Da Bears Quotes

Violence isn't a Democrat or Republican problem. It's an American problem, requiring an American solution.

Harry arrived early in the Room of Requirement for the last DA meeting before the holidays and was very glad he had, because when the torches burst into flame he saw that Dobby had taken it upon himself to decorate the place for Christmas. He could tell the elf had done it, because nobody else would have strung a hundred golden baubles from the ceiling, each showing a picture of Harry's face and bearing the legend: 'HAVE A VERY HARRY CHRISTMAS!

There should be four of us. Mom, Dad, Ben, me. But there’s not. Da’s been dead for four years, but it hasn’t even been a year since Ben died. A year of words no one can say because they call up images no one can bear. The silliest things shatter you. A T-shirt discovered behind the washing machine. A toy that rolled under a cabinet in the garage, forgotten until someone drops something and goes to fetch it, and suddenly they’re on the concrete floor sobbing into a dusty baseball mitt.

Friends don’t keep score.” Because friends don’t have to keep score, my da would of said. Friends just pitch in as needed, as they can.

Daxilon no le responde, sólo observa, con vibrante emoción, como esa cosa negra se acerca hacia ella. Bear comienza a correr, pero no llega a dar más que un par de zancadas antes que la agarren por la cintura y la tiren al suelo de cara. Siente quebrarse parte del cráneo de oso que lleva y teme porque los huesos puedan herirle la piel. En cuanto nota como tiran de ella se da la vuelta como puede para intentar pelear contra su enemigo. “¿Qué es esto?” es lo primero que piensa cuando ve a su atacante.

Le loro fedi catturano un raggio di luce e tintinnano l’una contro l’altra. È una bella scena, ma ci stiamo rapidamente avvicinando al punto in cui, se continuano a perdersi l’uno negli occhi dell’altro, ci ritroveremo tutti sommersi in un mare di miele e vedremo gli arcobaleni uscirgli dal culo, e io non ho tempo da perdere.

Alla fine mi mette giù. Spero che mi abbia stretto abbastanza da causarmi dei lividi. Apre la bocca per dire qualcosa, ma non ne esce niente. Neanche io so cosa dire. Come si fa a ringraziare qualcuno che ha reso completa la tua vita? Come si fa a ringraziare qualcuno senza il quale non riesci a immaginare come farai ad andare avanti? Non lo so. Bear mi chiama. Dice che è ora.

La macchina comincia a fare marcia indietro e io guardo fuori dal finestrino. Dom è ancora dove l’ho lasciato. Premo la mano contro il vetro, il palmo piatto. Lui solleva la sua e anche se non può sentirmi, gli prometto che tornerò. Per lui. Per noi. È sciocco, lo so. Non è così che gira il mondo. Ma ho solo sedici anni, e anche se per certi versi sono diverso da tutti quelli della mia età, sono ancora abbastanza giovane da credere di poter fare tutto. Basta solo volerlo. E così glielo prometto. Ti amo, penso. E non credo che smetterò mai. Non lo vedo più, ora.

È solo una casa, sì, ma è anche tanto di più. È la dimostrazione che le cose potevano andare meglio per noi. “Per favore ditemi che non la dipingerete mai,” dice Corey. “Davvero, è come se il Gigante Verde ci si fosse masturbato sopra.” “Ed ecco un’altra immagine che non mi abbandonerà mai,” si lamenta Bear. “Anche il suo sperma è verde?” si chiede Otter a voce alta. “Potrebbe essere. Fa un po’ schifo, però.” “E forse sa di piselli e carote,” aggiunge Corey. “Almeno ti farebbe bene,” faccio io. “Forse è questa l’origine del passato di verdure per neonati.” “Disgustoso e offensivo,” protesta lui. “Tuttavia, probabilmente corretto.” “Stiamo già ricominciando, per l’amor del cielo,” fa Bear. “Siamo a casa da un minuto e stiamo parlando del Gigante Verde che si masturba per produrre gli omogeneizzati. Per una volta in vita nostra, sarebbe possibile fare delle conversazioni normali prima di un evento sociale?” “Bear è arrabbiato perché ora non riuscirà a pensare ad altro,” spiega Otter a Corey. “E forse si sente anche leggermente eccitato.” “Bleah!” mi lamento io. “Non voglio pensare a Bear che si eccita pensando al Gigante Verde. E neanche pensando ad altro, se è per questo. Tenetevi per voi i vostri giochini.

I went over to the bed and knelt down beside it. I saw that she was still breathing, not in the hoarse, distressing way she had been breathing over the last few days, but almost serenely, as if the sacrament really had brought her relief. Then I took her pulse and felt it beating, rather irregularly, but beating nonetheless, and that was enough to assure me that she was still there. Finally, I carefully tried to prize open her eyelids, so that she could, if possible, see me, or so that I could at least see her, even if she could not see me. If my image could no longer penetrate the place where she now found herself, and I was, for her, merely a dull, meaningless thing, I wanted at least to be able to see my own image in those opaque pupils and feel myself floating on the surface of that world that had once been mine and which, now that it was lost, would bear me up as indifferently as a wave washing over a dead body. And I was thinking this even as I was trying to open her eyelids, which insisted on closing, while, meanwhile, everything inside me rebelled against being made an outcast, an exile, and I wanted her to see me, for my presence once more to illumine her inner world, which was, at that moment, heading into endless night, the desert where she would know nothing about me.

Let the dark and gloomy air be seen buffeted by the rush of contrary winds and dense from the continued rain mingled with hail and bearing hither and thither an infinite number of branches torn from the trees and mixed with numberless leaves. All round may be seen venerable trees, uprooted by the fury of the winds; and fragments of mountains, already scoured bare by the torrents, falling into those torrents and choking their valleys till the swollen rivers overflow and submerge the wide lowlands and their inhabitants. You might see on many of the hill-tops terrified animals of different kinds, collected together and subdued to tameness, in company with men and women who had fled there with their children.

The fables are pithy moral tales involving animals or objects that take on a personality. They have common themes, most notably the rewards due to virtue and prudence versus the penalties engendered by greed and haste. Although they bear some similarity to Aesop’s fables, they are shorter. Most are not particularly clever or even easily comprehensible, at least out of the context of whatever was happening at court that evening. For example, “The mole has very small eyes and it always lives underground; it lives as long as it is in the dark, but when it comes into the light it dies immediately, because it becomes known—and so it is with lies.” 30 More than fifty of these fables were jotted in his notebooks during the seventeen years he spent in Milan.

At least since the first petals of the counterculture bloomed across Europe and the United States in the 1960s, it has been fashionable to affirm that all religions are beautiful and all are true. This claim, which reaches back to All Religions Are One (1795) by the English poet, printmaker, and prophet William Blake, is as odd as it is intriguing.¹ No one argues that different economic systems or political regimes are one and the same. Capitalism and socialism are so obviously at odds that their differences hardly bear mentioning. The same goes for democracy and monarchy. Yet scholars continue to claim that religious rivals such as Hinduism and Islam, Judaism and Christianity are, by some miracle of the imagination, essentially the same, and this view resounds in the echo chamber of popular culture, not least in Dan Brown's multi-million-dollar Da Vinci Code franchise.

It would be futile to delude ourselves that at present, readers find every pathography unsavory. This attitude is excused with the reproach that from a pathographic elaboration of a great man one never obtains an understanding of his importance and his attainments, that it is therefore useless mischief to study in him things which could just as well be found in the first comer. However, this criticism is so clearly unjust that it can only be grasped when viewed as a pretext and a disguise for something. As a matter of fact pathography does not aim at making comprehensible the attainments of the great man; no one should really be blamed for not doing something which one never promised. The real motives for the opposition are quite different. One finds them when one bears in mind that biographers are fixed on their heroes in quite a peculiar manner. Frequently they take the hero as the object of study because, for reasons of their personal emotional life, they bear him a special affection from the very outset. They then devote themselves to a work of idealization which strives to enroll the great men among their infantile models, and to revive through him, as it were, the infantile conception of the father. For the sake of this wish they wipe out the individual features in his physiognomy, they rub out the traces of his life's struggle with inner and outer resistances, and do not tolerate in him anything of human weakness or imperfection; they then give us a cold, strange, ideal form instead of the man to whom we could feel distantly related. It is to be regretted that they do this, for they thereby sacrifice the truth to an illusion, and for the sake of their infantile phantasies they let slip the opportunity to penetrate into the most attractive secrets of human nature.

Le cose non stanno andando come avrei voluto. Non stanno andando come io avevo programmato. Ma lo fanno mai? C’è mai qualcosa che veramente funzioni? E per di più questa cosa tra tutte le altre? Un giorno, appena quindicenne, decido all’improvviso di essere innamorato di un uomo che ha sette anni più di me. Pensavo ci fosse qualcosa tra noi. Lo pensavo anche se non sapevo darle un nome. E allora? Bear mi ha dato una possibilità di sfuggire alla mia stessa codardia e io l’ho abbracciata con il trasporto di un bambino incapace di prendere da solo le proprie decisioni, incapace di scegliere da solo il proprio futuro. Ed è dolore questo? Penso davvero che questo sia dolore? Sono sopravvissuto all’abbandono da parte di mia madre quando avevo cinque anni. Sono sopravvissuto alla morte della donna che ne aveva preso il posto quando ne avevo nove. Dopo tutto quello che mi è successo, dopo tutto quello che ho passato, deve essere questa la cosa che mi fa crollare? È questo ciò che mi metterà in ginocchio? Allora me lo merito. Me lo merito perché, se non riesco a sopravvivere a questo, allora non sarò capace di sopravvivere a niente.

GOD IS SO WONDERFULLY GENEROUS in his self-disclosure. He has not revealed himself to this race of rebels in some stinting way, but in nature, by his Spirit, in his Word, in great events in redemptive history, in institutions that he ordained to unveil his purposes and his nature, even in our very makeup. (We bear the imago Dei.)

Mona Lisa, the big sister of the pensive Ginevra de’ Benci and the energetic Cecilia Gallerani, bears witness to Leonardo’s alliance with women, his belief in the power of their minds and their independence.

The old Day of Atonement, once held every year in accordance with the Mosaic covenant, has been superseded, because we have the ultimate sacrifice for sin: Jesus himself, who shed his blood on our behalf, a perfect moral sacrifice. He offers up his life, takes our death, and bears our sin away in a fashion that no animal ever could. The law pointed forward to that sole means of God reconciling rebels to himself and brings together in Jesus the poles of Exodus 34: God abounds “in love and faithfulness” (34:6), and he forgives “wickedness, rebellion and sin” (34:7), not because he leaves the guilty unpunished but because another bears their punishment. Here is the God who legislates, and even in his legislation he points us to Jesus.

If God makes image-bearers and pronounces what is good and what is evil, if he orders the whole system, then to come along at any point and say, “No, I will declare my own good. What you declare to be evil, I will declare to be good. What you say is good, I will declare to be evil”—this is why the tree bearing this fruit is said to be the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. What is crucial is not the tree but the rebellion. What is so wretchedly tragic is God’s image-bearer standing over against God. This is the de-god-ing of God so that I can be my own god. This, in short, is idolatry.

At one level, this is a simple story of God's faithfulness in the little things of life, at a time of social malaise, religious declension, political confusion, and frequent anarchy. God still has his people-working hard, acting honorably, marrying, bearing children, looking after the elderly They could not know that Obed's was the line that would sire King David-and, according to the flesh, King Jesus.

I used to think of you, when ye were small,” Jamie was saying to Bree, his voice very soft. “When I lived in the cave; I would imagine that I held ye in my arms, a wee babe. I would hold ye so, against my heart, and sing to ye there, watching the stars go by overhead.” “What would you sing?” Brianna’s voice was low, too, barely audible above the crackle of the fire. I could see her hand, resting on his shoulder. Her index finger touched a long, bright strand of his hair, tentatively stroking its softness. “Old songs. Lullabies I could remember, that my mother sang to me, the same that my sister Jenny would sing to her bairns.” She sighed, a long, slow sound. “Sing to me now, please, Da.” He hesitated, but then tilted his head toward hers and began to chant softly, an odd tuneless song in Gaelic. Jamie was tone-deaf; the song wavered oddly up and down, bearing no resemblance to music, but the rhythm of the words was a comfort to the ear. I caught most of the words; a fisher’s song, naming the fish of loch and sea, telling the child what he would bring home to her for food. A hunter’s song, naming birds and beasts of prey, feathers for beauty and furs for warmth, meat to last the winter. It was a father’s song—a soft litany of providence and protection. I

But Matthew knows, and God knows, and the readers know, that it is by staying on that cross that he saves others. Strictly speaking, he cannot save himself and save others. If he saves himself, he will not be able to save others. When they say, “He can’t save himself,” they mean that he is so attached to the cross, so nailed to the cross, that physically he cannot get down. But Matthew knows that he could get down. He could still call his twelve legions of angels. But he cannot save himself if he is to save others because the very purpose of his hanging on that cross is to bear my sin in his own body on the tree. If he does save himself, I am damned. It is only by not saving himself that he saves me.

The Bible insists that the heart of all human problems is rebellion against the God who is our Maker, whose image we bear, and whose rule we seek to overthrow All of our problems, without exception, can be traced to this fundamental source: our rebellion and the just curse of God that we have attracted by our rebellion.

As objective as is the truth of the Gospel that we proclaim, we proclaim it not only because it is truth, but because we ourselves have experienced its saving and transforming power. We therefore not only herald its truth, we also bear personal witness to it, to Jesus himself. We are not merely dispassionate heralds to certain objective events, we are disciples committed to making other disciples.

Paul also seizes the opportunity to acknowledge that he is a follower of “the Way”—a delightful expression referring to first-century Christianity, bearing, perhaps, multiple allusions. Christianity is more than a belief system; it is a way of living. Moreover, it provides a way to God, a way to be forgiven and accepted by the living God—and that Way is Jesus himself (as John 14:6 explicitly avers).

Paul has not launched into a new topic, a fresh discussion of esoteric wisdom. He is still focused on the message of the cross—and we shall fail to understand this chapter unless we bear that fact in mind.

ve çoktandır öğrenmiş ki insan özgür olamaz ve olsa da buna dayanamaz

(b) These twelve were able to bear witness to the facts concerning Christ from the first days of his public ministry. Peter understood the importance of this point (Acts 1:21-22), for the revelation of Jesus Christ was not some private mystical experience but a unique, historical event that demanded witnesses.

Then join in hand, brave Americans all, By uniting we stand, by dividing we fall; In so righteous a cause let us hope to succeed, For heaven approves of each generous deed. All ages shall speak with amaze and applause, Of the courage we'll show in support of our laws; To die we can bear- but to serve we disdain, For shame is to freedom more dreadful than pain. This bumper I crown for our Sovereign's health, And this for Britannia's glory and wealth; That wealth and that glory immortal may be, If she is but just and if we are but Free.

To the Priory of Sion, the secret organization described in the novel “The DaVinci Code,” the Bear was an animal of the Goddess Diana. The Merovingian kings, from their founder Merovee to Clovis (who converted to Christianity in 496) were kings who worshipped the Goddess Diana.

Non che le sarebbe stato riconoscente, comunque. Era arrivato a un punto in cui la gratitudine non rappresentava più un peso, ma un gesto spontaneo [...]. Nemico, amico, amante... - Certo. Viene al ristorante un paio di volte la settimana. Lo fa anche col te. Legge le foglie di te. Il ponte galleggiante Doveva esserci decisamente troppo da mangiare, e i discorsi a tavola dovevano vertere per lo più sul cibo, con gli ospiti che ripetevano quanto fosse squisito e che, sollecitati a prenderne ancora, giurando di non potercela fare, sazi com'erano, per poi cedere a un bis, gli uomini, e prenderne ancora un boccone, le zie, dicendo che non avrebbero proprio dovuto, che si sentivano scoppiare. Mobili di famiglia Nina si era informata per l'acquisto di una sedia a rotelle. E lui non si era opposto. Tra di loro non parlavano più di quella che avevano battezzato la Serrata Generale. Conforto Di come il mio intero territorio si sarebbe modificato, come se una frana ci si fosse riversata sopra, facendo piazza pulita di ogni significato tranne che della perdita di Mike. Ortiche Le ricordavano certi segni leggeri che a volte si notavano sui marciapiedi in primavera: ombre lasciate da foglie rimaste incollate per terra l'anno precedente. Post and Beam Poi sarebbe venuto il tragitto nell'antiquata gabbia dell'ascensore, azionata da un vecchio - o forse da una vecchia, un'invalida magari, scaltra serva del vizio. Quello che si ricorda Il pesante trucco alla Cleopatra e l'ombretto viola le rimpicciolivano anziché ingrandirle gli occhi, come se si nascondessero apposta. Aveva i buchi alle orecchie, trafitti da due tondeggianti cerchi d'oro. Queenie Nel centro abitato vicino a Lagoverde trovò un fioraio e comprò un grosso bouquet. Non aveva mai regalato fiori a Fiona. Né a nessun altra. Fece il proprio ingresso nell'edificio come uno spasimante disperato o un marito colpevole da fumetto. The Bear Come Over the Mountain

I look at the augusteum and I think that perhaps my life has not actually been so chaotic after all it is merely this world that is chaotic b ringing changes to us all threat nobody could have anticipated. The augusteum warns me not to get attached to any obsolete ideas about who i am what i represent whom i belong to or what function I may once have intended to serve. Yesterday i might have been a glorious monument to somebody, true enough but tomorrow i could be a firework's depository, even in the eternal city says the silent augusteum . one must always be prepared for riotous and endless waves of transformation. pizzaeria da michele Passato remoto In her world the roman forum is not remote nor is it past. It is exactly as present and close to her as i am. The bhagavata Gita that ancient Indian yogic test says that it is better to live your own destiny imperfectly than to live an imitation of somebody else's life with perfection. So now i have started living my own life, perfected clumsy as it may look it is resembling me now thoroughly. It was in a bathtub back in new York reading Italian words aloud from a dictionary that i first started mending my soul. My life had gone to bits, and I was so unrecognizable to myself that i probably couldn't have picked me out of a police lineup. But i felt a glimmer of happiness when i started studying Italian, and when you sense a faint potentiality for happiness after such dark times you must grip onto the ankles of that happiness and not let go until it drags you face first out of the dirt this is not selfishness but obligation you were given life it is your duty and also your entitlement as a human being to find somehtign beautiful within life no mattter how slight But i do know that i have collected me of late through the enjoyment of harmless pleasures into somebody much more intact . I have e put on weight I exist more now than i did four months ago. I will leave Italy noticeably bigger than when i arrived here. And i will leave with the hope that the expansion of one person the magnification of one life is indeed an act of worth in this world, Even if that life, just this one time, happens to be nobody s but my own . Hatha yoga one limb of the philosophy the ancients developed these physical stretches not for personal fitness but to loosen up their muscles and minds in order to prepare them for meditation, Yoga can also mean trying to find God through meditation through scholarly study. The yogic path is about disentangling the built-in glitches of the human condition which i[m going to very simply define here as the heartbreaking inability to sustain contentment. Taoists call it imbalance Buddhism calls it ignorance Islam blames our misery on rebellion against god and the jedio Christian tradition attributes all our suffering to original sin, Graduands say that unhappiness is that inevitable result of the clash between our natural drives and civilization needs and my friend Deborah the psychologist explains it desire is the design flaw the yogis however say that human discontentment is a simple case of mistaken identity we're miserable because we think that we are mere individuals alone with our fears and flaws an d resentment sand mortality we wrongly believe that our limited little egos constitute our whole entire nature, We have failed to recognize our deeper divine character we don't realize that somewhere within us all there does exist a supreme self is our true identity universal and divine . you bear God within your poor wretch and know it not.

Do you think I understand any of this, Poppy? None of this was supposed to happen. I had plans. Capture you and use you. Free my brother and, maybe, if the gods were good, prevent a war- or at least lessen the bloodshed.' Casteel turned sideways, shoving a hand through his hair. 'That was the plan. And fuck if it didn't go off the rails the moment you walked into the godsdamn Red Pearl.' His eyes closed. 'And each time- every damn time- I spoke to you, each time I saw your smile or heard you laugh, and the more I got to know you, the less those plans made sense. And trust me, Poppy, those plans made way more fucking sense than this- than all of this.' The breath I took got stuck as I grew incredibly still. 'I'm a Prince. A kingdom of people is counting on me to solve their problems- even the ones they're unaware of, but I... I couldn't do it. I couldn't give you to them, not even for my brother.' He turned to me, his eyes nearly luminous. 'All because when I'm with you, I don't think about the kingdom full of people counting on me. I don't find myself in the middle of the day, when it's too quiet, back in those fucking cages. I don't sit and think of everything I know they're doing to my brother. Beating him. Starving him. Raping him. Turning him into a monster worse than even they can imagine. When I'm with you, I don't think about that.' I curled my hands against my chest- against my thundering heart as his features blurred. And finally, I felt him. HIs pain. His confusion. His wonder. 'I forget.' He quieted as he shook his head in confusion. 'I forget about him- about my people, and I don't even understand how that's possible. But I did. I do...' ... 'And truthfully, I have no idea how you can even bear my touch after my lies, after what I did and caused. All I do know is that I didn't plan any of this in the beginning, Poppy. I didn't plan on being drawn to you. I didn't plan to want you. I didn't plan on risking everything to keep you.

There's a lot of pious Roman Catholic iconography in the movie, although no one except the beloved executed priest ever goes into a church for purposes other than being murdered. The lads are loyal to the church in the same way fans are loyal to Da Bears. They aren't players themselves, but it's their team and don't mess with it.

Ilahi lastu lilfirdausi ahla, Walaa aqwa ‘ala naaril jahiimi Fahabli taubatan waghfir dzunubi, Fainaka ghafirudz- dzanbil azhimi... Dzunubi mitslu a’daadir- rimali, Fahabli taubatan ya Dzal Jalaali, Wa ‘umri naqishu fi kulli yaumi, Wa dzanbi zaaidun kaifa -htamali Ilahi ‘abdukal ‘aashi ataak, Muqiraan bi dzunubi wa qad da’aaka Fain taghfir fa anta lidzaka ahlun, Wain tadrud faman narju siwaaka O, my Lord, I never deserve to be in the paradise of Yours, But I could never bear the torments i the hell of Yours, Hence, please hear my repentance, forgive my sins, Truly, you are the Great, Merciful forgiver of sins My sins are as uncountable as grains of sand So please, O my Great Lord, bless me with Your mercy Everyday I’m getting older Everyday my sins grow in number How can I be responsible for them? Oh God, Your sinful slave Comes to bow before You To confess all of his sins To pray and to beg only of You If you give me your mercy It’s all besouse of You, who is the only one capable, But if you regret it, of whom should I ask for mercy but of you? -135

A good wife is a stone to hold one down,” said the Wolfhound. “A rock to rely on,” Rostnikov corrected gently. “Da,” the Wolfhound said seriously, returning to Russian. “A rock to rely on. The American idiom contradicts itself and is often difficult to fathom.