Didi Quotes

Estragon: We always find something, eh Didi, to give us the impression we exist? Vladimir: Yes, yes, we're magicians.

We always find something, eh Didi, to let us think we exist?

Man is conceived in sin and born in corruption and he passeth from the stink of the didie to the stench of the shroud. There is always something (All The King's Men)

I made up my mind that I'd get out of that place and I did...I learned that if you want to get somewhere, you just make up your mind and work like hell til you get there. If you want to go somewhere in life, you just have to work till you make it.

ESTRAGON: We always find something, eh Didi, to give us the impression we exist? VLADIMIR: (impatiently). Yes, yes, we’re magicians. But let us persevere in what we have resolved, before we forget.

On trouve toujours quelque chose, hein, Didi, pour nous donner l'impression d'exister?

Didžiausia mano nelaimė — kad anaiptol ne iškart tapau savimi. Mūsų niekas nemokė būti savimi. Mus mokė būti tuo ir anuo, lipdyti save pagal kokį nusususį ar nežemiškai idealų modelį, kurį sugalvojome ne mes patys. Mokė keisti, lamdyti save, mokė prisitaikyti. Tačiau niekad nemokė būti savimi. Būti savimi anaiptol nėra paprasta, tam reikalingas didis talentas. Dabar dažnai pamanau, kad genialumas tėra viso labo tobulas gebėjimas begal tvirtai, užsispyrus, ligi pat gali išlikti pačiu savimi.

As my wise friend Didi has more than once observed about life's passages, every departure entails an arrival elsewhere, every arrival implies a departure from afar.

You invented me. There is no such earthly being, Such an earthly being there could never be. A doctor cannot cure, a poet cannot comfort— A shadowy apparition haunts you night and day. We met in an unbelievable year, When the world's strength was at an ebb, Everything withered by adversity, And only the graves were fresh. Without streetlights, the Neva's waves were black as pitch, Thick night enclosed me like a wall ... That's when my voice called out to you! Why it did—I still don't understand. And you came to me, as if guided by a star That tragic autumn, stepping Into that irrevocably ruined house, From whence had flown a flock of burnt verse.

It all began, as I have said, when the Boss, sitting in the black Cadillac which sped through the night, said to me (to Me who was what Jack Burden, the student of history, had grown up to be) "There is always something." And I said, "Maybe not on the Judge." And he said, "Man is conceived in sin and born in corruption and he passeth from the stink of the didie to the stench of the shroud. There is always something.

And he said, 'Man is conceived in sin and born in corruption and passeth from the stink of the didie to the stench of the shroud. There is always something.

It's not nice of you, Didi. Who am I to tell my private nightmares to if I can't tell them to you?

Man is conceived in sin and born in corruption and he passeth from the stink of the didie to the stench of the shroud. There is always something.

Why didi I think I could just have her in my bed, and not fall in love with her ? Why couldn't I keep my fucking hands off her? I stare at the hollow, broken man in the Mirror, knowing the answer already. Because Brynna Vincent is it for me. There will never be another woman who can make me feel safe, make me feel happy. Make me feel loved. And her daughters are two little beacons of light in this dark hell I call a life that I just can't resist.

Man is conceived in sin and born in corruption and he passeth from the stink of the didie to the stench of the shroud. There is always something...

I should have known that from the moment I met you that there would be no going back. That I will never be the same. I know now that I’ll never recover from loving you, Diana Alexander.

Wow," I heard Mom say, and I turned to her with a smile. "Good luck explaining to God that you used to spank one of his heavenly beings." Mom gave a startled laugh. "Sophie!" "What? You did.I hope you like hot weather, Mom, that's all I'm saying.

To her it was like being alone in the ocean, holding a kite string in one hand and an anchor chain in the other and finding the balance so she wouldn't sink.

I frowned."You didn't dress up!" He grinned,opening my door for me. "Sure I did.I dressed up as the non-invisible man!" I smacked him in the chest. "Lazy." "Hey,I wear a costume every waking hour. You only dress up once a year,which I believe makes you the lazy one.However,you look really hot in pink tights,so I'll let it pass." "How noble of you.

Leave your village, and conquer yourself before you conquer the world. That’s what I did—I left my village. And once I master myself, I’m coming to a village near you to loot and pillage.

How could we have allowed the instinct bred within us over the centuries to draw lines and never cross them, an infinity of lines, ever-smaller lines, ever-sharper distinctions? I grieved for Didi's generation of "girls of good family," who put caste, duty and family reputation before self-indulgence.

Daima bir şey buluruz, değil mi Didi, bize varolduğumuz izlenimini verecek?

We always find something, eh Didi, to give us the impression we exist?

We must know how to look into images to see that of which they are survivors. So that history, liberated from the pure past (that absolute, that abstraction), might help us to open the present of time.

No one can withhold truth except from himself. yet God will not refuse you the Answer He gave, Ask, then, for what is yours, but which you didi not make, and do not defend yours against truth. You made the problem God has answered.Ask yourself, therefore, but one simple question: Do I want the problem or do I want the answer? Decide for the answer and you will have it, for you will see it as it is, and it is yours already.

I never trusted the women i was involved with to tell the truth,because the truth never changes,but as i knew so well,people did.I knew it wasn't everyone,some women did have staying power,but it was impossible to tell which ones they were.Women should have come labelled-it would have made life so much simpler.

But the truth is, when you love someone how we were in love, it didn’t matter what he’d do to me—he could have hit me with a bus, kind of he did—I innately still would have done everything I could to make him not feel what he was feeling.

I kept thinking, as I was telling Didi, that somehow what was in my head--in my memory, in my thoughts--was not being translated fully into the world. I felt as though three-dimensional people and events were becoming two-dimensional in the telling, and as though they were smaller as well as flatter, that they were just less for being spoken. What was missing was the intense emotion that I felt, which, like water or youth itself, buoyed these small insignificant encounters into all that they meant to me. There they were, shrinking before my eyes, shrinking into my words. Anything that can be said, can be said clearly. Anything that cannot be said clearly, cannot be said.

ESTRAGON: We always find something, eh Didi, to give us the impression we exist? VLADIMIR: (impatiently). Yes yes, we’re magicians.

Savo sumanymais žmogus visada yra didis. Tik ne jų įvykdymu. Tuo jis ir yra žmogus.

Troviamo sempre qualcosa, vero, Didi, per darci l'impressione d'esistere?

The doors to the convenience store slammed open, and I heard frantic footsteps run toward me. I looked up just as Cole rounded the corner of the last aisle. When he saw me,he let out an audible sigh of relief. "Don't scare me like that,Nik." I couldn't answer.I lowered my head and let the tears flow. Cole sat beside me and put his arm around me,and I let him. I cried into the front of his black leather jacket, my tears pooling on the chest pocket. "Careful.I didn't bring a life jacket," Cole said. I sniffled. "Shh.It's okay." I guess that was how low I'd sunk, that Cole was the one person who could console me. We sat like that for a few long minutes,and when I finally had composed myself enough to speak,I said into his jacket, "Why don't you help me?You could be a hero for once." He put his lips against my head. "Heroes don't exist. And if they did,I wouldn't be one of them.

We’d better…” Frank pointed to the stable doors. “Uh, we’re supposed to meet for breakfast. Would you explain what you did—I mean didn’t do? I mean…I really don’t want that faun—I mean satyr—to kill me.

What brings you down this way, Didi?” Nobody had called me “Didi” since I had left Franklin, although it had been Nana’s name for me always. It felt oddly natural to me, as if an acknowledgment that I was remembered somewhere and belonged.

Blair thinks about it for a moment and then says slowly, evenly, “If Cliff slept with Didi, then he must have slept with … Raoul.” “Who’s Raoul?” Alana and Kim ask at the same time. I open my menu and pretend to read it, wondering if I slept with Raoul. Name seems familiar.

The goddamn Air Force was probably taking a coffee break. That’s how they worked—like union bus-drivers—most of the time. Six or seven hours of flight time (not to exceed this or that altitude, of course), and then it was bye-bye for a didy change, a nap, and a cup of cocoa.

Dear Jessa, I’ve started this letter so many times and I’ve never been able to finish it. So here goes again . . . I’m sorry. I’m sorry that Riley is dead. I’m sorry for ignoring your emails and for not being there for you. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish it had been me that died and not Riley. If I could go back in time and change everything I would. I’m sorry I left without a word. There’s no excuse for my behaviour but please know that it had nothing to do with you. I was a mess. I haven’t been able to talk to anyone for months. And I felt too guilty and didn’t know how to tell you the truth about what happened. I couldn’t bear the thought of you knowing. I got all your emails but I didn’t read them until last week. I couldn’t face it and I guess that makes me the biggest coward you’ll ever meet. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never replied. You needed me and I wasn’t there for you. I don’t even know how to ask your forgiveness because I don’t deserve it. I’m just glad you’re doing better. I’m better too. I’ve started seeing a therapist – twice a week – you’d like her. She reminds me of Didi. I never thought I’d be the kind of guy who needed therapy, but they made it a condition of me keeping my job. She’s helped me a lot with getting the panic attacks under control. Working in a room the size of a janitor’s closet helps too – there aren’t too many surprises, only the occasional rogue paperclip. I asked for the posting. I have to thank your dad ironically. The demotion worked out. Kind of funny that I totally get where your father was coming from all those years. Looks like I’ll be spending the remainder of my marine career behind a desk, but I’m OK with that. I don’t know what else to say, Jessa. My therapist says I should just write down whatever comes into my head. So here goes. Here’s what’s in my head . . . I miss you. I love you. Even though I long ago gave up the right to any sort of claim over you, I can’t stop loving you. I won’t ever stop. You’re in my blood. You’re the only thing that got me through this, Jessa. Because even during the bad times, the worst times, the times I’d wake up in a cold sweat, my heart thumping, the times I’d think the only way out was by killing myself and just having it all go away, I’d think of you and it would pull me back out of whatever dark place I’d fallen into. You’re my light, Jessa. My north star. You asked me once to come back to you and I told you I always would. I’m working on it. It might take me a little while, and I know I have no right to ask you to wait for me after everything I’ve done, but I’m going to anyway because the truth is I don’t know how to live without you. I’ve tried and I can’t do it. So please, I’m asking you to wait for me. I’m going to come back to you. I promise. And I’m going to make things right. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll never stop trying for the rest of my life to make things right between us. I love you. Always. Kit

I don’t want to go through it all again. All that time without you, always waiting, my foolish optimism that someday it would be different-“ “Your optimism was justified! Look at me. Look at us! This is different. I know it is, Daniel. I saw us in Helston and Tibet and Tahiti. We were in love, sure, but it was nothing like what we have now.” They’d dropped back farther, out of earshot of the others. They were just Luce and Daniel, two lovers talking in the sky. “I’m still here,” she said. “I’m here because you believed in us. You believed in me.” “I did-I do believe in you.” “I believe in you, too.” She heard a smile enter her voice. “I always have.” They were not going to fail.

What gets us out of bed each morning—even when we fight it like Marcus did—is praxeis koinonikas apodidonai (to render works held in common).

Names are powerful and are prophecies of the future. The name you are called is a sign of what you are and what you would become.

Adisa says the word assimilation with so much venom that you’d think anyone who chooses it—like I did—is swallowing poison. It

Thrilled about my giveaway winners! Book will be mailed Tuesday (after the holiday! Hope you enjoy Libby's Journey and come back for more! Share with friends and I'd appreciate reviews!

Tai kelias į anapus pavojingas, kelionė pavojinga, žvelgimas atgalios pavojingas, virpėjimas ir sustojimas pavojingas. Žmogus - jis tuo be galo didis, kad tiltas jis yra, o ne joks tikslas: ir jeigu verta žmoguje ką nors mylėti, tai būtent tai, kad jis yra ėjimas ir žlugimas. Aš myliu tuos, kurie kitaip gyventi neįstengia, tik jaustis žlungančiais, o iš tikrųjų jie anapus eina.

I meant to resist your charms; I really did.I wasn't going to do this." Alan took her wrist, guiding her hand over so that he could press a kiss to the palm. "Make love with me?" "No." Shelby's gaze traveled from his mouth to his eyes. "Be in love with you." She felt his fingers tighten on her wrist, then loosen slowly as his eyes stayed dark and fixed on hers. Beneath her, she felt the change in his heartbeart. "And are you?" "Yes." The word, hardly audible, thundered in his head. Alan brought her to him, cradling her head against his chest, feeling her low slow expulsion of air as his arm came around her. He hadn't expected her to give him so much so soon. "When?" "When?" Shelby repeated, enjoying the solid feel of his chest under her cheek. "Sometime between when we first stepped out on the Write's terrace and when I opened a basket of strawberries." "It took you that long? All I had to do was look at you.

Walking through town with Trip, I thought about how easily he had folded me into his group. Sometimes when Didi makes peanut butter cookies, she'll get all cranky trying to blend the peanut butter in the sugar, eggs, and butter. See, the peanut butter always stays in a big clump and the eggs are all slimy and you have to really work at it before everything gets nice and smooth. But the way Trip pulled me into his buttery, sugary life, you'd never know when I was peanut butter in the first place.

When Radha and I were children, we used to play a game. She would ask, “What is the true color of the world, Didi?” And I would say, “Green.” “Why green?” “Because the trees are green. Grass is green. The new buds on the plants are green. Even the parrots are green. Green is the color of the world.” “But, Didi,” Radha would argue, “the wheat stalks are brown. My body is brown. The field mice are brown. No, the world is brown.” “What about blue?” I would say. “The sky is blue. And it covers the whole world, like a mother who loves and embraces all her children. Radha would fall silent, and I would remember that she had known our mother’s love for even fewer years than I did. So I would take her in my arms and hold her, to make her know what it feels like to be loved. Today I know the truth: The true color of the world is black. Anger is black. Shame and scandal are black. Betrayal is black. Hatred is black. And a roasted, smoking body is Black, Black, Black. The world, after witnessing such cruelty, goes black. The waking up to a changed world is black.

[I]n the face of every image we have to choose whether, or how, to make it participate in our knowledge and action. We can accept or reject this or that image; take it as a consoling object or as a worrying object; make it ask questions or use it as a ready-made response.

Tai štai. Mano tauta sumojo, kad po visais šiais dalykais kažkas yra, kažkokia didi dvasia, kūrėjas, ir todėl mes jam padėkojome - visuomet pravartu sakyti "ačiū". Bet mes niekada nestatėme šventyklų. Pati čionykštė žemė - šventykla. Pati žemė yra religija, Žemė vyresnė ir išmintingesnė už žmones, kurie ja vaikšto. Ji padovanojo mums lašišą ir kukurūzus, bizonus ir pašto balandžius. Ji padovanojo mums ryžius ir kanapes. Ji padovanojo mums moliūgus, melionus, kalakutus. Ir mes buvome žemės vaikai lygiai taip, kaip dygliakiaulė ir skunksas, ir mėlynasis kėkštas.

Recent estimates have Chinese companies outstripping U.S. competitors ten to one in quantity of food deliveries and fifty to one in spending on mobile payments. China’s e-commerce purchases are roughly double the U.S. totals, and the gap is only growing. Data on total trips through ride-hailing apps is somewhat scarce, but during the height of competition between Uber and Didi, self-reported numbers from the two companies had Didi’s rides in China at four times the total of Uber’s global rides. When it comes to rides on shared bikes, China is outpacing the United States at an astounding ratio of three hundred to one.

Aren’t you tired of being alone?” God, yes. I was drowning in the isolation. Not just since I’d been here, but for years now. Alone was safe, but damaging, and I was feeling the effects. Ones that would only be worse if I gave in. At some point, this would end and when it did…I wasn’t sure I could pick the pieces up again.

At about the end of the eighteen minutes and twenty miles, I said: “But suppose I don't find anything before election day?” The Boss said, “To hell with election day. I can deliver Masters prepaid, special handling. But if it takes ten years, you find it.” We clocked off five miles more, and I said, “But suppose there isn't anything to find.” And the Boss said, “There is always something.” And I said, “Maybe not on the Judge.” And he said, “Man is conceived in sin and born in corruption and he passeth from the stink of the didie to the stench of the shroud. There is always something.” Two miles more, and he said, “And make it stick.” And that was all a good while ago. And Masters is dead now, as dead as a mackerel, but the Boss was right and he went to the Senate. And Callahan is not dead but he has wished he were, no doubt, for he used up his luck a long time back and being dead was not part of it. And Adam Stanton is dead now, too, who used to go fishing with me and who lay on the sand in the hot sunshine with me and with Anne Stanton. And Judge Irwin is dead, who leaned toward me among the stems of the tall gray marsh grass, in the gray damp wintry dawn, and said, “You ought to have led that duck more, Jack. You got to lead a duck, son.” And the Boss is dead, who said to me, “And make it stick.” Little Jackie made it stick, all right.

At about the end of the eighteen minutes and twenty miles, I said: “But suppose I don't find anything before election day?” The Boss said, “To hell with election day. I can deliver Masters prepaid, special handling. But if it takes ten years, you find it.” We clocked off five miles more, and I said, “But suppose there isn't anything to find.” And the Boss said, “There is always something.” And I said, "“Maybe not on the Judge.” And he said, “Man is conceived in sin and born in corruption and he passeth from the stink of the didie to the stench of the shroud. There is always something.” Two miles more, and he said, “And make it stick.” And that was all a good while ago. And Masters is dead now, as dead as a mackerel, but the Boss was right and he went to the Senate. And Callahan is not dead but he has wished he were, no doubt, for he used up his luck a long time back and being dead was not part of it. And Adam Stanton is dead now, too, who used to go fishing with me and who lay on the sand in the hot sunshine with me and with Anne Stanton. And Judge Irwin is dead, who leaned toward me among the stems of the tall gray marsh grass, in the gray damp wintry dawn, and said, “You ought to have led that duck more, Jack. You got to lead a duck, son.” And the Boss is dead, who said to me, “And make it stick.” Little Jackie made it stick, all right.

Who’s that hot piece of cowboy standing with Nathan?” She pointed toward one end of the barn by a stack of hay bales. A scowl tightened all the muscles in his face as he followed the length of her arm to the direction of her fingertip. Before he could answer, she was already pulling him again. This time toward his cousin. “Nate, who’s your friend?” she asked, not bothering with hellos. Letting go of Caleb’s hand and leaving him feeling empty, she shifted her weight to her toes when she stopped in front of Preston. “Your eyes remind me of those old Sprite bottles. I found one at a flea market once. I think it’s still lying around somewhere in my room.” Nathan’s chuckle caught her attention. “Diana Alexander, let me introduce you to Preston Grant. He’s a childhood friend of mine and Caleb’s. Pres, this is Didi.” “Can I paint you naked?” she asked, unabashed, looking up at him. Nathan’s chuckles became full-blown laughter. She hiked her thumb at Caleb. His scowl deepened. “This one’s too shy.” “It’s nice to meet you, Didi,” Preston said. He seemed unperturbed by her request. The bastard. She danced to Nathan’s side and leaned in conspiratorially, not taking her eyes away from Preston. “Between you and me,” she whispered loud enough for Caleb and the object of her fascination to hear, “just how far does his tan go?” That had done it. The words came out of his mouth without thinking. “If you’re going to paint someone naked, it will be me.” With impatience running through his veins, he laced their fingers together and tugged. “Come on.

(...) se rejoue, à travers tous ces conflits, ce que Warburg nommera le Nachleben, la "survivance" d'une instabilité déjà centrale à la culture classique elle-même et que Nietzsche, dans La Naissance de la tragédie, avait déjà bien repérée : c'est le conflit de l'"éthos apollinien" et du "pathos dionysiaque". "Le Quattrocento, conclut Warburg, savait apprécier cette double richesse de l'Antiquité païenne.

It marked a turning point for me. It marked the point where I recognized that I must never - not even when he was 'well' again - expect from Didi what one normally expects from a friend. When he gave anything to other people - as he often did, as he had done earlier to me and was to do again - it was by the happy accident of their chancing to appreciate what he chanced to be 'giving off'. If he happened to be in a mood to charm, to find things amusing, to respond lovingly, to use his intuition (which could be sharp) on people's behaviour, to apply his intelligence, then whoever was around would benefit; but he was so hermetically walled up in himself that he was unablee to discover inother people any constant reason to attend to them, still less to be considerate of them, and he couldn't answer their demands.

We certainly did—I do not deny it—have immeasurably more individual freedom, and we did not just welcome that, we made use of it. But as Friedrich Hebbel once nicely put it, “Sometimes we have no wine, sometimes we have no goblet.” Both are seldom granted to one and the same generation; if morality allows a man freedom, the state tries to remould him. If the state allows him freedom, morality will try to impose itself.

Nobody can be entirely protected from the mishaps of life. If anything should happen to Lee—and it would be the end of me if it did—I would still feel that I did the right thing for him. Success or failure, he is fulfilling his destiny. We all have only one life, some are short and some are long. He loves life and wants a little more out of it than to follow convention out of fear of what others may think, or to be just another face in the crowd that follows the herd.

You know...give peace a chance, not shoot people for peace. All we need is love. I believe it. it's damned hard but I absolutely believe it. We're not the first to say 'Imagine no countries' or 'Give peace a chance' but we're carrying that torch, like the Olympic torch, passing it from hand to hand, to each other, to each country, to each generation. That's our job...I've never claimed divinity. I've never claimed purity of soul. I've never claimed to have the answer to life. I can only put out songs and answer questions as honestly as I can, but only as honestly as I can, no more, no less. "I used to think that the world was doing it to me and that the world owed me something, and that either the conservatives or the socialists or the fascists or the communists or the Christians or the Jews were doing something to me, and when you're a teenybopper that's what you think. I'm 40 now. I don't think that anymore, 'cause I found out it doesn't fucking work. The thing goes on anyway and all you're doing is jacking off and screaming about what your mommy or daddy or society did...I have found out personally...that I am responsible for it as well as them. I am part of them.

I hear two female voices around the corner and creep toward the end of the hallway to hear better. “…just can’t handle her being here,” one of them sobs. Christina. “I can’t stop picturing it…what she did…I don’t understand how she could have done that!” Christina’s sobs make me feel like I am about to crack open. Cara takes her time responding. “Well, I do,” she says. “What?” Christina says with a hiccup. “You have to understand; we’re trained to see things as logically as possible,” says Cara. “So don’t think that I’m callous. But that girl was probably scared out of her mind, certainly not capable of assessing situations cleverly at the time, if she was ever able to do so.” My eyes fly open. What a--I run through a short list of insults in my mind before listening to her continue. “And the simulation made her incapable of reasoning with him, so when he threatened her life, she reacted as she had been trained by the Dauntless to react: Shoot to kill.” “So what are you saying?” says Christina bitterly. “We should just forget about it, because it makes perfect sense?” “Of course not,” says Cara. Her voice wobbles, just a little, and she repeats herself, quietly this time. “Of course not.” She clears her throat. “It’s just that you have to be around her, and I want to make it easier for you. You don’t have to forgive her. Actually, I’m not sure why you were friends with her in the first place; she always seemed a bit erratic to me.” I tense up as I wait for Christina to agree with her, but to my surprise--and relief--she doesn’t. Cara continues. “Anyway. You don’t have to forgive her, but you should try to understand that what she did was not out of malice; it was out of panic. That way, you can look at her without wanting to punch her in her exceptionally long nose.” My and moves automatically to my nose. Christina laughs a little, which feels like a hard poke to the stomach. I back up through the door to the Gathering Place. Even though Cara was rude--and the nose comment was a low blow--I am grateful for what she said.

She had a point,you know," Edward commented a few hours later. "Unnecessarily crude, perhaps, but apt. Our public personas frequently do not match our private ones. You, of all people, should know that." "This isn't about me," I said grumpily. "This is about needing to find more information about the private you.Something I don't already know." "I have terribly ugly feet." "Not what I had in mind.And probably untrue anyway." Edward glanced down at the empty space below his rib cage. "Probably. So, what did you have in mind?" "A letter,maybe.From Diana.Something that connected your love to your work." "I rather thought I did that through my paintings." "You did.I mean, that's what attracted me to you in the first place.Well, o, that was your smile, probably,but the paintings helped. It's just that I need to know more about your muse." "Ah, darling Ella, the artist's muse is Ego.Nothing more." "You don't mean that.You married Diana because she made you feel like no one else in the universe ever did or could." He nodded. "She was extraordinary." "But not everyone saw that.Your family went nuts.Half of your friends stopped inviting you over, at least for a while." "Their loss. She was a woman who comes along once in a lifetime.

It’s over. You will die here…alone, with no one by your side. I want to know…if that frightens you.” “I’m not afraid. My friends will come and save me. My heart is already…with them.” “Nonsense. You think your friends can save you? Do you really believe that?” “Yes. When I first heard they’d come to save me…I felt a little happy…but I was terribly sad too. I came here so that they wouldn’t get hurt. Why did they do it? Didn’t they know I wanted to keep them safe? But…feeling Rukia fall…and seeing Ichigo fight…I realized I was wrong. I just didn’t want Ichigo to get hurt. I just wanted everybody to be safe. When I had that thought…I realized…oh. Those guys feel the same. If any of them disappeared like I did…I know I’d come after them. Maybe I don’t feel exactly the way they do…but it’s possible to care about others and to put your heart in sync with theirs. To me that’s what it means to have one heart.” “Heart? You humans toss around that word like it’s nothing…as if it’s something you can hold in the palm of your hand. This eye is mine reflects everything. There is nothing it can’t penetrate. What cannot be seen does not exist. That’s what I’ve always believed. What is a heart? Can it be seen if I rip open this chest of yours? If I crush your skull? Will I find it there?

The door slammed and the reverberating sound bounced back and forth down the hall. Edythe and Lily sat perfectly still and stared at each other, eyes wide open. For once,their thoughts were in accord. When Ranulf had first arrived and started banging on Bronwyn's door, both had awakened wondering if they should do something. When the racket ceased, Lily scurried into Edythe's room. "What's going on?" "I don't know," came Edythe's simple reply. "Why is Ranulf so angry with Bronwyn?" Again Edythe shrugged. "Well,should we go and see if Bronwyn needs help?" Edythe bit her bottom lip. The situation was foreign to her.She supposed they should go, but her gut was telling her to stay put. She was still debating the decision when voices rose again,and this time Bronwyn's was in the mix. And she never yelled. The door slammed and heavy footsteps retreated. "I think...I think I was just insulted," Lily mumbled. "By both of them." Seeing the stunned look in Lily's gray eyes,Edythe reached over to pacify her. "They also said some flattering things." Lily slipped out of the embrace and shook her head. "Edythe, what have I done?" "What do you mean?" Lily bounded off the bed and passionately stabbed her finger toward the wall seperating Edythe's and Bronwyn's room. "Them! Didn't you hear?" Edythe nodded her head in relief. "I did.I just wasn't sure you had." Slump-shouldered,Lily returned to the bed and collapsed on it. "Oh Lord, Edythe, I just announced to everyone that I was going to marry the man our sister loves." "It's my guess that he loves her,too.

I say,she is sinfully attractive when she's angry.You may not claim to have a way with the ladies,but when you want to make one mad,you are indeed an expert." Ranulf clenched his teeth and said nothing, but sent Tyr a flash of warning. Tyr dismissed the look and pressed on,opting for a flank attack. "You know that dress she was wearing? She would wear that color more often, complements that odd color of blue in her eyes." Ranulf sank onto the bench across the table from Tyr and raked his hands through his hair. "Take my advice and avoid looking too long at them.They can confound a man.Make him believe in lies." "You might be right," Tyr agreed and moved to pour himself some more wine. "But when a man can't think straight,is it she who is telling the lies or is it he who is telling them to himself?" "If you are trying to make a point, don't." "No,no point." Tyr sighed and swirled his mug. "Just that she was looking pretty tonight. Did you not think so?" "No." "Well,I did.I especially liked the hair. Normally I do not like stuff being all free like that,gets in the way.I usually prefer a woman's hair to be pulled back and tidy,but hers...well,I just might have to change my mind." Nothing from Ranulf.Not even a twitch.Damn.The man was stubborn. Tyr swallowed the mug's contents for fortification.If he got out of this with his skin still intact,he would be lucky.He had maybe one more shot before Ranulf got up to leave,so it had to hit-and hard. Tyr rocked the bench back and hummed, "Looked like silk,wonder if it feels like silk.I once had a woman with hair-" "Damn you," Ranulf uttered through his teeth. "Be quiet or get out." "What do you care? You may not like her,but I do.And not just in the face.I'm actually looking forward to tomorrow and spending time with the ladt.And after her jumping onto the idea of coming hunting,I think she feels the same." "She does not like you." "I beg to disagree.She thinks I am charming. Said so herself.But then it wasn't I who said she was trying to seduce every man around her.

The only good news is that he didn't qualify what he meant by emergencies, so every conversation with Didi now starts with 'Didi, it's an emergency.

the autonomous-driving side of things, Alphabet (formerly Google), which has logged several million self-driving-car test miles, continues to lead the pack. At the end of 2016, it created a new business division, called Waymo, for its autonomous driving technology. In May 2017, Waymo and Lyft announced that they would work together on developing the technology, and later in the year, Alphabet invested $1 billion in the start-up. Others, like Cruise Automation (which GM acquired for $1 billion) and Comma.ai, which offers open-source autonomous driving technology in the same vein as Google’s Android mobile operating system, are chasing hard. Baidu, China’s leading Internet search company, has an autonomous-driving research center in Sunnyvale. Byton—backed by China’s Tencent, Foxconn, and the China Harmony New Energy auto retailer group—has an office in Mountain View, as does Didi Chuxing, the Chinese ride-sharing company in which Apple invested $1 billion. Many of these companies have taken not just inspiration but also talent from Tesla. Part of the value of an innovation cluster like Silicon Valley lies in the dispersal of intellectual labor from one node to the next. For instance, PayPal is well known in the Valley for producing a number of high performers who left the company to start, join, or invest in others. The so-called PayPal Mafia includes Reid Hoffman, who founded LinkedIn; Max Levchin, whose most recent of several start-ups is the financial services company Affirm; Peter Thiel, a Facebook board member and President Trump–supporting venture capitalist who cofounded “big data” company Palantir; Jeremy Stoppelman, who started reviews site Yelp; Keith Rabois, who was chief operating officer at Square and then joined Khosla Ventures; David Sacks, who sold Yammer to Microsoft for $1.2 billion and later became CEO at Zenefits; Jawed Karim, who cofounded YouTube; and one Elon Musk.

Yeah. Didi throws a fuck like she throws a party.” “Victor, you don’t like parties.” “Yeah, but I like fucking.

di-di-ed

Da qualche parte Didi si putrefaceva e moriva in eterno. Giorno dopo giorno. Mese dopo mese. Anno dopo anno.

Right next door to the question of secession—a right that the Founders should have made more explicit than they did—is the equally challenging matter of expulsion. There needs to be a mechanism for frog-marching somebody to the curb. But enough about California.

He no longer needs me at Lyot. He now wants me to work at the Miami club after graduation.” He squeezed my hand a little harder. “I’m to report there the day after we graduate.” “Oh.” I did not know how to process this. I had one vision of how things would be when we finished high school, and suddenly, it was completely different. “I’m sorry, Evelyn. I know this wasn’t how we planned things, but I can’t say no to him. If I did…I don’t want to think about what his reaction would be.” “Oh,” I repeated. “Angel…” He slipped his hand beneath my hair to cup my nape. “I want you to come with me. Live with me in Miami. You can do online courses or apply to colleges there. I know you don’t like the beach, but Miami isn’t so bad. And we would be together. That’s all I care about.” “Come with you. To Miami. Live with you.

I struggle to control my thoughts sometimes, and when they spiral out of control as they did...I can't always find air. My mind is this irrational, uncontrolled nightmare without an escape.

Nes tėra tik vienas didis nuotykis - vidinis skverbimasis į save, o tam neturi įtakos nei laikas, nei erdvė, nei netgi veiksmai.

Whenever he met with some politician who had qualms about hiring him to do oppo research—digging up dirt on a rival—Stoddard liked to quote Governor Willie Stark from All the King’s Men: “Man is born in sin and conceived in corruption and passeth from the stench of the didie to the stink of the shroud. There is always something.

Le visuel est l'instrument du virtuel, de la mémoire, de l'au-delà, qui se traduit par le fait de souligner l'étrange afin de représenter l'altérité divine. La couleur est utilisée pour évoquer une image invisible au-delà du figuratif. Le "Pan de peinture", c'est l'espace de l'entre-deux, où le visible se fait incertain et devient visuel. Il quitte l'imitation, la mimesis et se traduit dans le dissemblable.

Didi Hill writes…an ode to my friend Jane: Now that we’re 60 plus What's all the fuss? To make sure we have fun We'll make sure it’s for everyone. Do the things we've always wanted to do Like going on a zip wire Or having a tattoo… Do it now do it on a whim Whether it's a she or a him. Say I've done it. That's for sure. You never know………… you might go back for more!

is niks in vergelyking met hierdie plek nie. Die

niks van my wil hê nie.” Imke val langs hom op die bank

Mark. Die miljoenêr-natuurjoernalis wat sy verlede jaar by die lodge ontmoet het.

She had not seen Rahul since her wedding night, a fact that was incredible to her. "Hi, Didi," he said when she opened the door, still using the traditional term of respect their parents had taught him. She felt no awkwardness, the sight of him after over a year and a half standing under the portico of the house, completing a part of her that had been missing, like the clothes she could wear again now that the weight of her pregnancy was gone.

It’s Dumbledore,” he whispered, shaking his head with disbelief.“It can’t be, of course. It’s impossible. But it is.That… is Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. ” James knew it was ridiculous. Albus Dumbledore was long since dead, killed-- albeit mercifully and according to prior agreement-- by Professor Severus Snape, who succeeded him as headmaster during the dark season of Voldemort’s final days. It didn’t help that nobody else quite saw the resemblance, at least not as strongly as he did.“I sorta see it,” Zane admitted after class, cocking his head and squinting thoughtfully.“But really, isn’t it just that characteristic ‘crusty 143

April 26 The Supreme Climb Take now thy son, . . . and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains which I will tell thee of. Genesis 22:2 Character determines how a man interprets God’s will (cf. Psalm 18:25–26). Abraham interpreted God’s command to mean that he had to kill his son, and he could only leave this tradition behind by the pain of a tremendous ordeal. God could purify his faith in no other way. If we obey what God says according to our sincere belief, God will break us from those traditions that misrepresent Him. There are many such beliefs to be got rid of, e.g., that God removes a child because the mother loves him too much—a devil’s lie! and a travesty of the true nature of God. If the devil can hinder us from taking the supreme climb and getting rid of wrong traditions about God, he will do so; but if we keep true to God, God will take us through an ordeal which will bring us out into a better knowledge of Himself. The great point of Abraham’s faith in God was that he was prepared to do anything for God. He was there to obey God, no matter to what belief he went contrary. Abraham was not a devotee of his convictions, or he would have slain Isaac and said that the voice of the angel was the voice of the devil. That is the attitude of a fanatic. If you will remain true to God, God will lead you straight through every barrier into the inner chamber of the knowledge of Himself; but there is always this point of giving up convictions and traditional beliefs. Don’t ask God to test you. Never declare as Peter did—I will do anything, I will go to death with Thee. Abraham did not make any such declaration, he remained true to God, and God purified his faith.

政府承认存在上述问题。4月1日，中央全面深化改革领导小组举行会议，讨论医疗系统改革的必要性。 官方新闻机构新华社报道，“要落实政府办医责任，破除公立医院逐利机制，建立符合医疗行业特点的人事薪酬制度。”看来，领导人知道需要加大投入。 不过，光是加大投资可能还不够。戴维·布鲁门萨尔(David Blumenthal)和萧庆伦(William Hsiao)近期在《新英格兰医学杂志》(The New England Journal of Medicine)发表文章称，职业精神的缺失会扭曲一切。文中写道，中国寻求成为现代国家已有一个世纪的时间，但仍旧缺乏“医学职业精神的规范和标准”，以及“能够推广并加强这些规范和标准的独立民间组织”。 陈纯菁表示，“医生们经常开玩笑说，他们不敢背对着门坐在办公室里，以防被捅。”大家都能感觉到这当中人性的缺失。 狄雨霏(Didi Kirsten Tatlow)是《纽约时报》驻京记者。 翻译：许欣 本文内容版权归纽约时报公司所有，任何单位及个人未经许可，不得擅自转载或翻译。

Milano, una scuola media statale, maggio 2014 «Professoressa, è arrivato un altro genitore, sa, per il colloquio…» Piera alzò gli occhi al cielo e guardò l’orologio: undici e dieci minuti. Dieci minuti di ritardo e nessun appuntamento. Sospirò. Parlare con un altro genitore voleva dire perdere quasi completamente l’ora buca che di solito utilizzava per correggere i compiti o fare qualche piccola commissione. E, accidempolina, aveva visto quell’abitino nella merceria di viale Brianza. L’unica merceria ancora aperta a Milano e l’aveva beccata lei! Dio, non era forse patetico comprare i vestiti in merceria? Forse solo sua nonna e le sue diaboliche amichette novantenni lo facevano ancora. Ma l’abitino era a buon mercato, semplice come piaceva a lei e… color grigio topo. Possibile che si vestisse solo di grigio? E senza nessuna dannatissima sfumatura, per giunta! Sorrise amaro, pensando ad altre sfumature, anche se non era quello il momento di piangere sulla sua castissima vita di single. Ora doveva incontrare il genitore ritardatario, privo di buona creanza e di un accidente di appuntamento. Be’, per questa volta avrebbe chiuso un occhio, anche perché forse si trattava della mamma di Diamante De Braud che aveva convocato già da un paio di settimane, ma che ancora non si era vista. Secondo Diamante, che tutti chiamavano Didi, la madre era in Irlanda a risposarsi da qualche parte. In Irlanda? A risposarsi con un leprechaun? Di certo un’altra frottola della ragazzina. Ok, era ora di vedere la genitrice inopportuna. «Le dica che arrivo fra cinque minuti, Flaminia» disse. La commessa la guardò con uno strano sorrisino sulle labbra. «Gli dica. È un papà. E non so se mi sono spiegata.» Non so se mi sono spiegata. No che non ti sei spiegata, Flaminia! Ora anche le commesse erano diventate petulanti? E quel sorrisetto ammiccante che diavolo voleva dire? Come se non avesse ricevuto nessuna gomitata metaforica nello sterno, finse di ributtarsi a capofitto sul compito che stava correggendo e con un che di acido rispose: «Gli dica, allora. Grazie». «Il genitore mi ha anche detto di dirle che lui ha molta fretta…» Piera alzò lo sguardo davanti a sé e sentì una fitta di rabbia trafiggerla. «È in ritardo e ha pure fretta?» Ora lo sistemo io, questo maleducato, pensò alzandosi con troppa foga e dirigendosi verso la porta con fare minaccioso. «Il registro, professoressa! Non dovrebbe portarlo con sé?» le ricordò Flaminia. Decisamente petulante. Trattenendo un’imprecazione, che in ogni caso non sarebbe stata molto più spinta di un perdindincibacco!, Piera si bloccò, girò su immaginari cardini e tornò sui suoi passi. Poi, a testa alta e col registro ben stretto in mano, passò di fianco a Flaminia che la guardava ancora con quello strano sorrisino. «Vedrà, professoressa, non se ne pentirà.» «Forse sarà lui, a pentirsene» mormorò lei tra i denti. Avrebbe detto il fatto suo a quel maleducato. Come no?

Mesto kao što je ovo zahteva od posetioca da se, nakratko, preispita o sopstvenim činovima gledanja. Shvatio sam vremenom da me određena konfiguracija mog sopstvenog tela - nizak rast, oči koje ostaju kratkovide usprkos svim naočarama, nekakav fundamentalni strah - podstiče da gledam pre svega stvari koje se nalaze dole. Najčešće hodam tako što gledam prema tlu. Nešto mora da je preostalo od jednog prastarog - bolje reći: dečijeg - straha od pada. Ali takođe i od sklonosti ka stidu, u smislu da mi je gledanje nekog u lice dugo bilo jednako teško - osećao sam da je za to potrebna stvarna hrabrost - koliko i nužno. Sve je to rezultiralo, sasvim prirodno, skupom neprimetnih gestova usmerenih ka tome da koncentrišu, pre nego da rasprše, moje vizuelno polje. Tako samo stekao naviku da transformišem tu svoju opštu stidljivost pred stvarima, tu svoju želju da pobegnem ili da ostanem u stanju trajno lelujave, neusmerene pažnje (fr. attention flottante, nem. gleichschwebende Aufmerksamkeit) posmatranjem svega onog što je ispod: stvari koje se ugledaju prve, stvari koje imamo "ispod nosa", stvari običnih. Kao da mi je saginjanje kako bih video pomoglo da bolje razmišljam o onome što gledam. U Birkenauu, sasvim posebna utučenost pred istorijom učinila je da pognem glavu malo više nego što sam navikao.

ESTRAGON: You say we have to come back tomorrow? VLADIMIR: Yes. ESTRAGON: Then we can bring a good bit of rope. VLADIMIR: Yes. Silence. ESTRAGON: Didi? VLADIMIR: Yes. ESTRAGON: I can't go on like this. VLADIMIR: That's what you think. ESTRAGON: If we parted? That might be better for us. VLADIMIR: We'll hang ourselves tomorrow. ( Pause. ) Unless Godot comes. ESTRAGON: And if he comes? VLADIMIR: We'll be saved. Vladimir takes off his hat (Lucky's), peers inside it, feels about inside it, shakes it, knocks on the crown, puts it on again. ESTRAGON: Well? Shall we go? VLADIMIR: Pull on your trousers. ESTRAGON: What? VLADIMIR: Pull on your trousers. ESTRAGON: You want me to pull off my trousers? VLADIMIR: Pull ON your trousers. ESTRAGON: ( realizing his trousers are down) . True. He pulls up his trousers. VLADIMIR: Well? Shall we go? ESTRAGON: Yes, let's go. They do not move. Curtain.

Look, Mr. Bolitar, Chad did not fake this. Yes, he’s a teenager. No, he’s not perfect, and neither are his parents. But he did not fake his own kidnapping. And if he did—I know he didn’t, but let’s just pretend for the sake of argument that he did—then he is safe and we do not need you. If this is some kind of cruel deception, we’ll learn it soon enough. But if my son is in danger, then following this line of thought is a waste of time I can ill afford.” Myron

Fort atmış buna," dedi Veli. "Bu kabzımal dükkanı da benim, demiş." "Benim demiş hı?" "Benim demiş, yazının uğrusu, yalancısı. Öte gün de söyledim ya Hacı Emmi, hırhızlık onda, yalan dolan onda, ırza namusa dolanmak onda. Giçende ağa didi ki: 'Veli, oğlum' didi, 'benim gözüm heç su içmiyor bu Gafur'dan' didi. 'Benim has adamım sensin. Aman oğlum, ben yokken dükkana göz kulak ol!'" Hacı kıskıs güldü: "Öte gün de söyledim sana veli, tavşana kaç, yazıya tut hesabıdır onların lafı. Kulağasma. Hı, mı, di, kalin sıdk ile bağlanma. Niye dirsen, Mustafa Kemal Paşa'nın Yunan'ı bozduğundan beri buralardayım ben, gurbet kuşuyum. Öyle nice nice Hüseyin Efendiler gördüm. Şeher adamı mı, isterse dili dişi senin benim gibi olsun, inanmıyacaksın!

It amazes me you haven’t figured out your fear and greed create the worst monsters.” -Didi

Is dat dan niet gevaarlijk?' vroeg Didi. 'Dat is een interessante vraag uit de mond van een meisje dat bijna haar eigen huis heeft opgeblazen,' antwoordde Kiki. 'Daar zit wat in,' zei Didi bedachtzaam.

Membaca adalah dunia magik yang ada pencintanya seperti kamu

Have a great week, DiDi. Remember, you’re a winner, and you’re winning every single day. Anything and everything you put your mind to, you can do. I love you.

Oh god,” I mutter, “how much caffeine do you think we will need?” They both move along as if they can’t hear me, Didi taking my bag off my shoulders and stuffing it with the rest of the stuff. “Is that all you brought?” she asks. “That, and a spiritual burden.” “Take things seriously for once,” she says not ungently.

It's obvious that different players have different requirements. What I do in a game is maybe 50 sprints and walk; I hardly ever jog. My game is bang, go, whereas Didi Hamann would sprint maybe once in a game and jog around the rest of the time.

She looked down. "He shamed me," she said. "I cannot help it that I moved as I did—I cannot help that I am a woman.

When that happened, Nana said, the collective gasp of Jalil’s family sucked the air out of Herat. His in-laws swore blood would flow. The wives demanded that he throw her out. Nana’s own father, who was a lowly stone carver in the nearby village of Gul Daman, disowned her. Disgraced, he packed his things and boarded a bus to Iran, never to be seen or heard from again. “Sometimes,” Nana said early one morning, as she was feeding the chickens outside the kolba, “I wish my father had had the stomach to sharpen one of his knives and do the honorable thing. It might have been better for me.” She tossed another handful of seeds into the coop, paused, and looked at Mariam. “Better for you too, maybe. It would have spared you the grief of knowing that you are what you are. But he was a coward, my father. He didn’t have the dil, the heart, for it.” Jalil didn’t have the dil either, Nana said, to do the honorable thing. To stand up to his family, to his wives and in-laws, and accept responsibility for what he had done. Instead, behind closed doors, a face-saving deal had quickly been struck. The next day, he had made her gather her few things from the servants’ quarters, where she’d been living, and sent her off. “You know what he told his wives by way of defense? That I forced myself on him. That it was my fault. Didi? You see? This is what it means to be a woman in this world.” Nana put down the bowl of chicken feed. She lifted Mariam’s chin with a finger. “Look at me, Mariam.” Reluctantly, Mariam did. Nana said, “Learn this now and learn it well, my daughter: Like a compass needle that points north, a man’s accusing finger always finds a woman. Always. You remember that, Mariam.

The search for “better cab” was not limited to the United States. Cheng Wei, an engineer at the Chinese tech giant Alibaba, missed several flights in China because of his failure to get a taxi in time. Fed up, in 2012 he founded DiDi, which means “beep beep” in Chinese. Now called DiDi Chuxing after a merger, it has become the largest ride-hailing company in the world.

Technology innovation is a key factor in retaining the gains produced by business model innovation. After all, if one technology innovation can create a new market, another technology innovation can render it obsolete, seemingly overnight. While Uber has achieved massive scale, the greatest threat to its future doesn’t come in the form of direct competitors like Didi Chuxing, though these are formidable threats. The greatest threat to Uber’s business is the technology innovation of autonomous vehicles, which could make obsolete one of Uber’s biggest competitive advantages—its carefully cultivated network of drivers—essentially overnight.

I can smell Runu-Didi on her clothes and her pillow that has acquired a dip in the middle from the weight of her head. If I stare at it long enough, the snatcher or the bad djinn who has caught Didi will let her go. I stare and stare. My eyes hurt, but I don't look away.

Thirty minutes later, we reached the rocky Anjuna beach and parked the bike. We walked for five minutes and reached a shack called Curlies. We sat on adjacent easy chairs, both of us facing the Arabian Sea. I removed my sneakers to rest my feet on the sandy floor of Curlies. ‘Beer?’ Brijesh said. ‘Sure,’ I said. He asked a waiter to bring us two Kingfishers. Two tables away, I saw another Indian couple. The girl wore red and white bangles on both hands, a wedding chudaa; they had just gotten married. Must be their honeymoon. They held hands, but it seemed a little awkward. Arranged marriage, maybe. I looked at Brijesh. We would be a married couple too by this weekend. Brijesh smiled as he handed me a half-pint Kingfisher bottle. ‘What did you tell your folks?’ Brijesh said. ‘I told Aditi didi that I am going for a walk with you.’ ‘They don’t know you are at Anjuna?’ ‘No,’ I said, ‘mom will freak out.’ I sipped my beer. We watched the sun go down. A young singer at Curlies sang and played the guitar. The Goan sunset became even more poignant with the music. The singer sang Justin Bieber’s song, Sorry. Is it too late now to say sorry? Yeah, I know that I let you down

No,” I said. “I think what you did…I think it was wretched. But you can sit here and wallow in it, or you can master it. Use it to fuel change. That, I could…well, I could at least respect that.” He winced. “Respect me, you mean.” Dangerous territory. I was flirting with that fire of his, for sure. “I don’t know why it matters to you.” “Because I prefer for feelings to be mutual,” he said. His words caught me, bound my voice in a way my magic had never managed.