Diplomatic Immunity Quotes

We should have taken our chances back then, when we were young and beautiful and didn't even know it.

The dead cannot cry out for justice; it is a duty of the living to do so for them.

If you make it plain you like people, it's hard for them to resist liking you back.

If the truth doesn't save us, what does that say about us?

Diplomatic #@@@@@##%%%%#%%%%@@@@@@$$$$$####!!! Immunity?

We did it," he muttered to Ekaterin, now perching on the chair arm. "Why didn't anybody stop us? Why aren't there more regulations about this sort of thing? What fool in their right mind would put me in charge of a baby? Two babies?

to slide halfway to stupid and stop was rare indeed.

I always thought my parents could fix anything. Now it's my turn. Dear God, how did this happen?

Finally, and definitely the coolest part, is that you get a card from the State Department that gives you diplomatic immunity. I wasn't exactly sure what diplomatic immunity meant, so I asked around to see if I could kill someone. Not someone important, of course, but someone normal - like Doug. I never got a call back on the question so I'm operating under the assumption that I can.

Military intelligence was as nothing to military stupidity.

Are we not all called on to yield our children back to the world, in the end?

All sorts of men don't make it home for the births of their children. But My mother was out of town on the day I was born, so she missed it, just seems . . . seems like a more profound complaint, somehow.

Recognizing beauty isn’t optimism. It’s living with your eyes open.

on free commerce, open communication, shared knowledge, secular politics, religious coexistence, international law, and diplomatic immunity.

Why do ambassadors never get sick? Diplomatic immunity.

Now, there are important rules in Fairyland, rules from which I shall one day be exempt, when my papers have been processed at last and I am possessed of the golden ring of diplomatic immunity.

Despite his image as a bloody tyrant, Genghis was also forward thinking. His empire had the first international postal system, invented the concept of diplomatic immunity, and even allowed women in its councils. But more importantly, the Mongols were also unprecedented in their religious tolerance.

I seek for myself the immunity of the diplomatic pouch.

We don’t have a writ to enter.” “But I have diplomatic immunity.” Ixtli found a window that was loose, and with some persuading, forced it open. “Care to accompany me lest my life be threatened and an incident between our respective countries occurs?

In conquering their empire, not only had the Mongols revolutionized warfare, they also created the nucleus of a universal culture and world system. This new global culture continued to grow long after the demise of the Mongol Empire, and through continued development over the coming centuries, it became the foundation for the modern world system with the original Mongol emphases on free commerce, open communication, shared knowledge, secular politics, religious coexistence, international law, and diplomatic immunity.

Right.” Roic nodded. He glanced over Miles’s growing array of medical attachments. “By the way, m’lord. Had you happened to mention your seizure disorder to the surgeon yet?

And . . . it would be a real relief for me to have someone along I can talk to freely.” Her smile tilted a little at this. “Talk, or vent?” “I—hem!—suspect this one is going to entail quite a lot of venting, yes. D’you think you can stand it?

I wanted to savor every tidbit with Rafael. It was like a good book, one I'd been waiting for and anticipating, and once I'd gotten it in my hands, I couldn't bear to read one single page because that would be one fewer page I would get to read.

Miles bowed, sitting; his floater bobbed slightly. “My horse would like you fine. He’s extremely amiable, not to mention much too old and lazy to stampede anywhere. And I personally guarantee that with a Vorkosigan liveried armsman at your back, not the most benighted backcountry hick would offer you insult.” Roic,

The things one learns on a honeymoon. Now I know how to coax you out of your glum moods. Just hire someone to shoot at you.” “Peps me right up,” he agreed. “I figured out years ago that I was addicted to adrenaline. I also figured out that it was going to be toxic, eventually, if I didn’t taper off.” “Indeed.” She inhaled.

The diplomatic kids had a hectic sort of life, being constantly thrown from one end of the world to the other and always playing tennis, no matter who was being machine-gunned in the streets, you were always extraterritorial, history was not permitted to touch you, it was only buzzing around your tennis court in a bloody sort of way. You were so well protected that you went to pieces. Diplomatic immunity could do very strange things to you, it was like weightlessness. You had to remind yourself constantly that you actually existed, and you were not supposed to identify yourself too much with the suffering of whatever country you were posted to. But then, who needs reality anyway?

To Komarr, my lord? Or Sergyar?” “No. Calculate the shortest possible jump route directly to Rho Ceta.” Vorpatril’s head jerked back in startlement. “If the orders I received from Sector Five HQ mean what we think, you’ll hardly get passage there. Reception by plasma fire and fusion shells the moment you pop out of the wormhole would be what I’d expect.” “Unpack, Miles,” Ekaterin’s voice drifted in. He grinned briefly at the familiar exasperation in her voice. “By the time we arrive there, I will have arranged our clearances with the Cetagandan Empire.” I hope. Or else they were all going to be in more trouble than Miles ever wanted to imagine. “Barrayar is bringing their kidnapped haut babies back to them. On the end of a long stick. I get to be the stick.

Standing before me was the most exotic, rugged, beautiful piece of personhood (of the male variety) I'd ever seen.

It's not 'Pipper'-" "You prefer just 'Pip'?" I sighed. Maybe we should wait to discuss personal details until we had only the language barrier and not the wardrobe malfunction to deal with.

Yes. It's the flamenco. From the Andalusian region in southern Spain. Ahi donde mi familia es de. "Huh?" He smiled and shook his head. "I'm sorry. It's the music and the dance. Makes me speak en español.

As the woman shook her head in front of the press corps, mascara tears streamed down her face, making her look even more like a prostitute. Is that uncharitable? Maybe so.

I honestly wanted to barf. Multiple times. "I wanted to savor every tidbit with Rafael. It was like a good book, one I'd been waiting for and anticipating, and once I'd gotten it in my hands, I couldn't bear to read one single page because that would be one fewer page I would get to read. My dad knocked on my door and poked his head in. "Breakfast, Pipe," he said, and then, looking at my face, he frowned. "What's wrong?" "I don't want to turn his pages!" "Whose pages?" "Never mind. Sorry. I'm fine." Because Raf was a person. Not a book. He didn't have a beginning and an end. It wasn't like I had a set amount of minutes with him, and every minute spent together was a minute gone that I wouldn't get back.

Even at ten o’clock in the morning it was going to be full of members of the public. Rich, influential members of the public, many of them foreign, a lot of them with some level of diplomatic immunity. ‘What I’m saying here,’ Seawoll had said, ‘is try to limit the amount of damage you do to none fucking whatsoever.’ I don’t know where I got this reputation for property damage, I really don’t

After a moment’s thought, he opened the diplomatic case and threw in an extra set of identification papers, under a Belgian passport. It had served him well in the past and it never hurt to plan ahead. The case also contained his Colt .45, two loaded magazines, and a box of Federal Hydra-Shok hollowpoints. Being able to carry the gun through security was one of the benefits of his diplomatic immunity. If he was forced to use it…well, that was another story

Back in what he was starting to think of as their cabinet, Miles encountered Ekaterin returning from the shower, dressed again in her red tunic and leggings. They maneuvered for a kiss, and he said, “I’ve acquired an involuntary appointment. I have to go stationside almost immediately.” “You will remember to put on pants?” He glanced down at his bare legs. “Planned to, yeah.

Ekaterin’s vision of him, he reminded himself, was not exactly objective. Thank God. “I’ve been trying to charm quaddies all day, with no noticeable success.

Miles,” said Bel’s voice, seeming to come from a long way off, “if you’re going to pass out, put your head down.” “Between my knees,” choked Miles, “and kiss my ass goodbye. Bel, do you know what that sigil is?

Miles repented his younger sexual reticence altogether, now. Profoundly. We should have taken our chances back then, when we were young and beautiful and didn’t even know it. And Bel had been beautiful, in its own ironic way, living and moving at ease in a body athletic, healthy, and trim.

You’re the man who used to rescue hostages for a living. You are not allowed to not get out of this one. So stop worrying about me and start paying attention to what you are doing. Are you listening to me, Miles Vorkosigan? Don’t you dare die! I won’t have it!” That seemed definitive. Despite everything, he grinned. “Yes, dear,” he sang back meekly, heartened.

From there, things had become desperate. She’d announced that she was too sick to be interviewed, before ramming her fingers down her throat in an attempt to make herself vomit. She’d claimed Diplomatic Immunity and then, in the very next breath, and for reasons not immediately clear, denied being a Russian spy. For a while, she had just broken down into tears, sobbing inconsolably in the corridor outside the interview room, insisting her legs were too shaky for her to take another step.

From there, things had become desperate. She’d announced that she was too sick to be interviewed, before ramming her fingers down her throat in an attempt to make herself vomit. She’d claimed Diplomatic Immunity and then, in the very next breath, and for reasons not immediately clear, denied being a Russian spy. For a while, she had just broken down into tears, sobbing inconsolably in the corridor

Cuban Aircraft are Seized During the early 1960’s, Erwin Harris sought to collect $429,000 in unpaid bills from the Cuban government, for an advertising campaign promoting Cuban tourism. Holding a court order from a judge in Florida and accompanied by local sheriff’s deputies, he searched the East Coast of the United States for Cuban property. In September 1960, while Fidel was at the United Nations on an official visit, Harris found the Britannia that Castro had flown in to New York. That same day the front page of The Daily News headlined, “Cuban Airliner Seized Here.” Erwin Harris continued by seizing a C-46, which was originally owned by Cuba Aeropostal and was now owned by Cubana, as well as other cargo airplanes. He seized a Cuban Naval vessel, plus 1.2 million Cuban cigars that were brought into Tampa, Florida, by ship. In Key West, Harris also confiscated railroad cars carrying 3.5 million pounds of cooking lard destined for Havana. All of these things, excepting the Britannia, were sold at auction. Nikita S. Khrushchev, the Soviet premier, replaced the airplane that had been confiscated. On September 28th, Castro boarded the Soviet aircraft at Idlewild Airport smiling, most likely because he knew that his Britannia airplane would be returned to Cuba due to diplomatic immunity.

Who would ever want to be in love? It sounded so painful.

Send a patroller to check,” said Miles a little tightly. Remembering he was supposed to be a diplomat, he added, “If you please.” Teris

The second ward was declared a temporary holding cell for their prisoner, the ba, who followed in the procession, bound to a float pallet. Miles scowled as the pallet drifted past, towed on its control lead by a watchful, muscular sergeant.

But the herm was gray-faced, lips purple-blue, eyelids fluttering. An IV pump, not dependent upon potentially erratic ship’s gravity, infused yellow fluid rapidly into Bel’s right arm. The left arm was strapped to a board; plastic tubing filled with blood ran from under a bandage and into a hybrid appliance bound around with quantities of plastic tape. A second tube ran back again, its dark surface moist with condensation.

I’ll bet. I . . .” He couldn’t say it, not so baldly. He dodged, while he mustered courage. “I promised to call Nicol when I had news of Bel, and I haven’t had a chance. The news, as you may know, is not good; we found Bel, but the herm has been deliberately infected with a bioengineered Cetagandan parasite that may . . . may prove lethal.

Anyway, I’m sure you’ll be able to handle Garnet Five. Just be your usual charming self.” Ekaterin’s vision of him, he reminded himself, was not exactly objective. Thank God. “I’ve been trying to charm quaddies all day, with no noticeable success.” “If you make it plain you like people, it’s hard for them to resist liking you back. And Nicol will be playing in the orchestra tonight.

tug her hand in mine and guide her to the lower deck. She follows, practically walking on my heels in her excitement. As soon as we reach the downstairs and her eyes fall on her present, she stops walking, her smile growing bigger. “Where’d you get this?” she asks. “It was actually a favor called in from a friend. Apparently, this one has raped numerous girls up and down the coast, but his father’s diplomatic immunity status has prohibited anyone from being able to touch him. They were in the process of getting that status revoked when his father sent him back to Columbia.” Her eyes flash with excitement, as Juan Alvarez’s eyes widen, and he struggles, cursing us through his gag. Lana tilts her head, watching him as he jerks against the chains. “And you trust the source?” she asks, looking Juan over, her fingers itching to take action. “Leonard’s the one who called. The last girl was just fifteen, and he slit her throat. I trust Leonard, and I reviewed the file myself. They have enough physical evidence to prove it, and he hasn’t bothered denying it. They just can’t touch him.” She gets up on her toes, smiling as she kisses me. Juan continues to struggle in vain. “Thank you,” she murmurs as I hand her the knife.

The Nazis, never troubled by the principle of diplomatic immunity, opened the British pouches and read these reports before they reached London. Hitler told Lord Londonderry

He’d never been serious about twelve; he’d just figured to start with that proposition, and fall back to six. His mother, his aunt, and what seemed every other female of his acquaintance had all mobilized to explain to him that he was insane, but Ekaterin had merely smiled.

från zorbeltuss: här är en lista som har hyfsat bra kontinuitet Mirror dance, cetaganda, memory, a civil campaign, diplomatic immunity, captain vorpatrils alliance, gentleman Jole and the red queen

During the five years leading up to the end of immunity in 2002, diplomats from the UK, Sweden, Canada, Australia, and a few other countries got a total of zero tickets. Meanwhile, diplomats from Egypt, Chad, and Bulgaria, among other countries, got the most tickets, accumulating over 100 for each member of their respective diplomatic delegations. Looking across nations, the higher the international corruption index for a delegation’s home country, the more tickets those delegations accumulated. The relationship between corruption back home and parking behavior in Manhattan holds independent of the size of a country’s UN mission, the income of its diplomats, the type of violation (e.g., double-parking), and the time of day.

Here, Veblen’s iconoclasm showed its range, as he simultaneously exposed modern corporations as hives of swarming parasites, derided marginalism for disingenuously sanitizing these infested sites by rebranding nonproductivity as productivity, and attacked economists for failing to situate themselves historically. On Veblen’s account, the business enterprise was no more immune from historical change than any other economic institution. As the controlling force in modern civilization, the business enterprise too would necessarily undergo “natural decay” and prove “transitory.” Where history was heading next, however, Veblen felt he could not say, because no teleology was steering the evolutionary process as a whole, only (as he had said before) the “discretionary action of the human agents,” whose institutionally shaped choices were still unformed. Nevertheless, limiting himself to the “calculable future”—to what, in light of existing scientific knowledge, seemed probable in the near term—Veblen pointed to two contrasting possibilities, both beyond the ken of productivity theories. One alternative was militarization and war—barbarism redux. According to Veblen, the business enterprise, as its grows, spills over national boundaries and fosters the expansion of a world market in which “the business men of one nation are pitted against those of another and swing“the forces of the state, legislative, diplomatic, and military, against one another in the strategic game of pecuniary advantage.” As this game intensifies, competing nations rush (said Veblen presciently) to amass military hardware that can easily fall under the control of political leaders who embrace aggressive international policies and “warlike aims, achievements, [and] spectacles.” Unchecked, these developments could, he believed, demolish “those cultural features that distinguish modern times from what went before, including a decline of the business enterprise itself.” (In his later writings from the World War I period, Veblen returned to these issues.) The second future possibility was socialism, which interested Veblen (for the time being) not only as an institutional alternative to the business enterprise but also as a way of economic thinking that nullified the productivity theory of distribution. In cycling back to the phenomenon of socialism, which he had bracketed in The Theory of the Leisure Class, Veblen zeroed in on men and women who held industrial occupations, in which he observed a growing dissatisfaction with the bedrock institutions of the modern age. This discontent was socially concentrated, found not so much among laborers who were “mechanical auxiliaries”—manual extensions—“of the machine process“ but “among those industrial classes who are required to comprehend and guide the processes.” These classes consist of “the higher ranks of skilled mechanics and [of people] who stand in an engineering or supervisory ”“relation to the processes.” Carrying out these jobs, with their distinctive task requirements, inculcates “iconoclastic habits of thought,” which draw men and women into trade unions and, as a next step, “into something else, which may be called socialism, for want of a better term.” This phrasing was vague even for Veblen, but he felt hamstrung because “there was little agreement among socialists as to a programme for the future,” at least aside from provisions almost “entirely negative.

Jared, in other words, displays all of the symptoms of someone who has “gone native”—the term used to describe foreign correspondents, diplomats, and other expatriates who fall in love with a place so fully they cross the line between what anthropologists call a “participant-observer” and simply a participant. Those who have gone native are easy to identify. They speak the local language, get the local humor. They wear the local dress. In some cases, they develop immunities to local microbes. I remember meeting an Englishman who had lived in India for so long he could actually drink the tap water and not die. The term “gone native” is almost always used disparagingly by those who have not.