Den Building Quotes

O, why should nature build so foul a den, Unless the gods delight in tragedies?

Don't spend your entire life building a ship, without ever tasting the salt of the ocean.

I know what I should love to do - to build a study; to write, and to think of nothing else. I want to bury myself in a den of books. I want to saturate myself with the elements of which they are made, and breathe their atmosphere until I am of it. Not a bookworm, being which is to give off no utterances; but a man in the world of writing - one with a pen that shall stop men to listen to it, whether they wish to or not.

We Afficans try raise our chillun right. When dey say we ign’nant we go together and build de school house. Den de county send us a teacher. We Afficky men doan wait lak de other colored people till de white folks gittee ready to build us a school. We build one for ourself den astee de county to send us de teacher.

If it had been possible to build the Tower of Babel without ascending it, the work would have been permitted. (Wenn es möglich gewesen wäre, den Turm von Babel zu erbauern ohne ihn zu erklettern, es wäre erlaubt worden.)

I know what I should love to do–to build a study; to write, and to think of nothing else. I want to bury myself in a den of books. I want to saturate myself with the elements of which they are made, and breathe their atmosphere until I am of it. Not a bookworm, being which is to give off no utterances; but a man in the world of writing–one with a pen that shall stop men to listen to it, whether they wish to or not.

Loneliness made or ruined a man. It frightened him so that he must either sing and build in the face of the dark, like a bird or a beaver, or hide from it like a beast in his den. There were perhaps always only the two ways to go, God or the jungle.

A vision is not a static picture but a process that gets refined over time

They say that people never get over their first real love. That it builds a nest deep in their body memory.

The town knew about darkness. It knew about the darkness that comes on the land when rotation hides the land from the sun, and about the darkness of the human soul. The town is an accumulation of three parts which, in sum, are greater than the sections. The town is the people who live there, the buildings which they have erected to den or do business in, and it is the land.

I'm going to speak to Aline,” Dread growls. He's still stomping across the floor. “All new hires will now need to complete a class about how every species bonds. I've run this place for almost fifty years and never once . . .” He snarls, shaking his head. “Not just new hires, every damn employee in the building is getting a 'How not to accidentally bond a demon' safety meeting.

Complex problems are often open-ended and poorly defined

An interesting journey never follows a straight path

any right is always coupled with a responsibility

There was no slow build. No peaceful meander to the summit. It was like sheet lighting stretching across a stormy sky—beautiful and blinding. I leaned forward and seized his mouth with mine.

Bill Lazier’s advice means that you ought to do your homework before taking a job. Find out if you are about to enter a den of assholes, and if you are, don’t give in to the temptation to join them in the first place. Leonardo da Vinci said, “It is easier to resist at the beginning than at the end,” which is sound social psychology. The more time and effort that people put into anything—no matter how useless, dysfunctional, or downright stupid it might be—the harder it is for them to walk away, be it a bad investment, a destructive relationship, an exploitive job, or a workplace filled with browbeaters, bullies, and bastards.

He thought of the boys and girls who looked for sweethearts at Mountain View Cemetery, and chorus girls who met their beaux behind scrim, and office romances that flourished in the buildings on Market Street, and he felt like there were little lights in alcoves here and there across the city, in cozy dens, in doorways during rainstorms, or even a chilly balcony on the Ferry building. Everywhere, little pairs of glowing lights. When you walked a city, wherever you looked, someone had probably fallen in love.

Conthas burned to the ground. Apparently, this is a regular occurrence. Every few decades or so a fire goes unchecked and razes the entire city to ash. The locals think of it as a time of renewal. A chance to start over, to sweep away the old and build something new. New taverns, for instance. New pubs, new scratch-dens; new gambling holes and fighting pits. New ale-houses, dice-houses, tap-houses, and whore-houses. From what I understand, Conthas is like some drug-addled, sex-crazed, booze-swilling phoenix that refuses to stay dead.

Wenn wir von Effizienz und Produktivität besessen sind, ist es schwierig, den wahren Wert der Bildung und der Gesundheitspflege zu erkennen. Daher sehen viele Politiker und Steuerzahler nur die Kosten. Sie begreifen nicht, dass ein Land umso mehr für Lehrer und Ärzte ausgeben sollte, je reicher es wird.

For Ethel, it was exactly as if one of the twisted beech trees behind the castle had knocked at her door one morning to ask for her hand in marriage. What could she say? Yes, she loved those little trees beneath which she used to build her dens, she loved them dearly...but would she have wanted to marry them?

When I go musing all alone Thinking of divers things fore-known. When I build castles in the air, Void of sorrow and void of fear, Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet, Methinks the time runs very fleet. All my joys to this are folly, Naught so sweet as melancholy. When I lie waking all alone, Recounting what I have ill done, My thoughts on me then tyrannise, Fear and sorrow me surprise, Whether I tarry still or go, Methinks the time moves very slow. All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so mad as melancholy. When to myself I act and smile, With pleasing thoughts the time beguile, By a brook side or wood so green, Unheard, unsought for, or unseen, A thousand pleasures do me bless, And crown my soul with happiness. All my joys besides are folly, None so sweet as melancholy. When I lie, sit, or walk alone, I sigh, I grieve, making great moan, In a dark grove, or irksome den, With discontents and Furies then, A thousand miseries at once Mine heavy heart and soul ensconce, All my griefs to this are jolly, None so sour as melancholy. Methinks I hear, methinks I see, Sweet music, wondrous melody, Towns, palaces, and cities fine; Here now, then there; the world is mine, Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine, Whate'er is lovely or divine. All other joys to this are folly, None so sweet as melancholy. Methinks I hear, methinks I see Ghosts, goblins, fiends; my phantasy Presents a thousand ugly shapes, Headless bears, black men, and apes, Doleful outcries, and fearful sights, My sad and dismal soul affrights. All my griefs to this are jolly, None so damn'd as melancholy. Methinks I court, methinks I kiss, Methinks I now embrace my mistress. O blessed days, O sweet content, In Paradise my time is spent. Such thoughts may still my fancy move, So may I ever be in love. All my joys to this are folly, Naught so sweet as melancholy. When I recount love's many frights, My sighs and tears, my waking nights, My jealous fits; O mine hard fate I now repent, but 'tis too late. No torment is so bad as love, So bitter to my soul can prove. All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions get you gone, 'Tis my desire to be alone; Ne'er well but when my thoughts and I Do domineer in privacy. No Gem, no treasure like to this, 'Tis my delight, my crown, my bliss. All my joys to this are folly, Naught so sweet as melancholy. 'Tis my sole plague to be alone, I am a beast, a monster grown, I will no light nor company, I find it now my misery. The scene is turn'd, my joys are gone, Fear, discontent, and sorrows come. All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so fierce as melancholy. I'll not change life with any king, I ravisht am: can the world bring More joy, than still to laugh and smile, In pleasant toys time to beguile? Do not, O do not trouble me, So sweet content I feel and see. All my joys to this are folly, None so divine as melancholy. I'll change my state with any wretch, Thou canst from gaol or dunghill fetch; My pain's past cure, another hell, I may not in this torment dwell! Now desperate I hate my life, Lend me a halter or a knife; All my griefs to this are jolly, Naught so damn'd as melancholy.

Let men position you in the den, God will make you a Daniel in the den. Let men position you to face Goliath, God will make you a David. Let men subject you to undue pressure, torture and pain, blindfold you and lead you into the dungeon, God will make you a Samson there! Let men sell you into indentured servitude, God will make you Joseph. Let men build a death trap for you, God shall turn it into the days of Mordecai and Haman and you shall only see with your eyes the destruction of evil conspirators who would never repent! Let all odds be against you, God will make you Job. And when though fear grips your heart because of the storm you see, God will empower you and make you more than Peter. Stay hopeful! Trust in God!

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.

There's something they call the Law. Sing hymns about ‘all thine.’ They build themselves their dens, gather fruit, and pull herbs—marry even. But I can see through it all, see into their very souls, and see there nothing but the souls of beasts, beasts that perish, anger and the lusts to live and gratify themselves.—Yet they're odd; complex, like everything else alive. There is a kind of upward striving in them, part vanity, part waste sexual emotion, part waste curiosity. It only mocks me.

The woman's body twitched suddenly, as if remembering something, and she covered her mouth with a stiff mitten. Dara knew what it was. She'd felt it a dozen times that day already. The body remembering, contorting, -He's gone, he's gone.- For a moment, only a moment, Dara felt sorry for her. As if sensing it, the woman looked at her and reached for her sunglasses, removing them at last. Her eyes heavy, swollen. 'I wish I could explain,' she said. 'You build this family. And it's perfect. It's everything you wanted. And then something goes wrong. Slowly or all at once. It was good and now it's bad, and it's his fault. Or he started it. All the ripples from his bad behavior.' Dara didn't say anything. The woman kept going. 'So, in some private part of your head, you start thinking up fantasies of escape. You tell yourself: If only he were gone, if only a heart attack, a lightning bolt, a car crash...' 'I have to go,' Dara said, turning. 'Sometimes,' the woman said suddenly, her voice choked. 'Sometimes, you think you'd do anything to get out to be free.' They held glances a long moment.... 'You're never free,' Dara said, realizing it as she said it. -When something goes wrong in a family, it takes generations to wipe it out.- Those words came to Dara, something from a history book, a book about kings and queens she once found in the den long ago. Marie, Charlie, they thought they could escape it, through leaving, or trying to. Through other people, lovers. But they both ended right back where they started. In their mother's house, her third-floor hideaway. 'I guess you're right,' the woman said. 'You blame everything on that one person.You think if that one person is gone, everything will be perfect and good.' She slid her sunglasses back on. 'But in the end, that person is you.

A drone is often preferred for missions that are too "dull, dirty, or dangerous" for manned aircraft.” PROLOGUE The graffiti was in Spanish, neon colors highlighting the varicose cracks in the wall. It smelled of urine and pot. The front door was metal with four bolt locks and the windows were frosted glass, embedded with chicken wire. They swung out and up like big fake eye-lashes held up with a notched adjustment bar. This was a factory building on the near west side of Cleveland in an industrial area on the Cuyahoga River known in Ohio as The Flats. First a sweatshop garment factory, then a warehouse for imported cheeses then a crack den for teenage potheads. It was now headquarters for Magic Slim, the only pimp in Cleveland with his own film studio and training facility. Her name was Cosita, she was eighteen looking like fourteen. One of nine children from El Chorillo. a dangerous poverty stricken barrio on the outskirts of Panama City. Her brother, Javier, had been snatched from the streets six months ago, he was thirteen and beautiful. Cosita had a high school education but earned here degree on the streets of Panama. Interpol, the world's largest international police organization, had recruited Cosita at seventeen. She was smart, street savvy, motivated and very pretty. Just what Interpol was looking for. Cosita would become a Drone!

You make springs gush forth in the valleys;         they flow between the hills;     11 they give drink to every beast of the field;         the wild donkeys quench their thirst.     12 Beside them the birds of the heavens dwell;         they sing among the branches.     13 From your lofty abode you water the mountains;         the earth is satisfied with the fruit of your work.     14 You cause the grass to grow for the livestock         and plants for man to cultivate,     that he may bring forth food from the earth         15 and wine to gladden the heart of man,     oil to make his face shine         and bread to strengthen man's heart.     16 The trees of the LORD are watered abundantly,         the cedars of Lebanon that he planted.     17 In them the birds build their nests;         the stork has her home in the fir trees.     18 The high mountains are for the wild goats;         the rocks are a refuge for the rock badgers.     19 He made the moon to mark the seasons; [1]         the sun knows its time for setting.     20 You make darkness, and it is night,         when all the beasts of the forest creep about.     21 The young lions roar for their prey,         seeking their food from God.     22 When the sun rises, they steal away         and lie down in their dens.     23 Man goes out to his work         and to his labor until the evening.     24 O LORD, how manifold are your works!         In wisdom have you made them all;         the earth is full of your creatures.     25 Here is the sea, great and wide,         which teems with creatures innumerable,         living things both small and great.     26 There go the ships,         and Leviathan, which you formed to play in it. [2]     27 These all look to you,         to give them their food in due season.     28 When you give it to them, they gather it up;         when you open your hand, they are filled with good things.     29 When you hide your face, they are dismayed;         when you take away their breath, they die         and return to their dust.     30 When you send forth your Spirit, [3] they are created,         and you renew the face of the ground.     31 May the glory of the LORD endure forever;

As we pulled up at the big school gates, I saw tears rolling down my dad’s face. I felt confused as to what part of nature or love thought this was a good idea. My instinct certainly didn’t; but what did I know? I was only eight. So I embarked on this mission called boarding school. And how do you prepare for that one? In truth, I found it really hard; there were some great moments like building dens in the snow in winter, or getting chosen for the tennis team, or earning a naval button, but on the whole it was a survival exercise in learning to cope. Coping with fear was the big one. The fear of being left and the fear of being bullied--both of which were very real. What I learned was that I couldn’t manage either of those things very well on my own. It wasn’t anything to do with the school itself, in fact the headmaster and teachers were almost invariably kind, well-meaning and good people, but that sadly didn’t make surviving it much easier. I was learning very young that if I were to survive this place then I had to find some coping mechanisms. My way was to behave badly, and learn to scrap, as a way to avoid bullies wanting to target me. It was also a way to avoid thinking about home. But not thinking about home is hard when all you want is to be at home. I missed my mum and dad terribly, and on the occasional night where I felt this worst, I remember trying to muffle my tears in my pillow while the rest of the dormitory slept. In fact I was not alone in doing this. Almost everyone cried, but we all learned to hide it, and those who didn’t were the ones who got bullied. As a kid, you can only cry so much before you run out of tears and learn to get tough. I meet lots of folks nowadays who say how great boarding school is as a way of toughening kids up. That feels a bit back-to-front to me. I was much tougher before school. I had learned to love the outdoors and to understand the wild, and how to push myself. When I hit school, suddenly all I felt was fear. Fear forces you to look tough on the outside but makes you weak on the inside. This was the opposite of all I had ever known as a kid growing up. I had been shown by my dad that it was good to be fun, cozy, homely--but then as tough as boots when needed. At prep school I was unlearning this lesson and adopting new ways to survive. And age eight, I didn’t always pick them so well.

In 1995, the gray wolf was reintroduced to Yellowstone National Park after a seventy-year hiatus. Scientists expected an ecological ripple effect, but the size and scope of the trophic cascade took them by surprise.7 Wolves are predators that kill certain species of animals, but they indirectly give life to others. When the wolves reentered the ecological equation, it radically changed the behavioral patterns of other wildlife. As the wolves began killing coyotes, the rabbit and mouse populations increased, thereby attracting more hawks, weasels, foxes, and badgers. In the absence of predators, deer had overpopulated the park and overgrazed parts of Yellowstone. Their new traffic patterns, however, allowed the flora and fauna to regenerate. The berries on those regenerated shrubs caused a spike in the bear population. In six years’ time, the trees in overgrazed parts of the park had quintupled in height. Bare valleys were reforested with aspen, willow, and cottonwood trees. And as soon as that happened, songbirds started nesting in the trees. Then beavers started chewing them down. Beavers are ecosystem engineers, building dams that create natural habitats for otters, muskrats, and ducks, as well as fish, reptiles, and amphibians. One last ripple effect. The wolves even changed the behavior of rivers—they meandered less because of less soil erosion. The channels narrowed and pools formed as the regenerated forests stabilized the riverbanks. My point? We need wolves! When you take the wolf out of the equation, there are unintended consequences. In the absence of danger, a sheep remains a sheep. And the same is true of men. The way we play the man is by overcoming overwhelming obstacles, by meeting daunting challenges. We may fear the wolf, but we also crave it. It’s what we want. It’s what we need. Picture a cage fight between a sheep and a wolf. The sheep doesn’t stand a chance, right? Unless there is a Shepherd. And I wonder if that’s why we play it safe instead of playing the man—we don’t trust the Shepherd. Playing the man starts there! Ecologists recently coined a wonderful new word. Invented in 2011, rewilding has a multiplicity of meanings. It’s resisting the urge to control nature. It’s the restoration of wilderness. It’s the reintroduction of animals back into their natural habitat. It’s an ecological term, but rewilding has spiritual implications. As I look at the Gospels, rewilding seems to be a subplot. The Pharisees were so civilized—too civilized. Their religion was nothing more than a stage play. They were wolves in sheep’s clothing.8 But Jesus taught a very different brand of spirituality. “Foxes have dens and birds have nests,” said Jesus, “but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.”9 So Jesus spent the better part of three years camping, fishing, and hiking with His disciples. It seems to me Jesus was rewilding them. Jesus didn’t just teach them how to be fishers of men. Jesus taught them how to play the man! That was my goal with the Year of Discipleship,

Det finnes ingen ny drøm som kan erstatte den gamle, for vi kan ikke tenke oss en bedre verden enn den vi har.

Ať už jste návrhář nebo ilustrátor, očekává se od vás, že budete každý den vykazovat tvůrčí činnost. Nezáleží na tom, zda máte náladu na kreslení nebo ne. Zřídkakdy si můžete dopřát takový luxus, abyste mohli čekat na to, až vás něco inspiruje a vy se budete moci posunout v projektu dál.

So what changed? What changed is an aggressive campaign, conducted by progressive politicians and community activists, to force banks and financial institutions to lower their lending standards. This goes back to the early 1970s.3 Before that, progressives had focused their political energies in getting government money to build large housing projects for the poor. These projects, however, soon became dens of dilapidation, decay, and criminal activity. They symbolized the failure of the liberal welfare state.

Faktum var att han inte kunde vara den sortens pappa längre. Den tiden var förbi. Det var som om Gud plötsligt skulle bestämma sig för att vara Gud igen flera kvadriljoner år efter att han skapat världen. Han kunde inte bara dimpa ner från himlen och säga: Å nej, ni borde inte ha placerat Empire State Building där, och ni borde inte ha ordnat det så att de afrikanska folken får mindre pengar, och ni borde inte ha låtit dem tillverka kärnvapen. För då kunde man säga till Honom: Det är väl lite sent att påpeka det nu? Var höll du hus medan vi funderade på de sakerna?

I’ve learned that you have to be part therapist, part leader, and part den mother to your people. It takes a ton of work. It’s exhausting. And constant. But when you do it: when you build that team of people who would take a bullet for you, or anyone else on their team, that’s when you make magic.

says we’re going to build dens in the Forest.

Jag tänkte, att om detta och allt annat, som människor hade upprättat på denna jorden, hade fått finnas kvar, så skulle den vara alldeles uppfylld av härlighet. För man ser vid varje steg, som man tar där ute, hur obeskrivligt grant där har varit. Men så kom jag att tänka på att om allt detta hade funnits kvar, så hade vi, som nu levde, ingenting att ta oss till, för då behövdes inte vårt arbete.

You are not your father. I see that worry. You’re so scared you will become him that you haven’t noticed you aren’t being yourself either. Stop fighting it, that inferno inside. Use it. The anger he made, I have the same kind. We are two different sides of a coin. You tried to bury it, I let it build me. Neither is right or wrong, but I know, Ryder, I know you will never hurt me, not physically. I know it. You might with words, you might try to push me away or pretend you don’t want me for the same reason I do, but no, you will never hurt me.

Oh, come on, Ry, she’s nothing like that bitch. She doesn’t even want our money,” I laugh. “No, she wants something worse. Her freedom.” He glares at me then. “She will never be happy being kept in our penthouse, she’s not a kept woman. She likes to work, it’s how she got by.” I nod and look away. “Then we give her a job, something, anything. Because she’s not leaving us.” “We couldn’t give her freedom, even if we wanted to. It would be a sign of weakness, and they have all seen her with us now. She would be dead the moment she stepped from the building.

You think we let just anyone into our home? Into our lives? Trust them with our secrets? There have been women, but we have never, not ever, let them inside our circle. You? You’re right in the middle of it, Roxanne. If I wanted a quick lay, I would go out and get one, but I don’t.” “Then what do you want?” I query. “You, and all the attitude that comes with you. Even when you hate us, even when you attack us. Even when you’re a brat, I want you, princess, so don’t let him make you question that. Keep pushing, you’re going to have to be stronger than you have ever been to get through to him.” “Why do you want me to?” I question, searching his eyes. “Because I’m realising it’s all of us or none of us. I know Garrett wants you, wants what we’re building, but he doesn’t know how. His past is blinding him to what’s right in front of him. Rip open that wound, drag him out kicking and screaming, and make him yours the same way you have everyone else.” “Like you?” I ask, our lips almost touching. “Like me.” He grins against my mouth. “Don’t think you can start ordering me around though, love, or I’ll remind you exactly what happens.

El cinismo restriega la cultura, como la lejía, eliminando de pequeñas ideas incipientes. El cinismo significa que tu respuesta automática es "No". El cinismo significa que das por hecho que todo el mundo acabará decepcionándote. (...) En definitiva, todo el mundo se vuelve cínico. Porque a todos les da miedo el desengaño. Porque les da miedo que alguien se aproveche de ellos. Porque temen que alguien utilice su inocencia contra ellos; que cuando se den la vuelta, tan contentos, para comerse el mundo de un bocado, alquien intente envenenarlos.

But…how can I be completely happy as a captive? Don’t you want me to choose you? To not need you, but want you? I’ve lived my own life, I have my own place, my own business. I earn my own money and pay my bills and buy the shit I want. I’m not rich, but I’m comfortable. I learned to change bulbs, to mow the fucking grass, to change a goddamn tire. To build furniture, to travel and be alone. In all that, I learned I didn’t need a man to be with me, to do things for me, I could do it for myself. Nothing is too difficult, you can always find a way. But that means, when I’m with someone…when I choose someone, it’s because I want them. Not because I need them for something, because I have to be with them, but because I can be with them. Don’t you want that?

I’ve lived my own life, I have my own place, my own business. I earn my own money and pay my bills and buy the shit I want. I’m not rich, but I’m comfortable. I learned to change bulbs, to mow the fucking grass, to change a goddamn tire. To build furniture, to travel and be alone. In all that, I learned I didn’t need a man to be with me, to do things for me, I could do it for myself. Nothing is too difficult, you can always find a way.

session itself, I’ll change into a silk robe and some underwear that they’ll provide, so it doesn’t particularly matter what I wear for this initial part of the evening. I’m just here to get my bearings, have some (more) Dutch courage with Maddy in the bar area, and soak up the atmosphere. A sleek, beautiful brunette ushers us through the double doors at the end of the lobby, and we find ourselves in a stunning room. There’s an aesthetic overlap with Genevieve’s office and no suggestion of the den-of-sin vibe I was expecting. No black walls, or red leather banquettes, or sex swings. Maybe they’re all next door. No, the room here is all white, with luscious mouldings and spectacular deco chandeliers dimmed to their lowest setting. The massive picture windows facing the back of the building have their shutters closed, and it’s pretty dark, but nowhere near dingy. The focal point of the entire space is a huge bar, crafted entirely from backlit pink onyx, a line of sleek kelly green bar stools dotted in front of it. It’s utterly gorgeous. And the people? I glance around quickly. First impression is that I’m at the bar of Nobu or Sexy Fish. It’s a Mayfair crowd. Well-heeled. International. Accomplished-looking. Phew. Despite Genevieve’s reassurances to the contrary, I did wonder if this place was going to be this young virgin and a load of leering old men.

Its character would be familiar to any reader of Werner Sombart or Arthur Moeller van den Bruck. True black Kultur rejects all white bourgeois standards, since “the values of that class are in themselves anti-humanist” and racist; in fact, any black person who adopts “American middle class standards and values” ceases to be black.34 It rejects liberalism with its mealymouthed belief in compromise and interracial unity, and it rejects capitalism, looking instead to build a community based “on free people, not free enterprise.” Black Power also reflected the Garveyite perspective that blackness could be a vehicle for mass mobilization and the destruction of a decadent white civilization. Carmichael urged blacks to “create new values” in Heidegger’s sense. Like his counterparts in the German revolution on the Right, Carmichael saw his own era as “a time of dynamism” in which new forms of authority and power must be substituted for old. The rise of the Black Power movement would sweep away the “outmoded structures and institutions” of the past, Carmichael predicted, including racism. Its motto would be “Modernization, not moderation.”35

Diamond Hill—what a glorious name for a place. No one outside of Hong Kong would have guessed it was the moniker of a squatter village in Kowloon East. In the fifties and sixties, it was a ghetto with its share of grime and crime, and sleaze oozing from brothels, opium dens, and underground gambling houses. There and then, you found no diamonds but plenty of poor people residing on its muddy slopes. Most refugees from mainland China settled in dumps like this because the rent was dirt cheap. Hong Kong began prospering in the seventies and eighties, and its population exploded, partly due to the continued influx of refugees. Large-scale urbanization and infrastructure development moved at breakneck speed. There was no longer any room for squatter villages or shantytowns. By the late eighties, Diamond Hill was chopped into pieces and demolished bit by bit with the construction of the six-lane Lung Cheung Road in its north, the Tate’s Cairn Tunnel in its northwest, and its namesake subway station in its south. Only its southern tip had survived. More than two hundred families and businesses crammed together in this remnant of Diamond Hill, where the old village’s flavor lingered. Its buildings remained a mishmash of shoddy low-rise brick houses and bungalows, shanties, tin huts, and illegal shelters made of planks and tar paper occupying every nook and cranny. There was not a single thoroughfare wide enough for cars. The only access was by foot using narrow lanes flanked by gutters. The lanes branched out and merged, twisted and turned, and dead-ended at tall fences built to separate the village from the outside world. The village was like a maze. The last of Diamond Hill’s residents were on borrowed time and borrowed land. They had already received eviction notices from the Hong Kong government, and all had made plans for the future. The government promised to compensate longtime residents for vacating the land, but not the new arrivals.

Warum arbeiten wir heute härter als in den achtziger Jahren, obwohl wir reicher sind als je zuvor? Warum leben immer noch Millionen Menschen in Armut, obwohl wir reich genug sind, um der Armut ein für alle Mal ein Ende zu machen? Und warum hängen mehr als 60 Prozent unseres Einkommens davon ab, in welchem Land wir geboren wurden?

Im Kapitalismus wie im Kommunismus läuft alles (...) auf eine falsche Vorstellung hinaus, die wir vor vierzig Jahren beinahe überwunden hätten: auf den Trugschluss, ein Leben ohne Armut sei kein Recht, auf das alle Menschen Anspruch hätten, sondern ein Privileg, für das man arbeiten müsse.

Selbst wenn es zehn Bewerber für jeden Arbeitsplatz gibt, wird das Problem nicht in der Nachfrage, sondern im Angebot gesucht - also bei den Arbeitslosen, die nicht in der Lage sind, ihre "Beschäftigungsfähigkeit" zu entwickeln, oder sich einfach nicht ausreichend bemühen.

Simon Kuznets warnte bereits vor achtzig Jahren: "Aus einer Messung des Nationaleinkommens kann kaum auf das Wohlergehen eines Landes geschlossen werden. (...) Wir müssen den Unterschied zwischen Quantität und Qualität des Wachstums, zwischen Kosten und Erträgen und zwischen kurz- und langfristigen Entwicklungen im Auge behalten. (...) Die Wachstumsziele, die wir uns stecken, sollten die Frage beantworten, von welchem Wachstum wir mehr wollen und wozu.

Die Bildung der Zukunft sollte uns nicht einfach auf den Arbeitsmarkt vorbereiten, sondern auf das Leben.

Halten wir einen Moment inne, um über die Milliarden an Steuergeldern nachzudenken, die investiert werden, um die besten Köpfe der Gesellschaft auszubilden - nur damit sie lernen, andere möglichst effizient auszubeuten. Es ist zum Verrücktwerden. Stellen wir uns vor, wie anders unsere Welt aussehen könnte, wenn sich die Besten und Klügsten unserer Generation den größten Herausforderungen unserer Zeit widmen würden: dem Klimawandel zum Beispiel, oder der Bevölkerungsalterung, oder der Ungleichheit. Das wäre echte Innovation.

Holding his hiking boots, he stood by the door and listened. He knew they were in the den, waiting for him to make a move. He gently opened the bedroom door and listened. He took a step into the den, saw their silhouettes on the sofa and in the chair, heard their heavy breathing, and silently walked to the door. At the end of the hallway, he put on his boots and left the building. At the first hint of sunlight, Zola awoke and sat up. Seeing the bedroom door open she jumped to her feet, turned on the lights, and realized Gordy had managed to escape. “He’s not here!” she yelled at Todd. “He’s gone!” Todd scrambled out of the chair and walked past her to the bedroom, a small square space where hiding would be impossible. He poked through the closet, looked in the bathroom, and yelled, “Shit! What happened?” “He got up and left,” she said. They stared at each other in disbelief, then walked over to break the news to Mark. The three hurried down the stairs and along the first-floor hallway to the building’s rear door. There were a dozen cars in the parking lot but none of them belonged

Most males are thinking that half of a child the made belongs to them. But that's just wrong. Because they give only half of a plan for building the baby, and all the rest is done by mama alone. So, guys: think twice before saying "The half of this child is mine." Die meisten Männer denken, dass ein halbes Kind, das sie gemacht haben, ihnen gehört. Aber das ist einfach falsch. Weil sie nur einen halben Plan für den Bau des Babys geben und der Rest von Mama alleine erledigt wird. Also, Leute: Überlegen Sie zweimal, bevor Sie sagen: "Die Hälfte dieses Kindes gehört mir.

The wounds were hard to heal, and once they did heal, they left behind the ugly reminder of the scars, those little cracks where fear enjoyed building its den.