Amma Quotes

Sometimes if you let people do things to you, you’re really doing it to them,” Amma said, pulling another Blow Pop from her pocket. Cherry. “Know what I mean? If someone wants to do fucked-up things to you, and you let them, you’re making them more fucked up. Then you have the control. As long as you don’t go crazy.

What did you do to Amma?" "I was late to school." He studied my face. I studied his. "Number 2?" I nodded. "Sharp?" "Started out sharp and then she sharpened it.

Camille?" Her voice quiet and girlish and unsure. "You know how people sometimes say they have to hurt because if they don't, they're so numb they won't feel anything?" "Mmm." "What if it's the opposite?" Amma whispered. "What if you hurt because it feels so good? Like you have a tingling, like someone left a switch on in your body. And nothing can turn that switch off except hurting? What does that mean?" I pretended to be asleep. I pretended not to feel her fingers tracing vanish over and over on the back of my neck.

As Amma used to say, the good thing about the truth is it’s true, and there’s no arguing with the truth.

Ethan Wate: What I can't figure is, you go to church everyday, how do you believe in all of this and still believe in God? Amma: God created all things didn't he? Only man will decide which ones is mistakes. - Beautiful Creatures

Thirteen years old, I thought to myself, but I felt a spear of admiration for the girl. When I’d been sad, I hurt myself. Amma hurt other people. When I’d wanted attention, I’d submitted myself to boys: Do what you want; just like me. Amma’s sexual offerings seemed a form of aggression. Long skinny legs and slim wrists and high, babied voice, all aimed like a gun. Do what I want; I might like you.

I'm not falling anymore. That's what L says, and she's right. I guess you could say I'm flying. We both are. And I'm pretty sure somewhere up there in the real blue sky and carpenter bee greatness, Amma's flying, too. We all are, depending on how you look at it. Flying or falling, it's up to us. Because the sky isn't really made of blue paint, and there aren't just two kinds of people in this world, the stupid and the stuck. We only think there are. Don't waste your time with either-with anything. It's not worth it.

Her friendship with Amma is based on historic loyalty and comfortable familiarity rather than shared interests and perspectives

Don’t spit down my back and tell me it’s raining.

It's hard to imagine a place like that really exists. People have been judging me my whole life.

Silence descended on the house. [....] Amma must have sensed that this was the sort of silence that, left unchallenged, could consume the family from within.

To me, my husband was my son’s murderer. He was also my daughter’s molester. A parasite nibbling on the Holy Book, he was Lucifer, holding me by the throat and driving me to sin every night. He was Bhai’s destroyer, Amma Sain’s tormentor, Ma’s humbler and the people’s exploiter. He was the rapist of orphans and the fiend that fed on the weak. But over and above all this, he was known to be the man closest to Allah, the one who could reach Him and save us.

I couldn't lose her. I wouldn't. Just the thought of never being able to touch her again made me crazy. Crazier than losing all my friends. Crazier than being the least popular guy in school. Crazier than having Amma perpetually angry at me. Losing her was the worst thing I could imagine. Like I was falling, but this time I would definitely hit the ground.

In times of tragedies, our duty is to lend a helping hand to those in grief and thus light lamps of kindness and compassion.

Only humility will help us grow. The feeling of I and mine obstructs any possibility of inner growth.

Did you hear that?” Amma’s sharp whisper cut into Damien’s mind as it began to drift into sleep. He groaned. “You mean that terrifying cry that sounded like a woman being gutted?” “Yes!” “No, I didn’t. Go to sleep.

My Mother - Amma Her touch was my solace, Her smile did encourage, Her love was my strength, Her stare, I fully decant, Her care was my power, Her joy was my shower, Her anger corrected my path, Her laughter filled my heart, Her silence made me ponder, Her glare was my reminder, Her scorn corrected my track, Her embrace I never did lack.

Was I good at caring for Amma because of kindness? Or did I like caring for Amma because I have Adora's sickness? I waver between the two, especially at night, when my skin begins to pulse. Lately I've been leaning toward kindness.

When I'd been sad, I hurt myself. Amma hurt other people. When I'd wanted attention, I'd submitted myself to boys: Do what you want; just like me. Amma's sexual offerings seemed a form of aggression. Long skinny legs and slim wrists and high, babied voice all aimed like a gun. Do what I want; I might like you.

Damien had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “Surely, I don’t look like that.” “It’s close,” she warned, features relaxing. “You have resting villain face.” “I am a villain.” And then Amma, the girl he had abducted, dragged across the realm, and threatened to murder, actually rolled her eyes at him.

Life is relationship and the best form of relationship is friendship.

Toprakta gezen gölgeme toprak çekilince, Günler şu heyulâyı da er, geç, silecektir. Rahmetle anılmak, ebediyyet budur amma, Sessiz yaşadım, kim beni, nerden bilecektir?

Amma and i went to each house to tell them we were leaving. They all said, 'Don't forget us. Keep visiting.' At the age I was then, this seemed absurd. i had grown up among them - how was it even possible to forget these people? Now I see what they meant.

Amma … I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but I’m a feminist too.” Amma stared at her, her eyes wide in horror. She didn’t notice when the red floral dupatta of her salwar kameez slipped off one shoulder. “Sweetie! Feminists don’t get married. Stop that nonsense.” Sweetie did laugh then, openly. “Amma, what the heck are you talking about? Feminists can do whatever they want. They just want equal rights for women.

Have a creative day as you contemplate today on... "Having an idea is not a problem. Identification with the idea creates the problem.

In Amma’s snideness, I caught a whiff of desperation and righteousness. Like she’d whined at breakfast: I wish I’d be murdered. Amma didn’t want anyone to get more attention than her. Certainly not girls who couldn’t compete when they were alive.

But I was beginning to feel like it all fit together, the same way everything in the bowl ends up in the bisquits, as Amma would say.

when hell freezes over pigs fly and a cow jump over the moon amma like u

Amma experienced commitment to one person as imprisonment, she hadn't left home for a life of freedom and adventure to end up chained to another person's desires

Camille, if you could be any fairy-tale person in the world, who would you be?” Amma asked. “Sleeping Beauty.” To spend a life in dreams, that sounded too lovely. “I’d be Persephone.” “I don’t know who that is,” I said. Gayla slapped some collards on my plate, and fresh corn. I made myself eat, a kernel at a time, my gag reflex churning with each chew. “She’s the Queen of the Dead,” Amma beamed. “She was so beautiful, Hades stole her and took her to the underworld to be his wife. But her mother was so fierce, she forced Hades to give Persephone back. But only for six months each year. So she spends half her life with the dead, and half with the living.” “Amma, why would such a creature appeal to you?” Alan said. “You can be so ghastly.” “I feel sorry for Persephone because even when she’s back with the living, people are afraid of her because of where’s she’s been,” Amma said. “And even when she’s with her mother, she’s not really happy, because she knows she’ll have to go back underground.” She grinned at Adora and jabbed a big bite of ham into her mouth, then crowed.

My mother was lost to me, but I wasn’t lost. She had anchored me, to Amma, my father, Link, Gatlin, before she left. I felt her in the streets, my house, the library, even the pantry.

Amma misses her daughter now she’s away at university Not the spiteful snake that slithers out of her tongue to hurt her mother, because in Yazz’s world young people are the only ones with feelings

What, um…what are they?” Damien thought a moment. “They’re a sort of excessively zealous consortium who have unorthodox views.” “You have a cult?” Amma’s voice was squeaky even as she tried to keep it low. “No, no, this is their own thing, not mine. Big fans of my father, really, I just drop by in his stead on occasion.

Um, Damien?” Amma cleared her throat. “Are you really complaining they didn’t put us in a sturdier cell?” “I know you’ve likely become accustomed to this, Amma, but I find it ridiculous. Is it too much to ask to be treated like a threat? I mean, look at me.” He held his hands out, turning to her and standing to his full height.

“Mom” didn’t feel quite right, Reynie decided. Why not use the Tamil word? He’d heard her refer to her own mother as “Amma,” but whether this meant “mom” or “mother,” he wasn’t sure. Reynie felt a flutter of happy anticipation.

If you discover love you will know exactly how to live.

It's not wrong to have dreams; in fact, to achieve anything in this world, you must have dreams

Mind, breath and kundalini are connected; handle one, the other two gets affected automatically.

Guilt is non-acceptance. Repentance is acceptance.

If you are still worried, it means, you have not surrendered yet !

Sick and sicker and sickest. What was real and what was fake? Was Amma really sick and needing my mother’s medicine, or was the medicine what was making Amma sick? Did her blue pill make me vomit, or did it keep me from getting more ill than I’d have been without it?

What my friends didn’t know about me and I didn’t know about Amma is that people who are hurting don’t need Avoiders, Protectors, or Fixers. What we need are patient, loving witnesses. People to sit quietly and hold space for us. People to stand in helpless vigil to our pain.

But then her mother’s words flitted through her head, as they often did when she felt anger well up in her heart. Blame not one’s failings on cruelty when ignorance is the much more likely cause, or, more simply, most of the time people weren’t mean, they were just dumb. Amma would have settled, then, on telling him she thought he was very, very dumb.

You know how people sometimes say they have to hurt because if they don’t, they’re so numb they won’t feel anything?” “Mmm.” “What if it’s the opposite?” Amma whispered. “What if you hurt because it feels so good? Like you have a tingling, like someone left a switch on in your body. And nothing can turn the switch off except hurting? What does that mean?

We think our job as humans is to avoid pain, our job as parents is to protect our children from pain, and our job as friends is to fix each other’s pain. Maybe that’s why we all feel like failures so often—because we all have the wrong job description for love. What my friends didn’t know about me and I didn’t know about Amma is that people who are hurting don’t need Avoiders, Protectors, or Fixers. What we need are patient, loving witnesses. People to sit quietly and hold space for us. People to stand in helpless vigil to our pain.

The Awakened One sees the observer and the observed as one. The unawakened one sees the observer and the observed as different.

Unless you learn to deal with your life in its entirety, there is no permanent solution for human problems.

Living in the present is the living in the presence....

The other is not outside you but living within you.

Rebuilding relationship requires a lifelong discipline and commitment.

Her face is as bright as a full moon, always gentle, always changing, but predictable. Like our moon, she only shows us one face. The strong one.

Plus, there was Amma and her mysterious friendliness toward me. I hated to admit it, but I was becoming obsessed with the girl.

Amma sitting on the single, narrow cot, which had been a complete waste of an only-one-bed situation and managed to somehow heighten the frustration he was feeling.

I wasn’t an expert on feelings, but Amma’s were all stirred up in cake batter, and she wasn’t about to share them. She’d rather give away the cake.

Amma and I were sick just like Marian. It had to be made that obvious to me before I finally understood—nearly twenty years too late.

Sometimes if you let people do things to you, you're really doing it to them - Amma Crellin

« We say goodbye to Amma. I am empty. I’ve been watching and saying goodbye for months. »

We say goodbye to Amma. I am empty. I’ve been watching and saying goodbye for months.

It’ll be your turn some day, Amma,” he said. “Soon.

Well, you mind you manners and don't raise your voice. You know what your mamma used to say. Any book is a Good Book, and wherever they keep the Good Book safe is also the House a the Lord

How was my day? It was a lifetime. It was the best of times and the worst of times. I was both lonely and never alone. I was simultaneously bored out of my skull and completely overwhelmed. I was saturated with touch—desperate to get the baby off of me and the second I put her down I yearned to smell her sweet skin again. This day required more than I’m physically and emotionally capable of, while requiring nothing from my brain. I had thoughts today, ideas, real things to say and no one to hear them. I felt manic all day, alternating between love and fury. At least once an hour I looked at their faces and thought I might not survive the tenderness of my love for them. The next moment I was furious. I felt like a dormant volcano, steady on the outside but ready to explode and spew hot lava at any moment. And then I noticed that Amma’s foot doesn’t fit into her Onesie anymore, and I started to panic at the reminder that this will be over soon, that it’s fleeting—that this hardest time of my life is supposed to be the best time of my life. That this brutal time is also the most beautiful time. Am I enjoying it enough? Am I missing the best time of my life? Am I too tired to be properly in love? That fear and shame felt like adding a heavy, itchy blanket on top of all the hard. But I’m not complaining, so please don’t try to fix it. I wouldn’t have my day or my life any other way. I’m just saying—it’s a hell of a hard thing to explain—an entire day with lots of babies. It’s far too much and not even close to enough. But

Amma turned her head inward and nestled her shoulder against his, a hand finding its way to his chest. Damien nearly dropped her. He had been prepared for her to wake at the jostling, see his face so close and scream, flail and struggle to get away, but instead she’d once again utterly baffled him and—what was this? Snuggling? His stomach turned over. “What do I do with this?” he asked the room.

I tell Mum she married a patriarch Look at it this way, Amma, she says, your father was born male in Ghana in the 1920s whereas you were born female in London in the 1960s And your point is? You really can’t expect him to ‘get you’, as you put it I let her know she’s an apologist for the patriarchy and complicit in a system that oppresses all women She says human beings are complex I tell her not patronize me

was never told off for speaking her mind, although she was told off for swearing because she needed to develop her vocabulary (Yazz, say you find Marissa unpleasant or unlikeable rather than describing her as a shit-faced smelly bottom) and although she didn’t always get what she wanted, if she argued her case strongly enough, she was in with a chance Amma wanted her daughter to be free, feminist and powerful

My thoughts shift to my friends. I'd been so angry with them for grabbing my pain from me in the wake of the News. But maybe my friends were loving me the best way they knew how, just like I was trying to love Amma. We think our job as humans is to avoid pain, our job as parents is to protect our children from pain, and our job as friends is to fix each other's pain. Maybe that's why we all feel like failures so often--because we all have the wrong job description for love. What my friends didn't know about me and I didn't know about Amma is that people who are hurting don't need Avoiders, Protectors, or Fixers. What we need are patient, loving witnesses. People to sit quietly and hold space for us. People to stand in helpless vigil to our pain. There on the floor, I promise myself that I'll be that kind of mother, that kind of friend. I'll show up and stand humble in the face of a loved one's pain. I'll admit I'm as empty-handed, dumbstruck, and out of ideas as she is. I won't try to make sense of things or require more than she can offer. I won't let my discomfort with her pain keep me from witnessing it for her. I'l never try to grab or fix her pain, because I know that for as long as it takes, he pain will also be her comfort. It will be all she has left. Grief is love's souvenir. It's our proof that we once loved. Grief is the receipt we wave in the air that says to the world: Look! Love was once mine. I loved well. Here is my proof that I paid the price. So I'll just show up and sit quietly and practice not being God with her. I'm so sorry, I'll say. Thank you for trusting me enough to invite me close. I see your pain and it's real. I'm so sorry.

Leaving Amma behind was like stepping away from a fire on the coldest night of winter. She felt like home, safe and familiar. Like every scolding and every supper i"d ever had, everything that had been me. The closer I was to her,the warmer I felt... but in the en, it made cold feel that much more colder when I walked away. Was it worth it? Felling better for a minute or two knowing that the cold would still be out there waiting.

Come on, Amma, you can’t care that much,” I said, touching her shoulder. “I did.” I couldn’t take it, I was losing ground, feeling that dangerous need to please, just like the old days. And really, one wasn’t going to kill me.

Just forgive her in the name of God,” Amma said of Abida. “Maybe it’s good for you and her that she moved on with her life. Think positively that God gave your life back not to destroy with someone who failed to keep her promise.

Yeah, she likes that one,” Amma mumbled. “You fall asleep all hot and drooly, and then she can bring her friends in to look at you.” “She’s done this before?” My body went cold under the sweat. I was right: Something horrible was about to happen

müslümanlık nerde, bizden geçmiş insanlık bile... âlem aldatmaksa maksat, aldanan yok, nâfile! kaç hakikî müslüman gördümse: hep makberdedir; müslümanlık, bilmem amma, galiba göklerdedir! istemem dursun o pâyansız mefâhir bir yana... gösterin ecdâda az çok benzeyen bir kan bana! isterim sizlerde görmek ırkınızdan yâdigâr! çok değil ancak! necip evlâda lâyık tek şiâr. varsa şayet, söyleyin bir parçacık insâfınız: böyle kansız mıydı – hâşâ – kahraman eslâfınız ? böyle düşmüş müydü herkes ayrılık sevdâsına? benzeyip şîrâzesiz bir mushafın eczâsına, hiç görülmüş müydü olsun kayd-ı vahdet târumâr? böyle olmuş muydu millet can evinden rahnedar? böyle açlıktan boğazlar mıydı kardeş kardeşi? böyle adet miydi, bî-pervâ, yemek insan leşi?

In Amma’s snideness, I caught a whiff of desperation and righteousness. Like she’d whined at breakfast: "I wish I’d be murdered." Amma didn’t want anyone to get more attention than her. Certainly not girls who couldn’t compete when they were alive.

Through the ages, countless yogis, spiritual masters, and enlightened beings such as Gautama Buddha, Jesus, Lao Tzu, Mahavira, Ramakrishna, and modern mystics such as Amma, Adyashanti, Eckhart Tolle, and Sadhguru, among many others, have all spoken about Oneness.

Amma found herself staring at Damien again, this time outwardly, and when he inquired what was on her mind, she did not look away. “You could have left them, or even killed them, but you helped them instead. That was very sweet of you.” “Oh, Amma, thank you.” She beamed at his sudden appreciation for the compliment, then her smile faltered. “Wait, really?” He pressed a hand to his stomach. “Yes, of course—you’ve rectified the fact you’ve given away all of our food: I don’t think I’ll ever have an appetite again after being called sweet.

Amma wanted her daughter to be free, feminist and powerful Later she took her on personal development courses for children to give her the confidence and articulacy to flourish in any setting Big mistake Mum, Yazz said at fourteen when she was pitching to go to Reading Music Festival with her friends, it would be to the detriment of my juvenile development if you curtailed my activities at this critical stage in my journey towards becoming the independent-minded and fully self-expressed adult you expect me to be, I mean, do you really want me rebelling against your old-fashioned rules by running away from the safety of my home to live on the streets and having to resort to prostitution to survive and thereafter drug addiction, crime, anorexia and abusive relationships with exploitative bastards twice my age before my early demise in a crack house? Amma fretted the whole weekend her little girl way away

Ey gecemde rüyam, günümde hayalim!Senden utanıyorum...Yüzüm karadır... Amma ne yapayım ki ben bir inciyim..Alan da başkasıdır; satan da..Felek beni mezada salınca, kim benim irademe hak tanır?..Ben neler çekmekteyim sensiz, sevinçli olduğumu düşünme...Öyle dertlere giriftarım ki, senin için ağlayamıyorum bile... O kadar ki, ağlamak için önce bahane bulmam gerek...Bu halimle beni mutlu bilme, mezarda bil...Bela, kolumu kanadımı kırdı;derdimin ne olduğunu bilmez hale geldim... Peki ama sen nerdesin?Teselli yerine acı sözlerinle derdimi arttırmak reva mı?Yiğit olan sensin; irade sahibi sen..Araması gereken sen, alması gereken de.. O halde nerdesin?

In just a moon, your painfully sweet voice has challenged all of my darkest thoughts, your wildly inaccurate yet optimistic outlook has clouded my sight, and your incessant kindness to me—to someone who deserves not a drop of your patience and affection and good will—has undone twenty-seven years of training to be evil. For darkness’s sake, woman, you’ve made me good, and believe when I say that it feels like falling interminably through the Abyss every moment I am not burying my cock in you, but I could not bear it if you woke tomorrow and thought I had hurt you.” Amma’s eyes went wide, breath refusing to come. And then a giggle broke out of her without permission. Damien’s

Vice President Gore, Richard Clarke, and Madeleine Albright were “strong support[ers]” of the program, joining in President Clinton’s “intense” interest in it.5 Egypt’s most famous terrorist, Talaat Fouad Qassem, was “seized in Croatia, flown to the USS Adriatic, a navy warship, interrogated, then flown to Egypt for [torture and] execution.”6 Egypt’s secret police, the Gihaz al-Mukhabarat al-Amma, is widely known for its brutal torture regime, “real Macho interrogation . . . enhanced interrogation techniques on steroids” and was used by both Presidents Bush and Clinton.7 Congress attempted to end this program in 1998. The Foreign Affairs Reform and Restructuring Act slipped in a passage making it the policy of the United States not to “expel, extradite, or otherwise effect the involuntary return of any person to a country in which there are substantial grounds for believing the person would be in danger of being subjected to torture, regardless of whether the person is physically present in the United States.”8 Clinton vetoed the bill in late October,

We are all beads strung together on the same thread of love

Spirituality is all about the heart. It has got nothing to do with religiosity

forgiveness happens when you know that the other is not responsible.

You are unique in your own existence.

Change will occur in the life of those who try

Within the magic of the asking, lives the magic to receive, wonderfully exciting, endless possibilities!

I don't know what I'm trying to say. I don't know what any of this is really about. Why we bother. Why we're here. Why we love. ... There is a point, I don't know what it is, but everything I've had, and everything I've lost, and everything I've felt—it meant something. Maybe there isn't a meaning to life. Maybe there's only a meaning to living. That's what I've learned. That's what I'm going to be doing from now on. Living. And loving, sappy as it sounds. I'm not falling anymore. That's what L says, and she's right. I guess you could say I'm lying. We both are. And I'm pretty sure somewhere up there in the real blue sky and carpenter bee greatness, Amma is flying too. We all are, depending on how you look at it. Flying or falling, it's up to us. Because the sky isn't really made of blue paint, and there aren't just two kinds of people in this world, the stupid and the stuck. We only think there are. Don't waste your time with either—with anything. It's not worth it. You can ask my mom, if it's the right kind of starry night. The kind with two Caster moons and a Northern and a Southern Star. At least I know I can.

But I felt it now. Something was wrong, right here, very horribly wrong. I could picture Bob Nash sitting on the edge of Ann’s bed, trying to remember the last thing he said to his daughter. I saw Natalie’s mother, crying into one of her old T-shirts. I saw me, a despairing thirteen-year-old sobbing on the floor of my dead sister’s room, holding a small flowered shoe. Or Amma, thirteen herself, a woman-child with a gorgeous body and a gnawing desire to be the baby girl my mother mourned. My mother weeping over Marian. Biting that baby. Amma, asserting her power over lesser creatures, laughing as she and her friends cut through Natalie’s hair, the curls falling to the tile floor. Natalie, stabbing at the eyes of a little girl. My skin was screaming, my ears banged with my heartbeat. I closed my eyes, wrapped my arms around myself, and wept.

She opened the book. “Don’t,” said Arin. “Please.” But she had already seen the inscription. For Arin, it read, from Amma and Etta, with love. This was Arin’s home. This house had been his, this library his, this book his, dedicated to him by his parents, some ten years ago. Kestrel breathed slowly. Her fingers rested on the page, just below the black line of writing. She lifted her gaze to meet Irex’s smirk. Her mind chilled. She assessed the situation as her father would a battle. She knew her objective. She knew her opponent’s. She understood what she could afford to lose, and what she could not. Kestrel closed the book, set it on a table, and turned her back to Arin. “Lord Irex,” she said, her voice warm. “It is but a book.” “It is my book,” Irex said. There was a choked sound behind her. Without looking, Kestrel said in Herrani, “Do you wish to be removed from the room?” Arin’s answer was low. “No.” “Then be silent.” She smiled at Irex. In their language, she said, “This is clearly not a case of theft. Who would dare steal from you? I’m certain he meant only to look at it. You can’t blame him for being curious about the luxuries your house holds.” “He shouldn’t have even been inside the library, let alone touching its contents. Besides, there were witnesses. A judge will rule in my favor. This is my property, so I will decide the number of lashes.” “Yes, your property. Let us not forget that we are also discussing my property.” “He will be returned to you.” “So the law says, but in what condition? I am not eager to see him damaged. He holds more value than a book in a language no one has any interest in reading.” Irex’s dark eyes flicked to look behind Kestrel, then returned to her. They grew sly. “You take a decided interest in your slave’s well-being. I wonder to what lengths you will go to prevent a punishment that is rightfully mine to give.” He rested a hand on her arm. “Perhaps we can settle the matter between us.” Kestrel heard Arin inhale as he understood Irex’s suggestion. She was angry, suddenly, at the way her mind snagged on the sound of that sharp breath. She was angry at herself, for feeling vulnerable because Arin was vulnerable, and at Irex for his knowing smile. “Yes.” Kestrel decided to twist Irex’s words into something else. “This is between us, and fate.” Having uttered the formal words of a challenge to a duel, Kestrel stepped back from Irex’s touch, drew her dagger, and held it sideways at the level of her chest like a line drawn between him and her. “Kestrel,” Irex said. “That isn’t what I had in mind when I said we might solve the matter.” “I think we’ll enjoy this method more.” “A challenge.” He tsked. “I’ll let you take it back. Just this one.” “I cannot take it back.” At that, Irex drew his dagger and imitated Kestrel’s gesture. They stood still, then sheathed their blades. “I’ll even let you choose the weapons,” Irex said. “Needles. Now it is to you to choose the time and place.” “My grounds. Tomorrow, two hours from sunset. That will give me time to gather the death-price.” This gave Kestrel pause. But she nodded, and finally turned to Arin. He looked nauseated. He sagged in the senators’ grip. It seemed they weren’t restraining him, but holding him up. “You can let go,” Kestrel told the senators, and when they did, she ordered Arin to follow her. As they left the library, Arin said, “Kestrel--” “Not a word. Don’t speak until we are in the carriage.

Bu lanet olasıca dünya,” dedi, “her şey amma da karmaşık! Şimdiye kadar hiç hayatım olmadı. Ne zaman başlayacak merak ediyorum. On altı yıl boyunca dadıların ve öğretmenlerin kendi paşa keyiflerine göre davranmalarına katlan; beş yılı Londra’da tıp inekleyerek geçir -rezil yemekler, kötü odalar, kötü giysiler, kötü alışkanlıklar, bir hata ve- başka ne yapabilirdim bilmiyorum, sonra da bu hayvanlarla dolu adaya düş. Burada on yıl! Ne için bütün bunlar Prendick? Biz bir bebeğin şişirdiği çikletler miyiz?

We think our job as humans is to avoid pain, our job as parents is to protect our children from pain, and our job as friends is to fix each other's pain. Maybe that's why we all feel like failures so often - because we have the wrong job description for love. What my friends didn't know about me and I didn't know about Amma is that people who are hurting don't need Avoiders, Protectors, or Fixers. What we need are patient, loving witnesses. People to sit quietly and hold space for us. People to stand in helpless vigil to our pain.

It is almost May 12, one year exactly from my return to Wind Gap. The date also happens to be Mother’s Day this year. Clever. Sometimes I think about that night caring for Amma, and how good I was at soothing her and calming her. I have dreams of washing Amma and drying her brow. I wake with my stomach turning and a sweaty upper lip. Was I good at caring for Amma because of kindness? Or did I like caring for Amma because I have Adora’s sickness? I waver between the two, especially at night, when my skin begins to pulse. Lately, I’ve been leaning toward kindness.

It is almost May 12, one year exactly from my return to Wind Gap. The date also happens to be Mother’s Day this year. Clever. Sometimes I think about that night caring for Amma, and how good I was at soothing her and calming her. I have dreams of washing Amma and drying her brow. I wake with my stomach turning and a sweaty upper lip. Was I good at caring for Amma because of kindness? Or did I like caring for Amma because I have Adora’s sickness? I waver between the two, especially at night, when my skin begins to pulse. Lately, I’ve been leaning toward kindness.

Is there any fire without smoke?” he asked in the afternoon. He sat in the big chair, the light of the sunset from the open door on his face. “No,” I said. “And what is smoke?” “The impurities which are expelled because they cannot be consumed by the fire.” “Correct,” he nodded briefly.

It’s like this,” Mayuri had once explained, citing the several thousand pounds and five years in therapy she had spent to find herself. “You keep going to a bookstore and asking for a dozen red roses. They obviously don’t have red roses and you come home disappointed. That’s what’s going on with your mother. You keep expecting roses and keep getting disappointed. I know not to ask for roses at a bookstore. That’s why I have no issues with my amma.” “You make it sound so easy,” Priya said. “I didn’t say it was easy,” Mayuri said. “It took me a long time and a lot of effort. There were a lot of tequila shots, irresponsible one-night stands, and shrinks involved.

Amma closes the window, walks back, re-spreads herself languorously over the sofa, convince me why feminism getting a new lease of life isn’t a good thing, Dominique? isn’t it just what the doctor ordered? actually it’s the commodification of it that bugs me, Amma, once upon a time feminists were so vilified by the media it turned generations of women away from their own liberation because nobody wanted to be denounced as one, now they’re in a lovefest with it, have you seen all these glamorous photoshoots of stunning young feministas with their funky clothes and big attitude – until it’s no longer on trend feminism needs tectonic plates to shift, not a trendy make-over

zulmü alkışlayamam, zâlimi asla sevemem; gelenin keyfi için geçmişe kalkıp sövemem. biri ecdâdıma saldırdı mı, hattâ boğarım!.. - boğamazsın ki! - hiç olmazsa yanımdan koğarım. üç buçuk soysuzun ardında zağarlık yapamam; hele hak nâmına haksızlığa ölsem tapamam. doğduğumdan beridir âşıkım istiklâle, bana hiç tasmalık etmiş değil altın lâle! yumuşak başlı isem, kim dedi uysal koyunum? kesilir belki, fakat çekmeye gelmez boyunum! kanayan bir yara gördüm mü yanar tâ ciğerim, onu dindirmek için kamçı yerim, çifte yerim! adam aldırma da geç git, diyemem aldırırım. çiğnerim, çiğnenirim, hakkı tutar kaldırırım! zalimin hasmıyım amma severim mazlumu... irticâın şu sizin lehçede ma'nâsı bu mu?

We have some great museums. You'd love the lake." "I don't know that I can enjoy any kind of water anymore." "Why not?" I already knew. "After that little girl, little Ann Nash, was left in the creek to drown." She paused to take a sip of her iced tea. "I knew her, you know." Amma whined and began fidgeting in her seat. "She wasn't drowned though," I said, knowing my correction would annoy her. "She was strangled. She just ended up in the creek." "And then the Keene girl. I was fond of both of them. Very fond." She stared away wistfully, and Alan put his hand over hers. Amma stood up, released a little scream the way an excited puppy might suddenly bark, and ran upstairs. "Poor thing," my mother said. "She's having nearly as hard a time as I am." "She actually saw the girls every day, so I'm sure she is," I said peevishly in spite of myself. "How did you know them?" "Wind Gap, I need not remind you, is a small town. They were sweet, beautiful little girls. Just beautiful." "But you didn't really know them." "I did know them. I knew them well." "How?" "Camille, please try not to do this. I've just told you that I am upset and unnerved, and instead of being comforting, you attack me." "So. You've sworn off all bodies of water in the future, then?" My mother emitted a quick, creaky sound. "You need to shut up now, Camille." She folded the napkin around the remains of her pear like a swaddling and left the room. Alan followed her with his manic whistling, like an old-time piano player lending drama to a silent movie.

Lady Kestrel?” said an anxious voice. Kestrel opened her eyes to see a girl dressed in a Herrani serving uniform. “Yes?” “Will you please follow me? There is a problem with your escort.” Kestrel stood. “What’s wrong?” “He has stolen something.” Kestrel rushed from the room, wishing the girl would move more quickly down the villa’s halls. There must be some mistake. Arin was intelligent, far too canny to do something so dangerous. He must know what happened to Herrani thieves. The girl led Kestrel into the library. Several men were gathered there: two senators, who held Arin by his arms, and Irex, whose expression when he saw Kestrel was gloating, as if he had just drawn a high tile in Bite and Sting. “Lady Kestrel,” he said, “what exactly did you bring into my house?” Kestrel looked at Arin, who refused to return her gaze. “He wouldn’t steal.” She heard something desperate in her voice. Irex must have, too. He smiled. “We saw him,” said one of the senators. “He was slipping that inside his shirt.” He nodded at a book that had fallen to the floor. No. The accusation couldn’t be true. No slave would risk a flogging for theft, not for a book. Kestrel steadied herself. “May I?” she asked Irex, nodding at the fallen book. He swept a hand to indicate permission. Kestrel stooped to retrieve the book, and Arin’s eyes flashed to hers. Her heart failed. His face was twisted with misery. She considered the closed, leather-bound book in her hands. She recognized the title: it was a volume of Herrani poetry, a common one. There was a copy in her library as well. Kestrel held the book, not understanding, not seeing anything worth the risk of theft--at least not here, from Irex’s library, when her own could easily serve Arin’s purposes. A suspicion whispered in her mind. She recalled Arin’s odd question in the carriage. Where are we going? His tone had been incredulous. Yet he had known their destination. Now Kestrel wondered if he had recognized something in the passing landscape that she hadn’t, and if his question had been less a question than the automatic words of someone sickened by a sudden understanding. She opened the book. “Don’t,” said Arin. “Please.” But she had already seen the inscription. For Arin, it read, from Amma and Etta, with love. This was Arin’s home. This house had been his, this library his, this book his, dedicated to him by his parents, some ten years ago.

We had no compunction toward our enemies [the ants] and took to increasingly desperate and violent means of dealing with them. If we noticed they'd laid siege to a snack, we might trap them in a circle drawn with water and take away whatever they were eating, then watch them scurry about in confusion before wiping them off the floor with a wet cloth. I took pleasure in seeing them shrivel into black points when burning coals were rolled over them. When they attacked an unwashed pan or cup they'd soon be mercilessly drowned. I suppose initially each of us did these things only when we were alone, but in time, we began to be openly cruel. We came around to Amma's view of them as demons come to swallow our home and became a family that took pleasure in their destruction. We might have changed houses since, but habits are harder to change.

சமைக்கத்தான் தெரியுமோ? இல்லை, பாடசாலைப் பையன்களுக்கு என்றுதான் இப்படிச் சமைத்தானோ - குழம்பு, ரசம், எல்லாவற்றிலும் ஒரு புளிவேகம் அடிக்கும். பரிசாரகனின் கையே புளியால் செய்ததோ என்னவோ? அவன் தொட்டதெல்லாம் புளிப்பது போலிருக்கும். மிளகாய், மஞ்சள் பொடி, உப்பு, கொத்தமல்லி - இத்தனையும் உலகில் மண்டிக்கிடக்கிற பொழுது எப்படித்தான் இந்தப் புளி வாடையை அவன் கொண்டு வருகிறானோ! பாடசாலையைத் தவிர வேறு எங்குச் சாப்பிட்டாலும் மணமாகத்தானிருக்கும் பிள்ளைகளுக்கு

If you want to change your life for the better, simple, just choose health for yourself and others, every step, every mode, and every turn; in your psyche, emotions, mental focus, and body; in your thoughts, words, and deeds. Start with the part of your being that your will and willingness currently have a better hold on. It is the body for some, mental focus for some, emotion and psyche for others. And then as you begin to see yourself get healthier and stronger, and hence happier, apply the realized health, strength, and happiness to choose health toward your whole being, past the part of your being you started with, and then you see very quickly that infinite happiness is you, supreme wisdom is you, indomitable power is you, and that you are the sole (soul :) ) Universe potential, and have always been! Unconditional health be you always! Vijayi Bhava! Victory be yours! Amma, ‘A Iyer in Jose’s Well

You have been taught to live in fear. You have been told about the survival of the fittest and the victory of the strongest and the success of the cleverest. Precious little is said about the glory of the most loving. And so you strive to be the fittest, the strongest, the cleverest – in one way or another – and if you see yourself as something less than this in any situation, you fear loss, for you have been told that to be less is to lose.’ – ‘God’ in Conversations with God by Neale Donald Walsch