Bos Quotes

The important thing is this: to be able at any moment to sacrifice what we are for what we could become.

Joy is but the sign that creative emotion is fulfilling its purpose.

The artist, if he is not to forget how to listen, must retain the visionwhich includes angels and dragons and unicorns, and all the lovely creatures which our world would put in a bos marked, 'Children Only.

Cocuktan, evlattan saadet beklemek cok bos bir hayalmis.

(...) ik zat opgescheept met zoveel ik's dat ik soms 's avonds een ommetje door het bos ging maken om even alleen te zijn.

Friend, I am grieved when I find a venator or hunter of your experience and observation, following the current of vulgar error. The animal you describe, is in truth a species of the bos ferus or bos sylvestris, as he has been happily called by the poets, but, though of close affinity it is altogether distinct, from the common Bubulus. Bison is the better word, and I would suggest the necessity of adopting it in the future, when you shall have occasion to allude to the species.

Maar opeens kwam de zon te voorschijn en de nevels trokken op. De vogels in het bos begonnen te zingen en alles wat treurig en naar was verdween als bij toverslag, en het gevaarlijke leek niet zo gevaarlijk meer. Ik werd weer warm. De zonnestralen gaven al warmte. Het was allemaal veel minder erg, ja bijna goed.

...kamu kalau ngelapor sama bos ga pernah telat. Ya ngelapor sama Tuhan jangan ditunda-tunda juga dong.

LJUBAV. To nikako ne mogu objasniti. Kako objasniti zašto volim prirodu u svim njenim oblicima? Ne samo sezonski, nego i ljeto i zimu i sunce i kišu i snijeg. Mogu li se dva partnera voljeti ako ne znaju svoje 'ružne strane'? Ako se neka osoba voli samo u njenom dobrom svjetlu, je li ljubav potpuna, je li prava? Je li to uopće ljubav? I tako svi ... Svi vole samo sunčano vrijeme, a kada je ružno zatvaraju se u svoja skloništa. Čovjekov iskustveni raspon temperature je 20°C. Od +10°C do +30°C. Sve više ili manje je neudobno. Pa, jesam li onda ja, koji hodam po kiši bos i uživam, lud? Jesam li lud kad vičem niz vjetar koji je toliko jak da se mogu nasloniti na njega? Kada silazim niz snježnu planinu, proklizavam i padam jer ne vidim prst pred sobom, a smijem se i istovremeno divim njenoj moći i svojoj neustrašivosti - jesam li lud? Vjerojatno jesam, ali ja samo igram iskreno, uživam u igri i takve karte dobivam.

You are such a jerk” I know you did the glass and plate thing. That was so wrong!” He held up his hands, laughing. “What? It was funny. The look on Bo’s face was priceless. And the kiss he gave you? What was that? I’ve seen dolphins give hotter kisses than that.” “His name is Blake!” I punched his leg this time. “And you know it” I can’t believe you acted like that. And he doesn’t kiss like a dolphin!” “From what I’ve seen, he does.” “You didn’t see the last time we kissed.” His laughter died off. Uh oh. He turned to me slowly. “You’ve kissed him before?” “That’s none of your business.” My cheeks flushed, giving me away. Anger sparked in his magnetic eyes. “I don’t like him.

They were prepared to be disgusted with her ignorance, a baby fresh from training, a matter for mocking and exasperation, yes. But also for sympathy, and some anticipatory pride. Her Bos would be able to claim credit for any of Tisarwat’s future accomplishments, because after all they would have raised her. Taught her anything she knew that was really important. They were prepared to be hers. Wanted very much for her to turn out to be the sort of lieutenant they would be proud to serve under.

No matter how bad things got, no matter how hopeless or terrible, Bo’s laughter was there to protect us. To shield us from the darkness, even if just for a moment. That’s what his laughter was—a weapon.

Vozeći glatkom cestom koja je u laganoj nizbrdici vijugala između jebela, kamenih gromada koje se uzdižu iz crvenog pijeska, razmišljao sam kako put oslobađa čovjeka raznih stvari uz koje je vezan. Toga dana pedalirao sam 130km bos i shvatio da ni tenisice nisu čovjeku nužne.

Everything I thought about cows as an Easterner-come-west is wrong. They are not symbols of a noble culture of mounted herdsmen. They are not cute. They are an invasive species, Bos Taurus, a water-loving European animal not fit for arid climates, and their cancer-like effects on the land have not ceased.

I may be old but I’m not dead.

Para pemimpin atau bos berusaha keras menghidupkan citra Bapak sebagai seorang ayah yang penuh perhatian sekaligus mampu memenuhi harapan tanpa batas anak-anak atau bawahannya.

Verliezen we soms met de komst van de woorden het vertrouwen? Het vertrouwen dat het volk in het bos wel bezit?

The important thing is this: to be able, at any moment, to sacrifice what we are for what we could become.” —CHARLES DU BOS

Laten we elkander terug vinden in de liefde als we dreigen te verdwalen in het bos der bijkomstigheden.

Under the microscope you clearly perceive that these insects have organs, orifices, excrement; they do, most emphatically, copulate. Escorted on the one side by the Bot or Warble, on the other by the Hessian Fly, Miss Ormond advanced statelily, if slowly, into the open. Never did her features show more sublime than when lit up by the candour of her avowal. "This is excrement; these, though Ritzema Bos is positive to the contrary, are the generative organs of the male. I've proved it.

The obstinacy of antiquated institutions in perpetuating themselves resembles the stubbornness of the rancid perfume which should claim our hair, the pretensions of the spoiled fish which should persist in being eaten, the persecution of the child's garment which should insist on clothing the man, the tenderness of corpses which should return to embrace the living. "Ingrates!" says the garment, "I protected you in inclement weather. Why will you have nothing to do with me?" "I have just come from the deep sea," says the fish. "I have been a rose," says the perfume. "I have loved you," says the corpse. "I have civilized you," says the convent. To this there is but one reply: "In former days." To dream of the indefinite prolongation of defunct things, and of the government of men by embalming, to restore dogmas in a bad condition, to regild shrines, to patch up cloisters, to rebless reliquaries, to refurnish superstitions, to revictual fanaticisms, to put new handles on holy water brushes and militarism, to reconstitute monasticism and militarism, to believe in the salvation of society by the multiplication of parasites, to force the past on the present, – this seems strange. Still, there are theorists who hold such theories. These theorists, who are in other respects people of intelligence, have a very simple process; they apply to the past a glazing which they call social order, divine right, morality, family, the respect of elders, antique authority, sacred tradition, legitimacy, religion; and they go about shouting, "Look! take this, honest people." This logic was known to the ancients. The soothsayers practise it. They rubbed a black heifer over with chalk, and said, "She is white, Bos cretatus." As for us, we respect the past here and there, and we spare it, above all, provided that it consents to be dead. If it insists on being alive, we attack it, and we try to kill it. Superstitions, bigotries, affected devotion, prejudices, those forms all forms as they are, are tenacious of life; they have teeth and nails in their smoke, and they must be clasped close, body to body, and war must be made on them, and that without truce; for it is one of the fatalities of humanity to be condemned to eternal combat with phantoms. It is difficult to seize darkness by the throat, and to hurl it to the earth.

Then again, if you opinions on women prevent me from carrying out my work, then I would be more than happy to suggest a place for you to stuff them... You're the bos... but YOU seem to be the brains. It's Abigail Rook, yes? Mind if I call you Abbie? Lovely. - Nellie

Als ik niet meer zou kunnen vissen, zou ik een grote voorraad morfine aanleggen en diep het bos intrekken. Ik zou een afgelegen plek kiezen waar niemand ooit mijn lijk zou vinden en van waaruit ik een prachtig uitzicht zou hebben. Ik zou met mijn gezicht naar dat uitzicht gaan liggen - en mijn morfine nemen.

Het is misschien monsterlijke hoogmoed, maar de duivel hale me als ik niet evenveel sympathie voor de luizen die een bedelaar opvreten, als voor de bedelaar zelf. Ik ben er trouwens even zeker van dat de mensen evenmin elkaars broeders zijn als de blaadjes in het bos gelijk zijn.: ze worden samen door de wind geteisterd, dat is alles.

We mustn’t be envious, comrades. There’s twenty-two dachas4 in all, and only seven more being built, and there’s three thousand of us in Massolit.’ ‘Three thousand one hundred and eleven,’ someone put in from the corner. ‘So you see,’ the Bos’n went on, ‘what can be done? Naturally, it’s the most talented of us that got the dachas . . .

O importante é isso: estar pronto para, a qualquer momento, sacrificar o que somos pelo que poderíamos vir a ser.

There are only old people here.

Don’t get old, Kaylee. It sucks!

upload a recent photo”, some people interpreted that to mean anytime after the birth of Christ.

It’s exactly what’s wrong with computer dating…people lie.

niets is sterker dan de stilte niets heeft zoveel kracht als het zwijgen van de nacht niets is sterker dan de stilte niets is sterker dan het woord dat niemand hoort

Pisaću, vrlo kratko, o pozorištima. U njima vrvi svet, i gleda toalete. Na galerijama se ljubi. Uostalom, u tome ima tradicija. Visoko gore, sad smešne, još postoje one lože, sa rešetkama, iza kojih se, nekad, činilo sve, i večeralo, gledajući komedije, koje nisu bile bludnije od života. Sad se to retko dešava. Inače, sve ovo ljubakanje po tramvajima, i pod zemljom, i na ulici, dosta je ljupko. Nije to neobuzdanost. To je prosto ovdašnji, razvijen osećaj za reprezentacijom. Ni umetnost nije više opasna. Ko ima talenta piše lepo i pametno ljubavne drame. Ona, on, i muž. Ponegde je umešano jedno lovačko odelo, ili ma šta što publika voli; iza zavese svira violina, a pri kraju, pod starost, sve se žene smire. Nijedan pesnik ne jauče. To čine još samo Sloveni. Ovde ljudi davno znaju da to nema smisla. Između činova, na zavesi, javljaju rezultate trka, i, ako se negde sudario voz, koliko je mrtvih. Posle, reklamu lepog boksera Karpantijea, koji je fabrikant posuđa. Posle se komad nastavlja. A posle, svi večeraju javno i poštuju sebe. Uostalom, ovaj patos, to je zao uticaj Tolstoja na mene, koji je mrzeo kulturu, voleo seljake, išao bos, i jahao skupe konje.

Het natuurlijke gedrag van een economie is opeenvolgende periodes van groei en krimp. Vergelijk het met een bos. Een bos heeft bosbranden nodig om jong, sterk en vitaal te zijn. Als je alles op alles zet om kleine bosbranden te voorkomen dan vier je succes op korte termijn. Dat betekent wel dat het hele bos wak wordt. Als er dan een brand ontstaat, is alles weg. Zo is het met de economie ook.

Wat bepaalt een mens meer dan zijn omgeving? Hij ademt in het ritme van de wind, hij komt tot rust wanneer de zon ondergaat. Hier herinneren de immense bergen en de brandende zon je er voortdurend aan dat je niet meer bent dan een kiezel tussen de rotsen, een rimpeling in de oceaan, een blad in een bos, een grasspriet in het veld. Wie te veel met zichtzelf bezig is, wie denkt hij of zij meer is dan een klein onderdeeltje van de natuur, loopt al snel met zijn kop tegen de muur.

When Homo sapiens passed the six-billion mark we had already exceeded by perhaps as much as 100 times the biomass of any large animal species that ever existed on the land.” Wilson meant wild animals. He omitted consideration of livestock, such as the domestic cow ( Bos taurus ), of which the present global population is about 1.3 billion. We are therefore only five times as numerous as our cattle (and probably less massive in total, since they’re each considerably bigger than a human). But of course they wouldn’t exist in such excess without us. A trillion pounds of cows, fattening in feedlots and grazing on landscapes that formerly supported wild herbivores, are just another form of human impact. They’re a proxy measure of our appetites, and we are hungry. We are prodigious, we are unprecedented. We are phenomenal. No other primate has ever weighed upon the planet to anything like this degree. In ecological terms, we are almost paradoxical: large-bodied and long-lived but grotesquely abundant. We are an outbreak.

Have you ever thought about kidnapping?” I elbow Cav in the ribs, and he coughs when I make contact. “Don’t listen to him. She’d be a hundred times more likely to shank you than screw you if you kidnap her.” Bo’s eyes narrow, and he looks from me to Cav. “Do I even want to know?” I shake my head. “Just put that option out of your mind. I promise you, it’s best for your continued long-term health.

I could fight anyone—and win—with this dagger.” “I’d like to see you try,” Bo told him. Sandor didn’t blink. “I’d have your surrender in less than three minutes.” Bo’s lips curled into a vicious smile. “Prove it.” “Prove it later,” Sophie jumped in. “I only get an hour for training, and I’m not wasting it watching you guys play Who’s the Better Bodyguard?” “Correction: I love this girl,” Tarina informed them.

Yes,” Harper said. “But tomorrow, when we’re done at Bo’s, come out with me.” When Merritt didn’t answer right away, she added, “I promise we’ll do something you can be all kinds of prickly about.” “I can be all kinds of prickly about anything,” Merritt said, glad to be back in the realm of sarcasm and deflection, sure footing for her. “In fact, I dare you to find an activity that challenges my ability to be prickly.” “Game on,” Harper said.

Farklılıkların paradan kaynaklanabileceği hiç aklıma gelmezdi, insanların doğuştan temiz ya da pasaklı, zevk sahibi ya da sallapati olduğunu sanırdım. Ayyaşlık, konserve et, kenefin yanındaki çiviye asılmış gazete kağıtları, bunları kendilerinin seçtiğini ve böyle mutlu olduklarını sanırdım. Yığınla ders almak, kafa yormak, okumak gerekiyormuş böyle düşünmeyi bırakmak için, hele çocukken, insan her şeyin değişmez bir şekilde belirlenmiş olduğuna inanıyor.

Mari berkenalan... Aku adalah aku yang tak bernama Aku bisa jadi teman mu, tak kunjung akrab karena kau tak tahu namaku, Aku bisa jadi presiden kalian tak akan mendemo ku, karena kalian tak tahu namaku, Aku bisa jadi pelacur para bourjois, tapi tak ada yg memakai ku, karena kalian tak tahu namaku, Aku ada di kaum bolshevik, mengangkat senjata, menembaki rahim ibu kalian... Bungkam kalian tanpa membalas, karena tak tahu namaku, Aku memang seperti itu ... Tak bernama,,, Tak bernama,,, Tak bernyawa,,, Tak bernama,,, Aku bisa jadi bos properti perumahan, nanti kalian ku usir hingga memelas mencari namaku,,, Aku bisa menjadi ojek, lalu ku tabrak adikmu yang bersekolah itu,,, Aku mampu duduk sejajar,dengan ayah mu di kursi DPR. menggorok leher nya saat pulas tertidur, Menjadi supertor bola pun tak terhitung, mengutuk hakim garis karena tak mahir bercinta, Tak ada yang menuntutku, palu hakim tak berbunyi di hadapanku, mereka tak tahu namaku, Gadis cantik berkulit putih itu pun esok menjanda setelah ku beri anak ku pergi, Akan ku buat ktp dengan mngosongkan kolom nama, maklumi saja karena aku tak suka kau tahu dan sebut namaku

If you go,” Sophie jumped in before she had to suffer through another round of the ogres-versus-goblins debate, “I’m sure Keefe will make you listen to more of The Ballad of Bo and Ro.” Bo’s lips curled back, revealing his pointed teeth. His relationship with Keefe’s ogre-princess bodyguard was equal parts tumultuous and complicated, a fact that Keefe never missed an opportunity to torment the two of them about—generally in the form of an epic poem that kept getting mushier with each new stanza. And Sophie couldn’t blame Keefe for the teasing. Not only did Bo’s and Ro’s names rhyme, but it turned out that they were also secretly married,

Perjuangan Remaja Bontang Menggapai 12 menit sebagai Sejarah. Melihat judul buku 12 menit. Tentu kita sudah dibawa pertanyaan, apakah maksud dari 12 menit itu. Tentu banyak arti dengan 12 menit ini. Tapi dalam novel ini digambarkan 12 menit harus diraih dengan syarat yang tidak mudah, melalui pengorbanan yang tidak sedikit. Perjuangan keras para generasi remaja bontang untuk meraih kesuksean. Bisa dibilang, 12 menit ini awal dari sejarah besar untuk kota kecil di Kalimantan Timur. Sebuah novel fiksi yang syarat dengan makna, yang patut di miliki oleh semua golongan usia. Novel karya Oka Aorora dengan tebal 343 halaman menggambarkan bagaimana sebuah kesuksesan tidak dapat diraih dengan instan, tetapi harus dengan perjuangan yang sangat keras. Apapun resiko yang dihadapi, menyulutkan semangat baja yang tidak mengenal rasa takut, lelah, dan tekat harus terus di pupuk agar lebih subur. Cara pengarang mendiskripsikan tokoh dalam cerita ini sungguh unik. Terdapat 4 tokoh yang digambarkan dalam novel ini. Seperti Rene, pelatih alumni sebuah universitas di Amerika memiliki karakter yang sangat kuat, disiplin tinggi, keras, tapi juga lembut hatinya, ini digambarkan bagaimana dia mempertahankan satu persatu tim nya yang mengalami down dan masalah pelik dalam latihan. Dia juga tidak segan-segan meminta maaf kepada anak dididiknya ketika dia merasa bersalah. Tokoh kedua adalah Elaine. Putri semata wayang dari bos besar sebuah perusahaan yang dikenal sangat cerdas, berbakat dan dianugrahi perawakan yang elok. Dia mempunyai sifat ramah, yang pada akhirnya bagaimana dia harus bisa meyakinkan ayahnya untuk ikut menyutujui pilihan hidupnya. Tara gadis berjilbab yang pawai bermain drum ini memiliki keterbatasan pada pendengarannya. Sehingga untuk mendengar diperlukan alat bantu khusus. Bagaimana perjuangannya untuk bisa bangkit dari trauma masa lalu saat terjadi kecelakaan yang mengakibatkan ayah yang dicintainya pergi untuk selamanya, selain itu akibat lain dia harus kehilangan 80% dari pendengarannya. Lahang, seorang pemuda dari pesisir pantai yang berusaha mewujudkan mimipi almh. Ibunya untuk bisa melihat monas, tetapi dia dihadapakan pada pilihan paling sulit antara mimpinya atau menemani ayahnya yang sakit kanker otak stadium lanjut. Semua tokoh dalam novel ini dikemas dengan sangat apik dan ringan, sehingga ketika kita membacanya, pembaca seolah-olah ikut merasakan beban dan sulitnya hidup yang dialami oleh tokoh-tokoh tersebut. Bahasa yang digunakan pun sangat sederhana, dan mudah di pahami oleh pembaca, tidak njilmet, tetapi bisa memberi kobaran api yang menyala besar. Kelebihan dalam novel ini ke 4 tokoh memiliki karakter yang sama, yaitu keinginan yang kuat untuk membawa marching band bontang pupuk Kalimantan timur menjadi juara umum di GMPB. Terwujudkah mimpi anak negeri terpencil itu?Dreaming is believing. Meski harus dilalui dengan jerih payah tim yang luar biasa. Perbedaan masalah setiap tokoh membawa mereka pada jalan keberhasilan, penulis menggambarkan bagaimana seorang rene yang tidak hanya menjadi pelatih di lapangan. Tetapi dia bisa sebagai sahabat, saudara untuk tempat bercerita. Semisal ketika dia membantu Elaine mengalami dilema diantara dua pilhan antara mengikuti olimpiade fisika, atau terus berjuang dimarching band, dan perjuangannya menghadapi larangan keras dari ayahnya. Tara seorang gadis pendiam yang hampir berputus asa dan sempat keluar dari tim inti. Tetapi rene sebagai pelatih tidak tinggal diam, di semangati tara dan dibantu kakek neneknya, akhirnya membawa tara kembali dan meraih keberhasilan. Lahang pemuda dengan persolan pelik, ayahnya menderita sakit yang parah. Rene sempat menawarkan bantuan tetapi ditolaknya, ketika perjuangan tinggal selangkah lagi dia hampir putus asa karena ayahnya telah pergi ke Rahmatulloh. Kata-kata dari Rene meyakinkan lahang utnuk terus berjuang meski peri

A breathtaking vision in emerald silk, she was too exquisite to be flesh and blood; too regal and aloof to have ever let him touch her. He drew a long, strangled breath and realized he hadn’t been breathing as he watched her. Neither had the four men beside him. “Good Lord,” Count Dillard breathed, turning clear around and staring at her, “she cannot possibly be real.” “Exactly my thoughts when I first saw her,” Roddy Carstairs averred, walking up behind them. “I don’t care what gossip says,” Dillard continued, so besotted with her face that he forgot that one of the men in their circle was a part of that gossip. “I want an introduction.” He handed his glass to Roddy instead of the servant beside him and went off to seek an introduction from Jordan Townsende. Watching him, it took a physical effort for Ian to maintain his carefully bland expression, tear his gaze from Dillard’s back, and pay attention to Roddy Carstairs, who’d just greeted him. In fact, it took several moments before Ian could even remember his name. “How are you, Carstairs?” Ian said, finally recollecting it. “Besotted, like half the males in here, it would seem,” Roddy replied, tipping his head toward Elizabeth but scrutinizing Ian’s bland face and annoyed eyes. “In fact, I’m so besotted that for the second time in my jaded career I’ve done the gallant for a damsel in distress. Your damsel, unless my intuition deceives me, and it never does, actually.” Ian lifted his glass to his lips, watching Dillard bow to Elizabeth. “You’ll have to be more specific,” he said impatiently. “Specifically, I’ve been saying that in my august opinion no one, but no one, has ever besmirched that exquisite creature. Including you.” Hearing him talk about Elizabeth as if she were a morsel for public delectation sent a blaze of fury through Ian. He was spared having to form a reply to Carstairs’s remark by the arrival of yet another group of people eager to be introduced to him, and he endured, as he had been enduring all night, a flurry of curtsies, flirtatious smiles, inviting glances, and overeager hanshakes and bos. “How does it feel,” Roddy inquired as that group departed and another bore down on Ian, “to have become, overnight, England’s most eligible bachelor?” Ian answered him and abruptly walked off, and in so doing dashed the hopes of the new group that had been heading toward him. The gentleman beside Roddy, who’d been admiring Ian’s magnificently tailored claret jacket and trousers, leaned closer to Roddy and raised his voice to be heard above the din. “I say, Roddy, how did Kensington say it feels to be our most eligible?” Roddy lowered his glass, a sardonic smile twisting his lips. “He said it is a pain in the ass.” He slid a sideways glance at his staggered companion and added wryly, “With Hawthorne wed and Kensington soon to be-in my opinion-the only remaining bachelor with a dukedom to offer is Clayton Westmoreland. Given the uproar Hawthorne and Kensington have both created with their courtships, one can only look forward with glee to observing Westmoreland’s.

La testardaggine delle vecchie istituzioni a perpetuarsi somiglia all'ostinazione di un profumo rancido che reclamasse la nostra capigliatura, alla pretesa del pesce marcio di essere mangiato, alla persecuzione di un vestito da fanciullo che volesse vestire l'uomo, alla tenerezza dei cadaveri che ritornassero ad abbracciare i vivi. «Ingrati!», dice l'abito. «Vi ho protetto nei tempi cattivi. Perché ora non mi volete?» «Vengo dall'alto mare», dice il pesce. «Sono stato una rosa», dice il profumo. «Vi ho amato», dice il cadavere. «Vi ho civilizzati», dice il convento. A ciò una sola risposta; un tempo. Sognare di prolungare all'infinito cose defunte e governare gli uomini per imbalsamazione, ristabilire i dogmi in cattivo stato, tornare a indorare le arche, rafforzare i chiostri, ribenedire le reliquie, mobilitare di nuovo le superstizioni, rialimentare i fanatismi, dare un nuovo manico agli aspersori e alle sciabole, ricostruire il monachesimo e il militarismo, credere alla salute della società moltiplicando i parassiti, imporre il passato al presente sembra strano. Eppure vi sono teorici anche per queste teorie. Questi teorici, gente di spirito del resto, procedono per semplicemente; applicano al passato un intonaco che chiamano ordine sociale, diritto divino, morale, famiglia, rispetto degli avi, autorità antica, tradizione santa, legittimità, religione; e vanno gridando: «Vedere! Ecco! Prendete questo, brava gente!» Tale logica era conosciuta agli antichi Gli aruspici la praticavano. Davano una mano di gesso a una giovenca nera, e dicevano: «È bianca. Bos Cretatus». Quanto a noi rispettiamo qualcosa e risparmiamo tutto il passato, purché accetti di essere morto. Se vuol essere vivo, l'attacchiamo e cerchiamo di ucciderlo. Superstizioni, bigottismo, bacchettonismi, pregiudizi, queste larve, quantunque non siano che larve, si aggrappano alla vita; hanno denti e unghie nel loro fumo, bisogna spegnerle corpo a corpo, far loro guerra, e fargliela senza tregua, perché è una fatalità dell'uomo essere condannato all'eterno combattimento con i fantasmi. È difficile prendere l'ombra per la gola e atterrarla.

The persistence of superannuated institutions in striving to perpetuate themselves is like the obstinacy of a rancid odour clinging to the hair; the pretension of spoiled fish that insists on being eaten, the tenacious folly of a child's garment trying to clothe a man, or the tenderness of a corpse returning to embrace the living. "Ingrates!" exclaims the garment. "I shielded you in weakness. Why do you reject me now?" "I come from the depths of the sea," says the fish; "I was once a rose," cries the odour; "I loved you," murmurs the corpse; "I civilized you," says the convent. To this there is but one reply; "In the past." To dream of the indefinite prolongation of things dead and the government of mankind by embalming; to restore dilapidated dogmas, regild the shrines, replaster the cloisters, reconsecrate the reliquaries, revamp old superstitions, replenish fading fanaticism, put new handles in worn-out sprinkling brushes, reconstitute monasticism; to believe in the salvation of society by the multiplication of parasites; to foist the past upon the present, all this seems strange. There are, however, advocates for such theories as these. These theorists, men of mind too, in other things, have a very simple process; they apply to the past a coating of what they term divine right, respect for our forefathers, time-honored authority, sacred tradition, legitimacy; and they go about, shouting, "Here! take this, good people!" This logic was familiar to the ancients; their soothsayers practised it. Rubbing over a black heifer with chalk, they would exclaim, "She is white" Bos cretatus. As for ourselves, we distribute our respect, here and there, and spare the past entirely, provided it will but consent to be dead. But, if it insists upon being alive, we attack it and endeavor to kill it. Superstitions, bigotries, hypocrisies, prejudices, these phantoms, phantoms though they are, are tenacious of life; they have teeth and nails in their shadowy substance, and we must grapple with them, body to body, and make war upon them and that, too, without cessation; for it is one of the fatalities of humanity to be condemned to eternal struggle with phantoms. A shadow is hard to seize by the throat and dash upon the ground.

The last name made Ro unleash an impressive string of ogre curses. “I take it that means you know the guy?” Keefe asked. Sophie could see every one of Ro’s pointed teeth when she said, “I do.” “And?” Keefe pressed. “It’s none of your business,” Ro snapped back. “Pretty sure it is, since Foster’s supposed to trust him with her life,” Keefe argued. Ro muttered a few more creative words under her breath. “Bo’s a loyal Mercadir. That’s not the issue.” “You call him Bo?” Keefe noted as Sophie asked, “Then what’s the issue?” Ro ignored both of them. “Stay here,” she told Keefe, “and don’t even think about leaving until I return.” “Where are you going?” Elwin called as she headed for the exit. “To throttle my father.” The door slammed hard enough to shake the walls, and Sophie, Keefe, and Elwin all shared a look. “Yeah . . . we definitely need to get the story on Bo and Ro,” Keefe decided. Sophie nodded. “Do you think they dated?” “Ohhhhhhhh, now I do! And I’ve been trying to get dirt like that on Ro since she got here!” He cracked his knuckles. “Okay, this is going to call for some epic-level snooping—and if that doesn’t work, I guess I know what my next bet will be!” “No more betting,” Elwin warned. “At least not on my watch. And today’s lesson better be chaos-free or I’m nixing these little sessions.” “Aw, we can’t have that. Foster would miss me too much. Who knew the way to her heart was my mad teaching skills?

The profilers’ plan to coax me out of the woods resembled a comedy skit. During their search of my Cane Creek trailer, the feds had found dozens of books on the Civil War. And interviews with my friends confirmed that I was a bona fide Civil War buff. The profilers looked at all this Civil War “stimuli” and concluded that my hiding in the mountains was a form of role-playing. Starring in my own Civil War fantasy, I was a lone rebel fighting for the Lost Cause, and the task force was a Yankee army out to capture me. To talk On August 16, the task force pulled out of the woods while Bo and his rebels went in. They had to look the part, so the FBI profilers dressed them in white hats with the word “REBEL” stenciled in red letters across the front; and around their neck each rebel wore a Confederate flag bandanna.me into surrendering, they needed some of my rebel comrades to convince me that the war was over and it was time to lay down my arms. Colonel Gritz and his crew were assigned the role of my rebel comrades. They were there to “rescue” me from the Yankee horde. Bo’s band of rebels pitched camp down in Tusquitee, north of the town of Hayesville. Beginning at Bob Allison Campground – the place where I’d abandoned Nordmann’s truck – they worked their way west into the Tusquitee Mountains. They walked the trails, blowing whistles and yelling “Eric, we’re here with Bo Gritz to save you.” They searched for a week. I lost it when I heard on the radio that the profilers had dressed Gritz’s clowns in “REBEL” hats and Confederate flag bandannas. I laughed so hard I think I broke a rib.

En toch dwaalde ze al die tijd in gedachten door de kathedralen van het bos, in die nog altijd witte wereld waar de uilen krasten in het donker en een vriend op sterven lag.

Wie vossen in stand wil houden mag niet kijken op een kippetje, wie wolven in zijn bos wil zal af en toe een roodkapje missen.

Haung brought his left hand up to his face. On its upraised palm a small quantity of blue powder which, with sharp exhalation, he blew into Bo’s face. The effect was immediate. Bo took a step back and struggled to raise his hands up to his face. The large man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell in a clattering heap to the floor.

De zee is blauw, het bos is groen

pronto,

Onze vriendschap, als je het al zo kunt noemen, bestaat tot nu toe uit het feit dat ik haar heb laten verongelukken met haar motor, dat ik als een half lijk midden in de nacht ben opgedoken uit het bos, haar vergeetwijn heb laten drinken en haar meegesleept heb naar deze plek, waar ze er nog steeds uitziet alsof ze elk moment kan gaan overgeven. Niet echt een goede basis.

cache

galoot,

varmints

gangrene

Presidio,

In die laaste paar dekades van die negentiende eeu het Henry James begin met die skep van ’n soort sentrale intelligensie, dit wil sê, die verhaal word aangebied uit die bewussyn

Kijk eens aan, een merelnest, riep hij opgetogen uit. En dat hier in dit hellegat. Hij draaide zich om. In zijn hand had hij een komvormig nest van gedroogd gras, mos en modder. Er lagen twee eitjes in. Hij haalde er een uit en hield het in het licht om te bestuderen. Het was groenig van kleur met bruine vlekken. De perfectie hiervan, John, zie je dit? Ik zag vooral de gloed in zijn ogen, dezelfde als toen hij in het bos van Souchez het blauwe bloempje van Vinca minor had ontdekt. Hij had toen gezegd dat het geringste teken van schoonheid houvast kon bieden in deze tijden van oorlog. Intussen had ik genoeg gezien om deze uitspraak naar waarde te schatten en spontaan welde er een vers bij me op. Wat schoon is, blijft ons eeuwig bij, zei ik hardop.

Aanvankelijk had ik epische gedicht veel te snel willen lezen, gretig en onachtzaam, op dezelfde wijze als ik romans las. Maar op een bepaald ogenblik had ik me deze woorden van mijn vorige leraar Engels herinnerd, meneer Barnwell, die me had geleerd dat het er niet om ging wat en hoeveel ik had gelezen, maar hoe ik het had gelezen. 'Een slechte lezer is als iemand die in een bos wandelt zonder de bomen te zien.

Bos taurus primigenius

Puntmuts ging met schep en emmer in het bos.

23 juli 1942. Donderdagavond, 9 uur M’n rode en gele rozen zijn helemaal opengegaan. Terwijl ik daar in die hel zat, hebben zij daar maar stilletjes verder staan bloeien. Velen zeggen: hoe kun je nu nog aan bloemen denken. Toen ik gisteravond dat grote eind door de regen gelopen had met die blaar onder aan m’n voet, ben ik toch nog een straatje omgelopen om een bloemenkar te zoeken en ik kwam met een grote bos rozen thuis. En daar staan ze. Ze zijn net zo werkelijk als al de ellende, die ik op een dag meemaak. Er is voor veel dingen plaats in één leven. En ik héb zoveel plaats, mijn God.

De zilveren vloot Piet Jan Heijn vindt de eieren in het bos.

Tak peduli betapa brengseknya bos, betapa culasnya teman kerja, betapa banyaknya pekerjaan walau gajinya sama saja, tetap saja... Di akhir bulan, gajian akan menjadi dewa penyelamat.

Als ik ernaar kijk, denk ik aan de vier eeuwen oude lariksen: één eeuw in het bos en de overige drie om een huis overeind te houden, en dat lijkt me de edelste dienst die een boom een mens kan bewijzen.

Pindakaas op de pannenkoek, en vreten als een varken.

Officier van Justitie Greetje Bos naait voor niets en niks.

Hoe graag zou ik niet beginnen met de beschrijving van iets moois, een diepblauw meer, omringd door perfect kegelvormige vulkanen, een bulderende waterval diep in een oerwoud, een klaterende bron die in een drassig grasland ontspringt, een tapijt wilde hyacinten uitgerold in een donker bos, plekken die ik op reizen met andere mensen heb gezien, misschien bestaan ze nog, niet alles is verknoeid. ― De tuin der onschuldigen

This blade may be small. But it’s just as deadly as any of these other daggers. Never underestimate a weapon. I could fight anyone—and win—with this dagger.” “I’d like to see you try,” Bo told him. Sandor didn’t blink. “I’d have your surrender in less than three minutes.” Bo’s lips curled into a vicious smile. “Prove it.” “Prove it later,” Sophie jumped in. “I only get an hour for training, and I’m not wasting it watching you guys play Who’s the Better Bodyguard?” “Correction: I love this girl,” Tarina informed them. Sandor tilted his head to study Sophie. “You seem… eager.

„Sakra, ty boty mě štvou!“ vyplivl Mašín. „Jsme pořád v botách, někdy v nich člověk i usne. Nemáme čas si je sundat. Bojíme se je sundat, co kdyby nám na dveře začalo mlátit gestapo. Podívejte, jak je podlaha špinavá.“ Přešel k otomanu a posadil se vedle Balabána. Natáhl nohy. „Vždycky jsem přišel domů, sundal si boty, ponožky a chodil bos, třeba i v prosinci, v lednu. Odpočinul nohám, odpočinul...

arrastre

Perasaan bahwa "kita bersama-sama dalam menghadapi masalah", yang dirasakan oleh semua pelanggan dan perusahaan, pemilih dan orang yang dipilih, bos dan pegawai, itulah yang merumuskan para pemimpin yang hebat.

Permission to bring down the mood?” “Always,” I answer. And I mean it. I’m so desperate to know everything Bo’s got stored away that I’d let him say just about anything. I think he could unwrap the very worst parts of himself, and I’d still sit here, hanging on every word.

All the while, I got a front-row seat to their family’s dynamic. They’re surprisingly affectionate for father and son. A lot of hands across shoulders to pass by one another, a few quick pats of Robert’s hand against Bo’s cheek to encourage him or tease him in equal measure.

Dada!” Joey says, standing next to Charlie, who narrows her eyes at me. “No!” “We’ve been spotted,” I whisper, holding on to Bo for dear life as he takes off jogging. “Put Mommy down!” Charlie says, giggling as she swipes at Bo’s calves with her foam sword. “Never!” he shouts.

Maar rondom was er niets veranderd, de silhouetten van de toppen, de rotssen, het bos: ik vind het een bijzonder troostrijke gedachte dat, hoe tumultueus, gepassioneerd en verdrietig we onze levens ook vinden, ze voor de bergen maar een dag duren, dat die ons voorbij zien komen en ons altijd overleven.

Qq88bet, Terbaik Nih Bos

It must have been made by a man,” I say, dropping a book titled First-Time Dad onto his pile with a not-so-subtle thud, “if it took them nine tries to figure out how to properly please a woman.” Bo’s tongue pushes against the side of his cheek as he nods, an arrogant gleam in his eye returning. “Not all men need nine chances, if I remember correctly.” He moves the chocolates that I had allocated to his pile back to mine, leaning closer. “Some of us only needed one,” he whispers.

What are you men standing chattering there for?” suddenly blared out Freeman, addressing a group of excited seamen lining the bulwark forward. “Master-at-arms! Master-at-arms! Take those men’s names and bring them to me at the end of the watch! You bos’un’s mate, there! Collier! Keep those men of yours at work! This is a King’s ship, not a blasted school for young ladies!

Er is geen kant te kiezen Ze maken ons wat wijs Ze praten over zwart en wit Maar wijsheid is vaak grijs De een sterft voor een God Die de ander dood verklaart Alsof wij zijn vergeten Dat het midden nog bestaat - Stef Bos

De wereld zelf in haar concreetheid raakt op de achtergrond, wordt secundair, doordat ze hoofdzakelijk via beelden en apparaten tot ons komt. Het begint al bij kinderen op jonge leeftijd. Vele uren per dag staren ze op schermen en zonder smartphone kunnen ze nauwelijks meer leven, voelen zij zich alleen of vervelen zich. Ze hebben veel minder dan vorige generaties de behoefte om naar buiten te gaan, laat staan de natuur in te gaan om in het bos te gaan spelen - als er al een bos is.

She looked relaxed and free in a way I’ve never seen before. Strangely, she looked more herself than she did in Chicago. She was smiling and laughing, dancing with me like she’d been doing it all her life. She tries to be so rigid and stern, but that’s not her, not really. The real Riona is adventurous, climbing on a horse when she’s never been within ten feet of one before. She’s graceful, spinning around in my arms like she was born to dance. She’s perceptive, getting to know Bo when Bo’s as prickly as a cactus and can’t get along with anybody, including her own damn best friend. That’s what I see when I look at Riona. A woman who can be anything and do anything she wants. But she seems determined to deny it. I felt her pulling away from me as we danced. I saw that resentment flare up in her eyes again, that refusal to let herself enjoy something that she was obviously loving just a few minutes before. I don’t understand her. But goddamn do I want to. I want it more than anything. I want to crack the code of her psyche. I want to win her over. I want to make her mine.

Some of the prominent ones that have been particularly useful for many trauma survivors include dialectical behavior therapy for borderline personality (Linehan, 1993); systems training for emotional predictability and problem solving (STEPPS; Blum et al., 2008; Bos, Van Wel, Appelo, & Verbraak, 2010 also for borderline personality; short-term psychodynamic treatment of affect phobia (McCullough et al., 2003); and mindfulness and mentalization-based treatments such as acceptance and commitment therapy (ACT; Follette & Pistorello, 2007). In the past decade, manuals that specifically address the

Bos918 adalah situs terbaik dan tepercaya

The first time I fell into a depression I was waiting tables at an Outback Steakhouse.

Het stille bos zal zingen vanuit mijn stille geest, het hart dat zwijgt door de ziel die volmaakt is, door haar Eindbestemming.

Je lepší jít životem bos nebo v ponožkách a omlouvat to náboženstvím nebo krádeží zavazadla než si obout levné boty.

Ze kijkt de wachtkamer in: opgeruimd, goed zo. Speelgoed in de kist, folders in de houder aan de muur, leesvoer op de tafeltjes. De grote kamerplant in een van de hoeken staat er wat onderkomen bij. Ze tilt een blad op en inspecteert de onderkant. Kleine, bijna onzichtbare dieren vreten zich het blad in, ziet ze. Dat gaat krullen en verdort. Niet goed voor een huisartsenwachtkamer. Liever zou ze wekelijks bossen verse bloemen neerzetten, maar toen ze een keer met een fors boeket aan kwam zetten trok Daniel zijn wenkbrauwen op. Of ze wel eens van allergische reacties had gehoord? Hooikoorts? Niezende patiënten, fatale benauwdheid? Ze was verpleegkundige, toch? Hij had gelijk natuurlijk. Stom. Niet aan gedacht. Ze had het boeket in de keuken gezet. Het personeel was goddank nergens allergisch voor. Carolien had het een prachtige bos gevonden.

Catch me up. I had to stay late after class because I was busy sucking up to the TA,” Brian confessed. “Ellie has a cute freshman lab partner, Sasha’s tired of Victoria, and I sat next to Bo Randolph in biology.” I conveniently left out mention of the note. Three sighs of delight reverberated through the room at the mention of Bo’s name. “Bo looks like he’s sculpted from stone by some master and skin was stretched over the form. Unreal,” Sasha declared. “I’d love to see him in a life drawing class.” “The guns on that guy,” Brian concurred. “Where are all of you seeing him?” I asked, surprised at their distinct recall of Bo’s body. “I see him in the gym, lifting,” Brian said. “Yoga,” Sasha offered. “He does yoga?” My eyebrows shot up in surprise. “No, while I’m doing yoga, I see him working out. He’s like all muscle. Last semester’s yoga class at 5 P.M. was packed once word got out that he and his buddy Noah lifted weights there before dinner. It’s like a burlesque show. They start out with their shirts on and then slowly unveil the package as they get sweatier and sweatier,” Sasha explained. “Then, when they’re super hot and super sweaty, they’ll run their discarded shirts over their chests.

They hid, Bos came over the hill, looked puzzled, and Custer let loose with a bullet that whizzed over his brother’s head. Bos turned

In de 16de en 17de eeuw vonden in Frankrijk heel wat processen plaats tegen mensen die ervan verdacht werden een weerwolf te zijn. Zo werd op 18 januari 1574 Gilles Garnier uit Lyon aangeklaagd voor het parlement van Dôle. Hij werd ervan beschuldigd, in de gedaante van een weerwolf een klein meisje van 10 à 12 jaar in de buurt van een bos aangevallen en met zijn handen, die er als klauwen uitzagen, gedood te hebben. [...] Gilles Garnier bekende, werd veroordeeld en verbrand.

Ze keek een laatste maal het bos in, en zag hoe het zich na haar geliefde weer had zien te schikken naar eigen smaak. De oorlogen tussen de mossen en de schorsen werden sedert jaren weer openlijk bedreven, de iepen stierven staande en wortels woelden in een colère de wereld om. Vastbesloten te revancheren, de planeet opnieuw te regeren, zijn chaos te installeren waarin niemand maar een logica kon zien, was het bos begonnen met woekeren. En het was prachtig. De mens: ze hadden hem nooit uit het water mogen laten kruipen. Misschien was het een gunst van haar hersens die haar toestonden dat laatste nog te denken alvorens zelf te sterven.

Take the opportunity to write your vocal activity every day for twenty-one days. Log your reading, the amount of time spent doing warm-ups, exercises, and songs.

To your inquiries whether it is safe, your yamstchik (post-boy) is sure to reply, "Nitchevo!"—a word which, according to the dictionaries, means "nothing" but which has, in the mouths of the peasantry, a great variety of meanings, as I may explain at some future time. In the present case it may be roughly translated. "There is no danger." "Nitchevo, Barin, proyedem" ("There is no danger, sir; we shall get over"), he repeats. You may refer to the generally rotten appearance of the structure, and point in particular to the great holes sufficient to engulf half a post-horse. "Ne bos', Bog pomozhet" ("Do not fear. God will help"), replies coolly your phlegmatic Jehu.

Een paarse bos tulpen, kreeg ze, voor zijn verjaardag.

Tijdens onze wandelingen over het landgoed leerde mijn grootvader mij alles over de natuur: de namen van de bomen langs het veld, van de gewassen in de grond, en van de dieren in het bos. 'Brood voor de ogen, jongen,' zei hij dan, 'en voer voor de geest. Want hoe meer je weet, hoe meer je ziet. En hoe meer je ziet, hoe meer plezier je beleeft.

Tumben. Bisanya mbak Ninuk itu paling cepat menanggapi naskah novel yang gue kirim. Kenapa sekarang segini merepotkan ya?” “Ya..., ajarin dong adik perempuanmu itu supaya nggak seperti anak kecil gitu. Umurnya kan sudah 26 tahun!” “Percuma, Ma, emang kebiasaan dari orok tuh si Mey,” gerutu Leon yang menyedok sepiring nasi goreng bumbu kari buatan Mama. “Bang…. Emang ada ya naskah tertolak?” “Ya iyalah, pastinya akan ada naskah tertolak! Hari gini yang namanya bisnis itu harus mengikuti arus jaman. Dan elo harus bisa ikuti selera pasar, bukan pasar ngikutin selera elo yang nggak jelas gitu. Kecuali nih ya, lo itu pemilik dari penerbitan lo sendiri, mau bikin tulisan gila, rada gila, atau setengah gila, terserah lo. Tapi, kalau lo pakai sistem penerbit konvensional seperti yang lo jalanin gitu, ya kudu nrimo tertolak!” ceramah Leon dengan lagak sok tahunya yang mulai kumat. “Kalau kamu seorang penulis, maka kamu harus mau mengikuti selera pasar...” “Cinta itu bukan dirasakan dari hati, tapi elo mesti ngerasain cinta itu dari sentuhan bibir pasangan lo, supaya elo nggak kena tipu sentuhan bibir cowok lain. Cobain deh,” begitu nasihat Nisa yang sama seperti Eli sudah kebal bolak-balik ganti pasangan. “Haruskah kamu menjual diri dengan menciumku untuk meloloskan sebuah naskah?” “Emangnya lo pikir pembaca itu nggak punya hati nurani? Kalau yang lo angkat itu hanya konsep cinta text book, gue yakin deh, isi novel lo bakal datar-datar aja!” ucap Arin. “Hu-uh! Mana mungkin gue sembarangan nyari cowok buat sekadar nyicipin gimana rasanya pacaran itu?...” “Huuh..., cinta…, cinta! Merepotkan banget, sih!” “Hu-uh! Nyari kesempatan gratis dalam kesempitan tuh, Bos!” “Loh, kok, dia nggak kasih ucapan selamat jalan ke gue, ya?” “Nih, permen cokelat, makan aja dulu buat ngilangin rasa mual dan takut lo,” “Maaf saya tidak bermaksud lancang sama kamu,” “Bukan kamu yang salah, gue kok yang salah!” “Jatuh cinta bisa membuat hati seseorang berbunga-bunga”, tetapi “Kehilangan orang yang dicintai tanpa pernah terucap sangatlah menyakitkan”.

Čovek gura na jednu stranu, život ga vraća na drugu, pa na kraju završi na trećoj, o kojoj ni mislio nije. I bori se, trudi, zalaže, a kao da ništa ne radi. Ponekad se, retko, ponešto primi i izađe onako kako je hteo. Pa i onda svi potrče da mu to razgrade. A opet mora, ne može drugačije, nego da se upinje. I kad zna da nema kud. Pogotovo onda. Jer, ko jednom posustane, ko reši da se ne trudi, ko se prepusti, taj tek nikakve izglede nema na zelenu granu da izađe. A zaostane, odmah i nestane. Ovako, dok radi, dok prevezuje i podvezuje rasuto, kupi klasje u snopove i sadeva u krstine, možda ga život opet baci na neku iole plodniju njivu u rodnijoj godini. Ako stane, neće ga baciti nigde, ostaće tu gde je stao, bos na strnjištu.