Au Pair Quotes

That was the thing about pictures--they were worth a thousand words, but sometimes they weren't the right ones.

sometimes, when the sun shines, it scorches.

Nellie grinned. "I always wanted to go to Venice. It's supposed to be the romance capital of the world." "Sweet," put in Dan. "Too bad your date is an Egyptian Mau on a hunger strike." The au pair sighed. "Better than an eleven-year-old with a big mouth.

The au pair was bug-eyed. "What happened back there?" "It's not our fault!" Dan babbled. "Those guys are crazy! They're like mini-Darth Vaders without the mask!" "They're Benedictine monks!" Nellie exclaimed. "They're men of peace! Most of them are under vows of silence!" "Yeah, well, not anymore," Dan told her. "They cursed us out pretty good. I don't know the language, but some things you don't have to translate.

I was glad to be made aware that “Veimke” (jeune fille au pair), is subject to natural law, and can be made fat, by such things as poor diet, and alcohol.

I've had nannies and au pairs. I have tutors and a trainer and a shrink. I know paid-nice. It comes with gritted teeth.

I can appreciate that,” says Henry. He’s adding to the list. I look over his shoulder. Sex Pistols, the Clash, Gang of Four, Buzzcocks, Dead Kennedys, X, the Mekons, the Raincoats, the Dead Boys, New Order, the Smiths, Lora Logic, the Au Pairs, Big Black, Pil, the Pixies, the Breeders, Sonic Youth… Henry, they’re not going to be able to get any of that up here.” He nods, and jots the phone number and address for Vintage Vinyl at the bottom of the sheet. “You do have a record player, right?” My parents have one,” Bobby says. Henry winces. What do you really like?” I ask Jodie. I feel as though she’s fallen out of the conversation during the male bonding ritual Henry and Bobby are conducting. Prince,” she admits. Henry and I let out a big Whoo! And I start singing “1999” as loud as I can, and Henry jumps up and we’re doing a bump and grind across the kitchen. Laura hears us and runs off to put the actual record on and just like that, it’s a dance party.

Amy turned to Nellie. "Can you create a diversion to draw the clerk outside?" The au pair was wary. "What kind of diversion?" "You could pretend to be lost," Dan proposed. "The guy comes out to give you directions, and we slip inside." "That's the most sexist idea I've ever heard," Nellie said harshly. "I'm female, so I have to be clueless. He's male, so he's got a great sense of direction." "Maybe you're from out of town," Dan suggested. "Wait–you are from out of town." Nellie stashed their bags under a bench and set Saladin on the seat with a stern "You're the watchcat. Anybody touches those bags, unleash your inner tiger." The Egyptian Mau surveyed the street uncertainly. "Mrrp." Nellie sighed. "Lucky for us there's no one around. Okay, I'm going in there. Be ready." The clerk said something to her–probably May I help you? She smiled apologetically. "I don't speak Italian." "Ah–you are American." His accent was heavy, but he seemed eager to please. "I will assist you." He took in her black nail polish and nose ring. "Punk, perhaps, is your enjoyment?" "More like a punk/reggae fusion," Nellie replied thoughtfully. "With a country feel. And operatic vocals." The clerk stared in perplexity. Nellie began to tour the aisles, pulling out CDs left and right. "Ah–Artic Monkeys–that's what I'm talking about. And some Bad Brains–from the eighties. Foo Fighters–I'll need a couple from those guys. And don't forget Linkin Park..." He watched in awe as she stacked up an enormous armload of music. "There," she finished, slapping Frank Zappa's Greatest Hits on top of the pile. "That should do for a start." "You are a music lover," said the wide-eyed cashier. "No, I'm a kleptomaniac." And she dashed out the door.

Het eerste waar Nederlanders aan denken, als ze iets willen verkrijgen dat hun eigen land niet oplevert, is niet het zelf te gaan maken, maar het te zoeken in den vreemde.

Now that she decided she knew exactly what she wanted –him- she couldn’t wait to break the news. And if he didn’t want her, she could live with that – what she wouldn’t be able to live with was if she never told him.

When you get older, you notice your sheets are dirty. Sometimes, you do something about it. And sometimes, you read the front page of the newspaper and sometimes you floss and sometimes you stop biting your nails and sometimes you meet a friend for lunch. You still crave lemonade, but the taste doesn’t satisfy you as much as it used to. You still crave summer, but sometimes you mean summer, five years ago. You remember your umbrella, you check up on people to see if they got home, you leave places early to go home and make toast. You stand by the toaster in your underwear and a big t-shirt, wondering if you should just turn in or watch one more hour of television. You laugh at different things. You stop laughing at other things. You think about old loves almost like they are in a museum. The socks, you notice, aren’t organized into pairs and you mentally make a note of it. You cover your mouth when you sneeze, reaching for the box of tissues you bought, contains aloe. When you get older, you try different shampoos. You find one you like. You try sleeping early and spin class and jogging again. You try a book you almost read but couldn’t finish. You wrap yourself in the blankets of: familiar t-shirts, caffe au lait, dim tv light, texts with old friends or new people you really want to like and love you. You lose contact with friends from college, and only sometimes you think about it. When you do, it feels bad and almost bitter. You lose people, and when other people bring them up, you almost pretend like you know what they are doing. You try to stop touching your face and become invested in things like expensive salads and trying parsnips and saving up for a vacation you really want. You keep a spare pen in a drawer. You look at old pictures of yourself and they feel foreign and misleading. You forget things like: purchasing stamps, buying more butter, putting lotion on your elbows, calling your mother back. You learn things like balance: checkbooks, social life, work life, time to work out and time to enjoy yourself. When you get older, you find yourself more in control. You find your convictions appealing, you find you like your body more, you learn to take things in stride. You begin to crave respect and comfort and adventure, all at the same time. You lay in your bed, fearing death, just like you did. You pull lint off your shirt. You smile less and feel content more. You think about changing and then often, you do.

I miss being a mistress. I enjoyed it. I loved it, in fact. I never felt guilty. I pretended I did. I had to, with my married girlfriends, the ones who live in terror of the pert au pair or the pretty, funny girl in the office who can talk about football and spends half her life in the gym. I had to tell them that of course I felt terrible about it, of course I felt bad for his wife, I never meant for any of this to happen, we fell in love, what could we do?

I am not a people pleaser. I am not a person who says things because she thinks it will make the other person happy, nor am I a person who offers things she cannot deliver because I want the other person to like me.

You must work to live, not live to work.

Ian nodded. Do not question her, he told himself. Not when she is in a state like this. Still, it was a pity to attack them with such force. Especially the girl, Amy. He'd never met anyone like her. Shy. Gentle. With an exciting edge of hostility. So unlike the girls back home, who flung themselves at him so often that his chauffeurs traveled with first-aid kits. Doesn't she know better? Isn't she smart enough to stop the hunt? It was the boy and the au pair. He was a pint-sized hothead. She was a collection of piercings and piggishness. If only Amy and Dan had stayed trapped in the cave in Seoul, at least long enough to get discouraged. Why did they antagonize Mother? They don't know what it's like to live with her. "Right you are," Ian said. "They're asking for it. Heaven forbid they listen to the brains of the outfit." "And that would be–?" Isabel asked. Ian looked away. "Well, the sister, I'd say. Amy." He felt a smile inching across his face. "Ian?" His mother grabbed his wrist. "If you are having the inkling of a shadow of a thought..." "Mother!" Ian could feel the blood rushing to his face. "How could you suspect for a moment...?

Reflection, and Loneliness. Awwww. I also call this stage the “My Chemical Romance Sea of Emo Sad.” You’re thinking about life before children, trying to calculate how much an au pair would cost, or whether the grandparents would consider joint custody.

If you want to talk about it with someone, then I`m happy to listen, or try and help, but you should only tell me if you want to.

Applaus," zei hij, "wat een vreselijke manier om een kunstenaar te belonen. Hij heeft zich ingespannen de mooiste muziek te zingen of te spelen en het brengt zijn publiek tot niets anders dan het maken van het eentonigste lawaai dat er bestaat.

To 'live', to be truly alive, it is not enough simply to breathe, to suffer, nor even to be happy; life is a secret that cannot be discovered on one’s own. True living is done in pairs.

Le voilà le grand drame de notre société: Même les riches ne font plus envie. Ils sont gros, moches, et vulgaires, leurs femmes sont liftées, ils vont en prison, leurs enfants se droguent, ils ont des goûts de ploucs, ils posent pour Gala. Les riches d'aujourd'hui ont oublié que l'argent est un moyen non une fin. Ils ne savent plus quoi en faire. Au moins quand on est pauvre, on peut se dire qu'avec du fric, tout s'arrangerait. Mais quand on est riche, on ne peut pas se dire qu'avec une nouvelle baraque dans le Midi, une autre voiture de sport, une paire de pompes à 12000 balles, ou un mannequin supplémentaire, tout s'arrangerait. Quand on est riche, on n'a plus d'excuse. C'est pour ça que tout les milliardaires sont sous Prozac ; parce qu'ils ne font plus rêver personne, même pas eux !

Forever feels a long time when you're eighteen. When you're away from home for the first time in your life, when you forge instant friendships that are so strong they are destined, surely, to be with you until the bitter end.

That's the problem with lying. You can never remember what you've said.

In Amsterdam. Eeuwen geleden het centrum van Europa, nu een gore provinciestad vol boeven, hoeren en ruïnes, maar door de burgemeester nog altijd voor een wereldstad gehouden.

That was the problem these days--everything was considered disposable--clothes, cell phones, relationships.

Fro some people being an au pair might seem to be a fairytale, but it could actually be your worst nightmare.

Wie niet helemaal bereikt wat hij bereiken wil, raakt niet los van de vraag, of hij niet beter elke moeite iets te bereiken zou kunnen opgeven, in plaats van te doen of iets anders bereiken hem kan troosten voor het feit dat hij niet bereikt heeft, wat hij oorspronkelijk wou.

La tournée terminée, Tom et Roger pensèrent qu'après le succès de I Shot The Sheriff, ce serait bien de descendre dans les Caraïbes pour continuer sur le thème du reggae. Ils organisèrent un voyage en Jamaïque, où ils jugeaient qu'on pourrait fouiner un peu et puiser dans l'influence roots avant d'enregistrer. Tom croyait fermement au bienfait d'exploiter cette source, et je n'avais rien contre puisque ça voulait dire que Pattie et moi aurions une sorte de lune de miel. Kingston était une ville où il était fantastique de travailler. On entendant de la musique partout où on allait. Tout le monde chantait tout le temps, même les femmes de ménage à l'hotel. Ce rythme me rentrait vraiment dans le sang, mais enregistrer avec les Jamaïcains était une autre paire de manches. Je ne pouvais vraiment pas tenir le rythme de leur consommation de ganja, qui était énorme. Si j'avais essayé de fumer autant ou aussi souvent, je serais tombé dans les pommes ou j'aurais eu des hallucinations. On travaillait aux Dynamic Sound Studios à Kingston. Des gens y entraient et sortaient sans arrêt, tirant sur d'énormes joints en forme de trompette, au point qu'il y avait tant de fumée dans la salle que je ne voyais pas qui était là ou pas. On composait deux chansons avec Peter Tosh qui, affalé sur une chaise, avait l'air inconscient la plupart du temps. Puis, soudain, il se levait et interprétait brillamment son rythme reggae à la pédale wah-wah, le temps d'une piste, puis retombait dans sa transe à la seconde où on s'arrêtait.

But what if scrambling to pay the bills takes every minute of your day, every ounce of your creativity? What if you can't afford an au pair? What if you can't even afford an ordinary babysitter?

La notte e vicina per me. Those were the words that an elderly Italian woman, an old crone who swept the stairs, had uttered to Fran when she was working as an au pair girl in Florence, a hundred years ago.

I miss being a mistress. I enjoyed it. I loved it, in fact. I never felt guilty. I pretended I did. I had to, with my married girlfriends, the ones who live in terror of the pert au pair or the pretty, funny girl in the office who can talk about football and spends half her life in the gym. I had to tell them that of course I felt terrible about it, of course I felt bad for his wife, I never meant for any of this to happen, we fell in love, what could we do? The truth is, I never felt bad for Rachel.... She just wasn’t real to me, and anyway, I was enjoying myself too much. Being the other woman is a huge turn-on, there’s no point denying it: you’re the one he can’t help but betray his wife for, even though he loves her. That’s just how irresistible you are.

It’s all about that cosy, homey feeling, the one you leave behind when you travel across the world.

And now this talk of bringing the UN back into the picture. But that old UN girl - it turns out that she just ain't what she was cracked up to be. She's been demoted (although she retains her high salary). Now she's the world's janitor. She's the Filipino cleaning lady, the Indian jamardini, the postal bride from Thailand, the Mexican household help, the Jamaican au pair. She's employed to clean other people's shit. She's used and abused at will.

She really did trust Eliza. People made mistakes. She understood that now. And as Happy as she was to be with Ryan again, her friendship with Eliza was just as important. You only met a few kindred spirits in your life, and you had to hold on to the ones you were lucky enough to find.

You have something,” the man behind the counter said one morning, gesturing to his chin with long brown fingers. I just waved my hand. There was toothpaste crusted all over my face, I discovered later. After a few months of sloppy, half-asleep patronage, the Egyptians started calling me “boss” and readily accepted my fifty cents when I asked for a loosie, which I did often. I could have gone to any number of places for coffee, but I liked the bodega. It was close, and the coffee was consistently bad, and I didn’t have to confront anyone ordering a brioche bun or no-foam latte. No children with runny noses or Swedish au pairs.

Wat had je eraan, alleen feiten in je hoofd te stampen en daarmee over de smerige straten van Amsterdam te sjokken, met studiegenoten die vol platvloerse politieke ideeën zaten, die nergens anders op uit waren dan hun leermeesters te treiteren, en, zonder te genieten van wat ze moesten leren, hun kille wrok met allerlei onzin bot te vieren?

Eddie would have loved the publicity. His old friends said he should have worn a T-shirt emblazoned ‘I am a Spy for MI5.’ The last time I met him he described how he had missed a fortune in ermine (to be used in coronation robes) during a furs robbery, because he thought it was rabbit. He also said he successfully convinced a German au pair girl that he was a post office telephone engineer, and robbed the wall safe. He was also once visited by an income tax inspector, and produced a doctor’s certificate that he had a weak heart and could not be ‘caused stress.’ Ten minutes later, he drove, in a Rolls-Royce, past the inspector waiting in the rain at a bus stop, and gave him a little wave.

Pourquoi ne l'as-tu pas tué ? me demanda-t-elle. – Il n'y a pas de fatalité. J'en suis la preuve vivante, et je me sens pareil à cet enfant par les origines. De même que je ne puis avoir la certitude d'être le maître absolu de la destinée d'Arthur, tu ne peux non plus espérer contrôler totalement le devenir de ton fils. Ainsi il n'y a pas de fatalité ni dans la création ni dans la destruction, car deux choses échappent aux calculs les plus subtils de la prévoyance : l'âme et le hasard. Et même si tu parviens à faire de cet être un instrument parfait au service de ta haine de l'homme, il ne pourra nuire que si Arthur et ses pairs de la Table Ronde montrent folie ou faiblesse. Et s'ils sont fous ou faibles, qu'importe la cause de leur ruine, car le coupable ne sera pas toi, ni ton fils, mais eux-mêmes.

We pair off on the metal bridge in the hydra. Victra taking the right, me the left. My Praetorian is shorter than I. Her helmet off, hair in a tight bun, ready to proclaim the grand laurels of her family. “My name is Felicia au…” I feint a whip at her face. She brings her blade up, and Victra goes diagonal and impales her at the belly button. I finish her off with a neat decapitation. “Bye, Felicia,” Victra spits, turning to the last Praetorian.

You see, that will start, for instance, with the recognition that what you call good is very bad for other people, or what they call good is very bad for you. So you come to the conclusion that they are human beings too and they must have their point of view as you have yours. And then you are already out of it, already static, already au dessus de la mêlée. Of course you can take such a standpoint illegitimately before you have gone through the turmoil, just in order to avoid the conflict; people sometimes like to play that stunt, but that has no merit and they are tempted all the time to climb down into the turmoil. But if you have gone through the turmoil, if you cannot stand you any more, if the unconscious itself spits you out, then life itself spits you out as old Jonah was spit out by the whale; and then it islegitimate that you contentedly sit on the top of life, having a look at it. Then you can congeal the pairs of opposites in a beautiful static structure. Jung, C. G.. Nietzsche's Zarathustra: Notes of the Seminar given in 1934-1939. Two Volumes: 1-2, unabridged (Jung Seminars) (p. 1110-1111). Princeton University Press.

The only people who ever called me were my dad, my brother, assorted Vaders to tell me to come early or late to work (including Sean, but he always sounded grumpy that he had to call me, so it wasn’t as big a thrill as you’d think), Tammy to tell me to come early or late to tennis practice, and Frances. I glanced at the caller ID screen and clicked the phone on. “What’s up, Fanny?” From the time Mom died until I was eleven, Frances the au pair had hung out in the background of my life. Once Sean overheard someone calling her Fanny, whch apparently is a nickname for Frances. We found this shocking. I mean, who has a nickname that’s a synonym for derriere? Who’s named Frances in the first place? So the boys started calling her Fanny the Nanny. Then, Booty the Babysitter. Then, Butt I Don’t Need a Governess. This had everything to do with the nickname Fanny and the fact that she tried not to get upset at being addressed in this undignified manner when she was trying to raise compassionate, responsible children. It had nothing to do with her having an outsized rumpus. Frances had a cute figure, if you could see it under all that hippie-wear.

Papa-bobo précipité avec inquiétude sur mon genou saignant, qui va chercher les médicaments et s'installera des heures au chevet de mes varicelle, rougeole et coqueluche pour me lire Les Quatre Filles du docteur March ou jouer au pendu. Papa-enfant, "tu es plus bête qu'elle", dit-elle. Toujours prêt à m'emmener à la foire, aux films de Fernandel, à me fabriquer une paire d'échasses et à m'initier à l'argot d'avant la guerre, pépédéristal et autres cezigue pâteux qui me ravissent. Papa indispensable pour me conduire à l'école et m'attendre midi et soir, le vélo à la main, un peu à l'écart de la cohue des mères, les jambes de son pantalon resserrées en bas par des pinces en fer. Affolé par le moindre retard. Après, quand je serai assez grande pour aller seule dans les rues, il guettera mon retour. Un père déjà vieux émerveillé d'avoir une fille. Lumière jaune fixe des souvenirs, il traverse la cour, tête baissée à cause du soleil, une corbeille sous le bras. J'ai quatre ans, il m'apprend à enfiler mon manteau en retenant les manches de mon pull-over entre mes poings pour qu'elles ne boulichonnent pas en haut des bras. Rien que des images de douceur et de sollicitude. Chefs de famille sans réplique, grandes gueules domestiques, héros de la guerre ou du travail, je vous ignore, j'ai été la fille de cet homme-là.

The drinking became a little more of a problem when I went to university. My parents had never been particularly present while I was growing up, so one might presume if I was going to go off the rails, why not do it at home, but I saved it for when I went away. I was enough of a disappointment to my father. I didn’t need to give him yet another excuse to help me understand I was not the daughter he wanted. My mother had left her native America when she fell in love with my dad while working for a year as an au pair in Gerrards Cross. She seemed happy when I was very young, then spent most of my teenage years in what I have always thought must have been, albeit undiagnosed a deep, and possibly clinical, depression. I can understand why. What I couldn’t understand is how she ever ended up with my father in the first place. He was handsome, and I suppose he must have been charming when they were young, but he was so damned difficult, I used to think, even when I was young, that we’d all be much happier if they got a divorce. I would sit with friends who would be in floods of tears because their mother had just found out their father had been having an affair, or their parents had decided they hated each other, or whatever the myriad of reasons are that drive people apart, and these friends would be crying at the terrible fear of their families breaking up, and all I could think was: I wish my parents would get divorced. It seemed to me that if ever there were two people on the planet who should not have been together, it was my parents. My mother is laid-back, funny, kind. She’s comfortable in her skin and has the easy laugh you expect from all Americans. She was brought up in New York, but her parents died very young, after which she went to live with her Aunt Judith. I never knew Aunt Judith, but everything about those days sounds idyllic, especially her summers in Nantucket. You look at pictures of my mum from those days and she was in flowing, hippie-ish clothes, always smiling. She had long, silky hair, and she looked happy and free. In sharp contrast to the pictures of her with my dad, even in those early days, when they were newlyweds, supposedly the happiest time of a relationship. He insisted she wear buttoned-up suits, or twinsets and pearls. Her hair was elaborately coiffed. I remember the heated rollers she kept in the bathroom, twisting her hair up every morning, spraying it into tight submission, slicking lipstick on her lips, her feet sliding into Roger Vivier pumps. If my father was away, she left her hair long and loose, wrapping a scarf around her head. She’d wear long gypsy skirts with espadrilles or sandals. I loved her like that most of all. I used to think it was her clothing that changed her personality,

Er zijn momenten tijdens en gedurende mijn leven dat ik mezelf zal moeten dwingen, zoals het altijd al is geweest.

La non-valeur de ce travail [ménager] est induite institutionnellement par le contrat de mariage et que le contrat de mariage est un contrat de travail. Plus précisément c'est un contrat par lequel le chef e famille - le mari - s'approprie tout le travail effectué dans la famille puisqu'il peut le vendre sur le marché comme le sien propre, comme dans le cas de l'artisan ou de l'agriculteur. Inversement le travail de la femme est sans valeur parce qu'il ne peut pas être porté sur le marché, et il ne peut l'être en raison du contrat par lequel sa force de travail est appropriée par son mari. Cependant, le tiers environ des femmes mariées travaillent à l'extérieure. On constate que ceci va de pair avec l'extension de la production industrielle - et donc du salariat - et la diminution de la production familiale, artisanale ou commerciale. Dès lors que la production destinée à l'échange (au marché) est effectuée hors de la famille, sur le mode du salariat, dès lors que l'homme ne vend plus un produit mais son travail, la production marchande ne peut plus incorporer le travail gratuit des femmes. Celui-ci ne peut plus être utilisé que dans la production destinée à l'autoconsommation : la production de services domestiques et d'élevage des enfants. (p. 123-124)

I like seals,” he said to me, as if to excuse the apparent oddness of his taking the au pair to the zoo. Hmmm.

Au royaume qui est le nôtre, nous ne connaissons aucune distinction de rang, d'honneur, d'âge ou de force. Ce qui nous est commun, c'est un corps en proie à l'insoutenable torture de brûlants désirs, un coeur souffrant à la folie de la solitude. Ces cœurs affolés deviennent à minuit comme des bêtes féroces échappées de leur cage qui se lancent à la poursuite de leur proie toutes griffes dehors. A la lueur de la lune rougeoyante nous ressemblons à des somnambules, marchant sur l'ombre des uns et des autres, entamant une course insensée autour du bassin, sans trêve ni repos, tournant et retournant à la poursuite de l'énorme monstre de ce cauchemar jamais achevé d'amour et de désir. Dans les ténèbres, je posai le pied sur les marches de la terrasse qui surplombait le bassin et entrai dans le rang comme saisi d'une transe hypnotique ; sans le vouloir, je tournai autour de la pièce d'eau, encore et encore. Dans le noir, je vis défiler des paires d'yeux assoiffés d'espoir, enflammés de désir, consumés d'angoisse et de peur, comme autant de lucioles se heurtant les unes aux autres. Si épaisse, si sombre que fut la nuit, je sentis avec acuité un regard qui se portait chaque fois sur mon visage, telle une comète qui m'aurait heurté de plein fouet et brûlé la face. Je me sentis mal à l'aise, mon coeur palpitait, mais je n'avais aucun moyen d'éviter ces yeux. Le regard pénétrant se montrait si soutenu, si pressant, comme s'il attendait de moi le salut, comme s'il me suppliait pour je ne sais quoi. ~ p 33-34

Among the most prominent under-the-tree drinkers were a pair of characters named Red and Clarence. They were two of the biggest drinking carousers around, but when the spirit hit them, they could get very religious. Once Red had decided he had received the “gift of tongues,” a common practice in our Pentecostal church. He went to church a few times and would, on impulse, stand up and go into seemingly meaningless strings of syllables, to which the believers would respond with “Bless him, Lord.” The story is that one day Red and Clarence were downtown in a truck belonging to one of them, and Red looked out the window and was reading a sign, somewhat haltingly. “E-CON-O-MY-AU-TO-SUP-PLY, Economy Auto Supply,” Red sputtered, to which Clarence, assuming his friend had gone into “tongues,” quickly came back with, “Bless him, Lord.” That story circulated through the ranks of the church membership and was the source of great laughter for a time around the Parton household. It became something of a running joke that would crop up whenever anybody said anything that could be mistaken for “tongues.” Sunday morning, getting ready for church, a brother would say, “Come tie my bow tie,” and some smart-aleck sibling would shout, “Bless him, Lord,” and the rest of us would join in, all pretending to be caught up in the spirit.

Ce qui va suivre les marquera à jamais. La scène n'aura duré qu'une poignée de secondes, une minute tout au plus, mais ils ne seront plus les mêmes après cela, cette paire de flics inébranlables aux victoires forgées au cœur du mal aura disparu. Leur histoire commune, cette complicité bâtie au fil des ans, aura volé en éclats.

If you had any compassion, you'd realize that Lindsay's been working toward this her entire life, and that if she wanted to be your walking uterus and au pair, she'd have volunteered for that task years ago.

On s'extirpe de sa famille, puis de ses amis, un bras ou une jambe à la fois, os après os, souvenir après souvenir, quand on construit son couple, quand on devient la moitié d'une paire. Je pensais que le processus s'arrêtait là, que c'était l'étape finale. Je n'avais pas réalisé que le schéma se répétait ensuite. Que ce processus n'était pas un fil, mais un cercle : on passe d'une étape à une autre jusqu'à se retrouver au point de départ, de sorte qu'à la fin on revient à nouveau à la famille. On fabrique de nouveaux bras, de nouvelles jambes et de nouveaux os et on n'est plus une seule personne parce que, cette fois, on est vraiment constitué de deux êtres. Notre squelette abrite une autre vie, à l'intérieur de la nôtre. Ce lien ne pourra jamais être défait. Ces bras, ces jambes et ces os - cet être nouveau - existeront au-delà de notre corps. Et une partie de nous vivra pour toujours en dehors de nous. Notre cœur est maintenant deux cœurs et l'un d'eux est ailleurs.

Mais le soleil avait-il réellement le droit de briller dans des jours pareils ?

I’m forcibly reminded that he is the one – the one I have always, deep down, wanted to share my life at Summerbourne with. I’m so tempted to reach out and run my fingertips over the smooth skin of his arm, to step closer, to hold on to him.

I already know it could be no later, because on the same day Danny and I were born, our mother jumped from the cliffs behind our house and killed herself.

Une chaleur enivrante m'a enveloppée, comme si je me tenais au cœur d'un brasier. Je ne connaissais pas cette émotion, j'aurais été incapable de la nommer - sans doute parce que personne n'avait jamais cru en moi jusqu'à ce jour. Ou alors en une version de moi tout autre, moins capable. Locke, mon père et Jane avaient tous cru en la January timide qui hantait les couloirs de la Maison Locke, qui avait désespérément besoin de leur protection. Mais Samuel me regardait à présent comme s'il s'attendait à me voir manger du feu ou danser sur des nuages d'orages. Comme s'il s'attendait à me voir accomplir un acte miraculeux, courageux et impossible. Sa confiance était une armure que je revêtais, une paire d'ailes que je déployais, un océan au-delà de mes limites ; sa confiance se rapprochait dangereusement de l'amour. J'ai encore contemplé son visage l'espace d'une seconde avide, le temps de laisser sa foi pénétrer tous les pores de ma peau, puis je me suis tournée vers la porte. J'ai empli mes poumons d'air chargé d'iode et de fumée, consciente de la confiance de Samuel derrière moi tel un vent chaud gonflant la voile d'un navire, et j'ai posé la plume sur la page. La porte s'ouvre, ais-je écrit, et je croyais à chacune des lettres que j'avais couchées sur le papier.

Une des difficultés de la lutte politique aujourd'hui, c'est que les dominants, technocrates ou épistémocrates de droite ou de gauche, ont partie liée avec la raison et l'universel : on se dirige vers des univers dans lesquels il faudra de plus en plus de justifications techniques, rationnelles, pour dominer et dans lesquels les dominés, eux aussi, pourront et devront de plus en plus se servir de la raison pour se défendre contre la domination, puisque les dominants devront de plus en plus invoquer la raison, et la science, pour exercer leur domination. Ce qui fait que les progrès de la raison iront sans doute de pair avec le développement de formes hautement rationalisées de domination [...], et que la sociologie, seule en mesure de porter au jour ces mécanismes, devra plus que jamais choisir entre le parti de mettre ses instruments rationnels de connaissance au service d'une domination toujours plus rationnelle ou d'analyser rationnellement la domination et tout spécialement la contribution que la connaissance rationnelle peut apporter à la domination.

Line of AuNor, dragon bold Flows to me from days of old, And through years lost in the mist My blood names a famous list. By Air, by Water, by Fire, by Earth In pride I claim a noble birth. From EmLar Gray, a deadly deed By his flame Urlant was freed, Of fearsome hosts of blighters dark And took his reward: a golden ark! My Mother’s sire knew battle well Before him nine-score villages fell. When AuRye Red coursed the sky Elven arrows in vain would fly, He broke the ranks of men at will In glittering mines dwarves he’d kill. Grandsire he is through Father’s blood A river of strength in fullest flood. My egg was one of Irelia’s Clutch Her wisdom passed in mental touch. Mother took up before ever I woke The parent dragon’s heavy yoke; For me, her son, she lost her life Murderous dwarves brought blackened knife. A father I had in the Bronze AuRel Hunter of renown upon wood and fell He gave his clutch through lessons hard A chance at life beyond his guard. Father taught me where, and when, and how To fight or flee, so I sing now. Wistala, sibling, brilliant green Escaped with me the axes keen We hunted as pair, made our kill From stormy raindrops drank our fill When elves and dwarves took after us I told her “Run,” and lost her thus. Bound by ropes; by Hazeleye freed And dolphin-rescued in time of need I hid among men with fishing boats On island thick with blown sea-oats I became a drake and breathed first fire When dolphin-slaughter aroused my ire. I ran with wolves of Blackhard’s pack Killed three hunters on my track The Dragonblade’s men sought my hide But I escaped through a fangèd tide Of canine friends, assembled Thing Then met young Djer, who cut collar-ring. I crossed the steppes with dwarves of trade On the banks of the Vhydic Ironriders slayed Then sought out NooMoahk, dragon black And took my Hieba daughter back To find her kind; then took first flight Saw NooMoahk buried in honor right. When war came to friends I long had known My path was set, my heart was stone I sought the source of dreadful hate And on this Isle I met my fate Found Natasatch in a cavern deep So I had one more promise to keep. To claim this day my life’s sole mate In future years to share my fate A dragon’s troth is this day pledged To she who’ll see me fully fledged. Through this dragon’s life, as dragon-dame shall add your blood to my family’s fame.

The Nanny coloured brown on the day, I heard the dog bark.

Les âges passant et l'outil prenant toujours plus d'importance, ne voit-on pas déjà de vifs changements dans la société : un retour certain au conformisme, une recherche plus profonde de valeurs claires et reconnaissables, une habileté flagrante à résoudre les défis techniques au détriment des problèmes humains ? Tout cela va de pair. Pair, Impair. Un miracle que la toile, mais un miracle inquiétant. Ne confions-nous pas nos plus profonds désirs, notre plus noble destin à d'implacables machines, sans âme, sans hasard ni vie ?

Un jour, le grand poète Nichita Stănescu se vit poser la question suivante : « Quel est le plus beau poème que vous ayez jamais écrit ? » À quoi il répondit : « C’est l’Ode en mètre antique de Mihai Eminescu*. » Mais, c’est quoi, cette histoire ? s’interrogea Siméon, longtemps après cela. Qu’est-ce que le grand poète voulait dire au juste par là ? Et c’est l’un de ses clients, venu lui confier une paire de chaussures à ressemeler, qui finit par lui fournir la réponse : « Rien, sinon qu’il fallût, avant de lire l’Ode en mètre antique, l’avoir d’abord écrite par-devers toi, c’est-à-dire, avoir hébergé au moins une petite étincelle de l’âme d’Eminescu, l’avoir laissé emménager dans ton âme. [...]» (p. 249)

You must have more to tell me,” said Poirot. “What is all this about a forged Will?” “Well, there was a bit of fuss when it came to probating, or whatever you call it, the old lady’s Will.” “Was it a new Will?” “It was what they call—something that sounded like fish—a codi—a codicil.” Elspeth looked at Poirot, who nodded. “She’d made Wills before,” said Spence. “All much the same. Bequests to charities, legacies to old servants, but the bulk of her fortune always went to her nephew and his wife, who were her near relatives.” “And this particular codicil?” “Left everything to the opera girl,” said Elspeth, “because of her devoted care and kindness. Something like that.” “Tell me, then, more about the au pair girl.

Le destin avait subitement décidé que le petit Nicolas porterait sur ses épaules le lourd fardeau du deuil et de la solitude. Même en grandissant et en se fortifiant, il ne pourrait jamais s'en défaire. Toute sa vie, Nicolas dut porter ce fardeau, ce qui fut aussi la raison majeure pour laquelle il devint le personnage que nous connaissons aujourd'hui dans le monde entier. Mais tout n'est peut-être pas si tranché dans la vie. Il n'est sans doute pas d'événement complètement heureux ou malheureux. Peut-être le bien et le mal vont-ils de pair, malgré leur différence ? Tout comme un malheur peut engendrer de bonnes choses, un bonheur peut aussi causer bien des déboires. Peut-être devrions-nous nous abstenir de qualifier les événements de la vie lorsqu'ils se produisent, et attendre d'avoir du recul pour juger de ce qu'ils recèlent le plus au final : du bien ou du mal, ou, qui sait, de l'un autant que de l'autre ?

je rentre ---------- (grains d’amour tremblements des vagues) allez viens ma belle boire un café jusqu’à ce que ce vent mordant quitte la ville allez viens boire ce jus aux copeaux de chocolat tu es toute glacée et ton foulard est minuscule les chiens aboient et pourtant tu dois être sereine pendant que les voitures passent mais elle s’enveloppait encore et encore dans son petit foulard sans fin ne te perds pas dedans je lui ai dit et doucement je lui ai enserré les épaules et elle a esquissé un sourire doux comme un coucher de soleil qui tombe de fatigue des journaux jaunis volaient dans les rues et au tournant une paire de chaussures grinçait des dents ne regarde pas je lui ai dit le monde est ainsi fait le café n’est plus loin et il y fera chaud elle a acquiescé de sa main gantée je te crois je lui ai dit pour la rassurer allez viens sauter ce fossé par lequel passaient les grecs et les romains de la cité d’autrefois d’un pas leste elle fut de l’autre côté et sur ma rive est restée son odeur laisse le parfum à dieu et vas-y je me suis dit il y a encore deux rues à parcourir comme deux contes de fées voilà on y est le café est bondé on voit comme dans un rêve la buée dans laquelle se drapent les gens tu t’installes ma belle et tu m’appelles quand tu deviens réelle d’ici là je rentre sur la terre ferme d’une nébuleuse molle comme un caramel (traduit du roumain par Radu Bata)

t h e   p e r f e c t h u s b a n d (a jessie hunt psychological suspense—book 22) b l a k e   p i e r c e Blake Pierce Blake Pierce is the USA Today bestselling author of the RILEY PAGE mystery series, which includes seventeen books. Blake Pierce is also the author of the MACKENZIE WHITE mystery series, comprising fourteen books; of the AVERY BLACK mystery series, comprising six books; of the KERI LOCKE mystery series, comprising five books; of the MAKING OF RILEY PAIGE mystery series, comprising six books; of the KATE WISE mystery series, comprising seven books; of the CHLOE FINE psychological suspense mystery, comprising six books; of the JESSE HUNT psychological suspense thriller series, comprising twenty four books; of the AU PAIR psychological suspense thriller series, comprising three books; of the ZOE PRIME mystery series, comprising six books; of the ADELE SHARP mystery series, comprising fifteen books, of the EUROPEAN VOYAGE

The majority of the foreign workers who lived here were Mohammedans, still deeply traditionalist in their attitude toward the female body, and who tended to regard her revealing outfit as either an impertinence or an invitation. [...] — We're insulting them. We're behaving like racists. Walking around here like a pair of voyeurs, like visitors to a zoo... [...] — I simply don't understand. — Can you see how they are looking at you? — No. Besides, it's you they are looking at, more than me. — That's it exactly. It's their way. — Their way of what? Would you explain to me, for the love of heaven, what's going on here? What's bothering you? I stopped short. — Don't you know what racism is? — But... — Racism is when it doesn't count. When they don't count. When one can do anything with them, it doesn't matter what , because they are not people like us. Do you see? Not our kind. When we can make use of them as we please, without losing face, dignity, honor. Without embarrassment, without making a moral judgement - that's it. When we can make them do no matter what degrading work, service, because their opinion of us doesn't count, because it cannot tarnish us. That's what racism is.

there something you want to confess, Seraphine?” “No!” I say, but I can feel the heat in my cheeks. “Don’t be ridiculous.

She resisted the urge to slap him and damped down the familiar sense of irritation that she had not been included in a “wives’ outing,” had not been consulted on a shopping list, had once again been relegated to the status of unpaid au pair girl.

In my moment of greatest fear, I had inadvertently surrendered my power; subsequently, my autonomy was effectively hijacked and held captive.

Au for an au pair!’ Richard – who dismisses Céline’s experiences as a run of simple bad luck – cries every time, labouring as he does under the profound misapprehension that the law of diminishing returns does not apply to his jokes.

Caroline had been the Howards’s au pair, and there was quite a scandal when Andrew Howard married her within weeks of his wife’s death.

Children know. They breathe it in early, for there's no unknowing the difference between nannies, cleaners, below stairs people and the family upstairs. Children are the go-betweens, one foot in each world, and yet they know very well from the earliest age where they belong, where their destiny lies or, to put it crudely, who pays whom. From a young age their loyalties are torn, betrayal of both inevitable, colluding in complaints with gossip passing each way, upstairs and down...love that nanny, au pair, housekeeper or any paid employee - but never forever. Never equally. Tiny hands steeped young in the essence of class and caste.

The fact that I was taking the contraceptive pill, and that I’m tall and gained weight all over without a distinct bump, made its persistence all the more possible.

We all did bad things, Alex. You, me, Ruth, Dominic. Just because we haven’t been arrested like Vera, doesn’t mean we got away with it.

The builders forced the lock and found Sylvia sprawled in the kitchen. She was still warm. She had left a note saying, ‘Please call Dr—’, and giving his telephone number. But it was too late. Had everything worked out as it should – had the gas not drugged the man downstairs, preventing him from opening the front door to the au pair girl – there is no doubt she would have been saved. I think she wanted to be; why else leave her doctor’s telephone number? This time, unlike the occasion ten years before, there was too much holding her to life.

Well, yes. At least that’s what she told people. They’d have forced her to have hospital monitoring if they’d known you were twins, I suppose, and she just wanted to be left alone to have the home birth she wanted.

Elle toucha ses lèvres, comme pour toucher le fantôme d'un baiser avorté.

Des résultats qui apparaissent pour la première fois dans des rapports ou des livres, même à gros tirage, n'ont aucune fiabilité. Tout simplement parce que ces publications n'ont pas passé le filtre du contrôle par les pairs. Les éditeurs n'ont évidemment pas la capacité d'expertise du monde académique et leur premier souci est plus de s'assurer du potentiel de vente d'un livre que de la parfaite légitimité scientifique des arguments que l'on y trouve. Par ailleurs, un livre qui se glorifie de présenter des résultats s'opposant au consensus, ou à la pensée unique ou à l'idéologie dominante, a toutes les chances d'être une imposture scientifique.

conseguí un trabajo de camarera en una cafetería. Más tarde también trabajé en la barra de un bar. Y de au pair, profesora particular, bracera en un rancho, cocinera, profesora, vendedora en un mercadillo y dependienta en una librería. Vivía en apartamentos baratos, no tenía coche, y me vestía con ropa de segunda mano. Cogía todos los turnos que podía, ahorraba todo el dinero que ganaba y luego me dedicaba un tiempo a viajar para aprender cosas. Quería conocer gente, oír sus historias.

Focus group participants who reported enjoying the show during the screening were calling back hours, even days later to say that they had been haunted—“haunted” was the word—by the prospect of “someone like Olga” coming in and bossing their family around. In coastal suburban enclaves, the show fared even worse. One focus group participant said Olga represented a new “threat” to “normal women.” “It’s bad enough,” this woman was quoted as saying, “that we need to fear au pairs and yoga instructors. Now we need to worry about ‘spicy’ wedding planners?

was fenced off from people who couldn’t afford to touch the peeling bark on the trees. Those were reserved for dogs owned by the wealthy to piss against three times a day when walked by the au pair.

See naine tahtis sind endale saada. Unistagu edasi! Kõik tahavad, et nende lapsed mitut keelt õpiks, aga selle jaoks on kolmapäevad, mitte minu au pair!

Oliver Marley supposed there were more dignified ways to end his life. A lifelong victim to the twin sins of an infertile imagination and pragmatism, the thought of travel simply never crossed his mind.   Had it occurred to him, Oliver could have jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge, into the abyss of the Grand Canyon or said au revoir off the Eiffel Tower. But truth be told, Oliver never was much of a traveler. Even locally there were certainly higher quality casinos to choose from, taller parking garages from which to leap. Instead he found himself perched atop the nearest appropriately-sized structure to his home, that being the parking garage of the Circus Time Hotel & Casino. His view not of Alcatraz Island and the rough waters of the San Francisco Bay, nor the breathtaking vistas of the Arizona desert, or the romanticism of the Paris skyline for that matter. Rather he found himself bathed in a noxious blend of pink and green neon, staring into a pair of giant blinking pastel eyes belonging to the eighty-foot clown staring down at him like a frilly guardian angel. Then again, when your primary objective is to pancake yourself on a public sidewalk, perhaps you’re not in the best position to nitpick over the intricacies of what does and does not constitute bad taste. Oliver would just have to live with the clown, at least for another minute or two.

opération. Et nous ne voulons pas de casse, ni chez vos hommes, ni pour nous, d’autant que Tel Aviv niera son implication si ça tourne mal. Mais, il y a moins de cinq ans, j’ai moi-même égorgé un responsable du Esbollah qui faisait partie de la liste de l’opération Colère de Dieu. Au passage, j’ai tué quatre de ses gardes du corps à l’arme blanche. Je vous rappelle, que nous sommes sous mandat direct de la Knesset, et qu’il s’agit justement d’une prolongation de Colère de Dieu. Les ordres donnés aux terroristes arabes à Munich en 72 l’ont été depuis ici. Donc, je viens. Je suis garante des compétences d’Eve, quant au jeune blanc bec derrière vous, Ezra, c’est notre meilleur homme de terrain. - Il nous faut une personne en support logistique, quoiqu’il arrive, conclut le militaire vexé. Donc, démerdez-vous comme vous voulez, à la courte paille si ça vous amuse. Mais, j’en emmène deux sur les trois. Pas les trois. - Au fait, ça vous sera probablement utile dit Eve, en tendant les plans et compte-rendu de Menouha. C’est assez parcellaire comme informations, mais, elle a quand même fait un bon boulot. 29 Août 1990 – Rio de Janeiro – Brésil Sarah préparait Thomas dans la salle de bain. - Il est où papa ? - Il est parti jouer au golf avec le monsieur qui nous a aidés à guérir ta sœur. - Il rentre quand ? - Ce soir. Nous, on va aller à la plage avec Chloé. Le petit garçon échappa aux mains de sa mère qui venait de lui enfiler son t-shirt et courut dans le salon. - Isabella, tu viens avec nous à la plage ? - Je ne sais pas mon grand, répondit la jeune infirmière. Maman veut peut-être rester seule avec ses deux bambins. - Non. Isabella, vous pouvez venir avec nous. Cela fera plaisir aux enfants, répondit Sarah depuis la salle de bain. Le temps était magnifique. Thomas courait devant, son ballon à la main, dans le sable blanc de la plage d’Ipanema. Sarah et Isabella portèrent Chloé qui arrivait maintenant à marcher sur des sols durs, mais pas encore dans le sable. Les deux jeunes femmes s’installèrent non loin de l’eau dans une zone surveillée par un maitre-nageur. Thomas s’était arrêté devant un petit groupe de brésiliens à peine plus vieux que lui qui jouait au football sur un terrain improvisé. Il aurait voulu jouer avec eux mais, il n’osait pas demander. Isabella s’approcha des enfants et en quelques mots leur fit comprendre qu’avec un joueur de plus, ils seraient en nombre pair, ce qui rendrait leur partie intéressante. - Mais, non… chuchota Thomas à l’oreille de la jeune infirmière. Regarde comme ils jouent bien. Ils vont se moquer de moi. - Je suis certaine que non. Et, puis, si c’est le cas et que ça ne te convient pas, tu auras toujours la possibilité de revenir nous voir sous le parasol. Mais, si tu n’essaies pas, si tu ne te confrontes pas à eux, tu ne sauras jamais s’ils étaient vraiment meilleurs que toi, s’il s’agit d’enfants moqueurs ou de futurs copains. Tu comprends petit Thomas. Il faut tenter. Prendre des risques, sinon, on n’apprend rien. Allez, va. Ils t’attendent...

Once I began to look for the flâneuse, I spotted her everywhere. I caught her standing on street corners in New York and coming through doorways in Kyoto, sipping coffee at café tables in Paris, at the foot of a bridge in Venice, or riding the ferry in Hong Kong. She is going somewhere or coming from somewhere; she is saturated with in-betweenness. She may be a writer, or she may be an artist, or she may be a secretary or an au pair. She may be unemployed. She may be unemployable. She may be a wife or a mother, or she may be totally free. She may take the bus or the train when she's tired. But mostly, she goes on foot. She gets to know the city by wandering its streets, investigating its dark corners, peering behind facades, penetrating into secret courtyards. I found her using cities as performance spaces or as hiding places; as places to seek fame and fortune or anonymity; as places to liberate herself from oppression or to help those who are oppressed; as places to declare her independence; as places to change the world or be changed by it.

Truly, though, the sort of help Mary needed was...basic. It was possible. She needed an au pair or a good housekeeper, whereas James needed a magical machine to clear away the invisible shrapnel that the war had left inside his skull.

It had started so well. The night after I wrote my first-ever blog entry, I made Bifteck Sauté au Beurre and Artichauts au Naturel- the first recipes in the meat and vegetable chapters of MtAoFC, respectively. The steak I merely fried in a skillet with butter and oil- butter and oil because not only did I not have the beef suet that was the other option, I didn't even know what beef but was. Then I just made a quick sauce out of the juices from the pan, some vermouth we'd had sitting around the house forever because Eric had discovered that drinking vermouth, even in martinis, made him sick, and a bit more butter. The artichokes I simply trimmed- chopping off the stalks and cutting the sharp pointy tops off all the leaves with a pair of scissors- before boiling them in salted water until tender. I served the artichokes with some Beurre au Citron, which I made by boiling down lemon juice with salt and pepper, then beating in a stick of butter. Three recipes altogether, in just over an hour.

The little girl was adorable, looking up at Alice with big blue eyes.

But between the sweep of shore and the sky, a jagged interruption to the natural landscape, were the uncompromising grey Victorian roofs and chimneys and towers of Scallan Lodge.

Street food, she saw. Silky pasta, doughy pizza, steaming pho, obnoxiously tall burgers. Benches had been nestled behind the Royal Festival Hall, and they were filled with people eating personal feasts from paper plates: vast thalis; racks of sticky, black ribs; half lobsters with melting garlic butter and bread. Rows of diners craning to read menus wound between food trucks; queues intermingled, new arrivals negotiating for space. Piglet looked around, the National behind her. She had left the office early, she reasoned; she had time before finding a place to work. She edged forward, walking among the tables. The benches were full, some having to stand, juggling their fried chicken with their phones. There were young men who talked too loudly, laughed with their mouths full, and wore round, tortoiseshell glasses; glamorous women in their fifties and sixties, lunching and drinking; and au pairs with charges no older than twelve who ate salt beef bagels, cacio e pepe, and laksa.