Elisa Quotes

You made me cut and dye my hair.” Surely he understands that we face greater problems? “I thought it would greatly improve your looks,” I snap. “Shorn hair is a sign of shame. You humiliate me greatly.” “I’ll light a candle tonight in honor of your dead tresses.

Walking away from my desert companions feels like cutting off a limb. How does one say good-bye to an arm? One doesn't, I suppose. One pretends it isn't happening.

Given a choice between my life and yours, I will choose mine. Every time. Without hesitation.

Rosario is safe. You were supposed to outlive me. Elisa is ten times the ruler you were. I've stolen your wife. I'm not sorry. I miss you.

He studies me thoughtfully. "You are a beautiful queen, Elisa," he says voice pitched low. I never expected he would say such a thing. "A month or two of pastries will fix that," I say. Then I smile to show him I mean it flippantly. His expression does not change. "Even then.

It's decidedly bizzare, when the Worst Thing hppens and you find yourself still conscious, still breathing.

You must not lose faith, child. No matter what. Do not doubt God or his choosing of you. He knows infinitely more than we can imagine.

Are you ready?" he asks. "Just remember, there's nothing to be afraid of, anytime, ever. Life is one hundred percent adventure.

An absence of fear, Elisa realizes, can be mistaken for happiness, but it isn’t the same thing. Not even close.

Our beaches are still waiting for the end of a war that's been going on for so long people have stopped believing it's real. They build hotels, put up neon signs, but it's all fake, we're on a knife-edge, it could all give way any moment. We're living in limbo. In the winter that never ends.

We don't lie to protect the other person. We lie to protect ourselves from the consequences. We lie because we don't want to deal with our own feelings. We lie because we don't want things to change. Not by our hand. So a wall starts to build.

Weren't you scared?" I ask. "Yes. But it was a good scared." "There's a good kind?" "Oh, yes." Her voice drops so low I have to strain to hear. "Orlin made me scared all the time. Scared I would starve. Scared I would get too cold. Scared he would hurt me again or get so mad he'd throw me to one of the men. That was nasty bad scared." She pauses, scuffing her boots against the floor. "But you never hit me, even though I'm your slave... You always feed me. You call me my true name. Now when I'm scared, it's not because of meanness. And today, I chose my own scared. It's always a good scared, when you get to pick it your own self.

My supposed destiny can drown itself in the deepest part of the sea. Along with everyone else's plans for me.

But none of it will be real. None of them will want me. My throne, yes. Prestige. A conquest. But not me.

Him and his "Life is all adventure" stuff. He says, "Don't think too hard about it. Just ask yourself this: what would you do if you weren't afraid?

I saw the way she looked at you. You are life and breath for her." He's wrong about that. Elisa loves fiercely, it's true. But she loves with her heart and mind. If she comes for me, it will be part of a larger plan to rescue all of Joya.

Elisa, tell me truly. Have you attained that kind of power? The kind that would frighten an animagus?" "I have." Her eyes widen and her lips part. She says to Storm, "You always speak truly, yes?" "Yes, Your Highness." "You are also an animagus, are you not?" "I am." "And you believe my sister has the kind of power she claims?" "No," he says. "She is being modest.

Ten thousand!" I shouted at the walls, back in the room with the wooden shutters, now open, so that anyone could hear me, on the porch or probably across the compound. "That arrogant bastard landed ten thousand men at Tas-Elisa. In my port! Mine!" When I was a child and playmates snatched my toys out of my hands, I tended to smile weakly and give in. Years later I was acting the way I should have as a child. Probably not the most mature behavior for a king, but I was still cursing as I swung around to find a delegation of barons in the doorway behind me. My father, Baron Comeneus, and Baron Xorcheus among them. They thought it was how a king behaved. I ran my fingers through my hair and tried to pursue a more reasonable line of thought, but more reasonable thoughts made me angry again.

Life on Earth is only borrowed time. We need to appreciate the time that’s given to us, because ultimately we have to give it back.

Nikada, na primer, nisam prebrojao prste na rukama. Rečeno mi je da ih ima deset i ja sam to prihvatio zdravo za gotovo, a takvi ne uspevaju u životu. - Elisa za Isu

An excellent servant is always present, yet rarely seen or heard. Much like a specter who happens to enjoy cleaning.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to her butler.

Until recently, I believed all horses were alike. They’ve been giant, four-footed animals with ugly dispositions and alarmingly large teeth for so long that it’s a bit startling to notice how different they are from each other. Mara’s mare, for instance, is a chestnut bay except for a wide white blaze down her nose that makes her seem perpetually surprised. My huge plodding mount is a dark brown near to black creature, with the most unruly mane I’ve ever seen. Her shaggy forelock covers her right eye and reaches almost to her mouth. Mara’s mare head-butts her in the chest. Grinning, Mara plants a kiss between her wide, dumb eyes, then murmurs something. “Have you named her?” I ask. “Yes! Her name is Jasmine.” I grimace. “But jasmine is such a sweet, pretty flower.” Mara laughs. “Have you named yours?” “Her name is Horse.” She rolls her eyes. “If you want to get along with your mount you have to learn each others’ languages. That means starting with a good name.” “All right.” I pretend to consider. “What about Imbecile? Or Poops A Lot?

This is me, God! Elisa. I once saw you in all the world. But the world is dark now, Lord. Full. Full of darkness. Close your eyes for a moment, God, and let me sing to you. Let me remember that you are here. Here in the notes. Smiling down as I play for you. Just this moment, God, let me sing to you. And maybe in the song, I will forget whether I am singing to you, or you are singing to me . . .

Thank you for lending me the use of your maid. I tragically lost my lady-in-waiting on our journey and found Cosme's presence such a comfort.

His gaze drops to my lips. "I shouldn't do this--" "You really should." And I close the distance between us.

His name was Humberto, and now you're just being petty.

The trick is to surrender completely, take your moments when you get them, don’t dare want for more.

Well, we'll have no more of such foolishness," I say harshly, to cover the wavering in my voice. "We're getting married, and that's that.

Y entonces lo hace. Me condena a siete años de incertidumbre y zozobra. Me condena a no quitármela nunca del corazón.

He’d never understand what Sokcho was like. You had to be born here, live through the winters. The smells, the octopus. The isolation.

People always think they have time.’ ‘I’m only twenty-four.’ ‘Exactly.

Le parole hanno un grande impatto su di noi: che siano complimenti o insulti, ci cambiano. Dentro. Ed è proprio questo ciò che voglio sperimentare: la potenza delle mie parole e l’effetto di esse sugli altri.

What is the matter with you?" "You want an alphabetical list?

He is hearing the music, yes, but he’s also feeling it, reflecting it, and from that reflection Elisa can hear and feel the music as she never has before.

At that moment in her life, Elisa was, he realized, almost pathologically attracted not to status or money or good looks but to literary and intellectual potential.

Yes!" Belen raises his fist in a victory gesture. "We shall save the world from Invierne with slings!

She developed a kind of disdain for her only sibling usually reserved for despotic political regimes and perpetrators of genocide.

There are billions of people in the world, yet you can feel infinitely alone if you’re deprived of the one who’s important to you.

I want to be queen of this great country not because someone is holding my hand,but because I can do it.Me.Elisa.

Murder is no less a crime when the victim is common born.

Menjadi diri sendiri jauh lebih mudah ketimbang menjadi diri orang lain

You—you insufferable—” “I give you credit for cleverness—” “—scurrilous, despicable—” “—but it is time you returned to where you belong.” “—pompous, controlling ass.” Unwisely, he smirked. “Now, now, my dear. Language.

These seem to be real questions we're wrestling with - where do I focus my anxiety so that I can feel like a good citizen in an anxious society? We believe we need to worry about the right problems, even if we can't solve them.

“Clever battle strategy often resembles madness. Knowing the difference … ah, well, the victors have the privilege of defining that, do they not?” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham upon news of Napoleon’s escape from Elba.

Elisa thought how empty the prayers sounded. The words rattled around in the ancient rafters and then returned to them like dead leaves falling from the trees. No life. No shade of hope. Only a cold wind that blew into their very souls.

Zelda is black and fat. Yolanda is Mexican and homely. Antonio is a cross-eyed Dominican. Duane is of mixed race and has no teeth. Lucille is albino. Elisa is mute. To Fleming, they are all the same: unfit for other work and therefore easy to trust.

Hector, I have to ask. Do you want to be an emperor? Because I could make you one. You could be my equal in rank, with just as much authority. Tristán still owes me votes on the Quorum. We could ram an edict through—” “No need,” he says, reaching up to brush my bottom lip with his thumb. “I’m a good leader, but you’re a great ruler. I am strong enough—man enough—to be subject to you.

The world is not full of crazy ninja perfume ladies!

Ho attraversato l'inferno, ma adesso sono finalmente in paradiso.

Shyness is a lasso that binds the wings each of us has. Only if you untie it can you fly. Don

I didn’t want to be his eyes in my world. I wanted to be seen. I wanted him to see me with his own eyes.

If Elisa were here, she would pray warmth into her body with the power of her Godstone. It gives me comfort. She will never be so cold as I am now.

I prefer coffee, actually. I take it with cream and a bit of sugar. It is my favorite thing. Well, except for chocolate. And books, of course.

Nothing is easier." Elisa said. “It’s just another way to get killed.

I think delicate people are frightening. But I also think fear is erotic.

For those who believe, no words are necessary. For those who do not believe, no words are possible.” — SAINT IGNATIUS

I like it when it’s foggy. When you can’t see into the distance. When there’s no horizon. It gives me a feeling of having time. That it’s all right not to see, not to be aware of what’s in my path.

Falling in love often is crucial. You just have to let it nourish you without giving in to it. Why turn it off entirely? Why deaden any part of yourself? Won’t death do that for you, and soon enough?

When we get him,” Eve continued, “it’s going to come out that she—this symbol—knocked him around or boo-hoo broke his heart or made him feel weak and helpless. So his defense lawyers will come along saying: Oh, he was damaged, poor sick son of a bitch. He’s not responsible. And that’s a pile of shit, that’s a big, smelly pile of bullshit. Because nobody’s responsible for choking the life out of Elisa Maplewood but him. Nobody.

I noticed a copy of X-Men, a Marvel comic he loved, in his backpack, which was lying open on his crossed legs. Sometimes it seemed a part of those characters lived inside him. Peter wasn’t your classic knight in shining armor; he was a complex hero full of doubts and conflicting emotions who suffered from unrequited love.

It’s always that way with periods of crisis: people you expect and want to be there for you are incapable and/or unwilling, and others you never imagined would be there for you show up with exactly what you need, exactly how you need it. And there is almost no way, alas, no way at all, to predict which people will be which.

A baby opens you up, is the problem. No way around it unless you want to pay someone else to have it for you. There’s before and there’s after. To live in your body before is one thing. To live in your body after is another. Some deal by attempting to micromanage; some go crazy; some zone right the hell on out. Or all of the above.

Let even your deficits be your offering.

As the French cultural theorist Paul Virilio famously said, “The invention of the ship was also the invention of the shipwreck.

A la vida hay que contestarle bien alto, dice siempre. Tardé tiempo en aprender que a la vida también había que responderle antes de que te hiciera las preguntas.

He had a cute little gap in his teeth that I'd never noticed before.

We were knee deep in a river of crap,and I was wearing metaphorical flip-flops. -Jason

La vida siguió rápido para todos. ¿No le dije, señor, que la muerte es un día y la vida varios? Pues la vida pronto se reorganizó.

Wifi password: ilovesokcho

Obviously, a wife must obey her husband in all important matters. If he continues believing his admonitions are his own ideas, so much the better.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to Lady Atherbourne in a letter filled with wifely wisdom.

Often, when something bad happens, I have a strange, instinctual desire for things to get even worse—I think of a terrible outcome and then wish for it. I recognize the pattern, but I don’t understand it. It’s as though my mind is running simulations and can’t help but prefer the most dramatic option—as though, in that eventuality, I could enjoy it from the outside.

Elisa Pierandrei's 'Painting, Photography, Drawing. From Africa and Its Diaspora (selected writings)' is a book that pays equal attention to aesthetics, process, medium and the artist as a human in the world (and not only an artist from 'Africa’)

Adrienne Rich had it right. No one gives a crap about motherhood unless they can profit off it. Women are expendable and the work of childbearing, done fully, done consciously, is all-consuming. So who’s gonna write about it if everyone doing it is lost forever within it? You want adventures, you want poetry and art, you want to salon it up over at Gertrude and Alice’s, you’d best leave the messy all-consuming baby stuff to someone else. Birthing and nursing and rocking and distracting and socializing and cooking and washing and gardening and mending: what’s that compared with bullets whizzing overhead, dazzling destructive heroics, headlines, parties,

Each time Nate saw her, Elisa’s beauty struck him anew, as if in the interval the memory of what she actually looked like had been distorted by the tortured emotions she elicited since they’d broken up: in his mind, she took on the dimensions of an abject creature. What a shock when she opened the door, bursting with vibrant, almost aggressive good health. The power of her beauty, Nate had once decided, came from its ability to constantly reconfigure itself. When he thought he’d accounted for it, filed it away as a dead fact—pretty girl—she turned her head or bit her lip, and like a children’s toy you shake to reset, her prettiness changed shape, its coordinates altered: now it flashed from the elegant contours of her sloping brow and flaring cheekbone, now from her shyly smiling lips.

You think I don’t know what I want? You think I love the idea of relying on my looks for life? No! It’s pathetic! In my head, I have a nice, quiet, normal job that involves me running my own business. I carry a briefcase around my office with important documents, I have a nice assistant who calls me boss, and people ask me questions—they ask for my advice because I matter! I’m important to them! I’m recognized as something more than a pretty face and a pair of legs. I have a brain and interests and thoughts about religion, and poverty, and economics. I’m not a miserable girl with a number attached to her chest, stripping her clothes off in a room full of people.

... y mi deseo y mi deseo y mi deseo no puede ser una uva secándose al sol, que mi deseo, si él no lo quiere, otro lo querrá, pero que qué pena, Javier, le diré, qué pena que no te hayas atrevido conmigo.

We want to leave a legacy with who we are and what we do. We want to grow a life that matters. We can. When we eat a diet of fruit and serve up that diet to those around us, we can grow a life that matters.

Basta, dovevo uscire da lì! Non potevo starmene chiusa nel gabinetto tutto il giorno e, se l’avessi incontrato, l’avrei ignorato. Aprii la porta e mi ritrovai a qualche metro di distanza da Mister Copertina. Non propriamente una scena romantica. Senza giacca, con le maniche della camicia arrotolate a mettere in evidenza i bicipiti abbronzati, le mani conserte e appoggiato al lavandino era l’incarnazione dell’uomo voglio, comando e posso. Ed era sexy. Troppo. Senza pensare con lucidità, cosa che capitava spesso ultimamente, tornai in bagno e mi chiusi dentro.

She is not plain. She is extraordinary.” The dowager dismissed his statement with the wave of her wrinkled hand. “You are clearly suffering a visual disorder of some kind. Perhaps you and Jane should wear matching spectacles.

All art, be it writing, painting, film, dance, whatever, is a manipulation of time and space. It’s an interpretation and a recreation of the facts, using various artifacts that point us in the direction of our personal truths.

These tiny people, they're not about you. They are not for you. They do not belong to you. They are under your care, is all, and it's your job to work at being a decent human being, love them well and a lot, dont put your problems on them, dont make your problems thier problems, dont use them to occupy empty parts of yourself.

“We are frequently referred to as the gentler sex. Foolish notion. Women are far more vicious than men. We are simply better at disguising it.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to the Countess of Berne after a particularly spiteful Thursday luncheon.

“While I agree men fancy a good meal, Meredith, I daresay the stomach is not the most direct route to a man’s heart. That organ lies a good bit lower.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to the Countess of Berne upon learning of said lady’s supper menu.

One of the greatest frustrations about being the only chosen one in four generations is that there is no one to tell me what to do. I’ve only centuries-old scripture to guide me, pored over by learned priests and eager revolutionaries who decide what those scriptures mean based on their own desperate hopes. None of them have felt God’s own power rippling through their bodies; none of them really know. It seems to me that when God decided he wanted to communicate with humankind, he could have come up with a much better plan.

Why so profane, ask the bookclubbers? Because we are talking here about death, and fuck you if you don't like it: You're going to die, too. This is serious. Fuck fuck fuck.

A volte le parole distruggono, è vero, però altre volte creano o salvano.

No le temo a la muerte, le temo a irme sin haber tenido aunque sea una mínima parte de lo que deseo.

A usted nunca le ha pasado que la vida se le enreda? Pues a mí la vida se me ha enredado, se me ha hecho un nudo que no sé cómo deshacer

If you can control fire, you can raze cities to the ground. You can burn your enemies to ash.

Perfection is, after all, a form of banality.

I was born the destroyer, not the destroyed

Fuck you, by the way, couples at couples tables at weddings who don’t go out of your way to engage with that one couple who doesn’t know anyone.

“Virtue is its own reward.But then, the same could be said for sin.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to the Countess of Berne upon said lady’s refusal of a fourth lump of sugar.

One hundred years ago you'd have a child surrounded by other women: your mother, her mother, sisters, cousins, sisters-in-law, mother-in-law. And you'd be a teenager, too young to have had any kind of life yourself. You'd share childcare with a raft of women. They'd help you, keep you company, show you how. Then you'd do the same. Not just people to share in the work of raising children, but people to share in the loving of children.

È così semplice con gli oggetti, li puoi sostituire quando sono rotti. Ma con le persone non funziona in questo modo perché, quando vengono distrutte, non hanno un modo per ripararsi, per cambiare i loro pezzi andati in frantumi. Possono solo aspettare che il tempo faccia il suo corso, che lenisca le ferite, ma nel momento in cui perdono troppi frammenti si sentono troppo tristi, troppo stanchi, troppo... hai capito cosa intendo? Non è facile, per noi esseri umani.

I am not convinced absence makes the heart grow fonder. Perhaps we should test the veracity of this axiom more thoroughly, you and I.” —The Dowager Marchioness of Wallingham to her nephew upon his fourth request for an increase in funds.

You’re that reason, Portia. My reason. The reason I get out of my bed every morning. The reason I didn’t give a shit about cochlear implants and exploratory surgery. The reason I Google bird trivia and even venture into secondhand bookshops. It’s all for you. Silent you, talking you, I don’t care. It’s like I told you that day all those years ago – you are my forever.

Lo afferro per le spalle, lo scuoto, gli urlo contro, lo schiaffeggio. Deve risvegliarsi, deve tornare a essere quel Davide sornione che mi fa arrabbiare o il Davide misterioso che mi ha delusa, non mi importa, preferisco tutto a questa sua versione emaciata: è un fantoccio, non l’uomo che ho sempre avuto accanto. A un certo punto, mi abbraccia, mi stringe a sé. Mi trascina sul letto. Non mi dibatto, non ne ho voglia: il calore che scaturisce dai nostri corpi è una panacea per il male attaccabrighe. Non ci muoviamo, rimaniamo lì in una pace allucinata per non so quanto. Probabilmente ore. Gli accarezzo una guancia, il suo sguardo è nel mio, ci sono tante cose non dette, ma non importa, adesso ci siamo solo noi. Elisa e Davide. Davide ed Elisa. Niente passato, niente presente, solo due ragazzi che combattono senza armi.

When Elisa arrives at McDonald’s, the manager unlocks the door and lets her in. Sometimes the husband-and-wife cleaning crew are just finishing up. More often, it’s just Elisa and the manager in the restaurant, surrounded by an empty parking lot. For the next hour or so, the two of them get everything ready. They turn on the ovens and grills. They go downstairs into the basement and get food and supplies for the morning shift. They get the paper cups, wrappers, cardboard containers, and packets of condiments. They step into the big freezer and get the frozen bacon, the frozen pancakes, and the frozen cinnamon rolls. They get the frozen hash browns, the frozen biscuits, the frozen McMuffins. They get the cartons of scrambled egg mix and orange juice mix. They bring the food upstairs and start preparing it before any customers appear, thawing some things in the microwave and cooking other things on the grill. They put the cooked food in special cabinets to keep it warm.

La sensación que más me ha acompañado desde niña es la del hervor. Me siento como una langosta a la que han arrojado consciente a la olla al rojo vivo que significa existir. A diario me pregunto cuándo estaré cocinada y me podré poner a enfriar. Pensaba que al aprender a saltar a la comba soplaría brisa fresca pero todavía estoy esperando. Dominé la comba, dominé el idioma, aproveché las vacaciones para leer libros hasta el amanecer, aprobé todo tipo de exámenes, saqué buena nota en Selectividad sin el apoyo de ninguna academia, salí a la calle con maquillaje, tacones y ligueros de encaje y volví a casa sorteando ejércitos de obstáculos y monstruos con el rímel sin correr, me depilé las ingles, las piernas completas, los sobacos, me decoloré el bigote, limpié el cuarto de baño doscientas mil veces, hice espaguetis y mermelada de moras, digerí semen espeso y amargo con buena cara, me acordé de llevar siempre cortaúñas, líquido desinfectante, pañuelos y estuche de lentillas a todas partes, de apagar el gas antes de salir de casa, de sacar al perro al amanecer y al sol de agosto, de tender la ropa a tiempo para que no cogiese olor a humedad, de comprar el café que le gusta a mi madre porque no quería que sus mañanas fuesen aún más difíciles. Cuánto falta. Cuándo llega el punto en el que deja de quemar la vida. ¿Ocurrirá al terminar la carrera, al conseguir un trabajo digno? Cada vez quema más, quema más que nunca. Estoy al rojo vivo.