Admission To The Bar Quotes

Civilized people must, I believe, satisfy the following criteria: 1) They respect human beings as individuals and are therefore always tolerant, gentle, courteous and amenable ... They do not create scenes over a hammer or a mislaid eraser; they do not make you feel they are conferring a great benefit on you when they live with you, and they don't make a scandal when they leave. (...) 2) They have compassion for other people besides beggars and cats. Their hearts suffer the pain of what is hidden to the naked eye. (...) 3) They respect other people's property, and therefore pay their debts. 4) They are not devious, and they fear lies as they fear fire. They don't tell lies even in the most trivial matters. To lie to someone is to insult them, and the liar is diminished in the eyes of the person he lies to. Civilized people don't put on airs; they behave in the street as they would at home, they don't show off to impress their juniors. (...) 5) They don't run themselves down in order to provoke the sympathy of others. They don't play on other people's heartstrings to be sighed over and cosseted ... that sort of thing is just cheap striving for effects, it's vulgar, old hat and false. (...) 6) They are not vain. They don't waste time with the fake jewellery of hobnobbing with celebrities, being permitted to shake the hand of a drunken [judicial orator], the exaggerated bonhomie of the first person they meet at the Salon, being the life and soul of the bar ... They regard prases like 'I am a representative of the Press!!' -- the sort of thing one only hears from [very minor journalists] -- as absurd. If they have done a brass farthing's work they don't pass it off as if it were 100 roubles' by swanking about with their portfolios, and they don't boast of being able to gain admission to places other people aren't allowed in (...) True talent always sits in the shade, mingles with the crowd, avoids the limelight ... As Krylov said, the empty barrel makes more noise than the full one. (...) 7) If they do possess talent, they value it ... They take pride in it ... they know they have a responsibility to exert a civilizing influence on [others] rather than aimlessly hanging out with them. And they are fastidious in their habits. (...) 8) They work at developing their aesthetic sensibility ... Civilized people don't simply obey their baser instincts ... they require mens sana in corpore sano. And so on. That's what civilized people are like ... Reading Pickwick and learning a speech from Faust by heart is not enough if your aim is to become a truly civilized person and not to sink below the level of your surroundings. [From a letter to Nikolay Chekhov, March 1886]

Certain neighborhoods in Israel are allowed to discriminate legally against Palestinian citizens by setting “admission committees.” The committees, operating in 41 percent of all Israeli localities, are free to bar anyone lacking “social suitability” or “compatibility with the social and cultural fabric.

By his own admission, he would rather run ten miles, leap a five-bar gate and climb a big hill than engage in any athletic activity.

Consequently, it is almost impossible to prove rape in lands that follow the dictates of the Sharia. Men can commit rape with impunity: As long as they deny the charge and there are no witnesses, they will get off scot-free, because the victim’s testimony is inadmissible. Even worse, if a woman accuses a man of rape, she may end up incriminating herself. If the required male witnesses can’t be found, the victim’s charge of rape becomes an admission of adultery. That accounts for the grim fact that as many as 75 percent of the imprisoned women in Pakistan are, in fact, behind bars for the crime of being a victim of rape.34

In the infamous Duke University lacrosse case, Durham, North Carolina, prosecutor Michael Nifong suppressed solid evidence of the innocence of the three rape defendants for months and proceeded to prosecute men he knew to be innocent in an effort to send them to prison for as much as thirty years each. Nothing suggests the Duke case was unusual. Nifong had willing accomplices throughout the state and local governments: assistant prosecutors, police departments, crime lab technicians, judges, and the state bar, plus the media. And again, no grand jury exercised its function to restrain Nifong. Though Nifong was eventually challenged and disbarred (but only after the evidence became overwhelming), he was never criminally prosecuted for framing innocent people. Moreover, his downfall occurred only after highly unusual media coverage; his fellow prosecutors’ first response was to circle the wagons around their obviously crooked colleague and defend his prosecution of innocent men, an open admission that he did nothing out of the ordinary and that they all use similar techniques to railroad the innocent.

Rigorous admission procedures and hefty fees allowed the “worthy” to exclude the “uncouth in manners and habits, ignorant even of the English language, jostling and crowding and vulgarizing the profession.” A year after its formation, the self-selected and overwhelmingly Anglo-Saxon Protestant founders had admitted only 450 out of New York’s approximately four thousand lawyers to their ranks. Grievance and screening committees were established to exercise some control over the behavior of attorneys and judges. The association’s pioneering effort at self-regulation was swiftly and widely copied throughout the country, and Manhattanites proved instrumental in forming the American Bar Association in 1878.

Organization systems present the site’s information to us in a variety of ways, such as content categories that pertain to the entire campus (e.g., the top bar and its “Academics” and “Admission” choices), or to specific audiences (the block on the middle left, with such choices as “Future Students” and “Staff”). Navigation systems help users move through the content, such as with the custom organization of the individual drop-down menus in the main navigation bar. Search systems allow users to search the content; when the user starts typing in the site’s search bar, a list of suggestions is shown with possible matches for the user’s search term. Labeling systems describe categories, options, and links in language that (hopefully) is meaningful to users; you’ll see examples throughout the page (e.g., “Admission,” “Alumni,” “Events”).

While marriage rates for middle-class white women soared through the 1940s and 1950s, for black women, mid-twentieth century conditions were very different. Since emancipation, black women had married earlier and more often than their white counterparts. In the years directly after World War II, thanks to the return of soldiers, black marriage rates briefly increased further.66 However, as white women kept marrying in bigger numbers and at younger ages throughout the 1950s, black marriage rates began to decrease, and the age of first marriage to climb.67 By 1970, there had been a sharp reversal: Black women were not marrying nearly as often or as early as their white counterparts. It was nothing as benign as coincidence. While one of the bedrocks of the expansion of the middle class was the aggressive reassignment of white women to domestic roles within the idealized nuclear family, another was the exclusion of African-Americans from the opportunities and communities that permitted those nuclear families to flourish. Put more plainly, the economic benefits extended to the white middle class, both during the New Deal and in the post-World War II years, did not extend to African-Americans. Social Security, created in 1935, did not apply to either domestic laborers or agricultural workers, who tended to be African-Americans, or Asian or Mexican immigrants. Discriminatory hiring practices, the low percentages of black workers in the country’s newly strengthened labor unions, and the persistent (if slightly narrowed68) racial wage gap, along with questionable practices by the Veterans Administration, and the reality that many colleges barred the admission of black students, also meant that returning black servicemen had a far harder time taking advantage of the GI Bill’s promise of college education.69 Then there was housing. The suburbs that bloomed around American cities after the war, images of which are still summoned as symbols of midcentury familial prosperity, were built for white families. In William Levitt’s four enormous “Levittowns,” suburban developments which, thanks to government guarantees from the VA and the Federal Housing Association, provided low-cost housing to qualified veterans, there was not one black resident.70 Between 1934 and 1962, the government subsidized $120 billion in new housing; 98 percent of it for white families.

But even though I had stopped drinking after that last gin & tonic at the bar, I kept getting drunker on Sam anyway, like they were seeping steadily into my bloodstream with each open admission of vulnerability, each shy smile, each horribly belted song.

If you even think about pulling another heist, I’ll be there. If you rob a bank, I’ll be in the vault waiting for you. If you so much as shoplift a candy bar, I’ll be standing right behind you in the convenience store. Remember this room, because you will be back here. Soon.” “Admission of the intent to harass my client,” Perkins said archly. “Go fuck yourself,” Harmony told him.

But now, after the news of Barthelme’s death, this simple fact of presence or absence, which I had begun to recognize in a small way already, now became the single most important supplemental piece of information I felt I could know about a writer: more important than his age when he wrote a particular work, or his nationality, his sex (forgive the pronoun), political leanings, even whether he did or did not have, in someone’s opinion, any talent. Is he alive or dead? — just tell me that. The intellectual surface we offer to the dead has undergone a subtle change of texture and chemistry; a thousand particulars of delight and fellow-feeling and forbearance begin reformulating themselves the moment they cross the bar. The living are always potentially thinking about and doing just what we are doing: being pulled through a touchless car wash, watching a pony chew a carrot, noticing that orange scaffolding has gone up around some prominent church. The conclusions they draw we know to be conclusions drawn from how things are now. Indeed, for me, as a beginning novelist, all other living writers form a control group for whom the world is a placebo. The dead can be helpful, needless to say, but we can only guess sloppily about how they would react to this emergent particle of time, which is all the time we have. And when we do guess, we are unfair to them. Even when, as with Barthelme, the dead have died unexpectedly and relatively young, we give them their moment of solemnity and then quickly begin patronizing them biographically, talking about how they “delighted in” x or “poked fun at” y — phrases that by their very singsong cuteness betray how alien and childlike the shades now are to us. Posthumously their motives become ludicrously simple, their delights primitive and unvarying: all their emotions wear stage makeup, and we almost never flip their books across the room out of impatience with something they’ve said. We can’t really understand them anymore. Readers of the living are always, whether they know it or not, to some degree seeing the work through the living writer’s own eyes; feeling for him when he flubs, folding into their reactions to his early work constant subauditional speculations as to whether the writer himself would at this moment wince or nod with approval at some passage in it. But the dead can’t suffer embarrassment by some admission or mistake they have made. We sense this imperviousness and adjust our sympathies accordingly. Yet in other ways the dead gain by death. The level of autobiographical fidelity in their work is somehow less important, or, rather, extreme fidelity does not seem to harm, as it does with the living, our appreciation for the work. The living are “just” writing about their own lives; the dead are writing about their irretrievable lives, wow wow wow. Egotism, monomania, the delusional traits of Blake or Smart or that guy who painted the electrically schizophrenic cats are all engaging qualities in the dead.

So his nerves were set on high before he walked in. When he opened the door, scanned the room, he quickly spotted what was his. Flirting heavily at the bar. And obviously waiting and watching for Prophet, since he waved happily to him. Seemed like Tom’s hurt and anger over last night’s admissions had faded away somewhat easily. Too easily. And Prophet wasn’t fooled, but he was pissed that Tom would try to fool him to get him pissed. Because really, Tom was here, the place that was literally the whole source of the fight. And even though it was more of a symbol of a bigger issue, it was still fucking weird being here with Tom, because this wasn’t a place he associated with Tom. He wouldn’t do this with Tom—not in a club, anyway, and not even in a private room. And Tom wouldn’t want it here, either. Having Tom here was . . . Prophet didn’t know how to explain it. Because Tom and Mal needed a lot of the same things, but they weren’t the same. No way. “Hey baby. Looking for a daddy?” Prophet looked up at a big man wearing full leathers. A definite bear. Handsome too. “Saw you here a couple of weeks ago. I’m Ray.” “Yeah?” Prophet had two options here, and the one that’d piss Tom off the most won. “Why don’t you buy me a drink, Ray?” He was a quick three shots in when a hand clasped on the back of his neck. Normally, the urge to grab it, twist it, and slam whoever it was to the bar would hit him immediately. But this place was all about touching. Besides, Prophet knew that touch. “S’up Tom?” Tom moved beside him, eyes narrowed. “What’re you doing?” “You said to come for a drink.” Prophet held up another shot. “’S’what I’m doing. With Ray.

You could be on the other side of the door which you think is barred against you. It will open wide when you are ready to enter; that is, when you have paid the price of admission. No one can give you a free pass, and admission tickets are not transferable. You must pay the price yourself or stay outside. The price is self-effort.

Normally, an album with Crazy Horse would have meant a tour with them, but much to the surprise of Jeff Blackburn and his band members (former Moby Grape bassist Bob Mosley and drummer Johnny Craviotto), Young began rehearsing with them instead. In early July, the newly renamed Ducks, after a duck’s landing they saw in town, played its first shows—in local bars in Santa Cruz. In what the Santa Cruz Sentinel called “the worst-kept secret in town,” the Ducks would drive to a club and ask the opening act for their slot (“They were fine—they knew they couldn’t draw what we could,” says Mosley). Charging only a few dollars for admission, they would tear through sets of songs by Young and by Blackburn. Young debuted new material like “Sail Away” and “Comes a Time” in more electrified versions than were later heard on record. “It was unfathomable,” recalls Mosley. “Some of the guitar solos took me into outer space. It was incredible shit.” Starting in mid-July and ending around Labor Day, the Ducks would play more than twenty

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A joke that probably launched a thousand quips at bars over the next few weeks is Teeny’s admission that her father called her Martini as a baby because she “was never dry enough to suit him.

Callous West by Maisie Aletha Smikle Callous West Always taking from the East Putting the East to the test Coveting its very best And ignoring its worse If the West must have the best What happens to the East The North and the South Ahh... Says the West The East, the North and the South Will simply get what's left The West wants all of the best The West wants to reign The West is hungry for a crown So the West weds a crown Hoping for an overthrown of the crown Callous West storms the earth Stealing lands that weren't theirs Taking homes that they did not own Shattering families assets and heritages Families who donate taxes On every meager expense Families that gifted charitable taxes With every single purchase of a tiny candy bar Families that donate taxes for the welfare of the West So that the West Could invest Eat, shelter and have some rest Callous West raced to the galaxies Wishing they could have it all for themselves And claim the galaxy as theirs Then charge the East, the North and the South For admission Transportation Space accommodation And Earth Watching Entertainment ================================= "Eli Eli lama sabachthani" cried my Lord  to my LORD. Jesus, an Easterner uttered these words in His spoken language whilst  He was hanging on the cross for all of the world. Love the Lord with all your heart. You are His people. Whatever Jesus is, we must desire to become. We are Easterners by origin and by God's adoption because Jesus is an Easterner. Ephesians 1:5 God predestined us for adoption through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of His will.

American law schools are accredited by the American Bar Association (ABA), which uses its power to promote diversity. In 2000, the ABA discovered that 93.5 percent of first-year students at George Mason University law school in northern Virginia were white. The ABA recognized that GMU had made a “very active effort to recruit minorities,” but said it had not done enough. With its accreditation at stake, GMU law school lowered standards for non-white applicants and admitted more: 10.98 percent in 2001 and 16.16 percent in 2002. That was still not enough. In 2003, the ABA summoned GMU’s president and law school dean and threatened them to their faces with disaccreditation unless they admitted more non-whites. GMU lowered standards even further, and managed to raise its non-white admissions to 17.3 percent in 2003, and 19 percent in 2004. This was still not good enough. “Of the 99 minority students in 2003,” the ABA complained, “only 23 were African American; of 111 minority students in 2004, the number of African Americans held at 23.” True diversity required more blacks, but what of the blacks GMU did admit? From 2003 to 2005, fully 45 percent had grade-point averages below 2.15, which was defined as “academic failure.” For non-black students, the figure was 4 percent. GMU officials pointed out that the ABA’s own Standard 501(b) says that “a law school shall not admit applicants who do not appear capable of satisfactorily completing its educational program and being admitted to the bar.” Law school dean Dan Polsby explained that this requirement was the greatest obstacle to increased diversity.

Gospel time is our spiritual harvest, and it is notorious folly to sleep or loiter in harvest. The time of the gospel is a time indeed--namely, a time of light, a time of love, a time of life, a time of liberty (Matt. 4:16; 2 Tim. 1:10; Ezek. 16:8; Rom. 5:8; Isa. 61:6; John 8:36). Now, the trumpet of jubilee sounds, and all debts and mortgages may be taken up and released. Here is liberty for the poor captives and the opening of the prison to them that are bound. 'Tis now an "accepted time," a "day of salvation" (2 Cor. 6:2), a time to accept or a time to be accepted, a golden and glorious time indeed. Behold, now there is a broad and clear way to His mercy seat. The flaming sword is gone; the partition wall is down; all bars and gates are removed; an act of indemnity is proclaimed; and there is a free admission for all to come and be saved. Pardons are ready (Isa. 55:6-7).

Belva Ann Lockwood, her birth year, 1830. Lockwood was the first woman ever to gain admission to the U.S. Supreme Court’s Bar,

Later, I sat down drunk on the corner of Carondelet and Canal Streets, listening for the rumble of the streetcar that would take me back uptown to my apartment, watching the evening sun bleed from the streets, the city shifting into night, when it truly became New Orleans: the music, the constant festival, the smell of late evening dinners pouring out, layering the beer-soaked streets, prostitutes, clubs with DJs, rowdy gay bars, dirty strip clubs, the insane out for a walk, college students vomiting in trash cans, daiquiri bars lit up like supermarkets, washing-machine-sized mixers built into the wall spinning every color of daiquiri, lone trumpet players, grown women crying, clawing at men in suits, portrait painters, spangers (spare change beggars), gutter punks with dogs, kids tap-dancing with spinning bike wheels on their heads, the golden cowboy frozen on a milk crate, his golden gun pointed at a child in the crowd, fortune-tellers, psycho preachers, mumblers, fighters, rock-faced college boys out for a date rape, club chicks wearing silver miniskirts, horse-drawn carriages, plastic cups piling against the high curbs of Bourbon Street, jazz music pressing up against rock-and-roll cover bands, murderers, scam artists, hippies selling anything, magic shows and people on unicycles, flying cockroaches the size of pocket rockets, rats without fear, men in drag, business execs wandering drunk in packs, deciding not to tell their wives, sluts sucking dick on open balconies, cops on horseback looking down blouses, cars wading across the river of drunks on Bourbon Street, the people screaming at them, pouring drinks on the hood, putting their asses to the window, whole bars of people laughing, shot girls with test tubes of neon-colored booze, bouncers dragging skinny white boys out by their necks, college girls rubbing each other’s backs after vomiting tequila, T-shirts, drinks sold in a green two-foot tube with a small souvenir grenade in the bottom, people stumbling, tripping, falling, laughing on the sidewalk in the filth, laughing too hard to stand back up, thin rivers of piss leaking out from corners, brides with dirty dresses, men in G-strings, mangy dogs, balloon animals, camcorders, twenty-four-hour 3-4-1, free admission, amateur night, black-eyed strippers, drunk bicyclers, clouds of termites like brown mist surrounding streetlamps, ventriloquists, bikers, people sitting on mailboxes, coffee with chicory, soul singers, the shoeless, the drunks, the blissful, the ignorant, the beaten, the assholes, the cheaters, the douche bags, the comedians, the holy, the broken, the affluent, the beggars, the forgotten, and the soft spring air pregnant with every scent created by such a town.

bar, drinking beer. Jim turns to Bob and says, "You know, I'm tired of going through life without an education. Tomorrow, I think I'll go to the community college and sign up for some classes." The next day, Jim goes down to the college and meets the Dean of Admissions, who signs him up for the four basic classes: Math, English, History, and Logic. "Logic?" Jim says. "What's that?" The dean says, "I'll give you an example. Do you own a weed eater?" "Yeah." "Then logically speaking, because you own a weed eater, I presume you have a yard." "That's true, I do have a yard." "I'm not done," the dean says. "Because you have a yard, I think that

Two Texas farmers, Jim and Bob, are sitting at the bar, drinking beer. Jim turns to Bob and says, "You know, I'm tired of going through life without an education. Tomorrow, I think I'll go to the community college and sign up for some classes." The next day, Jim goes down to the college and meets the Dean of Admissions, who signs him up for the four basic classes: Math, English, History, and Logic. "Logic?" Jim says. "What's that?" The dean says, "I'll give you an example. Do you own a weed eater?" "Yeah." "Then logically speaking, because you own a weed eater, I presume you have a yard." "That's true, I do have a yard." "I'm not done," the dean says. "Because you have a yard, I think that logically speaking, you have a house." "Yes, I do have a house." "And because you have a house, I think that you might logically have a family." "Yes, I have a family." "So, because you have a family, then logically you must have a wife. And because you have a wife, then logic tells me you must be a heterosexual." "I am a heterosexual. That's amazing! You were able to find out all of that just because I have a weed eater." Excited to take the class, Jim shakes the dean's hand and leaves to go meet Bob at the bar. He tells Bob about his classes, and how he is signed up for Math, English, History, and Logic. "Logic?" Bob says, "What's that?" "I'll give you an example," says Jim. "Do you have a weed eater?" "No." "Then you're gay.

community was placed under surveillance. Young Jews were barred from admission to colleges of further education. The police arrested, tortured, imposed arbitrary fines and extracted money from innocent Jews in what looked like a government-sanctioned campaign of harassment. On top of all of that came the series of bombs, described in the last chapter, that provoked real panic in the Jewish community and compounded the sense of insecurity. By the end of April 1950, over 25,000 Jews had registered to relinquish their citizenship and leave