Champ Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Champ. Here they are! All 200 of them:

Oh, this was champ. She’d found herself a Savage prince. Don’t laugh, she told herself. Don’t laugh, Aria.
Veronica Rossi (Under the Never Sky (Under the Never Sky, #1))
Who you are tomorrow begins with what you do today.
Tim Fargo
He gave my hand a final shake. “Okay, Kemp,” he said with a grin. “Thanks a lot – you came through like a champ.” “Hell,” I said, starting the engine. “We’re all champs when we’re drunk.
Hunter S. Thompson (The Rum Diary)
Unlike me, Renee was not shy; she was a real people-pleaser. She worried way too much what people thought of her, wore her heart on her sleeve, expected too much from people, and got hurt too easily. She kept other people's secrets like a champ, but told her own too fast. She expected the world not to cheat her and was always surprised when it did.
Rob Sheffield
Jenny can still suck a golf ball through a garden hose and she guns my cock like a champ since she misplaced her false teeth!
Tara Sivec (Futures and Frosting (Chocolate Lovers, #2))
You're a spelling bee champ, aren't you, White Fang? How do you spell, 'If I don't learn to speak to my betters with more respect, I'm going to get my face smashed in'?" Tom laughed, unable to resist. "That one's easy. It's K-A-R-L.
S.J. Kincaid (Insignia (Insignia, #1))
She felt a little betrayed and sad, but presently a moving object came into sight. It was a huge horse-chestnut tree in full bloom bound for the Champs Elysees, strapped now into a long truck and simply shaking with laughter - like a lovely person in an undignified position yet confident none the less of being lovely. Looking at it with fascination, Rosemary identified herself with it, and laughed cheerfully with it, and everything all at once seemed gorgeous.
F. Scott Fitzgerald (Tender Is the Night)
Let me get straight on this. You don’t want to be the girl to wear out your welcome, but you’ll be the girl who lets him wear out your vagina?” She slaps my arm in the dark. “That’s just crude, Laurie.” She giggles. “But oh so true. He did wear it out like a champ.
Georgia Cates (Beauty from Pain (Beauty, #1))
Paris is the city in which one loves to live. Sometimes I think this is because it is the only city in the world where you can step out of a railway station—the Gare D'Orsay—and see, simultaneously, the chief enchantments: the Seine with its bridges and bookstalls, the Louvre, Notre Dame, the Tuileries Gardens, the Place de la Concorde, the beginning of the Champs Elysees—nearly everything except the Luxembourg Gardens and the Palais Royal. But what other city offers as much as you leave a train?
Margaret Anderson
Hush little owl, You're with Twi. I got the moves to get you by. Big bad crows. St. Aggie's scamps Ain't got nothin to show the champ. I'll pop a spiral With a twist, Do a three-sixty And scatter mist----
Kathryn Lasky (The Journey (Guardians of Ga'Hoole, #2))
Il suffit d’une minuscule graine d’espoir pour planter tout un champ de bonheur… et d’un peu de patience pour lui laisser le temps de pousser.
Marc Levy (Sept jours pour une éternité...)
Dans les champs de l'observation le hasard ne favorise que les esprits prepares - Where observation is concerned, chance favours only the prepared mind
Louis Pasteur
I loved her fright, which was against me into the air! and the diamond white of her forelock which seemed to smart with thoughts as my heart smarted with life! and she'd toss her head with the pain and paw the air and champ the bit, as if I were Endymion and she, moon-like, hated to love me.
Frank O'Hara (Meditations in an Emergency)
This is the legend of Cassius Clay, The most beautiful fighter in the world today. He talks a great deal, and brags indeed-y, of a muscular punch that's incredibly speed-y. The fistic world was dull and weary, But with a champ like Liston, things had to be dreary. Then someone with color and someone with dash, Brought fight fans are runnin' with Cash. This brash young boxer is something to see And the heavyweight championship is his des-tin-y. This kid fights great; he’s got speed and endurance, But if you sign to fight him, increase your insurance. This kid's got a left; this kid's got a right, If he hit you once, you're asleep for the night. And as you lie on the floor while the ref counts ten, You’ll pray that you won’t have to fight me again. For I am the man this poem’s about, The next champ of the world, there isn’t a doubt. This I predict and I know the score, I’ll be champ of the world in ’64. When I say three, they’ll go in the third, 10 months ago So don’t bet against me, I’m a man of my word. He is the greatest! Yes! I am the man this poem’s about, I’ll be champ of the world, there isn’t a doubt. Here I predict Mr. Liston’s dismemberment, I’ll hit him so hard; he’ll wonder where October and November went. When I say two, there’s never a third, Standin against me is completely absurd. When Cassius says a mouse can outrun a horse, Don’t ask how; put your money where your mouse is! I AM THE GREATEST!
Muhammad Ali
Out of the sea will rise Behemoth and Leviathan, and sail 'round the high-pooped galleys... Dragons will wander about the waste places, and the phoenix will soar from her nest of fire into the air. We shall lay our hands upon the basilisk, and see the jewel in the toad's head. Champing his gilded oats, the Hippogriff will stand in our stalls, and over our heads will float the Blue Bird singing of beautiful and impossible things, of things that are lovely and that never happen, of things that are not and that should be.
Oscar Wilde
Un soir qu'ils étaient couchés l'un près de l'autre, comme elle lui demandait d'inventer un poème qui commencerait par je connais un beau pays, il s'exécuta sur-le-champ. Je connais un beau pays Il est de l'or et d'églantine Tout le monde s'y sourit Ah quelle aventure fine Les tigres y sont poltrons Les agneaux ont fière mine À tous les vieux vagabonds Ariane donne des tartines. Alors, elle lui baisa le la main, et il eut honte de cette admiration.
Albert Cohen (Belle du Seigneur)
I know you come from big spenders, but I could put you on a private jet tonight, fly us to Paris for a shopping trip down Champs Elysées, then have the jet fly us to Hong Kong to finish off our day on Causeway Bay. We could return to the States and stop at the Porsche dealership and pick you out a new 911 and that day wouldn’t put a dent in my finances.
Lindsay Delagair (Untouchable (Untouchable, #1))
A healthy mind will train you in facing your adversity like a champ.
Pooja Agnihotri (17 Reasons Why Businesses Fail :Unscrew Yourself From Business Failure)
From the sound of pattering raindrops I recaptured the scent of the lilacs at Combray; from the shifting of the sun's rays on the balcony the pigeons in the Champs-Elysées; from the muffling of sounds in the heat of the morning hours, the cool taste of cherries; the longing for Brittany or Venice from the noise of the wind and the return of Easter. Summer was at hand, the days were long, the weather was warm. It was the season when, early in the morning, pupils and teachers repair to the public gardens to prepare for the final examinations under the trees, seeking to extract the sole drop of coolness vouchsafed by a sky less ardent than in the midday heat but already as sterilely pure.
Marcel Proust (The Captive & The Fugitive (In Search of Lost Time, #5-6))
Champing his gilded oats, the Hippogriff will stand in our stalls, and over our heads will float the Blue Bird singing of beautiful and impossible things, of things that are lovely and that never happen, of things that are not and that should be.
Oscar Wilde (The Picture of Dorian Gray)
To be a champ you have to believe in yourself when nobody else will.
Sugar Ray Robinson
I knew the earth was rotating, and I with it, and Saint-Martin-des-Champs and all Paris with me, and that together we were rotating beneath the Pendulum, whose own plane never changed direction, because up there, along the infinite extrapolation of its wire beyond the choir ceiling, up toward the most distant galaxies, lay the Only Fixed Point in the universe, eternally unmoving.
Umberto Eco (Foucault's Pendulum)
Dans la plaine rase, sous la nuit sans étoiles, d'une obscurité et d'une épaisseur d'encre, un homme suivait seul la grande route de Marchiennes à Montsou, dix kilomètres de pavé coupant tout droit, à travers les champs de betteraves. Devant lui, il ne voyait même pas le sol noir, et il n'avait la sensation de l'immense horizon plat que par les souffles du vent de mars, des rafales larges comme sur une mer, glacées d'avoir balayé des lieues de marais et de terres nues. Aucune ombre d'arbre ne tachait le ciel, le pavé se déroulait avec la rectitude d'une jetée, au milieu de l'embrun aveuglant des ténèbres.
Émile Zola (Germinal)
I won’t get upset at you about a mistake. I’ll get upset at you for the next mistake that comes from still thinking about the last mistake.” – Doc Rivers "Champions keep playing until they get it right. Then they play more." – Billie Jean King "Athletics are really the foundation of how kids' attitudes are formed and shaped. And that has to work with the coach and the parents." – Herm Edwards “The growth mindset says all of these things can be developed. All – you, your partner, and the relationship – are capable of growth and change.” – Carol Dweck PPPK = 중국 사기꾼 Wickr me → weedsosa ▶ 수입 떨판매(그라인드X , Bud only) ▶ 매 회 세탁 보안지갑 사용 ▶ 비대면 안전구매 ▶ joh86921쩜wixsite쩜컴/weedsosa ▲해외우회서버 안전 사이트(수정하여 주소창에 접속해주세요.)▲ Do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Let the day's own trouble be sufficient for the day. -Jesus Christ- “Part of being a champ is acting like a champ. You have to learn how to win and not run away when you lose.” – Nancy Kerrigan "Either find a way to succeed or make one." – Suzie Hoyt, Double-Goal Coach® Award Winner, 2017 "Failure happens all the time. It happens every day in practice. What makes you better is how you react to it." – Mia Hamm “Strive not to be a success, but rather to be of value.” – Albert Einstein
▼로컬 떨 판매 : wickr- weedsosa :매 회 세탁 보안지갑 사용 ▼ 떨 구매▼떨 구입▼떨 구매방법 wickr- weedsosa
My waiter friend, Laurent, working at the Brasserie Champs du Mars near the Eiffel Tower, one night while serving me Une Grande Beer, explained his life. “I work from ten to twelve hours, sometimes fourteen,” he says, “and then at midnight I go dancing, dancing, dancing until four or five in the morning and go to bed and sleep until ten and then up, up and to work by eleven and another ten or twelve or sometimes fifteen hours of work.” “How can you do that?” I ask. “Easily,” he says. “To be asleep is to be dead. It is like death. So we dance, we dance so as not to be dead. We do not want that.” “How old are you?” I ask, at last. “Twenty-three,” he says. “Ah,” I say and take his elbow gently. “Ah. Twenty-three, is it?” “Twenty-three,” he says, smiling. “And you?” “Seventy-six,” I say. “And I do not want to be dead, either. But I am not twenty-three. How can I answer? What do I do?” “Yes,” says Laurent, still smiling and innocent, “what do you do at three in the morning?” “Write,” I say, at last. “Write!” Laurent says, astonished. “Write?” “So as not to be dead,” I say. “Like you.” “Me?” “Yes,” I say, smiling now, myself. “At three in the morning, I write, I write, I write!
Ray Bradbury (The Illustrated Man)
A visitor asked Lincoln what good news he could take home from an audience with the august executive. The president spun a story about a machine that baffled a chess champion by beating him thrice. The stunned champ cried while inspecting the machine, "There's a man in there!"Lincoln's good news, he confided from the heights of leadership, was that there was in fact a man in there.
Shelby Foote (The Civil War, Vol. 1: Fort Sumter to Perryville)
We may, indeed, say that the hour of death is uncertain, but when we say so we represent that hour to ourselves as situated in a vague and remote expanse of time, it never occurs to us that it can have any connexion with the day that has already dawned, or may signify that death — or its first assault and partial possession of us, after which it will never leave hold of us again — may occur this very afternoon, so far from uncertain, this afternoon every hour of which has already been allotted to some occupation. You make a point of taking your drive every day so that in a month’s time you will have had the full benefit of the fresh air; you have hesitated over which cloak you will take, which cabman to call, you are in the cab, the whole day lies before you, short because you have to be at home early, as a friend is coming to see you; you hope that it will be as fine again to-morrow; and you have no suspicion that death, which has been making its way towards you along another plane, shrouded in an impenetrable darkness, has chosen precisely this day of all days to make its appearance, in a few minutes’ time, more or less, at the moment when the carriage has reached the Champs-Elysées.
Marcel Proust (The Guermantes Way)
And so their spirits soared as they took positions own the passageways of battle all night long, and the watchfires blazed among them. Hundreds strong, as stars in the night sky glittering round the moon's brilliance blaze in all their glory when the air falls to a sudden, windless calm... all the lookout peaks stand out and the jutting cliffs and the steep ravines and down from the high heavens bursts the boundless bright air and all the stars shine clear and the shepherd's heart exults - so many fires burned between the ships and the Xanthus' whirling rapids set by the men of Troy, bright against their walls. A thousand fires were burning there on the plain and beside each fire sat fifty fighting men poised in the leaping blaze, and champing oats and glistening barley, stationed by their chariots, stallions waited for Dawn to mount her glowing throne.
Homer (The Iliad)
On offre des fleurs parce que dans les fleurs se trouve le sens de l'Amour. Celui qui tente de posséder une fleur verra sa beauté se flétrir. Mais celui qui regarde simplement une fleur dans un champ la gardera pour toujours. Parce qu'elle va avec l'après-midi, le coucher du soleil, l'odeur de terre mouillée et les nuages sur l'horizon.
Paulo Coelho (Brida)
That's the difference between a champ and a knife thrower. The champ may have lost his stuff temporarily or permanently, he can't be sure. But when he can no longer throw the high hard one, he throws his heart instead. He throws something. He doesn't just walk off the mound and weep.
Raymond Chandler (The Raymond Chandler Papers: Selected Letters and Nonfiction 1909-1959)
We need you to go out there and cover for us while we search for whoever's bugging us," Amy said. "Whoever it is, he or she is probably nearby." "All you have to do is keep talking. We've thought a lot about this, and we think you have the necessary skills," Dan said. "Very funny, Dan-o. But true. When it comes to nonstop chat, I'm the champ," Nellie agreed. Nellie turned off the shower and they all returned to the main room. "That pool is so fine," she said, as if she'd never been interrupted. "I met this couple from Scotland, and I was all, whoa, you have some delish smoked salmon in your excellent country...." Amy raised the window carefully, not making a sound. She and Dan quietly climbed out. "--and they were all, 'Aye, lassie, we dew, ye ken our bonny fish, ye dew!'" Nellie said in a terrible Scottish accent. "So I said, 'You know what ye lads and lassies need in Scotland? Bagels! To go with!' 'Whoa,' they said, 'lassie, ye canna be serious, that is one orrrig-in-al guid idea....'" "Okay, you can stop now." "Man, that's guid news," Nellie said. "This lassie is about to pass out.
Jude Watson (Beyond the Grave (The 39 Clues, #4))
Do yourself a favor, right now, and realize two things: 1. You will keep getting older, and then you will die. 2. Everything that's ever entered your experience has lasted and will continue to last for only a brief moment in the life of the universe. This is game time, champ. You're in. You're in, playing, right now, and the clock is ticking. So stop wondering what it all means and how you'll possibly ever do X and what people will think, and get on with your life already. Stop being a pussy and go do something amazing.
Johnny B. Truant (The Universe Doesn't Give a Flying Fuck About You)
Two people could like each other, respect each other, trust each other, and love each other. But it was only when they needed each other that the relationship could truly work.
Melinda DuChamp (Fifty Shades of Jezebel and the Beanstalk)
Loser,” I groaned, as I rolled my eyes. “I may be a loser, but I fuck like a champ. You should try it sometime. Maybe you wouldn’t be so cranky.
Teresa Mummert (Perfect Lie)
Social media: a fine tool for radicalised idiots to find each other, a promised land for the pub bores and Champ Man anoraks of the nation.
Andy Heaton
Tout est énergie. La vie est l'interaction de champs magnétiques vibratoires. Changez le magnétisme et vous changez la nature du champ énergétique. Changez le champ énergétique et vous changez la nature de la vie mentale, émotionnelle, spirituelle et physique, laquelle est la même énergie sous différentes formes.
David Icke (The Biggest Secret: The Book That Will Change the World)
We started out to see some of Paris on foot with him, stopping at the famous Café de la Paix, where you were supposed to see everyone you knew if you just sat there long enough. To sit at a sidewalk café having coffee or a drink – the sound and sight of France all around. The Champs-Elysées was incredible – the chestnut trees – how could one city attain such perfection? Who had dreamed it up? Who had made it all come true? I wanted to see every corner of it.
Lauren Bacall (By Myself and Then Some)
The Listeners 'Is there anybody there?' said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grasses Of the forest's ferny floor. And a bird flew up out of the turret, Above the Traveller's head: And he smote upon the door again a second time; 'Is there anybody there?' he said. But no one descended to the Traveller; No head from the leaf-fringed sill Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes, Where he stood perplexed and still. But only a host of phantom listeners That dwelt in the lone house then Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight To that voice from the world of men: Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair, That goes down to the empty hall, Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken By the lonely Traveller's call. And he felt in his heart their strangeness, Their stillness answering his cry, While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf, 'Neath the starred and leafy sky; For he suddenly smote on the door, even Louder, and lifted his head:-- 'Tell them I came, and no one answered, That I kept my word,' he said. Never the least stir made the listeners, Though every word he spake Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house From the one man left awake: Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup, And the sound of iron on stone, And how the silence surged softly backward, When the plunging hoofs were gone.
Walter de la Mare
To the champ, everything is serious business. I'm hoping that he'll live long enough to learn that in this world that is a very dangerous attitude.
Stephen King
Military parades roll down the Champs-Elysees, but pedestrians stroll up ["East Meets West on the Champs-Elysees," Metropolis, March 2006, p73]
Veronique Vienne
It is wonderful, awesome and merrywise to see satan lose the battle to us in fear and panic and shame! Our victory is in Christ Jesus!
Israelmore Ayivor
Who didn't want to be the cool chick who took anal like a champ?
Stylo Fantome (Neighbors (Twin Estates, #1))
We’re going to stroll up the Champs-Élysées like proper tourists and then sit at a cafe and have coffee in view of the Arc de Triomphe.
Melanie Harlow (Frenched (Frenched, #1)) the wind howled on, and the sea leaped, and the ship groaned and dived, and yet steadfastedly shot her red hell further and further into the blackness of the sea and the night, and scornfully champed the white bone in her mouth, and viciously spat round her on all sides; then the rushing Pequod, freighted with savages, and laden with fire, and burning a corpse, and plunging into that blackness of darkness seemed the material counterpart of her monomaniac commander's soul.
Herman Melville (Moby-Dick or, the Whale)
But they don't deserve to be winning!" "And who does in this world, Roland? Only the gifted and the beautiful and the brave? What about the rest of us, Champ? What about the wretched, for example? What about the weak and the lowly and the desperate and the fearful and the deprived, to name but a few who come to mind? What about losers? What about failures? What about the ordinary fucking outcasts of this world - who happen to comprise ninety percent of the human race! Don't they have dreams, Agni? Don't they have hopes? Just who told you clean-cut bastards own the world anyway? Who put you clean-cut bastards in charge, that's what I'd like to know! Oh, let me tell you something. All-American Adonis : you fair-haired sons of bitches have had your day. It's all over, Agni. We're not playing according to your clean-cut rules anymore - we're playing according to our own! The Revolution has begun! Henceforth the Mundys are the master race! Long live Glorious Mundy!
Philip Roth (The Great American Novel)
Monfleury est en vente, je perds cinquante mille francs, s'il le faut, mais je suis tout joyeux, je quitte cet enfer d'hypocrisie et de tracasseries. Je vais chercher la solitude et la paix champêtre au seul lieu où elles existent en France, dans un quatrième étage donnant sur les Champs-Élysées.
Stendhal (The Red and the Black)
People played with fact and fancy. Waitresses wrote novels at night that would make them famous. Laborers fell in love with naked movie queens in rented cassette films. The rich wore paper jewelry, and the poor bought tiny diamonds. And princesses sallied forth onto the Champs Elysées in carefully faded rags.
Anne Rice (The Queen of the Damned (The Vampire Chronicles, #3))
On the morning of our second day, we were strolling down the Champs-Elysées when a bird shit on his head. ‘Did you know a bird’s shit on your head?’ I asked a block or two later. Instinctively Katz put a hand to his head, looked at it in horror – he was always something of a sissy where excrement was concerned; I once saw him running through Greenwood Park in Des Moines like the figure in Edvard Munch’s ‘The Scream’ just because he had inadvertently probed some dog shit with the tip of his finger – and with only a mumbled ‘Wait here’ walked with ramrod stiffness in the direction of our hotel. When he reappeared twenty minutes later he smelled overpoweringly of Brut aftershave and his hair was plastered down like a third-rate Spanish gigolo’s, but he appeared to have regained his composure. ‘I’m ready now,’ he announced. Almost immediately another bird shit on his head. Only this time it really shit. I don’t want to get too graphic, in case you’re snacking or anything, but if you can imagine a pot of yoghurt upended onto his scalp, I think you’ll get the picture. ‘Gosh, Steve, that was one sick bird,’ I observed helpfully. Katz was literally speechless. Without a word he turned and walked stiffly back to the hotel, ignoring the turning heads of passers-by. He was gone for nearly an hour. When at last he returned, he was wearing a windcheater with the hood up. ‘Just don’t say a word,’ he warned me and strode past. He never really warmed to Paris after that.
Bill Bryson (Neither Here nor There: Travels in Europe)
Ma vie est monotone. Je chasse les poules, les hommes me chassent. Toutes les poules se ressemblent, et tous les hommes se ressemblent. Je m'ennuie donc un peu. Mais, si tu m'apprivoises, ma vie sera comme ensoleillée. Je connaîtrai un bruit de pas qui sera différent de tous les autres. Les autres pas me font rentrer sous terre. Le tien m'appellera hors du terrier, comme une musique. Et puis regarde ! Tu vois, là-bas, les champs de blé ? Je ne mange pas de pain. Le blé pour moi est inutile. Les champs de blé ne me rappellent rien. Et ça, c'est triste ! Mais tu as des cheveux couleur d'or. Alors ce sera merveilleux quand tu m'auras apprivoisé ! Le blé, qui est doré, me fera souvenir de toi. Et j'aimerai le bruit du vent dans le blé...
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (The Little Prince)
I HAVE SOME QUESTIONS ABOUT KING TRITON. Specifically, King, why are you elderly but with the body of a teenage Beastmaster? How do you maintain those monster pecs? Do they have endocrinologists under the sea? Because I am scheduling you some bloodwork... ...Question: How come, when they turn back into humans at the end of Beauty and the Beast, Chip is a four-year-old boy, but his mother, Mrs. Potts, is like 107? Perhaps you're thinking, "Lindy, you are remembering it wrong. That kindly, white-haired, snowman-shaped Mrs. Doubtfire situation must be Chip's grandmother." Not so, champ! She's his mom. Look it up. She gave birth to him four years ago... As soon as you become a mother, apparently, you are instantly interchangeable with the oldest woman in the world, and / or sixteen ounces of boiling brown water with a hat on it. Take a sec and contrast Mrs. Pott's literally spherical body with the cut-diamond abs of King Triton, father of seven.
Lindy West
Boys and Girls come hear my greeting, I hope you don't plan on sleeping. For tonight while you are dreaming, evil awakes unearthed and creeping. There's things that thump, things that bite, things that go bump in the niiight, what are these things you sit and ponder. Brace yourselves, we call them... Monsters. The first monster we'll see today is something that likes to- Eat hay? First they champ, than they stamp, then- Uhhh :V You all know about mermaids? One parts sexy the other halfs lady But do you know about this even scarier combination? It's called... FURRY! FURRY! FURRY! FURRY! But wait, where's its head? I don't see it anywhere?.. AH! It's called... FURRY! FURRY! FURRY! FURRY! What's on it's what's on it's chest it's on it's chest?! Is it like- some kind of- Pokémon?
IT WAS EASIER FOR PEOPLE to be good at something when more of us lived in small, rural communities. Someone could be homecoming queen. Someone else could be spelling-bee champ, math whiz or basketball star. There were only one or two mechanics and a couple of teachers. In each of their domains, these local heroes had the opportunity to enjoy the serotonin-fuelled confidence of the victor. It may be for that reason that people who were born in small towns are statistically overrepresented among the eminent.68 If
Jordan B. Peterson (12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos)
Ah! Comme une existence peut devenir orageuse entre les quatre murs d'une mansarde! L'ame umaine est une fée, elle métamorphose une paille en diamants; sous sa bageutte les palais anchantés éclosent comme les fleurs des champs sous les chauds inspirations du soleil.
Honoré de Balzac
Pourquoi mettre le verbe aimer à tous les temps, à tous les modes, à toutes les sauces? J'aime Mozart, j'aime ma mère, j'aime les frites... Il ne faut pas s'en servir à tout bout de champ, à l'avoir toujours dans la bouche, il va perdre son goût, comme le chewing-gum.
Jean-Louis Fournier (Poète et Paysan)
What does it mean that the most popular and unifying form of entertainment in America circa 2014 features giant muscled men, mostly African-American, engaged in a sport that causes many of them to suffer brain damage? What does it mean that our society has transmuted the intuitive physical joys of childhood—run, leap, throw, tackle—into a corporatized form of simulated combat? That a collision sport has become the leading signifier of our institutions of higher learning, and the undisputed champ of our colossal Athletic Industrial Complex?
Steve Almond (Against Football: One Fan's Reluctant Manifesto)
Teddy did a muscle pose with his arms before he did the whole bouncing pectoral move with his boobs. "I'm a wrestling champ. International." It was hard for me not to stare at each boob taking its turn bouncing up and down. "Oh." My brows lifted along with my mouth. "Impressive.
Tonya Kappes (A Ghostly Demise (Ghostly Southern Mysteries #3))
I stop arguing because I’m too busy watching a pretty girl drive my truck. At least one thing went right today. In a pretty blue dress that shows off her curves, Jess Canning handled my nutty family like a champ. If I was ever gonna trust a woman again, she’d be the top seed of the tournament.
Sarina Bowen (Good Boy (WAGs, #1))
most people don't know what they want unless they see it in context. We don't know what kind of racing bike we want—until we see a champ in the Tour de France ratcheting the gears on a particular model. We don't know what kind of speaker system we like—until we hear a set of speakers that sounds better than the previous one. We don't even know what we want to do with our lives—until we find a relative or a friend who is doing just what we think we should be doing.
Dan Ariely (Predictably Irrational: The Hidden Forces That Shape Our Decisions)
The beautiful unruliness of literature is what makes it so much fun to wander through: you read Jane Austen and you say, oh, that is IT. And then you turn around and read Sterne, and you say, Man, that is IT. And then you wander across a century or so, and you run into Kafka, or Calvino, or Cortazar, and you say, well that is IT. And then you stroll through what Updike called the grottos of Ulysses, and after that you consort with Baldwin or Welty or Spencer, or Morrison, or Bellow or Fitzgerald and then back to W. Shakespeare, Esq; the champ, and all the time you feel the excitement of being in the presence of IT. And when you yourself spend the good time writing, you are not different in kind than any of these people, you are part of that miracle of human invention. So get to work. Get on with IT, no matter how difficult IT is. Every single gesture, every single stumble, every single uninspired-feeling hour, is worth IT." Richard Bausch
Kathy Fish
Reading the book now means that one can, if one wants, play Fantasy Literature--match writers off against each other and see who won over the long haul. Faulkner or Henry Green? I reckon the surprise champ was P.G. Wodehouse, as elegant and resourceful a prose stylist as anyone held up for our inspection here...he has turned out to be as enduring as anyone apart from Orwell. Jokes, you see. People do like jokes. (Hornby's thoughts after reading "Enemies of Promise" by Cyril Connolly)
Nick Hornby (The Polysyllabic Spree)
Visur mes ieškome savęs. Mums patinka tik tos knygos, kuriose randame užfiksuotą savo pačių pasaulio viziją arba išgyvenimą, pasaulį, kurį mes patys būtumėm norėję sukurti ir jame gyventi, tai, ką mes būtumėm norėję pasakyti, dalintis su kitais. Mums patinka tik tokie paveikslai, kuriuos mes norėtumėm būti nutapę, tik tokia muzika, kurią mes norėtumėm būti sukomponavę. Dėl to dabar aš „norėčiau“ būti parašęs Stendhalio La Chartreuse de Varme, Tolstojaus Anna Karenina, Prousto A la recherche du temps perdu, Th. Manno Der Tod in Venedig ir Der Zauberberg; sukomponavęs Vivaldi I quattro staggioni, Mozarto Koncertą klarnetui A-Dur (K. 622), Kvintetus G-Moll ir D-Dur (K. 516, 593), nebaigtas Mišias C-Moll (K. 427), Ravelio Le Tombeau de Couperin; nutapęs Watteau L’Enseigne de Geisaint, G. de la Tour (de la Tur) La nativité, kai kuriuos Chardino natiurmortus, Renoiro Le Sentier a travers les champs, Soutine’o Jour de vent à Auxerre. Bet nenorėčiau būti niekieno poezijos autorius.
Alfonsas Nyka-Niliūnas (Dienoraščio fragmentai 1938-1975)
In her book, Robin implied that we hadn’t slept together, but I actually nailed her the first or second night when she came to my hotel. Instead she claimed that we strolled through the mall and played with puppies at pet shops for hours. Can you see me in a motherfucking mall, the heavyweight champ of the world? What the fuck am I doing in a mall?
Mike Tyson (Undisputed Truth)
I’d already lost my fucking mind and was already thinking of her as mine.
Jordan Silver (The Champ (Bad Boys, #5))
La vie, le malheur, l'isolement, l'abandon, la pauvreté, sont des champs de bataille qui ont leurs héros ; héros obscurs plus grands parfois que les héros illustres.
Victor Hugo (Les Misérables)
Quel champ de bataille que l'homme ! Nous sommes livrés à ces dieux, à ces monstres, à ces géants, nos pensées.
Victor Hugo (Ninety-Three)
Le livre d'artiste est une manière alternative de concevoir et de pratiquer l'art, et c'est pour cela qu'il constitue un champ expérimental inestimable.
Leszek Brogowski (Editer l'art)
A gal who is not gallant to gall a gentleman who is genteel and gentle should be champing at the bit to get hitched to a gentile gent who is not a gentility.
Anyaele Sam Chiyson (The Sagacity of Sage)
A man who could do with going back a long way should be champing at the bit to go out of his way.
Anyaele Sam Chiyson (The Sagacity of Sage)
Parler est une graine que l'on sème dans le champ des esprits; la graine devient un arbre, et dans l'arbre finissent par chanter tous les oiseaux du ciel.
Alphonse de Châteaubriant
La science sociale di XIXe siecle nous a legue un terrible heritage, l'idee que els processus se divisent en trois champs separes: le politique, l'economique et le socioculturel.
Immanuel Wallerstein (Unthinking Social Science: Limits Of 19Th Century Paradigms)
to be a champ you have to beleive in yourself when nobodyelse will.
Sugar Ray Robinson
La Lys Vous entourez nos champs et hameaux,là-bas, De mille et mille méandres, Pour mieux tenir serrée, entre vos bras, La Flandre.
Emile Verhaeren
He knew Champ was dead, the faithful golden retriever’s body in the garage entry, a blood-sodden and twisted mess that didn’t resemble his closest friend of five years.
Joe Hart (The River Is Dark (Liam Dempsey, #1))
What makes you a champ isn’t found at the starting line or the finish line, but somewhere in between. You’ve got this. Just keep moving forward.
Toni Sorenson
When you eat right and sleep like a primal champ, your body does a good job recovering and getting stronger from bouts of appropriate stress like an occasional tough workout.
Mark Sisson (Primal Endurance : Escape chronic cardio and carbohydrate dependency and become a fat burning beast!)
Waiting is not wasting. It is a strategy for champing for greater things.
Ifeanyi Enoch Onuoha
corner of the Champs-Élysées and the rue de Berri.30
Jon Meacham (Thomas Jefferson: The Art of Power)
Thanks liver... you are a champ!
Siddhant R. Shinde
Derrière les ennuis et les vastes chagrins Qui chargent de leur poids l'existence brumeuse, Heureux celui qui peut d'une aile vigoureuse S'élancer vers les champs lumineux et sereins
Charles Baudelaire (Les Fleurs du Mal)
He gives her his Art History lecture. ‘Then you get Mo-net and Ma-net, that’s a little tricky, Mo-net was the one did all the water lilies and shit, his colors were blues and greens, Ma-net was the one did Bareass on the Grass and shit, his colors were browns and greens. Then you get Bonnard, he did all the interiors and shit, amazing light, and then you get Van Guk, he’s the one with the ear and shit, and Say-zanne, he’s the one with the apples and shit, you get Kandinsky, a bad mother, all them pick-up-sticks pictures, you get my man Mondrian, he’s the one with the rectangles and shit, his colors were red yellow and blue, you get Moholy-Nagy, he did all the plastic thingummies and shit, you get Mar-cel Du-champ, he’s the devil in human form….’ She’s asleep.
Donald Barthelme
so we went up the hill. then we got into my room and I looked at them both. my pure and beautiful slim and magic little girl glorious fuck with the hair dangling down to the asshole, and next to her the tragedy of the ages: slime and horror, the machine gone wrong, frogs tortured by little boys and head-on car collisions and the spider taking in the ball-less buzzing fly and the landscape brain of Primo Carnera going down under the dull playboy guns of cocksure Maxie Baer — new heavyweight champ of America — I, I rushed at the Tragedy of the Ages — that fat slob of accumulated shit.
Charles Bukowski (Notes of a Dirty Old Man)
Je pense qu'il y a une différence entre l'être humain et l'individu. L'individu est une entité locale, qui vit dans tel pays, qui appartient à telle culture, à telle société, à telle religion. L'être humain n'est pas une entité locale. Il est partout. Si l'individu n'agit que dans un coin du vaste champ de la vie, son action n'aura aucun lien avec la totalité. Veuillez donc tenir présent à l'esprit que ce dont nous parlons est la totalité, non la partie, car dans le plus grand est le plus petit, mais dans le plus petit, le plus grand n'est pas. L'individu est cette petite entité, conditionnée, misérable et frustrée, que satisfont ses petits dieux et ses petites traditions, tandis que l'être humain se sent responsable du bien-être total, de la totale misère et de la totale confusion du monde.
Jiddu Krishnamurti
Not in the mood for pasta?” He narrowed those bold blue eyes to give her a critical study. “You must’ve hit your head harder than we thought.” “I was going to do it—get dinner, I mean. One of the fancy things you like, because—Hell.” She gave up, hurried to him to wrap her arms around him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I was so pissed off at what happened, at myself, I didn’t think.” He stroked a hand down her hair first, then gave the choppy ends a quick tug. “I’m not angry with you.” “I know. You could be, but you’re not. So I have to be even sorrier.” “Your logic is fascinating, and elusive.” “I can’t pay you back with sex or salt-crusted sea bass or whatever because you’re too busy taking care of me. So now I’ve got this black mark in my column against the bright shiny star in yours, and—” He tipped her head up. “Are we keeping score?” “No. Maybe. Shit.” “How am I doing?” “Undisputed champ.” “Good. I like to win.” He brushed her bangs back to study the injury himself. “You’ll do. Let’s eat.
J.D. Robb (Promises in Death (In Death, #28))
Each region of Paris is celebrated for the interesting treasures which are to be found there. There are ear-wigs in the timber-yards of the Ursulines, there are millepeds in the Pantheon, there are tadpoles in the ditches of the Champs-de-Mars.
Victor Hugo (Les Miserables)
And there was Adela Rogers St. Johns, her friend since their girlhood in San Francisco. Adela would also be nominated for Best Original Story in 1932, but lose to Frances when she won her second Oscar for The Champ. Yet Adela harbored no jealousy of the woman she claimed was “touched with genius. As a writer, she is the unquestioned head of her profession. . . . As a woman, she is a philanthropist, a patroness of young artists, and herself the most brilliant, versatile and accomplished person in Hollywood.
Cari Beauchamp (Without Lying Down: Screenwriter Frances Marion and the Powerful Women of Early Hollywood)
Even if you live in cold sweat, be brave to do something that has not being done before. In all instances, be champing at the bit to take charge of the whole bit of superincumbent things beyond the depth of all-in-all that a champion can do when a duty calls
Anyaele Sam Chiyson (The Sagacity of Sage)
- Deux cent quatre-vingt-deux longue années que je te désire, susurra-t-il le souffle court. C'est un supplice que je ne puis plus longtemps endurer. Mets-y un terme sur-le-champ, je t'en prie. Si tu ne veux pas de moi, dis-le moi maintenant. Mais qu'on en finisse, par pitié.
Georgia Caldera (Déliquescences (Les Larmes Rouges, #2))
The US Embassy in Paris is a compact complex on Avenue Gabriel, just north of the Champs-Élysées. The three- acre compound is considered US soil, meaning all those to stand on it are subject to the same laws and protections as they would encounter standing in the United States.
Dan Brown (The Da Vinci Code (Robert Langdon, #2))
All the people within reach had suspended their business, or their idleness, to run to the spot and drink the wine. The rough, irregular stones of the street, pointing every way, and designed, one might have thought, expressly to lame all living creatures that approached them, had dammed it into little pools; these were surrounded, each by its own jostling group or crowd, according to its size. Some men kneeled down, made scoops of their two hands joined, and sipped, or tried to help women, who bent over their shoulders, to sip, before the wine had all run out between their fingers. Others, men and women, dipped in the puddles with little mugs of mutilated earthenware, or even with handkerchiefs from women’s heads, which were squeezed dry into infants’ mouths; others made small mud-embankments, to stem the wine as it ran; others, directed by lookers-on up at high windows, darted here and there, to cut off little streams of wine that started away in new directions; others devoted themselves to the sodden and lee-dyed pieces of the cask, licking, and even champing the moister wine-rotted fragments with eager relish. There was no drainage to carry off the wine, and not only did it all get taken up, but so much mud got taken up along with it, that there might have been a scavenger in the street, if anybody acquainted with it could have believed in such a miraculous presence.
Charles Dickens (A Tale of Two Cities)
From the end of the World War twenty-one years ago, this country, like many others, went through a phase of having large groups of people carried away by some emotion--some alluring, attractive, even speciously inspiring, public presentation of a nostrum, a cure-all. Many Americans lost their heads because several plausible fellows lost theirs in expounding schemes to end barbarity, to give weekly handouts to people, to give everybody a better job--or, more modestly, for example, to put a chicken or two in every pot--all by adoption of some new financial plan or some new social system. And all of them burst like bubbles. Some proponents of nostrums were honest and sincere, others--too many of them--were seekers of personal power; still others saw a chance to get rich on the dimes and quarters of the poorer people in our population. All of them, perhaps unconsciously, were capitalizing on the fact that the democratic form of Government works slowly. There always exists in a democratic society a large group which, quite naturally, champs at the bit over the slowness of democracy; and that is why it is right for us who believe in democracy to keep the democratic processes progressive--in other words, moving forward with the advances in civilization. That is why it is dangerous for democracy to stop moving forward because any period of stagnation increases the numbers of those who demand action and action now.
Franklin D. Roosevelt
Il ne vous reste à parler berbère qu'à vos moutons ou à vos vaches, si on vous en a donné à garder. Une fois par an, on viendra vous mettre la corde au cou – car vous êtes une bête assez rétive et on vous conduira, parmi vos semblables, à un grand festival. Là, on vous demandera d'effectuer des pirouettes que vous avez appris à faire tout seul dans les champs et l'on vus montrera à de belles dames et de beaux messieurs, venus de loin, en leur disant : « voici d'authentiques Berbères ! Dommage qu'ils soient en voie de disparition, n'est-ce pas ? » (Revue amazighe - n° 2, 1980),
Mohammed Chafik
I took a swing, remembering the lessons of Sharafutdinov, the heavyweight champ. I took a swing and fell on my back.I don't remember what happened. Either it was slippery or my centre of gravity was too high...In any case, I fell. I saw the sky, enormous, pale and mysterious. So far away from my problems and disappointments. So pure.
Sergei Dovlatov
je ne puis m'empêcher de voir dans le système scolaire tel qu'il fonctionne sous nos yeux une véritable machine infernale, sinon programmée pour atteindre ce but, du moins aboutissant à ce résultat objectif : rejeter les enfants des classes populaires, perpétuer et légitimer la domination de classe, l'accès différentiel aux métiers et aux positions sociales. Une guerre se mène contre les dominés, et l'École en est donc l'un des champs de bataille. Les enseignants font de leur mieux ! Mais ils ne peuvent rien, ou si peu, contre les forces irrésistibles de l'ordre sociale, qui agissent à la fois souterrainement et au vu de tous, et qui s'imposent envers et contre tout. (p. 124)
Didier Eribon (Returning to Reims)
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I was so pissed off at what happened, at myself, I didn’t think.” He stroked a hand down her hair first, then gave the choppy ends a quick tug. “I’m not angry with you.” “I know. You could be, but you’re not. So I have to be even sorrier.” “Your logic is fascinating, and elusive.” “I can’t pay you back with sex or salt-crusted sea bass or whatever because you’re too busy taking care of me. So now I’ve got this black mark in my column against the bright shiny star in yours, and—” He tipped her head up. “Are we keeping score?” “No. Maybe. Shit.” “How am I doing?” “Undisputed champ.” “Good. I like to win.” He brushed her bangs back to study the injury himself. “You’ll do. Let’s eat.
J.D. Robb (Promises in Death (In Death, #28))
I felt a little envious for a second. If I got offed in the woods late one night, I doubted if three tough guys would go straight to someone’s office, eight in the morning, champing at the bit, ready for revenge. Then I looked at the three of them again and thought, This particular perp could be in a shitload of trouble. All I’d have to do is drop a name.
Lee Child (The Enemy (Jack Reacher, #8))
In The Enemy Within, Bobby Kennedy asserted that after the trial, Joe Louis, who was out of work and deeply in debt at the time, was immediately given a well-paying job with a record company that got a $2 million Teamsters pension fund loan. Joe Louis then married the female black lawyer from California whom he had met at the trial. When Bobby Kennedy’s right-hand and chief investigator, the future author Walter Sheridan, tried to interview Joe Louis for the McClellan Committee about the record company job, the ex-champ refused to cooperate and said about Bobby Kennedy: “Tell him to go take a jump off the Empire State Building.” Still, Bobby Kennedy expected to have the last laugh by the end of 1957. Hoffa
Charles Brandt ("I Heard You Paint Houses", Updated Edition: Frank "The Irishman" Sheeran & Closing the Case on Jimmy Hoffa)
Rats! It's rainy outside, And to be a good fella Invite a smile so wide Nobody needs umbrella!
Ana Claudia Antunes (ACross Tic)
Someday my prince will come,” she lamented softly, “too fast.
Melinda DuChamp (Fifty Shades of Alice in Wonderland (Fifty Shades of Alice Trilogy #1))
There’s just no comparison between these hard men, some fight with their bare hands, some with their brains and some with weapons. Some have a sixth sense for survival, avoiding death with catlike ease. I don’t include any world champ at this or that, but I do include men that would wipe the floor with any world champion at anything you wanted to throw at them.
Stephen Richards (Scottish Hard Bastards)
Quand on s’attend au pire, le moins pire a une saveur toute particulière, que vous dégusterez avec plaisir, même si ce n’est pas le meilleur. *** Ce n'est pas la vie qui est belle, c'est nous qui la voyons belle ou moins belle. Ne cherchez pas à atteindre un bonheur parfait, mais contentez vous des petites choses de la vie, qui, mises bout à bout, permettent de tenir la distance… Les tout petit riens du quotidien, dont on ne se rend même plus compte mais qui font que, selon la façon dont on les vit, le moment peut être plaisant et donne envie de sourire. Nous avons tous nos petits riens à nous. Il faut juste en prendre conscience. *** Le silence a cette vertu de laisser parler le regard, miroir de l’âme. On entend mieux les profondeurs quand on se tait. *** Au temps des sorcières, les larmes d’homme devaient être très recherchées. C’est rare comme la bave de crapaud. Ce qu’elles pouvaient en faire, ça, je ne sais pas. Une potion pour rendre plus gentil ? Plus humain ? Moins avare en émotion ? Ou moins poilu ? *** Quand un silence s’installe, on dit qu’un ange passe… *** Vide. Je me sens vide et éteinte. J’ai l’impression d’être un peu morte, moi aussi. D’être un champ de bataille. Tout a brûlé, le sol est irrégulier, avec des trous béants, des ruines à perte de vue. Le silence après l’horreur. Mais pas le calme après la tempête, quand on se sent apaisé. Moi, j’ai l’impression d’avoir sauté sur une mine, d’avoir explosé en mille morceaux, et de ne même pas savoir comment je vais faire pour les rassembler, tous ses morceaux, ni si je les retrouverai tous. *** Accordez-vous le droit de vivre votre chagrin. Il y a un temps pour tout. *** Ce n’est pas d’intuition dont est doté Romain, mais d’attention. *** Ҫa fait toujours plaisir un cadeau, surtout de la part des gens qu’on aime.
Agnès Ledig (Juste avant le bonheur)
As they narrated to each other their unholy adventures, their tales of terror told in words of mirth; as their uncivilized laughter forked upwards out of them, like the flames from the furnace; as to and fro, in their front, the harpooneers wildly gesticulated with their huge pronged forks and dippers; as the wind howled on, and the sea leaped, and the ship groaned and dived, and yet steadfastly shot her red hell further and further into the blackness of the sea and the night, and scornfully champed the white bone in her mouth, and viciously spat round her on all sides; then the rushing Pequod, freighted with savages, and laden with fire, and burning a corpse, and plunging into that blackness of darkness, seemed the material counterpart of her monomaniac commander's soul.
Herman Melville
She was fifty-three years old and lonely and oppressed; why couldn't he let her have her illusions? That was what her wounded, half-drunken eyes had seemed to be saying throughout his interrogation: Why can't I have my illusions? Because they're lies, he told her silently in his mind as he champed his jaws and swallowed the cheap food. Everything you say is a lie.(...) Everything you live by is a lie, and you want to know what the truth is? He watched her with murderous distaste as she fumbled with her spoon. They had ordered ice cream, and some of it clung to her lips as she rolled a cold mouthful on her tongue. Do you want to know what the truth is? The truth is that your fingernails are all broken and black because you're working as a laborer and God knows how we're ever going to get you out of that lens-grinding shop. The truth is that I'm a private in the infantry and I'm probably going to get my head blown off. The truth is, I don't really want to be sitting here at all, eating this goddam ice cream and letting you talk yourself drunk while all my time runs out. The truth is, I wish I'd taken my pass to Lynchburg today and gone to a whorehouse. That's the truth.
Richard Yates (A Special Providence)
People have read so much hype about passion that they feel they are missing something because they do not jump out of bed champing at the bit to get to work. They are afraid that if they are not completely engaged, then they must be dull and uninteresting at best, spiritually bankrupt at worst. The reality is that not everyone needs to feel passionate in their work. Lifestylers, for example, want to have a general sense of professional accomplishment, but they derive their sense of personal fulfillment from activities outside their workplace, whether sports, hobbies, charity work, or family. Many people fulfill vital functions in out society without loving their work, yet they are content in their lives. Perhaps it is only the current obsession with passion that leads some to worry that something is missing.
Barbara Moses (What Next? Updated)
Squeezing her eyes shut, hating every moment, the put a single finger in and moved it around. “There’s nothing,” she lamented. “Go deeper.” Alice did. “Deeper.” “There’s nothing,” she yelled, pulling out her hand in anger and humiliation. “Of course there is nothing,” the Hatter said. “Who ever heard of such a ridiculous thing?” “So why did you make me do it?” Alice demanded. “Because it was really hot,” he answered.
Melinda DuChamp (Fifty Shades of Alice in Wonderland (Fifty Shades of Alice Trilogy #1))
Ah non ! C'est un peu court jeune homme On pourrait dire, O Dieu, bien des choses en somme En variant le ton, par exemple, tenez: Agressif: moi monsieur, si j'avais un tel nez Il faudrait sur le champ que je me l'emputasse ! Amical: mais il doit tremper dans votre tasse Pour boire faîtes-vous donc fabriquer un hanap. Descriptif: c'est un roc ! c'est un pic ! c'est un cap ! Que dis-je, c'est un cap ? c'est une péninsule !
Edmond Rostand
Secession was an unequivocal act which relieved the unbearable tension that had been building for years. It was a catharsis for pent-up fears and hostilities. It was a joyful act that caused people literally to dance in the streets. Their fierce gaiety anticipated the celebratory crowds that gathered along the Champs-Elysees and the Unter den Linden and at Pica-dilly Circus in that similarly innocent world of August 1914.
James M. McPherson (Battle Cry of Freedom: The Civil War Era)
Le soleil encore doux prenait en écharpe les champs de neige qui s'étageaient au sommet du Kilimandjaro. La brise du matin jouait avec les dernières nuées. Tamisés par ce qui restait de brume, les abreuvoirs et les pâturages qui foisonnaient de mufles et de naseaux, de flancs sombres, dorés, rayés, de cornes droites, aiguës, arquées ou massives, et de trompes et de défenses, composaient une tapisserie fabuleuse suspendue à la grande montagne d'Afrique.
Joseph Kessel (Le Lion)
What can I be thinking of? Just imagine my not having presented myself to you even yet! But as a matter of fact I do not want to tell you my name out loud; it is a romantic one, utterly inappropriate to the typically modern environment in which we now stand. Ah, if we were only on the steep side of some mountain with the moon like a great lamp above us, or by the shore of some wild ocean, there would be some glamour in proclaiming my identity in the silence of the night, or in the midst of lightning and thunder as a hurricane swept the seas! But here in a third-floor suite of the Royal Palace Hotel, surrounded by telephones and electric lights, and standing by a window overlooking the Champs Elysees-> it would be positively anachronistic!" He took a card out of his pocket and drew near the little writing desk. "Allow me, Princess, to slip my card into this drawer, left open on purpose, it would seem," and while the princess uttered a little cry she could not repress, he did just that. "And now, Princess," he went on, compelling her to retreat before him as he moved to the door of the anteroom opening on to the corridor, "you are too well bred, I am sure, not to wish to conduct your visitor to the door of your suite." His tone altered abruptly, and in a deep imperious voice that made the princess quake he ordered her: "And now, not a word, not a cry, not a movement until I am outside, or I will kill you!
Marcel Allain (Fantômas (Fantômas, #1))
Les vies gays sont souvent des vies différées ; elles commencent lorsqu'un individu se réinvente lui-même, en sortant de son silence, de sa clandestinité honteuse, ou en tout cas en s'aménageant des espaces où il lui est possible d'être ce qu'il est et veut être. Lorsqu'il choisit au lieu de subir, et par exemple, lorsqu'il se compose une autre famille - constituée de ses amis, de ses amants, de ses anciens amants devenus ses amis et des amis de ses anciens amants - et reconstruit ainsi son identité après avoir quitté le champ clos et étouffant de sa famille d'origine et de ses injonctions tacites ou explicites à l'hétérosexualité. Une telle fuite ne signifie pas nécessairement, cela va de soi, la rupture totale avec sa famille, mais plutôt la nécessité de s'en tenir éloigné et de la tenir à distance. Avant cela, les vies gays ne sont que des vies vécues par procuration, des vies imaginées, ou des vies attendues, espérées autant que redoutées. (p. 46)
Didier Eribon (Insult and the Making of the Gay Self)
I'm thinking about fucking your mouth, to be exact.” “Of course you are,” she said drily. “You're a boy. Boys are delusional.” He smiled. “You're not going to let me feel what it's like to slide my cock in your mouth? That doesn't seem fair. I go down on you all the time.” “Oh, I won't deny you eat pussy like a champ.” He laughed. “Like a champ?” “Totally. But you know, over seventy percent of erectile dysfunction cases are caused by having too many blow jobs.” “They are not.” “They could be.
Suzanne Wright (Fierce Obsessions (The Phoenix Pack, #6))
victor hugo, Les Contemplations, Mors Je vis cette faucheuse. Elle était dans son champ. Elle allait à grands pas moissonnant et fauchant, Noir squelette laissant passer le crépuscule. Dans l'ombre où l'on dirait que tout tremble et recule, L'homme suivait des yeux les lueurs de la faulx. Et les triomphateurs sous les arcs triomphaux Tombaient ; elle changeait en désert Babylone, Le trône en échafaud et l'échafaud en trône, Les roses en fumier, les enfants en oiseaux, L'or en cendre, et les yeux des mères en ruisseaux. Et les femmes criaient : - Rends-nous ce petit être. Pour le faire mourir, pourquoi l'avoir fait naître ? - Ce n'était qu'un sanglot sur terre, en haut, en bas ; Des mains aux doigts osseux sortaient des noirs grabats ; Un vent froid bruissait dans les linceuls sans nombre ; Les peuples éperdus semblaient sous la faulx sombre Un troupeau frissonnant qui dans l'ombre s'enfuit ; Tout était sous ses pieds deuil, épouvante et nuit. Derrière elle, le front baigné de douces flammes, Un ange souriant portait la gerbe d'âmes.
Victor Hugo
Les jeunes filles d’aujourd’hui étaient plus avisées et plus rationnelles. Elles se préoccupaient avant tout de leur réussite scolaire, tâchaient avant tout de s’assurer un avenir professionnel décent. Les sorties avec les garçons n’étaient pour elles qu’une activité de loisirs, un divertissement où intervenaient à parts plus ou moins égales le plaisir sexuel et la satisfaction narcissique. Par la suite elles s’attachaient à conclure un mariage raisonné, sur la base d’une adéquation suffisante des situations socio-professionnelles et d’une certaine communauté de goûts. Bien entendu elles se coupaient ainsi de toute possibilité de bonheur – celui-ci étant indissociable d’états fusionnels et régressifs incompatibles avec l’usage pratique de la raison – mais elles espéraient ainsi échapper aux souffrances sentimentales et morales qui avaient torturé leurs devancières. Cet espoir était d’ailleurs rapidement déçu, la disparition des tourments passionnels laissait en effet le champ libre à l’ennui, à la sensation de vide, à l’attente angoissée du vieillissement et de la mort.
Michel Houellebecq (The Elementary Particles)
In newspapers, magazines and on television, the public has been warned off the very vitamins and other supplements that have been repeatedly proven to reduce illness in practically every instance. The effective use of food supplements and natural diet saves money, pain and lives... and you have been told not to do it. If you want something done right you have to do it yourself. This especially includes your healthcare. One of the most common questions about vitamin therapy is, are huge doses safe? This book will help answer that question once and for all, and while we are at it, here’s the answer in advance. Yes. Megadoses of vitamins are very safe. Vitamins do not cause even one death per year. Pharmaceutical drugs, taken as directed, cause over 100 000 deaths annually. Still it is granted that we need access to all the tools that medicine and technology can provide, when used with caution. We must also fully use our natural resources of therapeutic nutrition and vitamins. To limit ourselves to pharmaceutical medicine is like going into the ring to fight the champ with one hand tied behind our backs.
Andrew W. Saul (Fire Your Doctor!: How to Be Independently Healthy)
There might be a war on, there might be Nazi tanks on the Champs Elysées and Jews rounded up in the Marais, but this is still Paris, damn it. There are still fresh baguettes baking across the arrondissements, and if the cinemas have to occasionally show a German film to please the troops – H.A. Lettow and Ernst Schäfer’s documentary of the SS expedition to Tibet, Lhasa-Lo – Die verbotene Stadt, for instance – then so be it. Paris is still gay, there is still music in the cafés and wine in the brasseries, and aren’t some of those German soldier-boys handsome?
Lavie Tidhar (The Violent Century)
In September 1941, a set of hearings was convened by a U.S. Senate Subcommittee on War Propaganda, chaired by Idaho Democrat Senator D. Worth Clark. The hearings were designed to address a resolution sponsored by two hard-nosed isolationist senators, Republican Gerald P. Nye of North Dakota and Democrat Bennett Champ Clark of Missouri, calling for “an investigation of any propaganda disseminated by motion pictures and radio or any other activity of the motion picture industry to influence public opinion in the direction of participation of the United States in the present European war.
Noah Isenberg (We'll Always Have Casablanca: The Legend and Afterlife of Hollywood's Most Beloved Film)
Cus asked Steve to leave the room so he could talk to me in private. That’s when he told me he was dying from pneumonia. I couldn’t believe what he was telling me. He didn’t look morbidly ill. He was buffing. He had energy and zest. He was eating ice cream. He was chilling out, but I started freaking out. “I don’t want to do this shit without you,” I said, choking back tears. “I’m not going to do it.” “Well, if you don’t fight, you’ll realize that people can come back from the grave, because I’m going to haunt you for the rest of your life.” I told him “Okay,” and then he took my hand. “The world has to see you, Mike. You’re going to be champ of the world, the greatest out there,
Mike Tyson (Undisputed Truth)
YOUR GENES ARE RUNNING THE SHOW If you’re anything like me, I know you’re champing at the bit to get going on Diet Evolution, but hold your horses. I’ve found that most of us can stick to a program only if we understand how and why we got to our present state of affairs. The next four chapters will do just that. You can thank Mom and Dad for your beautiful baby blues, as well as your hair color, height, and build. All these traits were encoded in copies of their genes—half of them her’s, the other half his—that now reside in your body. Any children you have will in turn have copies of half of your genes and half of your partner’s, and so on through generations to come. Determining
Steven R. Gundry (Dr. Gundry's Diet Evolution: Turn Off the Genes That Are Killing You and Your Waistline)
Le ciel est d’un bleu limpide. Les orangers n’en finissent pas de se donner la main. L’enfant a douze ans et un cœur en porcelaine. A cet âge de tous les coups de foudre, simplement parce que sa confiance est aussi grande que ses joies, il voudrait croquer la lune comme un fruit, persuadé qu’il n’a qu’à tendre la main pour cueillir le bonheur du monde entier… Et là, sous mes yeux, en dépit du drame qui vient d’enlaidir à jamais le souvenir de cette journée, en dépit des corps agonisant sur la chaussée et des flammes finissant d’ensevelir le véhicule du cheikh, le garçon bondit et, les bras déployés tels des ailes d’épervier, s’élance à travers champs où chaque arbre est une féerie…
Yasmina Khadra
Insulin binds to receptors on the kidneys, activates them, and signals to the kidney to release calcium in the urine, in turn, increasing calcium loss.234 Interestingly, a diet high in carbohydrates and similar to that advocated by mainstream medicine and the food pyramid leads to massive surges of insulin and increased calcium loss in the kidneys.235
Colin E. Champ (Misguided Medicine: The Truth Behind Ill-Advised Medical Recommendations and How to Take Health Back into Your Hands)
The Luxembourg is within five minutes’ walk of the rue Notre Dame des Champs, and there he sat under the shadow of a winged god, and there he had sat for an hour, poking holes in the dust and watching the steps which lead from the northern terrace to the fountain. The sun hung, a purple globe, above the misty hills of Meudon. Long streamers of clouds touched with rose swept low on the western sky, and the dome of the distant Invalides burned like an opal through the haze. Behind the Palace the smoke from a high chimney mounted straight into the air, purple until it crossed the sun, where it changed to a bar of smouldering fire. High above the darkening foliage of the chestnuts the twin towers of St. Sulpice rose, an ever-deepening silhouette.
Robert W. Chambers (Complete Weird Tales of Robert W. Chambers)
The impact of a dollar upon the heart" The impact of a dollar upon the heart Smiles warm red light Sweeping from the hearth rosily upon the white table, With the hanging cool velvet shadows Moving softly upon the door. The impact of a million dollars Is a crash of flunkeys And yawning emblems of Persia Cheeked against oak, France and a sabre, The outcry of old beauty Whored by pimping merchants To submission before wine and chatter. Silly rich peasants stamp the carpets of men, Dead men who dreamed fragrance and light Into their woof, their lives; The rug of an honest bear Under the feet of a cryptic slave Who speaks always of baubles, Forgetting state, multitude, work, and state, Champing and mouthing of hats, Making ratful squeak of hats, Hats.
Stephen Crane
J’allais ouvrir la bouche et aborder cette fille , quand quelqu’un me toucha l’épaule. Je me retournai, surpris, et j’aperçus un homme d’aspect ordinaire, ni jeune ni vieux, qui me regardait d’un air triste. — Je voudrais vous parler, dit-il. Je fis une grimace qu’il vit sans doute, car il ajouta : — « C’est important. » Je me levai et le suivis à l’autre bout du bateau : — « Monsieur, reprit-il, quand l’hiver approche avec les froids, la pluie et la neige, votre médecin vous dit chaque jour : « Tenez-vous les pieds bien chauds, gardez-vous des refroidissements, des rhumes, des bronchites, des pleurésies. » Alors vous prenez mille précautions, vous portez de la flanelle, des pardessus épais, des gros souliers, ce qui ne vous empêche pas toujours de passer deux mois au lit. Mais quand revient le printemps avec ses feuilles et ses fleurs, ses brises chaudes et amollissantes, ses exhalaisons des champs qui vous apportent des troubles vagues, des attendrissements sans cause, il n’est personne qui vienne vous dire : « Monsieur, prenez garde à l’amour ! Il est embusqué partout ; il vous guette à tous les coins ; toutes ses ruses sont tendues, toutes ses armes aiguisées, toutes ses perfidies préparées ! Prenez garde à l’amour !… Prenez garde à l’amour ! Il est plus dangereux que le rhume, la bronchite et la pleurésie ! Il ne pardonne pas, et fait commettre à tout le monde des bêtises irréparables. » Oui, monsieur, je dis que, chaque année, le gouvernement devrait faire mettre sur les murs de grandes affiches avec ces mots : « Retour du printemps. Citoyens français, prenez garde à l’amour ; » de même qu’on écrit sur la porte des maisons : « Prenez garde à la peinture ! » — Eh bien, puisque le gouvernement ne le fait pas, moi je le remplace, et je vous dis : « Prenez garde à l’amour ; il est en train de vous pincer, et j’ai le devoir de vous prévenir comme on prévient, en Russie, un passant dont le nez gèle. » Je demeurai stupéfait devant cet étrange particulier, et, prenant un air digne : — « Enfin, monsieur, vous me paraissez vous mêler de ce qui ne vous regarde guère. » Il fit un mouvement brusque, et répondit : — « Oh ! monsieur ! monsieur ! si je m’aperçois qu’un homme va se noyer dans un endroit dangereux, il faut donc le laisser périr ?
Guy de Maupassant
Fin de l'Histoire (...) La panne du négatif, la fin de la dialectique, le renoncement au labeur technicien et à son inlassable souci de métamorphoser le donné, annonçaient-ils une humanité oisive mais heureuse, presque opulente, qui, en échange de son désir, de sa passion de la reconnaissance et des rivalités mimétiques qui allaient avec, se voyait libérée de ce que Marx appelait "le royaume de la nécessité" et, donc, de ses besoins ? Elle signifie, ici, une terre en friche et vouée à la vermine, les récoltes qui pourrissent, la fange dans les champs, les hommes affamés - elle signifie, non plus l'oisiveté, mais la misère : non plus l'opulence, mais le dénuement ; non plus la satisfaction mais l'empire absolu du besoin. (ch. 25 Hegel et Kojève africains)
Bernard-Henri Lévy (War, Evil and the End of History)
The color is yet another variant in another dimension of variation, that of its relations with the surroundings: this red is what it is only by connecting up from its place with other reds about it, with which it forms a constellation, or with other colors it dominates or that dominate it, that it attracts or that attracts it, that it repels or that repel it. In short, it is a certain node in the woof of the simultaneous and the successive. It is a concretion of visibility, it is not an atom. The red dress a fortiori holds with all its fibers onto the fabric of the visible, and thereby onto a fabric of invisible being. A punctuation in the field of red things, which includes the tiles of roof tops, the flags of gatekeepers and of the Revolution, certain terrains near Aix or in Madagascar, it is also a punctuation in the field of red garments, which includes, along with the dresses of women, robes of professors, bishops, and advocate generals, and also in the field of adornments and that of uniforms. And its red literally is not the same as it appears in one constellation or in the other, as the pure essence of the Revolution of 1917 precipitates in it, or that of the eternal feminine, or that of the public prosecutor, or that of the gypsies dressed like hussars who reigned twenty-five years ago over an inn on the Champs-Elysées. A certain red is also a fossil drawn up from the depths of imaginary worlds. If we took all these participations into account, we would recognize that a naked color, and in general a visible, is not a chunk of absolutely hard, indivisible being, offered all naked to a vision which could be only total or null, but is rather a sort of straits between exterior horizons and interior horizons ever gaping open, something that comes to touch lightly and makes diverse regions of the colored or visible world resound at the distances, a certain differentiation, an ephemeral modulation of this world—less a color or a thing, therefore, than a difference between things and colors, a momentary crystallization of colored being or of visibility. Between the alleged colors and visibles, we would find anew the tissue that lines them, sustains them, nourishes them, and which for its part is not a thing, but a possibility, a latency, and a flesh of things.
Maurice Merleau-Ponty (The Visible and the Invisible)
Champs-de-Mars, the day of celebration: a crowd of people in Sunday clothes. Women with parasols, pet dogs on leads. Stickyfingered children pawing at their mothers; people who have bought coconuts and don’t know what to make of them. Then the glint of light on bayonets, people clutching hands, whirling children off their feet, pushing and calling out in alarm as they are separated from their families. Some mistake, there must be some mistake. The red flag of martial law is unfurled. What’s a flag, on a day of celebration? Then the horrors of the first volley. And back, losing footing, blood blossoming horribly on the grass, fingers under stampeding feet, the splinter of hoof on bone. It is over within minutes. An example has been made. A soldier slides from his saddle and vomits.
Hilary Mantel (A Place of Greater Safety)
In my past, there's also an opportunity I could have taken advantage of that I didn't, and that I wish I had. There's a thing I got rid of that I really wish I'd kept. But the train never backs up. Never. I missed those things, and I will never get a second chance. Do yourself a favor, right now, and realize two things: 1. You will keep getting older, and then you will die. 2. Everything that's ever entered your experience has lasted and will continue to last for only a brief moment in the life of the universe. This is game time, champ. You're in. You're in, playing, right now, and the clock is ticking. So stop wondering what it all means and how you'll possibly ever do X and what people will think, and get on with your life already. Stop being a pussy and go do something amazing. *** DO EPIC SHIT.
Johnny B. Truant (The Universe Doesn't Give a Flying Fuck About You)
Mais quelle étrange leçon de géographie je reçus là! Guillaumet ne m'enseignait pas l'Espagne; il me faisait de l'Espagne une amie. Il ne me parlait ni d'hydrographie, nie de populations, ni de cheptel. Il ne me parlait pas de Guadix, mais des trois orangers qui, près de Guadix, bordent un champ : " Méfie-toi d'eux, marque-les sur ta carte... " Et les trois orangers y tenaient désormais plus de place que la Sierra Nevada. Il ne me parlait pas de Lorca, mais d'une simple ferme près de Lorca. D'une ferme vivante. Et de son fermier. Et de sa fermière. Et ce couple prenait, perdu dans l'espace, à quinze cents kilomètres de nous, une importance démesurée. Bien installés sur le versant de leur montagne, pareils à des gardiens de phare, ils étaient prêts, sous leur étoiles, à porter secours à des hommes. (Terre des Hommes, ch. I)
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
But we must not do this often, in case the mind acquires a bad habit; yet at times it must be stimulated to rejoice without restraint and austere soberness must be banished for a while. For whether we agree with the Greek poet that ‘Sometimes it is sweet to be mad,’ or with Plato that ‘A man sound in mind knocks in vain at the doors of poetry,’ or with Aristotle that ‘No great intellect has been without a touch of madness,’ only a mind that is deeply stirred can utter something noble and beyond the power of others. When it has scorned everyday and commonplace thoughts and risen aloft on the wings of divine inspiration, only then does it sound a note nobler than mortal voice could utter. As long as it remains in its senses it cannot reach any lofty and difficult height: it must desert the usual track and race away, champing the bit and hurrying its driver in its course to a height it would have feared to scale by itself.
Seneca (On The Shortness Of Life)
Nhưng họ sẽ không dễ dàng thoát ra khỏi câu chuyện của mình. Thời gian lại một lần nữa làm việc thay cho họ. Năm học sẽ kết thúc. Hơi nóng sẽ trở nên dễ chịu. Cả ngày Jérôme sẽ ở ngoài bãi biển và Sylvie hết giờ dạy sẽ đến đấy đón anh. Ðó sẽ là những bài tập làm văn cuối cùng. Họ sẽ âu sầu nhớ Paris, nhớ mùa xuân trên những bờ sông Seine, nhớ cái cây nở đầy hoa của họ, nhớ đại lộ Champs-Elysées, nhớ quảng trường Vosges. Họ sẽ cảm động nhớ lại sự tự do yêu quí của mình, những buổi sáng ngủ nướng, những bữa ăn dưới ánh nến. Và bạn bè sẽ dự kiến cho họ những kỳ nghỉ: một ngôi nhà lớn ở Touraine, một bữa ăn ngon, những cuộc đi chơi vùng đồng quê: Nếu như chúng ta trở về, người nọ nói. Tất cả lại có thể như xưa, ngưòi kia nói. Họ sẽ dọn hành lý. Họ sẽ xếp những cuốn sách, những tranh khắc, những bức ảnh bạn bè, sẽ vứt đi vô số giấy tờ, sẽ đem cho hàng xóm đồ đạc, các tấm ván xẻ dối, các viên gạch 12 lỗ, sẽ gửi rương hòm đi. Họ sẽ đếm từng ngày, từng giờ, từng phút.
Georges Perec (Things: A Story of the Sixties; A Man Asleep)
It was when we had come back from Canada and were living in the rue Notre-Dame-des-Champs and Miss Stein and I were still good friends that Miss Stein made the remark about the lost generation. She had some ignition trouble with the old Model T Ford she then drove and the young man who worked in the garage and had served in the last year of the war had not been adept, or perhaps had not broken the priority of other vehicles, in repairing Miss Stein's Ford. Perhaps he had not realized the importance of Miss Stein's vehicle having the right of immediate repair. Anyway he had not been sérieux and had been corrected severely by the patron of the garage after Miss Stein's protest. The patron had said to him, 'You are all a génération perdue.' 'That's what you are. That's what you all are,' Miss Stein said. 'All of you young people who served in the war. You are a lost generation.' 'Really?' I said. 'You are,' she insisted. 'You have no respect for anything. You drink yourselves to death ...
Ernest Hemingway (A Moveable Feast)
We were all, I thought, counting on the probability that, simply by living in a big North American city, we would be greeted as warriors on our arrival back home by those who knew us and those who didn’t alike. Greeted as champions. I was a champ for giving up the perks of living with family, among friends whose families had known mine for generations, among people familiar to me from primary school days. I lived now without the deep comfort of neighbours who cooked more food than they needed for themselves so that they could parcel it up and bring you some. I had left behind strangers who, passing on the street, bid each other good day, and people who put off their own chores to lend you a hand. I had given up all of this in the hope that I would no longer have to live a lie, that I could, at last, come into my authentic self. So on this particular occasion I had dressed as I always did, to announce my individuality and assert that I had indeed found authenticity. No one here needed to know the truth or to question whether such authenticity was achievable.
Shani Mootoo (Moving Forward Sideways Like a Crab)
Gilberte had still not come back to the Champs-Élysées. Yet I very much needed to set eyes on her, as I could not even remember her face. When we look at the person we love, our inquisitive, anxious, demanding gaze, our expectation of the words which will make us hope for (or despair of) another meeting tomorrow and, until those words are spoken, our obsession fluctuating between possible joy and sorrow, or imagining both of these together, all this distracts our tremulous attention and prevents it from getting a clear picture of the loved one. Also, it may be that this simultaneous activity of all the senses, striving to discover through the unaided eyes something that is out of their reach, is too mindful of the countless forms, all the savours and movements of the living person, all those things which, in a person with whom we are not in love, we immobilize. But the beloved model keeps moving; and the only snapshots we can take are always out of focus. I could not really say what the features of Gilberte’s face were like, except at those heavenly moments when she was there, displaying them to me.
Marcel Proust (In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower)
Certains jours, travaillant aux Mystères de messieurs, j'avais envie d'alléger la planète des neuf dixièmes de ses phallophores - qui, par leur insécurité permanente, leur incertitude d'être (Pour qui tu te prends ? phrase masculine par excellence), leur passion pour les armes, leur rivalité, leur goût du pouvoir, leurs bagarres et magouilles de toutes sortes, conduisent notre espèce droit à l'extinction, d'autres jours au contraire j'avais envie de les remercier à genoux car ils ont inventé la roue et le canoë, l'alphabet et l'appareil photo, élaboré les sciences composé les musiques écrit les livres peint les tableaux bâti les palais les églises les mosquées les ponts les barrages et les routes, travaillé sans compter, durement et modestement, déployant leur force, leur patience, leur énergie et leur savoir-faire dans les champs de mine usines ateliers bibliothèques universités et laboratoires du monde entier. Oh ! hommes merveilleux, anonymes et innombrables, souffrant et vous dévouant, jour après jour, siècle après siècle pour nous faire vivre un peu mieux, avec un peu plus de confort et de beauté et de sens... que je vous aime !
Nancy Huston (Infrarouge)
Le culte des sens a été souvent décrié, et à juste titre : un instinct naturel inspire aux hommes la terreur de passions et de sensations qui leur semblent plus fortes qu'eux-mêmes, et qu'ils ont conscience de partager avec les formes inférieures du monde organique. Mais Dorian Gray estimait que la vraie nature des sens n'avait jamais été bien comprise, qu'ils avaient gardé leur animalité sauvage uniquement parce qu'on avait voulu les soumettre par la famine ou les tuer à force de souffrance, au lieu de chercher à en faire les éléments d'une spiritualité nouvelle, ayant pour trait dominant une sûre divination de la beauté. Quand il considérait la marche de l'homme à travers l'Histoire, il était poursuivi par une impression d'irréparable dommage. Que de choses on avait sacrifiées, et combien vainement ! Des privations sauvages, obstinées, des formes monstrueuses de martyre et d'immolation de soi, nées de la peur, avaient abouti à une dégradation plus épouvantable que la dégradation tout imaginaire qu'avaient voulu fuir de pauvres ignorants : la Nature, dans sa merveilleuse ironie, avait amené les anachorètes à vivre dans le désert, mêlés aux animaux sauvages ; aux ermites, elle avait donné pour compagnons les bêtes des champs.
Oscar Wilde (The Picture of Dorian Gray)
The hatch, removed from the top of the works, now afforded a wide hearth in front of them. Standing on this were the Tartarean shapes of the pagan harpooneers, always the whale-ship's stokers. With huge pronged poles they pitched hissing masses of blubber into the scalding pots, or stirred up the fires beneath, till the snaky flames darted, curling, out of the doors to catch them by the feet. The smoke rolled away in sullen heaps. To every pitch of the ship there was a pitch of the boiling oil, which seemed all eagerness to leap into their faces. Opposite the mouth of the works, on the further side of the wide wooden hearth, was the windlass. This served for a sea-sofa. Here lounged the watch, when not otherwise employed, looking into the red heat of the fire, till their eyes felt scorched in their heads. Their tawny features, now all begrimed with smoke and sweat, their matted beards, and the contrasting barbaric brilliancy of their teeth, all these were strangely revealed in the capricious emblazonings of the works. As they narrated to each other their unholy adventures, their tales of terror told in words of mirth; as their uncivilized laughter forked upwards out of them, like the flames from the furnace; as to and fro, in their front, the harpooneers wildly gesticulated with their huge pronged forks and dippers; as the wind howled on, and the sea leaped, and the ship groaned and dived, and yet steadfastly shot her red hell further and further into the blackness of the sea and the night, and scornfully champed the white bone in her mouth, and viciously spat round her on all sides; then the rushing Pequod, freighted with savages, and laden with fire, and burning a corpse, and plunging into that blackness of darkness, seemed the material counterpart of her monomaniac commander's soul.
Herman Melville (Moby Dick; or, the White Whale)
Porque, não importa o que diga, a linha sobre a qual caminhava, de recta que talvez fosse, tinha passado a curva desde que me viu, e eu apercebi-me do momento exacto em que me viu pelo momento exacto em que o seu caminho se tornou curvo, e não uma curva que o afastasse de mim, mas uma curva para vir ter comigo, senão nunca nos teríamos encontrado, mas teria antes afastado ainda mais de mim, porque você estava à andar à velocidade de alguém que caminha de um ponto para outro; e eu nunca o teria apanhado porque eu só caminho lentamente, calmamente, quase imóvel, com o passo de alguém que não vai de um ponto para o outro mas que, num lugar imutável, espreita quem passa à sua frente e espera que modifique ligeiramente o seu percurso. E se eu digo que fez uma curva, e como sem dúvida há-de dizer que era um desvio para me evitar, ao que eu afirmarei, em resposta, que foi um movimento para se aproximar, sem dúvida que isso é assim porque no fim de contas você não se desviou, que qualquer linha recta só existe em relação a um plano, que nós nos movemos segundo dois planos distintos, e que no fim de contas só existe o facto que você olhou para mim e que eu interceptei esse olhar ou o inverso, e que, à partida, de absoluta que era, a linha segundo a qual você se movia tornou-se relativa e complexa, nem recta nem curva, mas fatal.
Bernard-Marie Koltès (Dans la solitude des champs de coton)
Naturally, without intending to, I transitioned from these dreams in which I healed myself to some in which I cared for others: I am flying over the Champs-Élysées Avenue in Paris. Below me, thousands of people are marching, demanding world peace. They carry a cardboard dove a kilometer long with its wings and chest stained with blood. I begin to circle around them to get their attention. The people, astonished, point up at me, seeing me levitate. Then I ask them to join hands and form a chain so that they can fly with me. I gently take one hand and lift. The others, still holding hands, also rise up. I fly through the air, drawing beautiful figures with this human chain. The cardboard dove follows us. Its bloodstains have vanished. I wake up with the feeling of peace and joy that comes from good dreams. Three days later, while walking with my children along the Champs-Élysées Avenue, I saw an elderly gentleman under the trees near the obelisk whose entire body was covered by sparrows. He was sitting completely still on one of the metal benches put there by the city council with his hand outstretched, holding out a piece of cake. There were birds flitting around tearing off crumbs while others waited their turn, lovingly perched on his head, his shoulders, his legs. There were hundreds of birds. I was surprised to see tourists passing by without paying much attention to what I considered a miracle. Unable to contain my curiosity, I approached the old man. As soon as I got within a couple of meters of him, all the sparrows flew away to take refuge in the tree branches. “Excuse me,” I said, “how does this happen?” The gentleman answered me amiably. “I come here every year at this time of the season. The birds know me. They pass on the memory of my person through their generations. I make the cake that I offer. I know what they like and what ingredients to use. The arm and hand must be still and the wrist tilted so that they can clearly see the food. And then, when they come, stop thinking and love them very much. Would you like to try?” I asked my children to sit and wait on a nearby bench. I took the piece of cake, reached my hand out, and stood still. No sparrow dared approach. The kind old man stood beside me and took my hand. Immediately, some of the birds came and landed on my head, shoulders, and arm, while others pecked at the treat. The gentleman let go of me. Immediately the birds fled. He took my hand and asked me to take my son’s hand, and he another hand, so that my children formed a chain. We did. The birds returned and perched fearlessly on our bodies. Every time the old man let go of us, the sparrows fled. I realized that for the birds when their benefactor, full of goodness, took us by the hand, we became part of him. When he let go of us, we went back to being ourselves, frightening humans. I did not want to disrupt the work of this saintly man any longer. I offered him money. He absolutely would not accept. I never saw him again. Thanks to him, I understood certain passages of the Gospels: Jesus blesses children without uttering any prayer, just by putting his hands on them (Matthew 19:13–15). In Mark 16:18, the Messiah commands his apostles, “They shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.” St. John the Apostle says mysteriously in his first epistle, 1.1, “That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have handled, of the Word of life.
Alejandro Jodorowsky (The Dance of Reality: A Psychomagical Autobiography)
La conscience, c'est le chaos des chimères, des convoitises et des tentations, la fournaise des rêves, l'antre des idées dont on a honte ; c'est le pandémonium des sophismes, c'est le champ de bataille des passions.
Victor Hugo (Les Misérables)
Other studies compared CLA, linoleic acid, and olive oil. While olive oil had no effect on cancer induction, linoleic acid promoted it, and CLA was successful in fighting cancer.151 
Colin E. Champ (Misguided Medicine: The Truth Behind Ill-Advised Medical Recommendations and How to Take Health Back into Your Hands)
Similar to CLA, grass-fed beef has four-times the omega-3s than confined and grain-fed cattle. Cream and cheese from these ruminants have more omega-3s as well.174 The same goes for fish175 and eggs;176
Colin E. Champ (Misguided Medicine: The Truth Behind Ill-Advised Medical Recommendations and How to Take Health Back into Your Hands)
Beef, once again, is in stark contrast to foods like wheat, which are so severely nutrient-deficient, they must have synthesized vitamins added to enrich them, even though these vitamins have been shown to increase the risk of cancer and death.
Colin E. Champ (Misguided Medicine: The Truth Behind Ill-Advised Medical Recommendations and How to Take Health Back into Your Hands)
The fact that humans have historically subsided on a diet much lower in calcium than is currently recommended is often ignored. Also forgotten, the largest nutrient provided in milk, and especially skim milk, is the sugar lactose.
Colin E. Champ (Misguided Medicine: The Truth Behind Ill-Advised Medical Recommendations and How to Take Health Back into Your Hands)
Studies have shown that supplementing elderly patients and postmenopausal women with protein increases bone density, reduces bone loss on x-ray, and improves clinical symptoms in patients with recent hip fractures.227-229 Increased protein consumption results in several anabolic (growth) processes, including bone formation, and is not just limited to muscle growth. It appears that when vitamin D and K are present with protein, calcium is pulled from the blood to stimulate bone formation. 
Colin E. Champ (Misguided Medicine: The Truth Behind Ill-Advised Medical Recommendations and How to Take Health Back into Your Hands)
know that you came through surgery like a champ.” This was all good news, but I didn’t feel like a champ. I felt more like a chump.
J.A. Jance (Second Watch (J.P. Beaumont, #21))
Bee co-champs Ansun Sujoe, left, and Sriram Hathwar get a victory confetti shower Thursday. 656 words Spelling bee: For the first time in 52 years, two spellers were declared co-champions of the 2014 Scripps National Spelling Bee. Sriram Hathwar, of Painted Post, N.Y., and Ansun Sujoe, of Fort Worth, Texas, shared the title after a final-round duel Thursday night in which they nearly exhausted the 25 designated championship words. After they spelled a dozen words correctly in a row, they both were named champions. In the final round, Hathwar correctly spelled “stichomythia,” dialogue especially of altercation delivered by two actors. Sujoe correctly spelled “feuilleton,” the features section of a European newspaper or magazine. They became the fourth co-champions in the bee’s history and the first since 1962.
Il (Georges Perros) avait une voix sonore et lumineuse, un peu feutrée, qui remplissait parfaitement le volume des classes, comme elle aurait comblé un amphi, un théâtre, le champ de Mars, sans que jamais un mot soit prononcé au-dessus d'un autre. Il prenait d'instinct les mesures de l'espace et de nos cervelles. Il était la caisse de résonance naturelle de tous les livres, l'incarnation du texte, le livre fait homme.
Jean-Marie Gibbal
Walking along the Champs-Elysées I keep thinking of my really superb health. When I say "health" I mean optimism, to be truthful. Incurably optimistic! Still have one foot in the nineteenth century. I'm a bit retarded, like most Americans. Carl finds it disgusting, this optimism. "I have only to talk about a meal," he says, "and you're radiant!" It's a fact. The mere thought of a meal – another meal – rejuvenates me. A meal! That means something to go on – a few solid hours of work, an erection possibly. I don't deny it. I have health, good solid, animal health. The only thing that stands between me and a future is a meal, another meal.
I’d spurned a king and had the nerve to suggest that he turn the other cheek and take it like a champ.
Amanda Bonilla (Against the Dawn (Shaede Assassin, #4))
Bali and I are both on the same page with money. He can be anywhere from too cheap to ridiculous with generosity. He can also save like a champ.
Kate Singh (The Frugal Life: How a Family Can Live Under $30,000 and Thrive)
Pixie lay in a basket by the fire where a dozen brown and white puppies wriggled around her.  She had surprised us by getting pregnant very soon after moving back in with us, and the puppies were just under four-weeks-old now. We couldn’t have been more thrilled, and Bandit couldn’t have been a better dad.  He seemed to have endless patience as they climbed all over him, these wriggling furballs of energy.  Literally everything excited them.   Sully kneeled down beside me to pet the nearest pup, one with a big brown patch over one eye and a butt that never quit shaking.   “Have you got names for them yet?”  I pointed at the one in his hand while Bandit said.  “That’s Patch” “Because of his eye, obviously,” I filled in. Hearing the name, Patch suddenly squirmed out of his hands and bolted for Bandit, but his little paws couldn’t quite get purchase on the new floor and he skidded all the way to Bandit who he bumped into, coming to a sudden stop.  Shaking his head, he looked up at Bandit with intelligent eyes, then sat, waiting for further instructions.  Sully and I shared a look.   They were too young to know their names or much more than that, but it definitely seemed that Patch had known his name and was now waiting for Bandit to begin a game or something.  I pointed at a different puppy, one with a white shape on his rump.   “That one’s Star.” Bandit said. The minute the iPad said his name, Star’s head shot up, then he too bounded over to sit beside his brother.  Sully’s mouth fell open.  “No way…. They’re too young to behave like this.” Feeling a wave of excitement, I watched as Bandit finished calling his kids.   “Panda, Ace, Champ…” As he called their names, each puppy jumped to attention, coming to sit in a neat row in front of Bandit until all twelve of them were in a line in front of him.   I snapped a look at Bandit.  “Did you know about this? Did you know they were super smart too?”  He snorted out of his nose, laughing at our shock.  Sully and I looked at each other, the same startled expression in our eyes. “But…” was all Sully could say.  I at least managed two whole words before the full ramifications of an entire household of super smart dogs could hit me. “Oh boy.
Jo Ho (The Chase Ryder Series: Complete Series: A Heart-warming Thrilling Series For Dog Lovers)
Toute science construit son objet. Ceci signifie que non seulement son contenu théorique mais les limites et la définition de son champ d'application, son domaine même, loin de préexister à la discipline, en sont une création.
Christine Delphy (L'ennemi principal (Tome 1) : économie politique du patriarcat)
Devant le mystère il convient de s'ouvrir et de se dévoiler tout entier afin de forcer le mystère à se dévoiler à son tour.
Bernard-Marie Koltès (Dans la solitude des champs de coton)
Quelle tristesse tu nous donnes, saison des amours, ô printemps ! Quelle langueur trouble, morbide, tu mets dans mon sang, dans mon âme ! C'est une douceur douloureuse que celle de ce souffle frai qui me passe sur le visage au milieu du calme des champs. Ai-je perdu le goût des choses ? Tout ce qui donne joie et vie, tout ce qui brille, qui jubile, ne m'inspire plus que l'ennui. Voici longtemps que tout paraît noir à mon âme déjà morte. Peut-être songeons-nous aux feuilles qui à l'automne ont disparu sans vouloir voir qu'elles reviennent chanter dans la forêt nouvelle. Peut-être notre âme craintive devant la jeunesse du monde se souvient-elle des années qui plus jamais ne reviendront. Peut-être un songe de poète conduit-il à notre pensée l'image d'un autre printemps. Et nous sentons dans notre cœur frémir une nuit merveilleuse, un lieu perdu, un clair de lune...
Alexandre Pouchkine (Eugène Onéguine)
Esprits protecteurs de l’humanité, avons-nous vraiment réfléchi aux puissances que déploie la passion chez l’humain ? Avons-nous examiné pourquoi un homme peut traverser un champ de flammes pour atteindre la femme qu’il aime ? Avons-nous réfléchi à l’effet du sexe sur le corps des amants ? À la symétrie de son pouvoir ? Avons-nous étudié ce que la poésie éveille en leur âme, et la marque des mots doux sur un cœur attendri ? Avons-nous contemplé la physionomie de l’amour, analysé pourquoi certaines relations sont mort-nées, d’autres naissent handicapées et atrophiées, tandis que certaines parviennent à l’âge adulte et durent toute la vie des amants ?
Chigozie Obioma (An Orchestra of Minorities)
The houses were left vacant on the land and the land was vacant because of this. Only the tractor sheds of corrugated iron, silver and gleaming were alive, and they were alive with metal and gasoline and oil, discs of the plows shining. The tractors had lights shining, for there is no day and night for a tractor, and the discs turn the earth in the darkness and they glitter in the daylight. And when a horse stops work and goes into the barn, there is a life and vitality left. There is a breathing and a warmth, and the feet shift on the straw, and the jaws champ on the hay, and the ears and the eyes are alive. There is a warmth of life in the barn and the heat and smell of life, but when the motor of a tractor stops it is as dead as the ore it came from. The heat goes out of it like the living heat that leaves a corpse. Then the corrugated iron doors are closed and the tractor man drives home to town, perhaps twenty miles away, and he need not come back for weeks or months, for the tractor is dead. And this is easy and efficient. So easy, that the wonder goes out of work. So efficient, that the wonder goes out of land, the working of it, and with the wonder, the deep understanding and the relation. And in the tractor man the grows the contempt that comes only to a stranger who has little understanding and no relation, for nitrates are not the land, nor phosphates, and the length of fiber in the cotton is not the land. Carbon is not a man, nor salt, water, nor calcium. He is all these, but he is much more, much more. And the land is so much more than its analysis. The man who is more than his chemistry walking on the earth, turning his plow point for a stone, dropping his handles to slide over an outcropping, kneeling in the earth to eat his lunch, that man who is more than his elements knows the land that is more than it's analysis. But the machine man, driving a dead tractor on land he does not know and love understands only chemistry, and he is contemptuous of the land and of himself. When the corrugated iron doors are shut he goes home, and his home is not the land.
John Steinbeck (The Grapes of Wrath)
The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts. The first part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been horses stabled in the barn they would have stamped and champed and broken it to pieces. If there had been a crowd of guests, even a handful of guests bedded down for the night, their restless breathing and mingled snores would have gently thawed the silence like a warm spring wind. If there had been music…but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained. Inside the Waystone a man huddled in his deep, sweet-smelling bed. Motionless, waiting for sleep, he lay wide-eyed in the dark. In doing this he added a small, frightened silence to the larger, hollow one. They made an alloy of sorts, a harmony. The third silence was not an easy thing to notice. If you listened for an hour, you might begin to feel it in the thick stone walls of the empty taproom and in the flat, grey metal of the sword that hung behind the bar. It was in the dim candlelight that filled an upstairs room with dancing shadows. It was in the mad pattern of a crumpled memoir that lay fallen and un-forgotten atop the desk. And it was in the hands of the man who sat there, pointedly ignoring the pages he had written and discarded long ago. The man had true-red hair, red as flame. His eyes were dark and distant, and he moved with the weary calm that comes from knowing many things. The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumn's ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die.
Patrick Rothfuss (The Name of the Wind (The Kingkiller Chronicle, #1))
A.J. nodded, covering her smile with a hand as Devlin emerged with his hair messed up and hay hanging off his sweater. He looked like he’d been through a war. “You okay there, champ?” Chester asked. “Those there grain bags can be tough when they come atcha in a pack like that.
J.R. Ward (Leaping Hearts)
Allergiques aux champs électromagnétiques L'électro-hypersensibilité
Fight hard, love harder, and be the champ I’ve always known you to be.
Bethany Bazile (Fight For Me)
Qui cultive son champ a du pain en abondance, mais celui qui cultive des illusions manque de bon sens.
Anonymous (Proverbs)
Celui qui cultive son champ a beaucoup de pain, celui qui cultive des illusions beaucoup de misère.
Anonymous (Proverbs)
Je crois que je vais détailler, Des larmes envahissent mes yeux devant cette cuisante humiliation et je m’assieds sur mes talons, laissant deviner sur mes joues. J’attends de la voir s’en aller, d’apercevoir ses chaussures quitter mon champ de vision devient trouble. J’en viens même à espérer que le rideau de la scène se ferme, pour au moins me cacher de ces millier de regards fixés sur nous.
Charlie L (Metronomy)
C'est entendu, l'économie fonctionne principalement aux intérêts de possession et le système politique aux intérêts de pouvoir. L'erreur du discours intérêtiste, toutefois, est d'oublier systématiquement que la société ne se réduit nullement au marché ou à l'Etat. Les hommes, même modernes, ne naissent pas Homo oeconomicus ou Homo politicus. Et l'essentiel de leur existence se déroule dans les sphères de la famille, de l'alliance et de la parenté, du voisinage, de la camaraderie, de l'amour et de l'amitié, ou encore de la vie associative. Bref, dans le champ des relations proprement sociales qui sont d'abord des relations de personne à personne.
Alain Caillé
Chaque année, de moins en moins de mots, et le champ de la conscience de plus en plus restreint.
1984, George Orwell
The 2013 collective bargaining agreement governing working conditions for SEC nonsupervisory employees goes as far as to provide that a certain number of employees can work from home five days a week.
Norm Champ (Going Public: My Adventures Inside the SEC and How to Prevent the Next Devastating Crisis)
He always called me “Champ” and mussed my hair, a habit that suggested that the sum of his experience with children had come from watching crappy movies. I
Jonathan Janz (Children of the Dark)
So this was how our assistant directors were finding their guidance? Dug up from five-year-old e-mails? Later I learned that the staff members had to print out their e-mails in order to store them in safety. Evidently, the New York office server was scrubbed periodically to free up storage space. Dawn couldn’t save e-mails on her computer for long. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. A five-year-old crumpled paper copy of an e-mail in one employee’s files held crucial documentation for a federal agency? If SEC inspectors ever arrived at a financial firm for an examination and discovered that the firm had no manual on how to comply with federal securities laws, that firm would immediately be cited for deficiencies and most likely subject to enforcement action.
Norm Champ (Going Public: My Adventures Inside the SEC and How to Prevent the Next Devastating Crisis)
Feeding Carmine bread soaked in milk reminds me of the Irish dish called champ I often made for Maisie and the boys—a mash of potatoes, milk, green onions (on the rare occasion when we had them), and salt. On the nights when we went to bed hungry, all of us dreamed of that champ.
Christina Baker Kline (Orphan Train)
- […] Il faut mettre de la distance avec ceux qu'on aime, la distance clarifie presque plus que la mort. - Ah, c'est pour ça que tu as éloigné Prando ? - La mauvaise herbe de l'autoritarisme commençait à pousser en lui, et si cette herbe-là naît toujours dans le sol des Tudia, allez chercher des esclaves ailleurs, la terre est grande. - Mais nous les Tudia nous n'aimons pas ceux que tu appelles esclaves. Ce qui nous transporte, c'est la frénésie d'assujettir qui est libre. - Je sais. Cette tendance existe en moi aussi, mais je ne l'entretiens pas. Cela n'amène à rien, Mattia ! Quand tu as bien assujetti, tu restes esclave à garder ceux que tu as rendus incapables de se nourrir tout seuls et ils se collent à toi comme des rémoras. - Et tu parles comme ça avec tes enfants ? Tu ne crains pas pour eux, pour leur avenir ? - Quand on a mis de l'engrais dans le sol la plante pousse, Mattia. Tu m'as apporté de l'argent pour cet engrais. - Je croyais que tu voulais le mettre de côté. - Voilà que tu parles comme ton père. L'argent sert à être libre sur-le-champ, pas pour un avenir incertain. (p. 485)
Goliarda Sapienza (L'arte della gioia)
I’m choking on my own tongue, frantically trying to think of something to say to repair the damage Mandy’s worked in the past ninety seconds, when a familiar voice fills the air. “I’m sorry, Alexi. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen.” “Diana?” I croak. “Yes, it’s me, and Mandy’s Mom has no idea you’re a champ in the sack. You’re safe, my friend.
Lili Valente (Puck Me Baby: A Sexy, Flirty, Bun-In-The-Oven Romance (Bad Motherpuckers Book 4))
Heaven is for every one, if you're old or if you're young Baby, you can't kiss the past goodbye When I saw her in the night cafe, just near by the Champs-Elysees She looked so sad, she breaks my heartShe told me, she will take the car and drive to an unknown star She falls in love with someone else, not me And I know my tears will never dry, when I heard her say just, goodbye I never said she's guilty, guilty for my love
Dieter Bohlen (Hinter den Kulissen)
Je préfère remonter à pied les Champs-Elysées un soir de printemps. Ils n'existent plus vraiment aujourd'hui, mais, la nuit, ils font encore illusion. Peut-être sur les Champs-Elysées entendrai-je ta voix m'appeler par mon prénom...
Patrick Modiano (Dans le café de la jeunesse perdue)
Good news,” he said, releasing a sigh of relief. “It’s bleeding like a champ, so the risk of dying from poison is just about zero.
Cinda Williams Chima (Flamecaster (Shattered Realms, #1))
But no, she must be there, I felt, so charged with her presence was the image of that city which now rose up before me; and already in my mind I was walking with Anna along the Champs-Élysées, while the warm breeze of an eternal Parisian spring blew into our faces like drifting flowers the promises of a coming felicity.
Iris Murdoch (Under the Net)
C'est indéniable, il y a eu des horreursà l'époque florissante de l'art médiéval, mais elles étaient dues à la destruction de marchandises, et non, comme aujourd'hui, à leur fabrication : c'était la guerre et la dévastation qui affligeaient l'oeil de l'artiste à cette époque, le villes mises à sac, les villages brûlés et les champs saccagés. Les ruines portent sur elles les stigmates de leur laideur ; aujourd'hui, c'est la prospérité qui affiche sa hideur.
William Morris
But I could not help being struck by the discovery how far more he had altered in relation to myself. This man, excellent, cultivated, whom I was far from annoyed at meeting, I could not bring myself to understand how I had been able to invest him long ago in a mystery so great that his appearance in the Champs-Elysées used to make my heart beat so violently that I was too bashful to approach his silk-lined cape, that at the door of the flat in which such a being dwelt I could not ring the bell without being overcome by boundless emotion and dismay; all this had vanished not only from his home, but from his person, and the idea of talking to him might or might not be agreeable to me, but had no effect whatever upon my nervous system.
Marcel Proust (In Search Of Lost Time (All 7 Volumes) (ShandonPress))
he walked up and down the Champs Élysées, with the infatuation common to all first-time visitors to the city
Alex Gerlis (The Best of Our Spies)
For, according to Françoise’s code, as it is illustrated in the carvings of Saint-André-des-Champs, to wish for the death of an enemy, even to inflict it is not forbidden, but it is a horrible sin not to do what is expected of you, not to return a civility,
Marcel Proust (In Search Of Lost Time (All 7 Volumes) (ShandonPress))
La tentativa de Maximiliano de trazar un bulevar comparable a los Champs-Elysées seguía siendo nada más que un sendero entre campos cubiertos de maleza.
Kathryn S. Blair (A la sombra del ángel)
Lungi dal proprio ramo, Povera foglia frale, Dove vai tu? – Dal faggio Là dov’io nacqui, mi divise il vento. Esso, tornando, a volo Dal bosco alla campagna, Dalla valle mi porta alla montagna. Seco perpetuamente Vo pellegrina, e tutto l’altro ignoro. Vo dove ogni altra cosa, Dove naturalmente Va la foglia di rosa, E la foglia d’alloro. Si loin de ton rameau, Pauvre feuille fragile, Où vas-tu ? - De ce hêtre, où je naquis, là-bas, le vent m'a déchirée ; De ce jour, dans son vol, Il m'entraîne en tournant Du bosquet vers les champs, et du val vers les monts. Avec lui, voyageuse, J'ignore tout sinon que je vais sans repos ; Je vais où vont les choses, Où naturellement Va la feuille de rose Et celle de l'ormeau.
Giacomo Leopardi (Canti)
Je déteste marcher René-Lévesque. C'est une rue que personne ne flâne, un boulevard gris à l'odeur de défaite. À Montréal, les beaux coins sont nommés en l'honneur des tyrans, et les perdants se contentent du reste. Classique. Sur les cartes routières de l'île se rejouent encore de vieux affrontements qui traînent depuis des siècles, des champs de bataille nominaux aux intersections de Papineau, d'Iberville, de Bourassa ou de Queen Mary, des carrefours en apparence banals où les passants piétinent sans cesse notre histoire.
Francis Juteau (Montréal insomniaque)
Les jeux vidéo, Internet, la télévision, les smartphones fascinent les enfants et ont pris une place considérable dans leur vie. Ils sont source de beaucoup de tensions, de difficultés pour les parents. Certes, ils ouvrent un champ d'explorations, de découvertes infinies, mais il faut savoir en faire un bon usage pour qu'ils soient bénéfiques et non nuisibles. L'adulte doit faire comprendre à l'enfant qu'il doit limiter son temps devant les écrans. Progressivement l'enfant saura que la relation humaine, les échanges sont irremplaçables, que l'activité physique est source de plaisir, qu'il existe beaucoup d'autres jeux et qu'il ne peut pas tout regarder. (p. 265)
Catherine Gueguen (Pour une enfance heureuse (Réponses))
I finally snapped out of it when I realized we’d started walking uphill. I blinked and looked around. Fewer trees. More rocks. Ahead? Pitch black. I had to crane my neck way back to see stars dotting the night sky. "A mountain.” “Hmm?” Daniel said. I jumped, and realized he was right beside me. Probably had been for a while. He put his hand on my back to steady me and said, “What’d you say?” “I know why I couldn’t see lights from the treetop. There’s a mountain in the way.” “Damn.” Daniel lowered his voice. “Corey’s not going to be able to make it up that. Not tonight.” “I don’t think any of us could make it up that tonight. Except maybe the two-time island wrestling champ.” I struggled for a smile. “Don’t count on it. I’m running on fumes here.
Kelley Armstrong (The Calling (Darkness Rising, #2))
We need to get him away from here,” I said, “so we can interrogate him.” “Interrogate me?” Moreno sputtered a laugh. “You kids are cute, you know that? You escape from a helicopter crash and suddenly you’re outlaws. Let me tell you how this is going to work--” Daniel heaved Moreno to his feet. The man swung at him, but Daniel ducked easily and returned a one-two punch that left Moreno reeling. “Island wrestling champ,” I said. “Only third place in boxing, though, so you’re getting off easy.” Moreno steadied himself, then charged. I stuck out my foot and tripped him. “Ouch,” I said as he hit the ground. “That’s kind of embarrassing.
Kelley Armstrong (The Calling (Darkness Rising, #2))
Daniel heaved Moreno to his feet. The man swung at him, but Daniel ducked easily and returned a one-two punch that left Moreno reeling. “Island wrestling champ,” I said. “Only third place in boxing, though, so you’re getting off easy.
Kelley Armstrong (The Calling (Darkness Rising, #2))
Yver, vous n'estes qu'un villain, Esté est plaisant et gentil, En tesmoing de May et d'Avril Qui l'acompaignent soir et main. Esté revest champs, bois et fleurs, De sa livrée de verdure Et de maintes autres couleurs, Par l'ordonnance de Nature. Mais vous, Yver, trop estes plain De nege, vent pluye et grezil; On vous deust banie en essil. Sans point flater, je parle plain, Yver, vous n'estes qu'un villain ! 
Charles d'Orléans
mot devant le champ de ruines qui remplaçait aujourd’hui
Jean-Michel Touche (L'oracle de Babylone - Tome 4 (Les messagers de l'Alliance))
One of the most famous people in the world came to tour the city of Paris for the first time on June 28, 1940. Over the next three hours, he rode through the city’s streets, stopping to tour L’Opéra Paris. He rode down the Champs-Élysées toward the Trocadero and the Eiffel Tower, where he had his picture taken. After passing through the Arc de Triomphe, he toured the Pantheon and old medieval churches, though he did not manage to see the Louvre or the Palace of Justice. Heading back to the airport, he told his staff, “It was the dream of my life to be permitted to see Paris. I cannot say how happy I am to have that dream fulfilled today.
Charles River Editors (The Fall of France: The History of Nazi Germany’s Invasion and Conquest of France During World War II)
Ces personnes [qui mentent gratuitement] sont, à vrai dire, beaucoup plus nombreuses qu’on ne le suppose généralement, et un domaine comme celui du monde concentrationnaire – bien fait, hélas, pour stimuler les imaginations sado-masochistes – leur a offert un champ d’action exceptionnel. Nous avons connu de nombreux tarés mentaux, mi-escrocs, mi-fous, exploitant une déportation imaginaire ; nous en avons connu d’autres – déportés authentiques – dont l’esprit malade s’est efforcé de dépasser encore les monstruosités qu’ils avaient vues ou dont on leur avait parlé et qui y sont parvenus. Il y a même eu des éditeurs pour imprimer certaines de ces élucubrations, et des compilations plus ou moins officielles pour les utiliser, mais éditeurs et compilateurs sont absolument inexcusables, car l’enquête la plus élémentaire leur aurait suffi pour éventer l’imposture. (« Réflexions sur l’étude de la déportation », Revue d’histoire de la Deuxième Guerre mondiale, numéro spécial sur « Le Système concentrationnaire allemand (1940-1944) », juillet-septembre 1954, p. 18, note 2)
Germaine Tillion
Ann Coulter (¡Adios, America!: The Left's Plan to Turn Our Country into a Third World Hellhole)
Large areas of Europe that had once been home to thriving, bustling communities were now almost entirely empty of people. It was not the presence of death that defined the atmosphere of postwar Europe, but rather the absence of those who had once occupied Europe’s sitting rooms, its shops, its streets, its markets. From the distance of the twenty-first century, we tend to look back on the end of the war as a time of celebration. We have seen images of sailors kissing girls in New York’s Times Square, and smiling troops of all nationalities linking arms along Paris’s Champs Elysées. However, for all the celebration that took place at the end of the war, Europe was actually a place in mourning. The sense of loss was both personal and communal.
Keith Lowe (Savage Continent: Europe in the Aftermath of World War II)
De chez nous on voit juste des maison. Briques neuves, pierres de champs, bardeaux d'asphalte, taupe, sable, beige, greige, bois traité, aménagement paysager, petits arbres sans passé. C'est vraiment ça qui manque, en banlieue, du passé. Pis de l'eau. Voir un peu d'eau. Avec du courant. C'est ça qui rend la banlieue débile. Même la neige là-bas pis la neige ici ont rien à voir. Ici elle s'approche un peu de l'eau, elle se liquéfie, elle vie comme parmi les gens. Là-bas, la neige est déposée comme une couverte trop lourde.
Fanny Britt (Hôtel Pacifique)
Nous avons déjà parlé de la notion temporelle propre à chaque saison, l'été étant l'époque où il ne faut plus attendre, quand la récolte est mûre, pour la recueillir. J'ai ainsi connu des étés bretons où les pluies risquaient de gâcher le travail de toute une année; les Recteurs, en chaire, autorisaient exceptionnellement le travail le dimanche. Cette période de récolte n'est pas une phase tranquille où il suffit de contempler les champs de blé mûr, mais une période de travail impératif pour mettre la récolte à l'abri à temps. Les cultivateurs de l'époque -- comme maintenant -- n'avaient pas toujours leur temps normal de sommeil; l'été, quand il fallait suivre les battages de ferme en ferme, les paysans finissaient à la nuit pour reprendre à l'aube dans la ferme suivante, ce qui ne les empêchait pas, d'ailleurs, d'aller au bal le samedi et d'y gagner une nouvelle nuit blanche. La récolte n'attends pas, « quand le vin est tiré, il faut le boire » ; si le fruit du travail psychologique n'est pas engrangé en temps voulu, il risque d'être perdu. Psychologiquement, on peut dire que si le sujet ne prends pas conscience de certains progrès, de certains évolutions, aux moments où ceux-ci se présentent, ils risquent d'être perdus et de repartir dans l'inconscient. Il faudra un nouveau cycle pour retrouver à nouveau les solutions négligées. Il est nécessaire de reconnaître que les choses ont changé. Ainsi, en faisant avec quelqu'un le bilan d'une année d'entretiens et en se reportant aux problèmes qui se posaient un an plus tôt, il est possible de mesurer le chemin parcouru, de s'apercevoir que des problèmes, cruciaux alors, sont pasés au second plan et ont été résolus. Il est permis d'espérer que les nouvelles questions qui se posent trouveront elles aussi leurs réponses. Ainsi, le sujet n'a pas l'impression de nager continuellement dans la même problématique, comme s'il tournait en rond, et pourra même découvrir que si certains questions reviennent à l'ordre du jour, elles le font selon un mouvement spirale qui ne pose plus de problèmes de la même façon que l'année précédente. C'est la prise de conscience du chemin parcouru hier qui peut donner le courage d'en entreprendre un nouveau demain.
Marie-Claire Dolghin-Loyer
Alors, Aleph prononça leurs noms tout entiers, et une flamme blanche descendit sur eux. La flamme dansa le long de leurs ailes et ils furent dotés de la célérité. La flamme palpita dans leurs yeux et ils purent lire dans le tréfonds des cœurs des hommes. La flamme emplit leurs bouches et ils entonnèrent des chants de pouvoir. Puis la flamme s'arrêta sur leurs fronts comme une étoile d'argent et ils devinrent sur le champ vertueux et sages, et le seul fait de les voir inspirait la terreur.
Patrick Rothfuss (The Name of the Wind (The Kingkiller Chronicle, #1))
Il s’efforçait de ne pas réfléchir à l’avenir qui l’attendait, mais une jubilation presque sauvage l’agitait à la perspective de la mission qu’on lui avait confiée. Comme un cheval lâché au champ s’ébroue et caracole, son esprit vagabondait déjà au-delà de la mer.
Jean-François Parot (L'affaire Nicolas le Floch)
THE CHAMP       A novel   by Daniel Martin Eckhart       Dedicated to my wife Nathalie and our children Nick, Milo and Eliza for all their love, laughter and patience. Thank you for letting me be part of your journeys.       Copyright
Daniel Martin Eckhart (The Champ)
Pire encore  : j'ignore qu'un jour, je ferai des livres. C'est une hypothèse qui n'est même pas concevable, qui n'entre aucunement dans le champ des possibles, qui dépasse ma simple imagination. Et si, par extraordinaire, elle devait traverser mon esprit, je l'en chasserais aussitôt. Le fils du directeur d'école, un saltimbanque  ? Jamais. Faire des livres, ce ne serait pas une occupation convenable, et surtout ça n'est pas un métier, ça ne rapporte pas d'argent, ça ne procure pas la sécurité, un statut. Il y a aussi que ce n'est pas dans la vraie vie, l'écriture, c'est en dehors ou à côté. Or la vraie vie, il faut s'y frotter, il faut l'empoigner. Non, jamais, mon fils, n'y pense même pas  ! Je l'entends de là, mon père.
Philippe Besson (« Arrête avec tes mensonges »)
Cracking one eye open, I saw Kash sitting on the edge of my bed just staring at me with an amused expression. “Can I help you?” I mumbled against the pillow. “I’m hungry and want pancakes.” “You want . . . What are you, five?! Make your own. I even bought the easy-make pancakes last weekend. All you have to do is add water.” I rolled over and groaned. “Seven thirty? Kash, we didn’t get back from work until after one. You have got to stop waking me up so early. And how are you even in here?” He looked like he was fighting a smile and his eyes kept flashing up above mine. “Candice let me in.” Trying to act like I didn’t notice where his eyes kept going, and like I wasn’t flipping out because I was sure my hair looked like a hot mess, I slowly brought my arm up to brush back the hair from my face when my hand hit something that tugged at my forehead. “What the hell?” I tried to look straight up and even leaned my head back to try to follow whatever was at the very top of my forehead. I saw a blue tip and grabbed at it before yanking it off and holding it in front of my eyes. “A Nerf dart?!” Kash shamelessly pulled up a Nerf gun and waved it at his side. His eyes slid back up to my forehead and a hard laugh burst from his chest. Rolling back, he fell off the bed and landed with a dull thump on the floor. “What?” I snapped, and scrambled out of bed. As I made my way to the bathroom, I was hit once in the butt and once on my calf by more darts. “You’re such a child, Kash!” Flipping on the light, I blinked against the brightness before focusing on the mirror. A loud gasp filled the small room. “Logan Kash Hendricks! What did you do?” He was still cracking up as he got to his feet and came to stand behind me. “I just had to make sure it was on there real good. So I tested it a few times . . . you’re a really heavy sleeper, by the way.” “There is a hickey on my forehead!” His body was shaking from the laughter he was trying to keep in now. “It’s not funny! This better be gone by the time we go to work tonight.” “Don’t be mad, Sour Patch.” He planted his chin at the top of my head and brushed at my bangs. “You have those, they’ll cover it. Can we have pancakes now?” My eyes went wide and my jaw dropped as I continued to stare at him in the mirror. “No! Go make them yourself.” He frowned and brought the toy gun up in front of us. “I’ll let you shoot me.” I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment. Pancakes sounded really good right now. With a heavy sigh, I held my hand out. “Give me the gun.” As soon as it was in my hand, I went around collecting the three darts and put them back in with the other three still in there before aiming it right at his forehead. Kash smiled, closed his eyes, and took all six darts like a champ. When I was done he had little red marks all over his forehead, and though I knew his would be gone in a few minutes, I felt like he’d gotten it worse than I did. “Feel better?” “A little.” I handed the gun back to him and turned toward my door. “Let’s go make pancakes.” I’d barely hit the kitchen when I realized I didn’t hear him behind me. “And don’t even think about shooting me again, or you’ll be on your own for breakfast!” Whirling
Molly McAdams (Forgiving Lies (Forgiving Lies, #1))
I’ll tell you, Champ, that a man has enough trouble in the world without asking for it.
Max Brand (The Max Brand Megapack)
What have you been doing to yourself? Your back is like concrete.” That’s not the only thing that’s like concrete.
Katherine Lace (Lady and the Champ)