?" Charles would have answered her, but he was laughing so hard he was doubled over.

I always valued my reading skills as highly as I did my basketball skills. In college and in the N.B.A., I read at every opportunity. When age diminished my basketball skills and I retired, I still had everything I'd learned through reading: knowledge of the world and its history, an aptitude for critical thinking and the ability to write.

Femeile al caror suflet si ale caror intentii sunt pure, se folosesc de virtuti pentru a-i domina pe barbatii pe care-i iubesc; dar femeile care nu le vor binele ii guverneaza servindu-se de cusururile lor.

This is your baby sister, Christian. Her name is Mia.” Mommy lets me hold her. She is very small. With black, black hair. She smiles. She has no teeth. I stick out my tongue. She has a bubbly laugh. Mommy lets me hold the baby again. Her name is Mia. I make her laugh. I hold her and hold her. She is safe when I hold her. Elliot is not interested in Mia. She dribbles and cries. And he wrinkles his nose when she does a poop. When Mia is crying Elliot ignores her. I hold her and hold her and she stops. She falls asleep in my arms. “Mee a,” I whisper. “What did you say?! Mommy asks, and her face is white like a chalk. “Mee a.” “Yes. Yes. Darling boy. Mia. Her name is Mia.” And Mommy starts to cry with happy, happy tears.

4/16/85: If I were thin, I’d never say “I am powerless over fudge.” a) I can’t believe I actually ever said that. b) Which, of course, isn't to say that I do have any power over fudge. Particularly if it has nuts.

Dudifer, you are saddest dude I have ever met.” Matthew told him. “It’s like you’re always wet. Seems to me that if I had to learn to be sad, you have to learn to be happy. Why don’t you draw a, I dunno, chinchilla or something, instead of that, uh, thing. Not that its not good.” ”What’s a chinchilla?” “You’re sort of a funny person,” Matthew told him. “You know a lot of stuff but you’re also pretty stupid.

AND NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES YOU FAIL, WHILE LIFE REMAINS YOU CAN ALWAYS GIVE YOURSELF ANOTHER CHANCE EVEN IF NO ONE ELSE WILL; CAN ALWAYS CHOOSE TO TRY AGAIN.

When I get back to L.A. I'm going to buy myself a Blackberry and a slew of French-cuffed shirts. Possibly a nipple ring.

Remember you don’t really own anything you can’t carry at a dead run.

Totul este un mare mister. Orice efort de a-i găsi o explicaţie este greşit – trebuie doar să îl iubeşti, să trăieşti cu el şi să dansezi cu el.

A ghost is a ghost, whether it exists in a machine or an organic.

The irony is that even as digitization is making an increasing amount of information available, it is diminishing the space required for deep, concentrated thought.

Q: When did you realize you wanted to be a writer? A: I hate this question, because the answer makes me look like a jerk. The answer exposes me as a jerk. But here it is: the first time I read Twilight, I thought to myself, "If this chick can write a book, then you can!" One day, Stephanie Meyer is going to give me a bloody nose. I accept that like I accept that I will one day get wrinkles. To Stephanie Meyer: Could you come at me from the right side? That side of my face could use adjusting...

I record my life, sifting and trying to separate what is real from what I’ve dreamed. I have decided not to tell you what is fact versus what is unfact primarily because (a) I am giving you a portrait of the essence of me, and (b) because, living where I do, living in the chasm that cuts through thought, it is lonely… come with me, reader. I am toying with you, yes, but for a real reason. I am asking you to enter the confusion with me, to give up the ground with me, because sometimes that frightening floaty place is really the truest of all. Kierkegaard says, ‘The greatest lie of all is the feeling of firmness beneath our feet. We are most honest when we are lost.’ Enter that lostness with me. Live in the place I am, where the view is murky, where the connecting bridges and orienting maps have been surgically stripped away.

They know what the “perfumes” are going to say because they always say the same thing, but they pretend to believe them anyway. (a)“I could change your life.” (b)“A lot of women would like to be in your shoes.” (c)“You’re young now, but what will become of you in a few years’ time? You need to think about making a longer-term investment.” (d)“I’m married, but my wife . . .” (This opening line can have various endings: “. . . is ill,” “. . . has threatened to commit suicide if I leave her,” etc.) (e)“You’re a princess and deserve to be treated like one. I didn’t know it until now, but I’ve been waiting for you. I don’t believe in coincidences and I really think we ought to give this relationship a chance.

Created by humans, AI should be overseen by humans. But in our time, one of AI’s challenges is that the skills and resources required to create it are not inevitably paired with the philosophical perspective to understand its broader implications.

We loved them. We hated them. We wanted to be them. How tall they were, how lovely, how fair. Their long, graceful limbs. Their bright white teeth. Their pale, luminous skin, which disguised all seven blemishes of the face. Their odd but endearing ways, which ceased to amuse - their love for A.I. sauce and high, pointy-toed shoes, their funny, turned-out walk, their tendency to gather in each other's parlors in large, noisy groups and stand around talking, all at once, for hours. Why, we wondered, did it never occur to them to sit down? They seemed so at home in the world. So at ease. They had a confidence that we lacked. And much better hair. So many colors. And we regretted that we could not be more like them.

Leona A: But I’m thinking about doing something crazy. Darryl K: Aren’t those the only things that can truly change our lives? Leona A: I suppose so. But we don’t know if the change will be good or bad, do we? Darryl K: And that mystery right there is the beauty of life.

Quiet fell upon the pickup and lasted for a little over nineteen minutes. Is that why you hang around with him?", Loretta asked. "Cuz he saved your life?" "Sort'a. I know Earl isn't always easy to get along with. Fact is, he can be a real pain the ass more often than not, but after you spend enough time with him, and you learn to ignore his personality, he's a pretty decent guy." "If you say so.

When information is contextualized, it becomes knowledge. When knowledge compels convictions, it becomes wisdom. Yet the internet inundates users with the opinions of thousands, even millions, of other users, depriving them of the solitude required for sustained reflection that, historically, has led to the development of convictions. As solitude diminishes, so, too, does fortitude—not only to develop convictions but also to be faithful to them, particularly when they require the traversing of novel, and

New Rule: Stop pretending your drugs are morally superior to my drugs because you get yours at a store. This week, they released the autopsy report on Anna Nicole Smith, and the cause of death was what I always thought it was: mad cow. No, it turns out she had nine different prescription drugs in her—which, in the medical field, is known as the “full Limbaugh.” They opened her up, and a Walgreens jumped out. Antidepressants, anti-anxiety pills, sleeping pills, sedatives, Valium, methadone—this woman was killed by her doctor, who is a glorified bartender. I’m not going to say his name, but only because (a) I don’t want to get sued, and (b) my back is killing me. This month marks the thirty-fifth anniversary of a famous government report. I was sixteen in 1972, and I remember how excited we were when Nixon’s much ballyhooed National Commission on Drug Abuse came out and said pot should be legalized. It was a moment of great hope for common sense—and then, just like Bush did with the Iraq Study Group, Nixon took the report and threw it in the garbage, and from there the ’70s went right into disco and colored underpants. This week in American Scientist, a magazine George Bush wouldn’t read if he got food poisoning in Mexico and it was the only thing he could reach from the toilet, described a study done in England that measured the lethality of various drugs, and found tobacco and alcohol far worse than pot, LSD, or Ecstasy—which pretty much mirrors my own experiments in this same area. The Beatles took LSD and wrote Sgt. Pepper—Anna Nicole Smith took legal drugs and couldn’t remember the number for nine-one-one. I wish I had more time to go into the fact that the drug war has always been about keeping black men from voting by finding out what they’re addicted to and making it illegal—it’s a miracle our government hasn’t outlawed fat white women yet—but I leave with one request: Would someone please just make a bumper sticker that says, “I’m a stoner, and I vote.

Then I pace the floor, rocking him softly in my arms, patting his ass. You know I must be really desperate—because I try singing: Hush, little baby, don’t say a word Daddy’s gonna buy you a . . . I stop—because why the fuck would any baby want a mockingbird? None of those nursery rhymes make any goddamn sense. I don’t know any other lullabies, so I go for the next best thing, “Enter Sandman” by Metallica: Take my hand, We’re off to never-never land . . .

I’m not… it’s just that I don’t know anything about owning a—” I stop and give myself a swift mental kick in the ass. So what if I don’t know anything about owning a business? I can learn. I don’t know anything about being a mother either, but I’ve started to believe that someday, I could be a good one. I’d certainly give it everything I have.

My name is Matt Besser, and I'm an Arkansas Razorback. My father is a Jew from Little Rock, Ark., my mother was a Christian from Harrison, Ark., and somehow I'm an atheist now living in L.A. I am a Razorback living in the Razorback diaspora.

Dacă ar exista un acces direct la bucuria mistică, la jubilarea în Divinitate - fără a fi silit să parcurgi drumul spinos al experienței întregi și toate antecedentele chinuitoare ale extazului -, atunci soluția terestră a fericirii ar fi la îndemâna oricui. Cum un astfel de acces nu există, suntem condamnați a urca o scară, fără a-i atinge vreodată ultima treaptă.

(Q: From an outsider’s perspective, what you call “chaos magick” has a lot of rules, discipline, and order involved, and doesn’t seem very chaotic at all. What would you say to such a person?) A: I differentiate sternly between Chaos and Entropy. Only highly ordered and structured systems can display complex creative and unpredictable behaviour, and then only if they have the capacity to act with a degree of freedom and randomness. Systems which lack structure and organisation usually fail to produce anything much, they just tend to drift down the entropy gradient. This applies both to people and to organisations.

[Virginia] is an exquisite companion, and I love her dearly. She has to stay in bed till luncheon, as she is still far from well, and she has lots of lessons to do. Leonard is coming on Saturday [...] Please don't think that a) I shall fall in love with Virginia b) Virginia will fall in love with me c) Leonard """""" d) I shall fall """ Leonard Because it is not so [...]

Q. Your original, self-published version of The Martian became a phenomenon online. Were you expecting the overwhelmingly positive reception the book received? A. I had no idea it was going to do so well. The story had been available for free on my website for months, and I assumed anyone who wanted to read it had already read it. A few readers had requested I post a Kindle version because it’s easier to download that way. So I went ahead and did it, setting the price to the minimum Amazon would allow. As it sold more and more copies I just watched in awe.

So let me get this right,” I say to one of the Townie girls. “All it takes is to insult someone’s mother?” “No,” she explains. “That’s the beauty of it. They don’t actually have to insult. The words Your mother are enough.” “So if I said to you, ‘Your mother is a…?’” I shrug. “Just ‘Your mother.’” But it doesn’t work if girls say it to each other,” she continues. “You have to have a penis for it to affect you in such a way.

Puterea este o manifestare vicleană atrasă doar de cel care o poate mânui pentru a-i crește spectrul de influență. Ca un șarpe, puterea îi este loială nimănui, alunecoasă și vicleană, se strecoară nevăzută, neauzită, nesimțită; când năpârlește, șarpele te lasă cu mâinile pline de amintirile trecutului, iar noua sa formă este doar un șarpe și mai mare. Singura șansă de a supraviețui este ca tu să fi mai mare și mai puternic ca noua înfățișare.

Do you realize what a beacon you’ve become?” “A—I beg your pardon?” “A beacon of hope,” says the woman, smiling. “As soon as we announced we’d be doing this interview, our viewers started calling in, e-mails, text messages, telling us you’re an angel, a talisman of goodness . . .” Ma makes a face. “All I did was I survived, and I did a pretty good job of raising Jack. A good enough job.” “You’re very modest.” “No, what I am is irritated, actually.” The puffy-hair woman blinks twice. “All this reverential—I’m not a saint.” Ma’s voice is getting loud again. “I wish people would stop treating us like we’re the only ones who ever lived through something terrible. I’ve been finding stuff on the Internet you wouldn’t believe.” “Other cases like yours?” “Yeah, but not just—I mean, of course when I woke up in that shed, I thought nobody’d ever had it as bad as me. But the thing is, slavery’s not a new invention. And solitary confinement—did you know, in America we’ve got more than twenty-five thousand prisoners in isolation cells? Some of them for more than twenty years.” Her hand is pointing at the puffy-hair woman. “As for kids—there’s places where babies lie in orphanages five to a cot with pacifiers taped into their mouths, kids getting raped by Daddy every night, kids in prisons, whatever, making carpets till they go blind—

But why do you write?— A: I am not one of those who think with an inky pen in their hand, much less one of those who in front of an open inkwell abandon themselves to their passions while they sit in a chair and stare at the paper. I am annoyed by and ashamed of my writing; writing is for me a pressing and embarrassing need, and to speak of it even in a parable disgusts me. B: But why, then, do you write? —A: Well, my friend, to be quite frank: so far, I have not discovered any other way of getting rid of my thoughts. —B: And why do you want to get rid of them? —A: Why I want to? Do I want to? I must. —B: Enough! Enough! 94

Q. Your original, self-published version of The Martian became a phenomenon online. Were you expecting the overwhelmingly positive reception the book received? A. I had no idea it was going to do so well. The story had been available for free on my website for months, and I assumed anyone who wanted to read it had already read it. A few readers had requested I post a Kindle version because it’s easier to download that way. So I went ahead and did it, setting the price to the minimum Amazon would allow. As it sold more and more copies I just watched in awe. Q. Film rights to The Martian were sold to writer-producer Simon Kinberg (Mr. & Mrs. Smith, Sherlock Holmes, X-Men: First Class). What was your first reaction? A. Of course I’m thrilled to have a movie in the works. The movie deal and print publishing deal came within a week of each other, so I was a little shell-shocked. In fact, it was such a sudden launch into the big leagues that I literally had a difficult time believing it. I actually worried it could all be an elaborate scam. So I guess that was my first reaction: “Is this really happening!?

Ni l-am putea închipui pe Buddha iubindu-şi adevărul şi palatul? Nu poţi, în viaţa aceasta, să fii şi„mîntuit", şi proprietar. Mă ridic împotriva generalizării minciunii, împotriva celor ce-şi exhibă pretinsa „mîntuire", sprijinind-o pe o doctrină deîmprumut. A-i demasca, a-i coborî de pe soclul unde sînt cocoţaţi, a-i pune la stupul infamiei, iată o luptă ce nu ar trebui să lase pe nimeni indiferent. Căci cei care au conştiinţa prea împăcată nu trebuie lăsaţi cu nici un preţ să trăiască şi să moară netulburaţi.

What is wrong with you?” I say in lieu of greeting. “You went to Morris’s dorm and declared your intentions?” He offers a faint smile. “Of course. It was the noble thing to do. I can’t be chasing after another guy’s girl without his knowledge.” “I’m not his girl,” I snap. “We went on one date! And now I’m never going to be his girl, because he doesn’t want to go out with me again.” “What the hell?” Logan looks startled. “I’m disappointed in him. I thought he had more of a competitive spirit than that.” “Seriously? You’re going to pretend to be surprised? He won’t see me again because your jackass self told him he couldn’t.” Astonishment fills his eyes. “No, I didn’t.” “Yes, you did.” “Is that what he told you?” Logan demands. “Not in so many words.” “I see. Well, what words did he actually use?” I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. “He said he’s backing off because he doesn’t want to get in the middle of something so complicated. I pointed out that there’s nothing complicated about it, seeing as you and I are not together.” My aggravation heightens. “And then he insisted that I need to give you a chance, because you’re a—” I angrily air-quote Morris’s words “—‘stand-up guy who deserves another shot.’” Logan breaks out in a grin. I stab the air with my finger. “Don’t you dare smile. Obviously you put those words in his mouth. And what the hell was he jabbering about when he told me you and him were ‘family’?” All the disbelief I’d felt during my talk with Morris comes spiraling back, making me pace the bedroom in hurried strides. “What did you say to him, Logan? Did you brainwash him or something? How are you guys family? You don’t even know each other!” Strangled laughter sounds from Logan’s direction. I spin around and level a dark glower at him. “He’s talking about the joint family we created in Mob Boss. It’s this role-playing game where you’re the Don of a mob family and you’re fighting a bunch of other mafia bosses for territory and rackets and stuff. We played it when I went over there, and I ended up staying until four in the morning. Seriously, it was intense.” He shrugs. “We’re the Lorris crime syndicate.” I’m dumbfounded. Oh my God. Lorris? As in Logan and Morris? They fucking Brangelina’d themselves? “What is happening?” I burst out. “You guys are best friends now?” “He’s a cool guy. Actually, he’s even cooler in my book now for stepping down like that. I didn’t ask him to, but clearly he grasps what you refuse to see.” “Yeah, and what’s that?” I mutter. “That you and I are perfect for each other.” No words. There are no words to accurately convey what I’m feeling right now. Horror maybe? Absolute insanity? I mean, it’s not like I’m madly in love with Morris or anything, but if I’d known that kissing Logan at the party would lead to…this, I would have strapped on a frickin’ chastity gag.

Exhibit A: I’m guessing you’re no fan of socialism, which was a founding principle of the Nazi movement. The name “Nazi” is an acronym for the National Socialist German Workers’ Party, which most of today’s Democrat socialists conveniently forget. Actually, that’s an understatement. These people don’t just overlook this truth, they’ve totally rewritten history on the matter. These days, Nazism gets associated with conservatism at the drop of a hat, but historically it stems from the left. Adolf Hitler? An art-loving vegetarian who seized power by wooing voters away from Germany’s Social Democrat and communist parties. Italy’s Benito Mussolini? Raised on Karl Marx’s Das Kapital before starting his career as a left-wing journalist and, later, implementing a deadly fascist regime.

So neither massive head injuries, nor finding out you’re a member of this family thirty freaking minutes ago-and therefore have very little experience handling weapons-gets you out of patrol?” I asked as I met Finley and Izzy by the backdoor. After Aislinn had made her announcement, Mom had tried to argue on my behalf, saying that A) I was still processing the whole “being a Brannick” thing, and B) I had gone through a lot, so maybe I could use a nap. Or a snack. Aislinn’s answer was to give me ten minutes to take a shower, some of Finley’s clothes, and a flask full of that Pine-Sol-tasting liquid.

Tell me you want me.” The way he says it, it’s an order, and for once, I am loving this bossy tone. “I want you, Declan.” He loosens his grip so I can lean in and take his earlobe between my teeth, tugging and then sucking on it, and then I whisper into his ear: “I want you to do and say every filthy thing you’ve ever wanted to do and say to me.” The deep, guttural sound he makes is so satisfying. “And I’m going to do the same. To you.” His hands are on my hips now. “Fucking hell, I’m going to split you in two.” My hand slips to the glorious bulge in his pants. “Fuckin’ A. I’m going to ride you like a one-horse open sleigh.

— Uneori, după ce mănânc sau înainte de a începe, simt nevoia să mă închin. Dar, dacă sunt persoane de faţă, n-o mai fac. — Şi? — Păi, şi e bine sau e rău? — E bine să faci cum simţi. Ce gând te opreşte să te închini de faţă cu lumea când inima îţi zice să o faci? — Gândul că mă laud, că le arăt eu cât de credincioasă sunt eu. — Asta nu înseamnă că eşti smerită, dimpotrivă. Că te mândreşti. A te abţine de la a-i mulţumi lui Dumnezeu pentru orice, ca să nu te judece oamenii, nu este un act de maturitate. Ce-ţi pasă ţie ce zic oamenii? Tu te închini şi cu asta basta. Doar nu-i mulţumeşti lui Dumnezeu ca să te vadă sau să nu te vadă careva.

Q. Would you repeat, Dr. Seldon, your thoughts concerning the future of Trantor? A. I have said, and I say again, that Trantor will lie in ruins within the next three centuries. Q. You do not consider your statement a disloyal one? A. No, sir. Scientific truth is beyond loyalty and disloyalty." Q. You are sure that your statement represents scientific truth? A. I am. Q. On what basis? A. On the basis of the mathematics of psychohistory. Q. Can you prove that this mathematics is valid? A. Only to another mathematician. Q. ( with a smile) Your claim then is that your truth is of so esoteric a nature that it is beyond the understanding of a plain man. It seems to me that truth should be clearer than that, less mysterious, more open to the mind. A. It presents no difficulties to some minds. The physics of energy transfer, which we know as thermodynamics, has been clear and true through all the history of man since the mythical ages, yet there may be people present who would find it impossible to design a power engine. People of high intelligence, too. I doubt if the learned Commissioners— At this point, one of the Commissioners leaned toward the Advocate. His words were not heard but the hissing of the voice carried a certain asperity. The Advocate flushed and interrupted Seldon. Q. We are not here to listen to speeches, Dr. Seldon. Let us assume that you have made your point. Let me suggest to you that your predictions of disaster might be intended to destroy public confidence in the Imperial Government for purposes of your own! A. That is not so. Q. Let me suggest that you intend to claim that a period of time preceding the so-called ruin of Trantor will be filled with unrest of various types. A. That is correct. Q. And that by the mere prediction thereof, you hope to bring it about, and to have then an army of a hundred thousand available. A. In the first place, that is not so. And if it were, investigation will show you that barely ten thousand are men of military age, and none of these has training in arms. Q. Are you acting as an agent for another? A. I am not in the pay of any man, Mr. Advocate. Q. You are entirely disinterested? You are serving science? A. I am.

I'll put my hand in no man's hand,' said Mr. Micawber, gasping, puffing, and sobbing, to that degree that he was like a man fighting with cold water, 'until I have—blown to fragments—the—a—detestable—serpent—HEEP! I'll partake of no one's hospitality, until I have—a—moved Mount Vesuvius—to eruption—on—a—the abandoned rascal—HEEP! Refreshment—a—underneath this roof—particularly punch—would—a—choke me—unless—I had—previously—choked the eyes—out of the head—a—of—interminable cheat, and liar—HEEP! I—a—I'll know nobody—and—a—say nothing—and—a—live nowhere—until I have crushed—to—a—undiscoverable atoms—the—transcendent and immortal hypocrite and perjurer—HEEP!

Cîtă laşitate în concepţia celor care susţin că sinuciderea este o afirmaţie a vieţii! Pentru a-şi scuza lipsa de îndrăzneală, inventează diverse motive sau elemente care să le scuze neputinţa. În realitate, nu există voinţă sau hotărîre raţională de a te sinucide, ci numai determinante organice, intime, care predestinează la sinucidere. Sinucigaşii simt o pornire patologică înspre moarte, pe care, deşi îi rezistă conştient, ei n-o pot totuşi suprima. Viaţa din ei a ajuns la un astfel de dezechilibru, încît nici un motiv de ordin raţional n-o mai poate consolida. Nu există sinucideri din hotărîri raţionale, rezultate din reflexii asupra inutilităţii lumii sau asupra neantului acestei vieţi. Iar cînd ni se opune cazul acelor înţelepţi antici ce se sinucideau în singurătate, eu voi răspunde că sinuciderea lor era posibilă numai prin faptul că au lichidat viaţa din ei, că au distrus orice pîlpîire de viaţă, orice bucurie a existenţei şi orice fel de tentaţie. A gîndi mult asupra morţii sau asupra altor probleme periculoase este desigur a da o lovitură mai mult sau mai puţin mortală vieţii, dar nu este mai puţin adevărat că acea viaţă, acel corp în care se frămîntă astfel de probleme trebuie să fi fost anterior afectat pentru a permite astfel de gînduri. Nimeni nu se sinucide din cauza unor întîmplări exterioare, ci din cauza dezechilibrului său interior şi organic. Aceleaşi condiţii exterioare defavorabile pe unii îi lasă indiferenţi, pe alţii îi afectează, pentru ca pe alţii să-i aducă la sinucidere. Pentru a ajunge la ideea obsedantă a sinuciderii trebuie atîta frămîntare lăuntrică, atît chin şi o spargere atît de puternică a barierelor interioare, încît din viaţă să nu mai rămînă decît o ameţeală catastrofală, un vîrtej dramatic şi o agitaţie stranie. Cum o să fie sinuciderea o afirmaţie a vieţii? Se spune: te sinucizi, fiindcă viaţa ţi-a provocat decepţii. Ca atare ai dorit-o, ai aşteptat ceva de la ea, dar ea nu ţi-a putut da. Ce dialectică falsă! Ca şi cum acel ce se sinucide n-ar fi trăit înainte de a muri, n-ar fi avut ambiţii, speranţe, dureri sau deznădejdi. În sinucidere, faptul important este că nu mai poţi trăi, care nu rezultă dintr-un capriciu, ci din cea mai groaznică tragedie interioară. Şi a nu mai putea trăi este a afirma viaţa? Orice sinucidere, din moment ce e sinucidere, e impresionantă. Mă mir cum oamenii mai caută motive şi cauze pentru a ierarhiza sinuciderea sau pentru a-i căuta diverse feluri de justificări, cînd n-o depreciază. Nu pot concepe o problemă mai imbecilă decît aceea care s-ar ocupa cu ierarhia sinuciderilor, care s-ar referi la sinuciderile din cauză înaltă sau la cele din cauză vulgară etc.… Oare faptul de a-ţi lua viaţa nu este el atît de impresionant încît orice căutare de motive pare meschină? Am cel mai mare dispreţ pentru acei care rîd de sinuciderile din iubire, deoarece aceştia nu înţeleg că o iubire ce nu se poate realiza este pentru cel ce iubeşte o anulare a fiinţei lui, o pierdere totală de sens, o imposibilitate de fiinţare. Cînd iubeşti cu întreg conţinutul fiinţei tale, cu totalitatea existenţei tale subiective, o nesatisfacere a acestei iubiri nu poate aduce decît prăbuşirea întregii tale fiinţe. Marile pasiuni, cînd nu se pot realiza, duc mai repede la moarte decît marile deficienţe. Căci în marile deficienţe te consumi într-o agonie treptată, pe cînd în marile pasiuni contrariate te stingi ca un fulger. N-am admiraţie decît pentru două categorii de oameni: pentru acei care pot oricînd înnebuni şi pentru acei care în fiecare clipă se pot sinucide.

I watched Aaron collapse on the daybed, weeping into his palms. “But I don’t want to say goodbye.” “It’s the hardest thing for anyone to do,” she acknowledged. “Either in life or death, it doesn’t matter. Saying goodbye is the most difficult, yet most common unfinished business bestowed upon us ghosts. But, Rupert, once you cross through your door’s threshold, you’ll understand that there is no such thing as a ‘goodbye’. Though a powerful word, it is only just that: a word. I believe it was J.M. Barrie who had said it himself: ‘Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.’ You and Aaron, even though you are parting ways now, it’s not really a goodbye, but merely a, ‘I’ll see you soon’.” I

It’s like I have this demon inside of me, and I want it gone, but the idea of removing it via pill is . . . I don’t know . . . weird. But a lot of days I get over that, because I do really hate the demon.” “You often try to understand your experience through metaphor, Aza: It’s like a demon inside of you; you’ll call your consciousness a bus, or a prison cell, or a spiral, or a whirlpool, or a loop, or a—I think you once called it a scribbled circle, which I found interesting.” “Yeah,” I said. “One of the challenges with pain—physical or psychic—is that we can really only approach it through metaphor. It can’t be represented the way a table or a body can. In some ways, pain is the opposite of language.” She turned to her computer, shook her mouse to wake it up, and then clicked an image on her desktop. “I want to share something Virginia Woolf wrote: ‘English, which can express the thoughts of Hamlet and the tragedy of Lear, has no words for the shiver and the headache. . . . The merest schoolgirl, when she falls in love, has Shakespeare or Keats to speak her mind for her; but let a sufferer try to describe a pain in his head to a doctor and language at once runs dry.’ And we’re such language-based creatures that to some extent we cannot know what we cannot name. And so we assume it isn’t real. We refer to it with catch-all terms, like crazy or chronic pain, terms that both ostracize and minimize. The term chronic pain captures nothing of the grinding, constant, ceaseless, inescapable hurt. And the term crazy arrives at us with none of the terror and worry you live with. Nor do either of those terms connote the courage people in such pains exemplify, which is why I’d ask you to frame your mental health around a word other than crazy.

Am început să-i dezgolesc, încet și fin, un umăr, sărutându-l afectuos. Îmbătat cu parfumul ei dulce de vanilie, am coborât cu gura peste brațul acoperit de mâneca largă a rochiei; i-am suflecat-o și... tresăltă. Se simțea stânjenită și nu înțelegeam de ce, pentru că o vedeam perfectă. Am aprins niște lumânări și am închis lumina, pentru a-i oferi un confort. Am dezgolit-o domol. Îmi plăcea s-o ating tandru, cu buricul degetelor, să simtă că e cea mai prețioasă ființă de pe pământ. Totuși, când ochii mei s-au obișnuit cu lumina discretă a lumânărilor, am observat tăieturi pe brațele sale. Erau atât de multe, încât acopereau fiecare centimetru de piele. Aici nu era vorba despre un accident, ci despre o muncă realizată cu atenție și cu premeditare. M-a cuprins un profund sentiment de compasiune, ce mi-a inhibat dorința sexuală. Am întrebat-o cine îi făcuse asta și tăcu. Ridică din umeri, fără să-i coboare - poate în semn de alint amestecat cu teamă – apoi mi-a mângâiat obrazul. Continua să mă seducă, am închis ochii și, dezmierdându-i brațele, simțeam crestăturile cicatrizate, paradoxal, ca pe niște canini ieșiți de sub piele, gata-gata să muște din gingășia gesturilor mele. Ca un orb, urmăream cu degetele fine harta durerii, marcată pe pielea sa. Drumul spre sufletul ei era anevoios.

And so you go out with a girl and you’re driving… “So what are you reading right now?” “Well, I’m not much of a reader…” *screeching car brakes* “I’M NOT MUCH OF A DINNER BUYER! GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!” “But we’re lost in the stucco sprawl of L.A.” “I DON’T CARE!” But every once in a while you meet the one who reads… “So what are you reading?” he asked (you know, the date killer question)…“So what are you reading?” “Well I’m right in the middle of a book right now--” Oh my god, she’s in the middle of a book. Be still my beating heart. “So what are you reading?” he asked expectantly, nerves tingling, body aquiver “Well, I’m in the middle of this Harry Potter b—” *screeching car brakes* “DON’T BE AN ADULT WOMAN WHO READS A FUCKING CHILDREN’S BOOK IN MY CAR, GET THE FUCK OUT!

Credința oarbă nu poate să clintească munții din loc (deși generații de copii aud spunându-li-se asta în mod solemn acest lucru și îl cred). Dar îi poate duce pe oameni la o nebunie atât de periculoasă încât credința oarbă mi se pare demnă a fi considerată un fel de boală mintală. Ea îi face pe oameni să creadă în orice atât de puternic, încât, în cazuri extreme, sunt gata să ucidă ori să moară pentru lucrul în care cred orbește, fără să aibă nevoie de nicio justificare. Credința oarbă este suficient de puternică pentru a-i face pe oameni imuni față de orice apel la milă, iertare și sentimente umane decente. Îi face imuni chiar față de frică, dacă ei chiar cred sincer că o moarte de martir îi va trimite de-a dreptul în rai. Ce armă teribilă! Credința religioasă merită un capitol de sine stătător în analele tehnologiei militare, pe aceeași treaptă cu arcul cu săgeată, cavaleria medievală, tancul și bomba cu hidrogen.

Dacă singurătatea e ceva ce te atrage doar fragmentar, dacă nu îţi imaginezi întreaga ta viaţă trăită undeva cu totul şi cu totul izolat de oameni, atunci niciodată, cu niciun preţ, sub nicio formă, nu trebuie sa devii prea deştept. Dacă aş fi avut puţină înţelepciune şi instinct de conservare, acum aş fi fost mediocru, adică prost, şi aş fi putut avea o iubită. O familie. Un copil sau doi. Un câine. Un apartament de două camere cu chirie. Cu balcon. Aş fi urmat un program strict, întocmit de femeia mea, de dezalcoolizare, dezintoxicare şi depurificare. Aş fi mers la sală, iar cu băieţii aş fi avut voie la bere doar sâmbăta seară, de două ori pe lună. Aş fi avut job, mi-aş fi făcut credit la bancă pentru un apartament care să fie doar al nostru. Aş fi mers în vizită la soacră, i-aş fi dus un buchet frumos de flori. I-aş fi pupat mâna. I-aş fi dus crănţănele şoricarului soacrei. Aş fi fost atent să nu-l calc cu bocancul pe cap, sub masă. Aş fi ajutat-o să aducă farfuriile din bucătărie şi să pună masa pentru toată familia. Aş fi dat anunţ la ziar pentru a-i găsi şoricarului soacrei o şoricară cu care să facă şoricăruţi.

Teologia este negaţia lui Dumnezeu. Ideea absurdă de a umbla după argumente pentru a-i proba existenţa presupune atâta sărăcie interioară, încât este o evidenţă strivitoare că toate tratatele de teologie laolaltă nu fac cât o exclamaţie a Sfintei Tereza. De când există teologie şi până astăzi nici o conştiinţă n-a căpătat o certitudine în plus şi nu şi-a organizat în nici un chip îndoielile. Cu Dumnezeu lucrurile se desfăşoară mai simplu: te pomeneşti când te aşteptai mai puţin în mijlocul lui. Aici începe momentul dureros şi complicat; teologia a rămas în urmă, căci ea nu este decât modul de a crede al ateilor. Cea mai proastă bâiguială mistică este mai aproape de Dumnezeu decât Summa teologica, şi rugăciunea improvizată a unui copil oferă o mai mare garanţie ontologică decât toate sinoadele ecumenice. Fără confesiunile mistice, religia, şi cu ea biserica, n-ar fi mai interesante decât cine ştie ce problemă de economie şi finanţe: evoluţia salariului sau impozitelor. Tot ce e instituţie şi teorie nu mai e viaţă. Biserica şi teologia au asigurat o agonie durabilă lui Dumnezeu. Sau poate l-au îmbălsămat de mult. Numai mistica i-a dat viaţă, de câte ori a vrut. Teologia ar avea valoare când ar fi posibilă o relaţie teoretică cu Divinitatea. Este, însă, mult mai uşor de găsit una fiziologică. Precum, într-un dezastru al tuturor convingerilor, pofta de mâncare ne susţine mai repede decât sfinţii, tot astfel o incomoditate organică ne poate apropia de Dumnezeu mai mult decât toate construcţiile abstracte ale teologiei. Acea servitoare, care spunea că nu crede în Dumnezeu decât când o dor dinţii, i-ar fi făcut de râs pe teologi.