Aka Quotes

Otis," I said. "Shhh," he said. "I'm incognito. Call me...Otis." "I'm not sure that's how incognito works, but okay." Otis, aka Otis climbed into the chair I'd reserved for Sam.

At a normal high school, having class outside on a gorgeous May day is usually pretty awesome. It means sitting in the sunshine, maybe reading some poetry, letting the breeze blow through your hair...At Hecate Hall, a.k.a. Juvie for Monsters, it meant I was getting thrown in the pond.

At the head of all understanding – is realizing what is and what cannot be, and the consoling of what is not in our power to change.

Even amidst fierce flames the golden lotus can be planted" - Sylvia Plath's epitaph (from Wu Cheng'en's novel Journey to the West aka. Monkey, translated by Arthur Waley)

Please leave me something...even one memory would be enough.

If you or one of the blind fools who follows you honestly believe you can...bring it on. I'm in the mood for Slaughter. Killing and Murder, too. ~ Jericho a.k.a. Cratus

ART (aka Asshole Research Transport)

I laughed. " So, let me get this straight. You slayed the dragon, jumped over the moat, climbed the tower of the evil King's castle, saved the princes, and rode off with her into sunset aka Shadow land. Why, you're my knight in shining armour.

i hate how my past actions keep messing up my future choices" Seth Sorson aka " fablehaven " (my son's quote)

It’s ironic. At last I have my freedom. But at a price. Now my destiny is mine to choose. - Stanley aka Nine

I was once asked if I had any ideas for a really scary reality TV show. I have one reality show that would really make your hair stand on end: "C-Students from Yale." George W. Bush has gathered around him upper-crust C-students who know no history or geography, plus not-so-closeted white supremacists, aka Christians, and plus, most frighteningly, psychopathic personalities, or PPs, the medical term for smart, personable people who have no consciences. To say somebody is a PP is to make a perfectly respectable diagnosis, like saying he or she has appendicitis or athlete's foot . . . PPs are presentable, they know full well the suffering their actions may cause others, but they do not care. They cannot care because they are nuts. They have a screw loose! . . . So many of these heartless PPs now hold big jobs in our federal government, as though they were leaders instead of sick. They have taken charge of communications and the schools, so we might as well be Poland under occupation. They might have felt that taking our country into an endless war was simply something decisive to do. What has allowed so many PPs to rise so high in corporations, and now in government, is that they are so decisive. They are going to do something every fuckin' day and they are not afraid. Unlike normal people, they are never filled with doubts, for the simple reasons that they don't give a fuck what happens next. Simply can't. Do this! Do that! Mobilize the reserves! Privatize the public schools! Attack Iraq! Cut health care! Tap everybody's telephone! Cut taxes on the rich! Build a trillion-dollar missile shield! Fuck habeas corpus and the Sierra Club and In These Times, and kiss my ass! There is a tragic flaw in our precious Constitution, and I don't know what can be done to fix it. This is it: Only nut cases want to be president.

I think we should sometimes read stories where everything's different from our world, don't you agree? There's nothing's like it for teaching us to wonder why trees are green and not red, and why we have five fingers rather than six.' --spoken by The Bluejay, aka Mo the Bookbinder, from 'Inkdeath

Robert Todd Lincoln, a.k.a. Jinxy McDeath.

You're just another f*cking mirage on my road to hell" ~Johnathon Lee Ashfield, AKA Sade~

Aren’t you afraid of my darkness, my dear?’ Hades asked with mischief in his eyes. "No,'" Persephone replied, "You haven’t even seen mine yet." -kfg aka Cambria Covell

I don't beg, it's beneath me

She was never going to seek gainful employment again, that was for certain. She'd remain outside the public sector. She'd be an anarchist, she'd travel with jaguars. She was going to train herself to be totally irrational. She'd fall in love with a totally inappropriate person. She'd really work on it, but abandon would be involved as well. She'd have different names, a.k.a. Snake, a.k.a. Snow - no that was juvenile. She wanted to be extraordinary, to possess a savage glitter.

The System has played a trick on today’s would-be revolutionaries and rebels. The trick is so cute that if it had been consciously planned one would have to admire it for its almost mathematical elegance.

I think I met your friend Charley." "You...did? When?" "When I looked in the mirror this morning." She stood in disbelief for a moment. Then astonishment. Then doubt. Then hope. Then wariness. Aka, the five stages of Cookie.

You were the one they used against us, Bruce. The one who played it rough. When the noise started from the parents' groups and the sub-committee called us for questioning... you were the one who laughed... that scary laugh of yours. "Sure, we're criminals", you said. "We've always been criminals". "We have to be criminals".--Kal-El aka Clark Kent aka Superman

I remember," she said. "Lawrence Malley. He was an expert in security systems." "Aka Lightfinger Larry." Dan grinned. "He was also wanted in five states." "Great," Amy groaned. "I sent you to a tutorial with a crook." "It got us in here, didn't it?" "I guess I'm grateful to him, then," Amy said doubtfully. "Don't be," Dan said. "The first lock I opened was on your diary. Don't worry, I read two pages and fell asleep.

Fun fact: The planet Venus- aka, the 'morning star' when it appears before sunrise, outshining all the stars in the heavens-was once known as Luciferin. Funner fact: The chemical that makes fireflies' butts light up is called "luciferin

I believe that marijuana, aka cannabis should be recognized for what it is - an effective herb, grown from soil and seed, nurtured by sun and rain.

It is human nature - aka old brain - to suspect everyone wants to steal your idea, where the reality is that you are lucky if anyone cares about your idea at all.

I didn’t like the idea of sudden thunderstorms so close to the Empire State Building – entrance to Mount Olympus, home of Zeus, aka Big Daddy Lightning Bolt.

Decent is the last way I want you," she said, skimming her fingers over my stomach, my lower stomach. My lower lower stomach, AKA the last part of exposed skin that, had my towel been hanging any lower, would have been considered indecent.

He wasn't my type -- my type was more the skinny hipster boys in girl jeans and thick glasses, a.k.a. the first ones to go during the outbreak -- but the sight still had me staring.

Глупаци има всякакви, но моля не ставайте, докато не бъдете повикани поименно

as jolaha ka maram na jana, jinh jag ani pasarinhh tana; dharti akas dou gad khandaya, chand surya dou nari banaya; sahastra tar le purani puri, ajahu bine kathin hai duri; kahai kabir karm se jori, sut kusut bine bhal kori; No one could understand the secret of this weaver who, coming into existence, spread the warp as the world; He fixed the earth and the sky as the pillars, and he used the sun and the moon as two shuttles; He took thousands of stars and perfected the cloth; but even today he weaves, and the end is difficult to fathom. Kabir says that the weaver, getting good or bad yarn and connecting karmas with it, weaves beautifully.

So you want someone else, then?" he asked. "Yes. Anyone but you." She jerked her bound hands. "And that kills you, doesn't it?" "Keep talking like that, Kira, and I swear I'll take you over my knee." ~Tommy aka "Ender

The first rule of being a mercenary? Find out what the client wants, then convince him that, a) you can get it for him, and, b) you're the ONLY one who can get it for him. Second rule? Lie. Often. The truth rarely serves you well in this business -Cadeon Woede, mercenary, second in line to the throne of the rage demons, a.k.a. Cade the Kingmaker

Mission matching: an ask that creates synergistic congruence (aka win-win) between missions.

Good exercise,' aka the actual worst phrase in the English language next to 'wake up' and 'all the eggs are gone.

You need me," he said. "And I'm all yours." ~Tommy aka "Ender

You don't have to seduce me, you know. I"m a sure thing." ~Tommy aka "Ender

Authority is the source of knowledge, but the reason of mankind is the norm by which all authority is judged. Eóin, the Irish Gael AKA Johannes Scotus Eriugena (b.815 - d.877)

It’s work to think, especially about things you don’t want to think about,” confessed Diane Benscoter, an ex-member of the Unification Church (aka the Moonies, an infamous ’70s-era religious movement). “It’s a relief not to have to.

Well, I guess you can really gut a man with your little finger." He flashed her a look so flat and cold and full of death, she knew he'd earned every awe and terrified word ever spoken about him. "That is the least of what I can do." (Shannisorran v'EnCelay aka Lord Death)

I’d been stuck in one gender my whole life. It never bothered me. Now I wondered how that would feel for Alex. The only analogy I could come up with wasn’t a very good one. My second grade teacher, Miss Mengler (aka Miss Mangler), had forced me to write with my right hand even though I was left-handed. She’d actually taped my left hand to the desk. My mom had exploded when she found out, but I still remembered the panicky feeling of being restrained, forced to write in such an unnatural way because Miss Mengler had insisted, 'This is the normal way, Magnus. Stop complaining. You’ll get used to it.

Narcissists (and often, by contagion, their unfortunate victims) don't talk, or communicate: they fend off, hide and evade . . . [They] perfect the ability of saying nothing in lengthy Castro-like speeches. Their locution is impregnated with first person pronouns ("I", "me", "my", "mine" - aka "high pronoun density"). The ensuing convoluted sentences are .. a lack of commitment elevated to an ideology. The narcissist prefers to wait and see what procrastination brings: postponement of the inevitable leads to the inevitability of postponement as a strategy of survival.

Past persons of Scottishness in contact with mastermind of supernatural persuasion in London, aka Agent Doom.’ Floote moved on to the third bit of paper. “ ‘Lady K says Agent Doom assisted depraved Plan of Action. May have all been his idea.’ Moving on to the last one, he read out, "Summer permits Scots to expose more knee than lady of refinement should have to withstand. Hairmuffs much admired. Yours etc., Puff Bonnet.

For thousands of years, my kind had been thought of as nothing more than the stone sculptures perched upon the rooftops of homes and churches. Aka gargoyles. And technically, that’s what we were – but the depiction of a gargoyle was vastly exaggerated. Even the ugliest of all Wardens didn’t have a bulbous nose or fangs jutting from his mouth. It was rather insulting when you thought about it.

That's like leaping off a precipice and trying to knit yourself a parachute on the way down.

Helping each other is humanity's greatest invention. Use it with pride.

Babette looked too good for the place tonight, but then goodness is only relative after all ("Steps Going Up" aka "Guillotine" aka "Men Must Die")

Jason Todd. AKA Red Hood. Former Robin. Died nobly. Came back a bit less noble.

After the first week I knew every line, freckle and scar on his body. Some might call it obsessive. I called it having an attention to detail. I can't help it if I'm overly observant.

Ten feet away on my right, a pair of wooden double doors remain. Still intact, they survived the devastation the Archgod of Chaos and Destruction, aka DLD, wreaked on Uhna. They stand proudly, refusing to give in to reality. The hot air from the Teryn ship blasts the doors, shaking them in their frame. The wood creaks, resisting the pressure for a moment. Then the doors come crashing down to the ground. If they couldn’t survive the arrival of the Teryn praelor, what chance do I have?

Chemistry has energy and it's meant to be felt.

You act happy long enough you'll forget how hurt feels like.

You know what, BB? We’ve got dark spots on our souls. We have to live with that. War is not about doing what’s right. War’s about surviving.” Verner aka ‘Jens’ in the novel 'The Informer' by Steen Langstrup

Sooo, I'm tired of people thinking I'm a freak. I know you can't relate to that but -" "Get over it already, will ya?" Candace stood. "You're not Smellody anymore. You're pretty. You can get hot guys now. Tanned ones with good vision. Not geeky hose jousters." She shut the window. "Don't you ever want to use your lips as something other than veneer protectors?" Melody felt a familiar pinch behind her eyes. Her throat dried. Her eyes burned. And then they came. Like salty little paratroopers, tears descended en masse. She hated Candace thought she had never made out with a boy. But how could she convince a seventeen-year-old with more dates than a fruitcake that Randy the Starbucks cashier (aka Scarbucks, because of his acne scars) was a great kisser? She couldn't.

The misrepresentation of God as strictly male has wounded women in every area of their lives. Women are raped, abused, molested, trafficked and prostituted because the desires of men (AKA God) are prioritized over the emotional, physical, psychological and spiritual needs of women and girls. The misrepresentation of God as male ensures that women and girls will always be considered last. The images of God as “Father” and "Savior" are the foundations that patriarchy and misogyny are built upon.

Even if alien visitors did decide to drop by this utterly insignificant little blue-green planet, no self-respecting extraterrestrial would ever pick my hometown of Beaverton, Oregon—aka Yawnsville, USA—as their point of first contact. Not unless their plan was to destroy our civilization by wiping out our least interesting locales first.

Millennials (aka Generation Y) are great at social media (Facebook, Google+, LinkedIn, Twitter,Tumblr, Instagram, Flickr, Snapchat, Pinterest, YouTube, Vimeo, and Periscope) but lack time tested social skills ( patience, humility, active listening, respect for parents, teachers, elderly)

There are many ways to be alone, and some of them are almost divine. There is a feeling that comes from being at peace in such a solitary moment, sensing in a very deep way that the space you occupy is important and fulfills the measure of its creation by simply being

The right place at the right time never comes to people standing still.” —CHLOE TODD, A.K.A. BABY T-REX, OLYMPIC HOPEFUL, UNWITTING IMMORTAL

Jethro. That's all good. I got me a live one." ~Thomas AKA Jethro.

I'll tell u boys it's tough to be alone, and it's tough to love a doll that's not ur own.

All my aches and pains melt away until I'm peacefully floating through darkness." - Four a.k.a John Smith

I am still feeling kinda temporary about myself

Over the years our mother has beaten us with belts, shoes, rulers, extension cords, hair brushes, a wooden spoon, a fly swatter, a toilet brush, wire coat hangers, wooden coat hangers and sometimes one of our own toys. When you get whacked by your own paddleball paddle or you have to watch your sister getting spanked with a badminton racquet that she asked Santa Claus (AKA Grandma) to bring, you don't feel much like playing with those things ever again.

ყველანი ასე ვართ. აი, ასე ერთნაირად ვზივართ", გაიფიქრა ბატონმა ოთარმა, "ვზივართ კი არა, ვსხედვართ. რამხელა სისულელეა ეს ვსხედვართ. ვზივართ თუ თქვი, ისე გადმოგხედავენ, რომ მიწა გაგისკდეს გირჩევნია. თან დანებს ლესავენ და თან გადმოგხედავენ, ვზივართ როგორ თქვაო.

Mere children, ha!" said Jane. "I say we tie up the knave and then discuss his fate." Since everyone thought this a good idea, Batty and Hound donated Jeffrey's neckties, and soon Bug Man, aka Sock or Spock, aka Norman Birnbaum, was bound hand and foot. Jane, Batty, and Hound then took a few minutes to be Aztec priests calling for blood, until Rosalind quieted them down. Norman was slime, but that was no reason to terrify him. Then came a long discussion about what they should do next... Jane's suggestion of throwing Norman into their basement so that he could dwell on his sins was rejected outright.

I'm just like anyone. I cut and I bleed and I embarass easily.

What novelty is worth that sweet monotony where everything is known, and loved because it is known?

Nu ştiu unde se ascund bucuriile vieţii. Poate în fiecare telefon pe care-l dai acasă, iar mama încă îţi răspunde. Şi spune că e bine. SCRISORI CATRE RITA

Tu nu ai nevoie de o casă. Dar de ce am eu nevoie? Ei, tu ai nevoie de o femeie, ca să locuieşti în sufletul ei. SCRISORI CATRE RITA

Your body lets you know what your heart is trying to tell you

COVID-19, also known as Mother Nature’s Revenge!

A loud, purposeful knock on the front door froze him in place with his fist over the fabric. “Hey, dude, it’s me. I brought you all four Bloodsport movies. Open up!” Jason’s voice filtered past the front door, and he and Violet flew apart like teenagers at a party raid. No way. This wasn’t happening. He had not just gotten cock-blocked by his best friend and partner, AKA the only living relative of the woman he’d very nearly stripped naked in his front hallway.

He is a symbol. He is a legend. He is immortal. He is incorruptible. He is Batman. I am not him. When I die, he will live. Batman has no secret identity. He has no other. He is no one. He has only hosts--mere mortal men who don this suit, this symbol, to continue his crusade. He isn't a hero. He is a cure, a cure to the virus of the human condition. He is exactly like his enemies, and yet strikingly different. He is just as swift, strong, and smart as them, just as brutal, but in the other direction. He will never kill, and he will never die. He has no name. He is Batman.

Until you showed up, I thought we were going to have some fun. Maybe play some games, throw a party, break into a top security building and take selfies? You pick, though I’m leaning toward the latter. I’d love to see the inside of the Pentagon.

I am friends with Kathleen Hanna and Adam Horovitz, aka Ad-Rock from the Beastie Boys. I can’t believe I am friends with them. I love Kathleen’s music and I am in awe of her social activism and general awesomeness. I asked her to interview me for Interview magazine when I was just a sketch performer whom nobody knew. She said yes because she supports young women. This is the artist who pulled women to the front at her rock shows. She shows up and does the work and is the real deal. Now she is my friend.

A mental disease has swept the planet: banalization. Everyone is hypnotized by production and comfort -- sewage system, elevator, bathroom, washing machine. This state of affairs, which arose out of a struggle against poverty, overshoots its ultimate goal -- the liberation of humanity from material cares -- and becomes an obsessive image hanging over the present. Between love and a garbage disposal, young people of all countries have made their choice and prefer the garbage disposal. A complete and sudden change of spirit has become essential, by bringing to light forgotten desires and creating entirely new ones. And by an intensive propaganda in favor of these desires. Gilles Ivain (aka Ivan Chtcheglov)

The pig winks and rolls in the bog. He kicks his legs up and his trotters clack together. The sun is low over the neighbourhood. There is the smell of oncoming night, of pollen settling, the sounds of kids fighting bath time. Lester comes down, waving his hands. Don't drown the pig, Fish. We're saving him for Christmas! We're gonna eat him. No! I'll drink to that, says the pig. Lester stands there. He looks at Fish. He looks at the porker. He peeps over the fence. The pig. The flamin' pig. The pig has just spoken. It's no language that he can understand, but there's no doubt. He feels a little crook, like maybe he should go over to that tree and puke. I like him, Lestah. He talks? Yep. Oh, my gawd. Lester looks at his retarded son again and once more at the pig. The pig talks. I likes him. Yeah, I bet. The pig snuffles, lets off a few syllables: aka sembon itwa. It's tongues, that's what it is. A blasted Pentecostal pig. And you understand him? Yep. I likes him. Always the miracles you don't need. It's not a simple world, Fish. It's not.

Knowledge is truth. Truth is light. Light is power. Light invites more light and banishes that which is dark. Darkness is another power altogether. Use your power wisely and well.

But in dozens and dozens of studies, Latham and Locke found that setting goals increased performance and productivity 11 to 25 percent.5 That’s quite a boost. If an eight-hour day is our baseline, that’s like getting two extra hours of work simply by building a mental frame (aka a goal) around the activity. But not every goal is the same. “We found that if you want the largest increase in motivation and productivity,” says Latham, “then big goals lead to the best outcomes. Big goals significantly outperform small goals, medium-sized goals, and vague goals. It comes down to attention and persistence—which are two of the most important factors in determining performance. Big goals help focus attention, and they make us more persistent. The result is we’re much more effective when we work, and much more willing to get up and try again when we fail.

They say that to escape reality is when you sleep, but when you sleep your sub conscious is in control of your dreams. For me to escape reality is when I read and write. When I read the world around me doesn't exist. The world in the story does and when I write I'm in control. Think of it as the author is the god of the world that they created. They set the characters fate.

At some point in this course, perhaps even tonight, you will read something difficult, something you only partially understand, and your verdict will be this is stupid. Will I argue when you advance that opinion in class the next day? Why would I do such a useless ting? My time with you in short, only thirty-four weeks of classes, and I will not waste it arguing about the merits of this short story or that poem. Why would I, when all such opinions are subjective, and no final resolution can ever be reached?' Some of the kids - Gloria was one of them - now looked lost, but Pete understood exactly what Mr. Ricker, aka Ricky the Hippie, was talking about... 'Time is the answer," Mr Ricker said on the first day of Pete's sophomore year. He strode back and forth, antique bellbottoms swishing, occasionally waving his arms. "Yes! Time mercilessly culls away the is-stupid from the not-stupid." ... "It will occur for you, young ladies and gentlemen, although I will be in your rear-view mirror by the time it happens. Shall I tell you how it happens? You will read something - perhaps 'Dulce et Decorum Est,' by Wilfred Owen. Shall we use that as an example? Why not?' Then, in a deeper voice that sent chills up Pete's back and tightened his throat, Mr. Ricker cried, " 'Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge...' And son on. Cetra-cetra. Some of you will say, This is stupid." .... 'And yet!" Up went the finger. "Time will pass! Tempus will fugit! Owen's poem may fall away from your mind, in which case your verdict of is-stupid will have turned out to be correct. For you, at least. But for some of you, it will recur. And recur. Each time it does, the steady march of your maturity will deepen its resonance. Each time that poem sneaks back into your mind, it will seem a little less stupid and a little more vital. A little more important. Until it shines, young ladies and gentlemen. Until it shines.

Hey. Remember what I said when Shigaraki made swiss cheese outta me? 'Stop trying to with this on your own.' But I had more to say. I needed to tell you that I got stabbed cuz my body moved on its own. You know, I always looked down on you cuz you were quirkless. You were s'posed to be beneath me... ...But I kept feeling like you were above me. I hated it. I couldn't bear to look at you. I couldn't accept you the way you were. So I kept you at arm's length and bullied you. I tried to act all superior by rejecting you... ...But I kept losing that fight. Ever since we got into U.A.... ...Nothing's worked out how I thought it would. Instead, this past year has forced me to understand your strength and my weakness. Now I don't expect this to change a thing between us, but I gotta speak... ...My truth. Izuku... I'm sorry for everything. There's nothing wrong with the path you've been walking down since inheriting One For All and following All Might's lead. But now... You're barely standing. And those ideals alone ain't enough to get you over the wall your facing. We're here to step in when you can't handle everything on your own. Because to live up to those ideals and surpass All Might... ...We gotta save you, the civilians at U.A., and the people on the streets. Because saving people is how we win. We get it." ~Katsuki Bakugo -aka- Great Explosion Murder God Dynamite

I stalked toward him, grinning. “Say something awesome, quick,” Frank said. “Preferably about me.” I dropped my pistols into my inventory, accessed the streamer menu and started recording. Then I slipped Frank out of his loop, activated Repel, and held him out in front of me. “This is what you’re after, right?” “What are you doing?” Frank said. “I’m introducing you,” I said. “Tyrann, meet Frank, aka the Axe of Unbridled Knowledge.” I cocked back and slapped Tyrann across the face with Frank as hard as I could. “Yes!” Frank said. The attack didn’t do any damage, but it launched Tyrann backward toward the boat and sent him skimming over the waves like a stone across a pond. “Yes yes yes!” Frank said at the top of his nonexistent lungs, and it felt like he was shadowboxing at my side. “You just got Franked, fool!” Tyrann bounced off a cresting wave and belly-flopped into the ocean.

Xinxin Ming or Trust in the Heart The Perfect Way is only difficult for those who pick and choose; Do not like, do not dislike; all will then be clear. Make a hairbreadth difference, and heaven and earth are set apart. If you want the truth [of nonduality] to stand clear before you, never be for or against. The struggle between "for" and "against" is the mind's worst disease. When the Way is not understood, the mind chatters endlessly to no avail. The Perfect Way is vastness without holiness. Like infinite space it contains all and lacks nothing. Because you pick and choose, cling and reject, you can't see its Suchness. Neither be entangled in the world, nor in inner feelings of emptiness. Be serene in the oneness of things, And dualism vanishes of its own accord. Craving the passivity of Oneness you are filled with activity. As long as you tarry in dualism, You will never know Oneness. If you don't trust in the Heart, you fall into assertion or denial. In this world of Suchness there is neither self nor other-than-self. To be in accord with the Way, let go of all self-centered striving. Denying the world [of duality] is the asserting of it; Asserting emptiness [oneness] is the denying of it. The more you talk and think about it, the further astray you go. To return to the root [the One] is to find the meaning, But to pursue appearances [the many] is to miss the source. At the moment of inner enlightenment there is a going beyond the one and the many. The mind clings to its image of the world; We call it real only because of our ignorance. Do not seek after the truth, merely cease to cherish your opinions. For the mind in harmony with the One, all selfishness disappears. With not even a trace of fear, you can trust the universe completely. All at once you are free, with nothing left to hold on to. All is empty, brilliant, perfect in its own being. In the world of things as they are, there is neither observer nor observed. If you want to describe its essence, the best you can say is "Not-two." Even to have the idea of enlightenment is to go astray. Thoughts that are fettered turn from truth, sink into the unwise habit of "not liking." "Not liking" brings weariness of spirit; estrangements serve no purpose. In this "Not-two" nothing is separate, And nothing in the world is excluded. The enlightened of all times and places have entered into this truth. The One is none other than the All, the All none other than the One. Take your stand on this, and the rest will follow of its accord; To trust in the Heart is the "Not-two," the "Not-two" is to trust in the Heart. There is one reality, not many; Distinctions arise from the clinging needs of the ignorant. To seek Mind with the mind is the greatest of all mistakes. I have spoken, but in vain; For what can words say— Of things that have no yesterday, tomorrow, or today. Jianzhi Sengcan (aka Seng-Ts'an, 僧璨, ?-606)

« A bit of useful information. My name is Victoria “call me Vicki” DeVine. I used to be Mrs. Yorick Dane, but giving up my married name was one of the conditions of my receiving valuable property—aka The Jumble—as part of the divorce settlement. Apparently the second official Mrs. Dane didn’t like the idea that someone else had had the name first. Fortunately, she didn’t seem as possessive about Yorick’s Vigorous Appendage. I could have told her that a couple dozen other women had had it before she took possession. But it wasn’t likely that she would keep solo possession of the appendage for long, so let her figure things out the hard way like I did. Of course, if she had been one of those indulgences, then she already knew the signs and might be able to nip them in the bud. »

მოლაპარაკე პოლკოვნიკს მდუმარე პოლკოვნიკი ჯობდა. მდუმარე - გაუტეხელ, ამაყ კაცს ჰგავდა. მოლაპარაკე - ერთ დიდ, ნაპრალიან კედელს, ან შუაზე გაჩეხილ მორს. თითო ამოოხვრაზე ნაპრალი თითო გოჯით ჩაიხეოდა ხოლმე. პოლკოვნიკის ამბავი ყველაზე საშინელი იყო მთელს უდაბნოში, მიწისძვრაზე საშინელიც კი. ვინაიდან მიწისძვრას შეიძლება გადაურჩე, ამ ამბავს კი - ვერაფრით. პოლკოვნიკის ამბავს სხვები ყვებოდნენ. თვითონ ერთხელ თქვა და მეორედ რომ ეთქვა, მოკვდებოდა.

They’re into a bit more than assassination,” said the Admiral, aka Mr Brown, “and not all of them are top agents—the ones that use the names of gods and goddesses to identify themselves. Some are called daemons, and they serve as apprentices to the top players. They’ve a large number of people in the mix. Same arrangement. A team of professional killers, safe crackers, explosives—you name it —round each one, and they’re not afraid to sacrifice members for the objective, or to protect the goddess or god heading it. Every time we get close to them we lose people. It’s as if they’re playing with us. We’re pretty sure they’re all very well connected, and some of them indulge in what they call ‘hunting’. Some poor bastard is abducted and dumped somewhere remote without the means to defend himself. Then he or she is hunted by one or more of the Pantheon. They’re psychopaths—but, as I said, they’re very well connected.

Do not keep talking to the Devil’s Advocate Guy or Gal aka DAG. I’m not against playing Devil’s Advocate, because a lot can be gleaned from it. However, when it comes to topics such as homophobia, sexism and racism, a particular kind of DAG tends to rear its ugly head. This person isn’t interested in having a fruitful discussion that will enrich everyone involved, nor do they have any intention to have an open and frank discussion about a difficult subject. This person is simply a shit-starter. Someone who is bored and wants to derail a conversation or has some inner rage that they are dying to unleash. During my days of blogging about race, I have encountered this person often. They start out as seemingly run-of-the-mill people, perhaps sharing slightly bias statistics but asking enough questions to seem like they are open to ideas. Eventually though, DAG will lose their cool, and reveal themselves for who they are.

We leave to monsieur Le Corbusier his style that suits factories as well as it does hospitals. And the prisons of the future: is he not already building churches? I do not know what this individual -- ugly of countenance and hideous in his conceptions of the world -- is repressing to make him want thus to crush humanity under ignoble heaps of reinforced concrete, a noble material that ought to permit an aerial articulation of space superior to Flamboyant Gothic. His power of cretinization is vast. A model by Corbusier is the only image that brings to my mind the idea of immediate suicide. With him moreover any remaining job will fade. And love -- passion -- liberty. Gilles Ivain (aka Ivan Chtcheglov)

ძალიან უცნაურ დროს უნდა აეშენებინათ ეს სასტუმრო: სტალინი უკვე მკვდარი იქნებოდა, ხრუშჩოვს კი ჯერ სტალინის ლანძღვა არ დაეწყო. ვინაიდან, როგორც კი სტალინის ლანძღვა დაიწყეს, სასტუმროებში ჭერები დადაბლდა. ამ სასტუმროში კი ჭერი მაღალი იყო, ფანჯარაც ფრანგული სიფართოვით გაეხსნათ, კედლების სისქეს კი ნუღარც იკითხავთ, ციხესიმაგრისას შეედრებოდა. ოღონდ ეგ არის, რომ სასტუმროს სახურავი ცისკენ აღარ აჭრილიყო, არც კოშკურა შემოედგათ ზედ და არც ვარსკვლავის დამაგრებაზე ეზრუნათ, როგორც ეს ცხონებულს უყვარდა. ანუ სწორედ იმ სამ წელიწადში მოესწროთ ამ საზიზღარი სასტუმროს აშენება, ხრუშჩოვმა რომ მერყეობას მოანდომა და რაღა გასაკვირია, რომ სასტუმროც მერყევი იერისა და სურნელისა გამოვიდა.

KNOWN ABILITIES: Empath [DON’T BELIEVE ANYTHING ELSE MY MOM TELLS YOU] RESIDENCE: The Shores of Solace and Candleshade [ANYONE WANNA TRADE LIVES WITH ME?] IMMEDIATE FAMILY: Lord Cassius Sencen (father); Lady Gisela Sencen (mother) [AKA: WORST. PARENTS. EVER!] MATCH STATUS: Unregistered [TRY NOT TO BE TOO HEARTBROKEN, PEOPLE] [THOUGH I GOTTA SAY: I DON’T REALLY GET WHY EVERYONE PAYS SO MUCH ATTENTION TO THIS.] EDUCATION: Current Foxfire prodigy [AND PROUD DETENTION RECORD–HOLDER] NEXUS: No longer required [BECAUSE I’M COOL LIKE THAT] PATHFINDER: Not assigned. Restricted to Leapmasters and home crystals. [HA, THAT’S WHAT YOU THINK!] SPYBALL APPROVAL: None [BUT I HAVE FRIENDS WITH CONNECTIONS, THAT’S ALL I’M SAYING.…] MEMBER OF THE NOBILITY: No [THANK GOODNESS] TITLE: None [UM, HELLO, WHAT ABOUT LORD HUNKYHAIR? THAT’S A THING!] NOBLE ASSIGNMENT: None [MASTER MISCHIEF-MAKER] SIGNIFICANT CONNECTIONS: Fealty-sworn member of the Black Swan; former Wayward at Exillium; son to one of the leaders of the Neverseen [SWORN PROTECTOR OF THE MYSTERIOUS MISS F] ASSIGNED BODYGUARD(S): Ro (ogre) [AND SHE KNOWS, LIKE, 500,000 WAYS TO KILL YOU! SO IT’S REALLY NOT A GOOD IDEA TO MESS WITH US!]

this is what I say: I have some good news for you, and some bad news. The bad news first. We’re going to have to rip off either your fingernails or your toenails with pliers. I’m sorry, but it’s already decided. It can’t be changed. I pull out a huge, scary pair of pliers from my briefcase and show them to everybody. Slowly, making sure everybody gets a good look. And then I say: Here’s the good news. You have the freedom to choose which it’s going to be—your fingernails, or your toenails. So, which will it be? You have ten seconds to make up your mind. If you’re unable to decide, we’ll rip off both your fingernails and your toenails. I start the count. At about eight seconds most people say, ‘The toes.’ Okay, I say, toenails it is. I’ll use these pliers to rip them off. But before I do, I’d like you to tell me something. Why did you choose your toes and not your fingers? The person usually says, ‘I don’t know. I think they probably hurt the same. But since I had to choose one, I went with the toes.’ I turn to him and warmly applaud him. And I say, Welcome to the real world.” Tsukuru gazed wordlessly at his old friend’s delicate face. “Each of us is given the freedom to choose,” Aka said, winking and smiling. “That’s the point of the story.

Why are you making that face?” he asked suddenly. I blinked up at him, caught off guard. I raised my eyebrows, trying to play dumb. “What face?” It didn’t work. With a fork hanging out of his mouth, he narrowed his dark eyes just the slightest bit. “That one.” He gestured toward me with his chin. I shrugged in an ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ expression. “Is there something you want to say?” There were a hundred things I wanted to tell him on a regular basis, but I knew him too well. He didn’t really care if there was something I wanted to say or not. He didn’t care if my opinion was different from his or if I thought he should do something differently. He was just reminding me who the boss was. AKA not me. Asswipe. “Me?” I blinked. “Nope.” He gave me a lazy glare before his eyes lowered to focus on the hand I had hidden on the other side of the kitchen island. “Then quit flipping me off. I’m not changing my mind about the signing,” he said in a deceptively casual voice. I pressed my lips together as I dropped my hand. He was a goddamn witch. I swear on my life, he was a freaking witch. A wizard. An oracle. A person with a third eye. Every single time I had ever flipped him off, he’d been aware of it. I didn’t think I was that obvious about it either.

For all my days, I have been making up to the world for how challenging I am, how questioning I am, how strong and smart and passionate I am, how unwilling I am to accept systems and processes and values just because that's the way it's been done and been seen, considered especially challenging as a female, especially in a somewhat younger time (a/k/a less open to challenges)-- when I, too, was younger (a/k/a what does she know?). There I was, challenging, questioning, but also trying to make up to the world for it, always to be--show--prove that I'm not didactic, intransigent, inflexible, that my passion is not dogma, but a malleable creative force informed by sensory, intellectual, and emotional input... For all my days, I have been making up to the world for how challenging I am. But that has been as good for me as it has thwarted me, it has grown me, shaped me, honed me

You have to realize that in life there’re certain things out of your control. You can only do so much and hope that the situation would be remedied. "It is what it is," so don’t be in denial and know your limits. If it’s meant to be then a short conversation would solve the situation, otherwise you're investing resources into something that’s really nothing. Just say and do what's necessary and if it doesn’t work out then so be it. Move on with the attitude like "Fuck It." Chapters in life are meant to end so the next can start and GOD leaves no one empty handed.

After he'd gone, I slammed the door shut and, after the day I had, wasn't the least bit surprised to see my closet door open and Whitley stick his head out. "Son of hibachi," I muttered. Now I would have to add burning all of my clothes to my list of things to do. "What?" He exited the closet with a smile. "I don't even get a hello?" I held up a finger. "Wait right here." He shrugged. I shut the door behind me and marched back into the living room and pointed at Dr. Wendell. "You. Come with me. Now." Wide-eyed, he rose from the couch and followed me to my door. Before I opened it, I turned to him. "You said part of your job was to protect me, right?" He nodded, his brow knit in lines of confusion. "Just to prove how bad you suck at your job, look at this." I swung open the door and Whitley waved from his perch at the end of my bed. Dr. Wendell's mouth dropped and he took a step back. "Wait. What is-who is that?" "That"-I gestured to the boy on my bed-"is Whitley, aka Zeami, aka the psycho who tried to kill me, steal my powers, and burnt down my house." Whitley smiled. "Guilty as charged." I folded my arms and glared at Dr. Wendell. "If you're supposedly protecting me, how could you let my past-life murderer walk right into my bedroom and hide out in my closet?" Dr. Wendell shook his head, his skin a shade paler than it had been moments ago. "But I-I didn't-how-" He looked at Whitley. "How did you get in here?" Whitley rolled his eyes. "Through the door. Duh." Dr. Wendell pushed me behind him, bringing his shaking fists in front of his face. "It doesn't matter. If you want to kill Rileigh, you're going to have to get past me.

According to the L.A. news, the explosion at the Santa Monica beach had been caused when a crazy kidnapper fired a shotgun at a police car. He accidentally hit a gas main that had ruptured during the earthquake. This crazy kidnapper (a.k.a. Ares) was the same man who had abducted me and two other adolescents in New York and brought us across country on a ten-day odyssey of terror. Poor little Percy Jackson wasn’t an international criminal after all. He’d caused a commotion on that Greyhound bus in New Jersey trying to get away from his captor (and afterward, witnesses would even swear they had seen the leather-clad man on the bus—“Why didn’t I remember him before?”). The crazy man had caused the explosion in the St. Louis Arch. After all, no kid could’ve done that. A concerned waitress in Denver had seen the man threatening his abductees outside her diner, gotten a friend to take a photo, and notified the police. Finally, brave Percy Jackson (I was beginning to like this kid) had stolen a gun from his captor in Los Angeles and battled him shotgun-to-rifle on the beach. Police had arrived just in time. But in the spectacular explosion, five police cars had been destroyed and the captor had fled. No fatalities had occurred. Percy Jackson and his two friends were safely in police custody.

The last week of shooting, we did a scene in which I drag Amanda Wyss, the sexy, blond actress who played Tina, across the ceiling of her bedroom, a sequence that ultimately became one of the most visceral from the entire Nightmare franchise. Tina’s bedroom was constructed as a revolving set, and before Tina and Freddy did their dance of death, Wes did a few POV shots of Nick Corri (aka Rod) staring at the ceiling in disbelief, then we flipped the room, and the floor became the ceiling and the ceiling became the floor and Amanda and I went to work. As was almost always the case when Freddy was chasing after a nubile young girl possessed by her nightmare, Amanda was clad only in her baby-doll nightie. Wes had a creative camera angle planned that he wanted to try, a POV shot from between Amanda’s legs. Amanda, however, wasn’t in the cameramen’s union and wouldn’t legally be allowed to operate the cemera for the shot. Fortunately, Amy Haitkin, our director of photography’s wife, was our film’s focus puller and a gifted camera operator in her own right. Being a good sport, she peeled off her jeans and volunteered to stand in for Amanda. The makeup crew dapped some fake blood onto her thighs, she lay down on the ground, Jacques handed her the camera, I grabbed her ankles, and Wes called, “Action.” After I dragged Amy across the floor/ceiling, I spontaneously blew her a kiss with my blood-covered claw; the fake blood on my blades was viscous, so that when I blew her my kiss of death, the blood webbed between my blades formed a bubble, a happy cinematic accident. The image of her pale, slender, blood-covered legs, Freddy looming over her, straddling the supine adolescent girl, knife fingers dripping, was surreal, erotic, and made for one of the most sexually charged shots of the movie. Unfortunately it got left on the cutting-room floor. If Wes had left it in, the MPAA - who always seemed to have it out for Mr. Craven - would definitely have tagged us with an X rating. You win some, you lose some.

İNCİ Yüzlerce sene evvel çok güzel bir kız varmış. Ayağına kapanıp bütün gençler yalvarmış Bu eşi bulunmayan güzeli almak için. Erimişler aşk denen alevden için için, Güneşin sızağıyla eriyen karlar gibi; Hepsinin bu sevdadan hicran olmuş nasibi... Böyle yaşıyorlarken dünyalarına küskün, Güzel kız davet etmiş aşıklarını bir gün. Demiş:"Elbet veremem gönlümü hepinize, Fakat bir müsabaka açıyorum ben size: En güzel, en kıymetli inciyi bana her kim Getirirse onunla artık evleneceğim..." Aşıklar mallarını feda edip satmışlar, Dört taraftan en büyük inciyi aratmışlar. Yüzlerce sene evvel bir saz şairi varmış; Bu gencin de gönlünü o kızın aşkı sarmış. Aklını alıvermiş gök ela renkli gözler; Her dakika biricik sevgilisini özler, Her dakika ağlarmış, sızlarmış, ah edermiş; Aşkından perişanmış, mahzunmuş, derbedermiş... Duymuş müsabakayı bu aşık da nihayet, "İnci nedir?" diyerek o anda etmiş hayret. Çünkü o ana kadar inciyi bilmiyormuş. "İnci nasıl şey?" diye bir ihtiyara sormuş: "Ben onu hiç görmedim gezdim de diyar diyar." Demiş ki zavallıya gülümseyip ihtiyar: "Güzel bir taştır inci, kadınların süsüdür; Durduğu yer onların açık, beyaz göğsüdür. Denizden çıktığından, pahalıdır gayetle..." Bu sözleri duyunca aşık bakar hayretle, Der ki:"Ben deniz nedir, onu da bilmiyorum." İhtiyar denizi de anlatır: "Dinle yavrum, Bu öyle bir sudur ki ufuğa kadar açık, Bazan dalgalar vardır kıyısında ufacık; Bazan fırtına çıkar, hava olunca lodos, Deniz birden kudurup kayalara vurur tos. Sen karada gezmişsin, belli, bu yaşa kadar. Bu dağların ardında çok uzak bir deniz var. Pek merak ediyorsan yürü, memleketler aş." Saz şairi, bu sözler bitince, yavaş yavaş Denizi bulmak için seyahate koyulur; Uzun yollar üstünde harap olur, yorulur. Nihayet gök toprağa ışığını dökerken Bir sahile yaklaşır, henüz şafak sökerken.... Aradan bir yıl geçip nihayet mühlet bitmiş, Aşıklar akın akın kızın yanına gitmiş. Hepsi de dizilmişler önüne birer birer; Ellerinin üstünde donuk, beyaz inciler. Güzel kız seyre dalmış,oturarak yerine; İpek elbisesinin uzun eteklerine Bütün delikanlılar koymuş hediyesini! Gözlerini açarak herkes kesmiş sesini: "Acaba hangisini kabul edecek ?"diye... Dışardan bir gürültü duyulmuş o saniye: "Bırakın, muradıma ben bugün ereceğim, Bırakın sevgilime inciler vereceğim..." "O da getirsin" diye güzel kız vermiş izin, Şair içeri girmiş, tereddüt etmeksizin. Anlatmış kalbindeki sızlayan bir yarayı, Anlatmış uzun uzun bütün bu mecarayı. "Ben bir şair aşıkım, elimde bir kırık saz, Yapyalnız yaşıyorum, derdim çok, sevincim az. O güzel gözlerine bir pınar gibi gönlüm Yıllarca aka aka tükendi tahammülüm. Fakat seni unutmak gelmiyordu elimden. Ve bir gün işittim ki inci istemişsin sen. Ama bu ana kadar görmemiştim ben onu, Öğrendim bu incinin denizde olduğunu. Deniz nerde diyerek arıyordum bu sefer; Aşkının kuvvetiyle aştım dağlar, tepeler. Nice ülkeler gezdim, nice dağlar dolaştım, Bir sabah sonu gelmez bir denize ulaştım: Güneş içinden doğup içinde batıyordu; Sular arzın üstüne yaslanmış yatıyordu. Rüzgar yavaş esiyor,engin sessiz, durgundu; Vücudum aylar süren yolculuktan yorgundu. Aşkınla geliyordu kalbime kuvvet yine; İndim büyük denizin o büyük sahiline İncileri topladım ,uğraşıp didinerek!" Aşıkın sözlerini dinlerken kadın, erkek; Şair omuzundaki bir torbayı uzatmış, Yere, bağını çözüp, incileri boşaltmış. Fakat o anda herkes kahkahalarla gülmüş: Çünkü inci yerine çakıl taşı dökülmüş. Güzel kız genç aşıka demiş: "Bunu iyi bil: Bu, parayla alınan incilere mukabil, Senin çakıl taşların çok değerlidir elbet; Şair! Yaşayacağım seninle ilelebet...

HOW ENGLISH BECAME A DOUBLE LANGUAGE After the Romans conquered England in the first century AD, they hired German and Scandinavian mercenaries from Anglia and Saxony to help fend off pirates and put down rebellions by the native Picts and Celts. When the Roman Empire abandoned England in 410 AD, more Anglo-Saxons migrated to the island, marginalizing the Gallic-speaking Celts, wiping out the Latin of the Romans, and imposing their Germanic tongue throughout England. But 600 years later Latin came back this roundabout way: In 911 AD Danish Vikings conquered territory along the north coast of France and named it after themselves, Normandy, land of the Norsemen. After 150 years of marriage to French women, these Danes spoke what their mothers spoke, a thousand-year-old French dialect of Latin. In 1066 King Wilhelm of Normandy (a.k.a. William the Conqueror) led his armies across the English Channel and defeated the English king. With that victory, French came to England. Throughout history, foreign conquests usually erase native languages. But England was the exception. For some mysterious reason, the Germanic language of the Anglo-Saxons and the Latinate French of the Normans merged. As a result, the vocabulary of what became modern English doubled. English has at least two words for everything. Compare, for example, the Germanic-rooted words “fire,” “hand,” “tip,” “ham,” and “flow” to the French-derived words “flame,” “palm,” “point,” “pork,” and “fluid.

PROLOGUE   Zoey “Wow, Z, this is a seriously awesome turnout. There are more humans here than fleas on an old dog!” Stevie Rae shielded her eyes with her hand as she looked around at the newly lit-up campus. Dallas was a total jerk, but we all admitted that the twinkling lights he’d wrapped around the trunks and limbs of the old oaks gave the entire campus a magickal, fairy-like glow. “That is one of your more disgusting bumpkin analogies,” Aphrodite said. “Though it’s accurate. Especially since there are a bunch of city politicians here. Total parasites.” “Try to be nice,” I said. “Or at least try to be quiet.” “Does that mean your daddy, the mayor, is here?” Stevie Rae’s already gawking eyes got even wider. “I suppose it does. I caught a glimpse of Cruella De Vil, a.k.a. She Who Bore Me, not long ago.” Aphrodite paused and her brows went up. “We should probably keep an eye on the Street Cats kittens. I saw some cute little black and white ones with especially fluffy fur.” Stevie Rae sucked air. “Ohmygoodness, your mamma wouldn’t really make a kitten fur coat, would she?” “Faster than you can say Bubba’s drinkin’ and drivin’ again,” Aphrodite mimicked Stevie Rae’s Okie twang. “Stevie Rae—she’s kidding. Tell her the truth,” I nudged Aphrodite. “Fine. She doesn’t skin kittens. Or puppies. Just baby seals and democrats.” Stevie Rae’s brow furrowed. “See, everything is fine. Plus, Damien’s at the Street Cats booth, and you know he’d never let one little kitten whisker be hurt—let alone a whole coat,” I assured my BFF, refusing to let Aphrodite mess up our good mood. “Actually, everything is more than fine. Check out what we managed to pull off in a little over a week.” I sighed in relief at the success of our event and let my gaze wander around the packed school grounds. Stevie Rae, Shaylin, Shaunee, Aphrodite, and I were manning the bake sale booth (while Stevie Rae’s mom and a bunch of her PTA friends moved through the crowd with samples of the chocolate chip cookies we were selling, like, zillions of). From our position near Nyx’s statue, we had a great view of the whole campus. I could see a long line at Grandma’s lavender booth. That made me smile. Not far from Grandma, Thanatos had set up a job application area, and there were a bunch of humans filling out paperwork there. In the center of the grounds there were two huge silver and white tents draped with more of Dallas’s twinkling lights. In one tent Stark and Darius and the Sons of Erebus Warriors were demonstrating weaponry. I watched as Stark was showing a young boy how to hold a bow. Stark’s gaze lifted from the kid and met mine. We shared a quick, intimate smile