Er Frank Quotes

I start laughing. You have to laugh. Life is just funny sometimes. As long as you remember.

Time is tricky. You have whole months, even years, when nothing changes a speck, when you don’t go anywhere or do anything or think one new thought. And then you can get hit with a day, or an hour, or a half a second when so much happens it’s almost like you got born all over again into some brand-new person you for damn sure never expected to meet.

Sonia, every dog does not bite, nor does each bee sting. For each schoolmate who insults you, there must be fifty who do not. And for every Muslim terrorist, there are thousands of us who oppose violence. Tell those who are cruel to you that in their cruelty, they are the terror. Then inform them that they are forgiven, for such forgiveness may shame some toward kindness.

Nah,' I tell her after a while. 'He is more like a brother, you know?' The good kind. The kind with the purple teeth.

China puts her hand on my palm. Her fingernails are baby blue with miniature clouds airbrushed at the tips. She saved three weeks of allowance for that sky.

Damn Frank!” he said ferociously. “Damn all Randalls! Damn Jack Randall, and damn Mary Hawkins Randall, and damn Alex Randall—er, God rest his soul, I mean,” he amended hastily, crossing himself.

He apologized when I was twelve. He was crying. I don't like to remember that. I like to remember the time he spelled and defined 'metamorphosis' when my mama was clean. He used her as an example, and he was chewing on the Popsicle stick left over from our lunch that day. When he smiled, his teeth were mad purple.

Mr. Smith was an art-ist, as well as an in-vent-or, and he paint-ed a pic-ture of a riv-er which was so nat-ur-al that, as he was reach-ing a-cross it to paint some flow-ers on the op-po-site bank, he fell in-to the wa-ter and was drowned.

If I could be small again, Monique told me at the playground's fence, slurring her words and watching Caitlin sob, I'd want to have a friend like her.

I'm so disgusting,' I try to argue, but his hands and his voice and his marble mother's eyes won't let it be true anymore. 'No,' he says. 'You're beautiful.

I can tell the time, though, by speak-ing, and as I nev-er sleep I can wak-en you at an-y hour you wish to get up in the morn-ing.' 'That's nice,' said the little girl; 'only I never wish to get up in the morning.

I shrug, and then we sit awhile without saying anything. Then he goes, 'Where'd you learn to fight like that, anyway?' I start to shrug again, and then I stop. 'I guess from my dad,' I say, which, really, is the truth.

Grace,' my mother tries, just before my frozen hot chocolate comes. I don't answer her. Later, while she's waiting for her credit card back from the waitress, she says, 'I'm sorry.

Er bestaat geen grotere vijandschap op de wereld dan tussen Duitsers en joden.

Ein Mensch kann einsam sein, obwohl er von vielen geliebt wird, wenn er nicht für einen Menschen 'der Liebste' ist.

It astounded Farah that Frankenstein-er, Frank Walters couldn't remember his given Christian name, but could recall the recipe for Indian curry with the endless measurements of exotic spices.

You say halfer as if it's a terrible thing," he said. "But everyone I've ever known has been a halfer; if old enough t-to be called an adult, then ch-childish in their prejudices. All of us in the world really, I take to be h-halfers- half human, half divine, halfers of the best sort. I'd think the s-same must be true for the people of Wonderland, that there's...there is no such thing as s-someone who is not a halfer, or even a quarter-er, if you'll allow me the inelegant term.

Er blijft ons niets anders over dan zo rustig als 't maar kan het einde van deze misère af te wachten. Zowel de joden als de christenen wachten, de hele aardbol wacht, en velen wachten op hun dood.

Ik word zelf bang als ik aan allen denk met wie ik me altijd zo innig verbonden voelde en die nu overgeleverd zijn aan de wreedste beulen die er ooit bestaan hebben. En dat alles omdat ze joden zijn.

Elinor," cried Marianne, "is this fair? is this just? are my ideas so scanty? But I see what you mean. I have been too much at my ease, too happy, too frank. I have erred against every common-place notion of decorum; I have been open and sincere where I ought to have been reserved, spiritless, dull, and deceitful:- had I talked only of the weather and the roads, and had I spoken only once in ten minutes, this reproach would have been spared.

Secret Saturdays ought to be required reading at middle schools everywhere. Maldonado gives us both voice and heart. His young characters navigate a challenging world with endearing earnestness, lively style, and a heartening desire for true friendship and dignity.

Liefde, wat is liefde? Ik geloof dat liefde iets is wat eigenlijk geen woorden kan hebben. Liefde is iemand begrijpen, van iemand houden, geluk en ongeluk met hem delen. En daarbij hoort en den duur ook de lichamelijke liefde, je hebt wat gedeeld, iets weggegeven en iets ontvangen en of je dan getrouwd ongetrouwd bent, of een kind krijgt of niet. Of je eer weg is of niet, dat komt er allemaal niet op aan, als je maar weet dat er voor je hele verdere leven iemand naast je staat, die je begrijpt en die je met niemand hoeft te delen.

Der Mensch ist kein Gesetzbuch, er lebt und liebt nicht nach Regeln.

Elke zomer worden de oude mensen kleiner terwijl de kinderen groter worden. Volgens Josh is er maar een bepaalde lengte beschikbaar op aarde en verwisselen de centimeters alleen van eigenaar.

To paraphrase Blake: "Mine is not to reason and compare, mine is to create." To paraphrase Keats: "That which is creative, must itself create." "Write your guts out!" "Give 'er shit, till ya hit!

I have been too much at my ease, too happy, too frank. I have erred against every common-place notion of decorum; I have been open and sincere where I ought to have been reserved, spiritless, dull, and deceitful

Tiktok. "I can-not help be-ing your in-fer-i-or for I am a mere ma-chine. When I am wound up I do my du-ty by go-ing just as my ma-chin-er-y is made to go. You have no i-de-a how full of ma-chin-er-y I am." "I can guess," said the Scarecrow, looking at the machine man curiously. "Some day I'd like to take you apart and see just how you are made." "Do not do that, I beg of you," said Tiktok; "for you could not put me to-geth-er a-gain, and my use-ful-ness would be de-stroyed.

Fietsen, dansen, fluiten, de wereld in kijken, me jong voelen, weten dat ik vrij ben, daar snak ik naar en toch mag ik het niet laten zien, want denk er eens aan als we alle acht ons gingen beklagen of ontevreden gezichten zouden zetten, waar moet dat naartoe?

Für jeden, der Angst hat, einsam oder unglücklich ist, ist es bestimmt das beste Mittel, hinauszugehen, irgendwohin, wo er ganz alleine ist, allein mit dem Himmel, der Natur und Gott. Dann erst, nur dann, fühlt man, daß alles so ist, wie es sein soll, und daß Gott die Menschen in der einfachen und schönen Natur glücklich sehen will. (S. 192)

XII. If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk Above its mates, the head was chopped, the bents Were jealous else. What made those holes and rents In the dock's harsh swarth leaves, bruised as to baulk All hope of greenness? Tis a brute must walk Pashing their life out, with a brute's intents. XIII. As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair In leprosy; thin dry blades pricked the mud Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood. One stiff blind horse, his every bone a-stare, Stood stupified, however he came there: Thrust out past service from the devil's stud! XIV. Alive? he might be dead for aught I knew, With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain. And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane; Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe; I never saw a brute I hated so; He must be wicked to deserve such pain. XV. I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart, As a man calls for wine before he fights, I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights, Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. Think first, fight afterwards, the soldier's art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights. XVI. Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face Beneath its garniture of curly gold, Dear fellow, till I almost felt him fold An arm to mine to fix me to the place, The way he used. Alas, one night's disgrace! Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold. XVII. Giles then, the soul of honour - there he stands Frank as ten years ago when knighted first, What honest man should dare (he said) he durst. Good - but the scene shifts - faugh! what hangman hands Pin to his breast a parchment? His own bands Read it. Poor traitor, spit upon and curst! XVIII. Better this present than a past like that: Back therefore to my darkening path again! No sound, no sight as far as eye could strain. Will the night send a howlet or a bat? I asked: when something on the dismal flat Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train. XIX. A sudden little river crossed my path As unexpected as a serpent comes. No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms; This, as it frothed by, might have been a bath For the fiend's glowing hoof - to see the wrath Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes. XX. So petty yet so spiteful! All along, Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it; Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit Of mute despair, a suicidal throng: The river which had done them all the wrong, Whate'er that was, rolled by, deterred no whit. XXI. Which, while I forded - good saints, how I feared To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek, Each step, of feel the spear I thrust to seek For hollows, tangled in his hair or beard! - It may have been a water-rat I speared, But, ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek. XXII. Glad was I when I reached the other bank. Now for a better country. Vain presage! Who were the strugglers, what war did they wage, Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank soil to a plash? Toads in a poisoned tank Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage - XXIII. The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque, What penned them there, with all the plain to choose? No footprint leading to that horrid mews, None out of it. Mad brewage set to work Their brains, no doubt, like galley-slaves the Turk Pits for his pastime, Christians against Jews.

his mother and I aren’t too happy about Richard. Frankly, he’s getting a bit, er, well … first reading poetry when he ought to be getting his pony ready for the Bath and County next Thursday, then lying to his mother – took his beating in a very, well, cowardly way, then, am I right? howling on your, in your, in the schoolroom,’ the Captain finished desperately.

Is this fair? is this just? are my ideas so scanty? But I see what you mean. I have been too much at my ease, too happy, too frank. I have erred against every common-place notion of decorum; I have been open and sincere where I ought to have been reserved, spiritless, dull, and deceitful—had I talked only of the weather and the roads, and had I spoken only once in ten minutes, this reproach would have been spared.

I’ve done you a disservice,” he said at last. “It’s only fair to let you know, but you won’t have a normal life span.” I bit my lip. “Have you come to take my soul, then?” “I told you that’s not my jurisdiction. But you’re not going to die soon. In fact, you won’t die for a long time, far longer than I initially thought, I’m afraid. Nor will you age normally.” “Because I took your qi?” He inclined his head. “I should have stopped you sooner.” I thought of the empty years that stretched ahead of me, years of solitude long after everyone I loved had died. Though I might have children or grandchildren. But perhaps they might comment on my strange youthfulness and shun me as unnatural. Whisper of sorcery, like those Javanese women who inserted gold needles in their faces and ate children. In the Chinese tradition, nothing was better than dying old and full of years, a treasure in the bosom of one’s family. To outlive descendants and endure a long span of widowhood could hardly be construed as lucky. Tears filled my eyes, and for some reason this seemed to agitate Er Lang, for he turned away. In profile, he was even more handsome, if that was possible, though I was quite sure he was aware of it. “It isn’t necessarily a good thing, but you’ll see all of the next century, and I think it will be an interesting one.” “That’s what Tian Bai said,” I said bitterly. “How long will I outlive him?” “Long enough,” he said. Then more gently, “You may have a happy marriage, though.” “I wasn’t thinking about him,” I said. “I was thinking about my mother. By the time I die, she’ll have long since gone on to the courts for reincarnation. I shall never see her again.” I burst into sobs, realizing how much I’d clung to that hope, despite the fact that it might be better for my mother to leave the Plains of the Dead. But then we would never meet in this lifetime. Her memories would be erased and her spirit lost to me in this form. “Don’t cry.” I felt his arms around me, and I buried my face in his chest. The rain began to fall again, so dense it was like a curtain around us. Yet I did not get wet. “Listen,” he said. “When everyone around you has died and it becomes too hard to go on pretending, I shall come for you.” “Do you mean that?” A strange happiness was beginning to grow, twining and tightening around my heart. “I’ve never lied to you.” “Can’t I go with you now?” He shook his head. “Aren’t you getting married? Besides, I’ve always preferred older women. In about fifty years’ time, you should be just right.” I glared at him. “What if I’d rather not wait?” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you mean that you don’t want to marry Tian Bai?” I dropped my gaze. “If you go with me, it won’t be easy for you,” he said warningly. “It will bring you closer to the spirit world and you won’t be able to lead a normal life. My work is incognito, so I can’t keep you in style. It will be a little house in some strange town. I shan’t be available most of the time, and you’d have to be ready to move at a moment’s notice.” I listened with increasing bewilderment. “Are you asking me to be your mistress or an indentured servant?” His mouth twitched. “I don’t keep mistresses; it’s far too much trouble. I’m offering to marry you, although I might regret it. And if you think the Lim family disapproved of your marriage, wait until you meet mine.” I tightened my arms around him. “Speechless at last,” Er Lang said. “Think about your options. Frankly, if I were a woman, I’d take the first one. I wouldn’t underestimate the importance of family.” “But what would you do for fifty years?” He was about to speak when I heard a faint call, and through the heavy downpour, saw Yan Hong’s blurred figure emerge between the trees, Tian Bai running beside her. “Give me your answer in a fortnight,” said Er Lang. Then he was gone.

when I don't have anything to read, I feel like a tortoise without a shell or a boat without an anchor. There is nothing to hide under. Nowhere to stop and rest. When I don't have a book, there is nowhere good or interesting to be, there is nobody to care about, nothing to hope for, and nothing to puzzle over. When I do have something to read, it keeps me breathing. It's the reward for all the other things. It's the think to look forward to, the reason for doing my day.

Für jeden, der einsam oder unglücklich ist oder in Sorge, ist das beste Mittel, hinauszugehen, irgendwohin, wo er allein ist, allein mit dem Himmel, mit der Natur und Gott. Dann, nur dann fühlt man, dass alles ist wie es sein soll und das Gott die Menschen in seiner einfachen, schönen Natur glücklich sehen will. Solange es so ist - und es wird wohl immer so sein-, weiß ich, dass es unter allen Umständen einen Trost gibt für jeden Kummer, und ich glaube bestimmt, dass die Natur so vieles Leid erleichtert.

...en aan 'das Schöne' dat de wereld is, de wereld, de natuur en wijde schoonheid van alles, al het mooie bij elkaar. Dan denk ik niet aan al de ellende, maar aan het mooie dat nog steeds overblijft. Hierin ligt voor een groot deel het verschil tussen moeder en mij. Haar raad voor zwaarmoedigheid is: 'Denk aan al de ellende in de wereld en wees blij dat jij die niet beleeft.' Mijn raad is: 'Ga naar buiten, naar de velden, de natuur en de zon. Ga naar buiten en probeer het geluk in jezelf te hervinden; denk aan al het mooie wat er in jezelf en om je heen groeit en wees gelukkig.

I’m afraid my wife picked up a number of, er, colorful expressions from the Yanks and such,” Frank offered, with a nervous smile. “True,” I said, gritting my teeth as I wrapped a water-soaked napkin about my hand. “Men tend to be very ‘colorful’ when you’re picking shrapnel out of them.” Mr. Bainbridge had tactfully tried to distract the conversation onto neutral historical ground by saying that he had always been interested in the variations of what was considered profane speech through the ages. There was “Gorblimey,” for example, a recent corruption of the oath “God blind me.” “Yes, of course,” said Frank, gratefully accepting the diversion. “No sugar, thank you, Claire. What about ‘Gadzooks’? The ‘Gad’ part is quite clear, of course, but the ‘zook’.…” “Well, you know,” the solicitor interjected, “I’ve sometimes thought it might be a corruption of an old Scots word, in fact—‘yeuk.’ Means ‘itch.’ That would make sense, wouldn’t it?” Frank nodded, letting his unscholarly forelock fall across his forehead. He pushed it back automatically. “Interesting,” he said, “the whole evolution of profanity.” “Yes, and

Some people prescribe God for depression or self-harm, and I think that can be really helpful for some people who aren't me. Some claim that depression can be "prayed away" or is caused when you don't have enough God in your life. I tried God once but it didn't work well so I cut the dose by a third and just had "Go." Go where? I asked. No one answered. Probably because I didn't have enough God in my life. Someone else told me that capitulating to my depression made me seem ungrateful because Jesus died for that I wouldn't have to suffer, but frankly Jesus seemed to have more than his fair share of bullshit in his life too. That guy got nailed to death. I bet people walking past Jesus were like, "Wow. That guy should have had more God in his life." Or maybe they just sent him those e-mails that say, "Let Go and Let God," or "God listens to knee-mail." Probably not though because e-mail wasn't popular yet, but I think that's for the best because there is nothing more annoying than having someone tell you that everything would be fine if you were just a better pray-er. Or if you just smiled more, or stopped drinking Diet Coke.

The Calf Path One day, through the primeval wood, A calf walked home, as good calves should; But made a trail all bent askew, A crooked trail as all calves do. Since then three hundred years have fled, And, I infer, the calf is dead. But still he left behind his trail, And thereby hangs my moral tale. The trail was taken up next day By a lone dog that passed that way; And then a wise bell-wether sheep Pursued the trail o’er vale and steep, And drew the flock behind him, too, As good bell-wethers always do. And from that day, o’er hill and glade, Through those old woods a path was made. And many men wound in and out, And dodged, and turned, and bent about And uttered words of righteous wrath Because ’twas such a crooked path.15 But still they followed—do not laugh— The first migrations of that calf, And through this winding wood-way stalked, Because he wobbled when he walked. This forest path became a lane, That bent, and turned, and turned again; This crooked lane became a road, Where many a poor horse with his load Toiled on beneath the burning sun, And traveled some three miles in one. And thus a century and a half They trod the footsteps of that calf. The years passed on in swiftness fleet, The road became a village street; And this, before men were aware, A city’s crowded thoroughfare; And soon the central street was this Of a renowned metropolis; And men two centuries and a half Trod in the footsteps of that calf. Each day a hundred thousand rout Followed the zigzag calf about; And o’er his crooked journey went The traffic of a continent. A hundred thousand men were led By one calf near three centuries dead. They followed still his crooked way, And lost one hundred years a day; For thus such reverence is lent To well-established precedent. A moral lesson this might teach, Were I ordained and called to preach; For men are prone to go it blind Along the calf-paths of the mind, And work away from sun to sun To do what other men have done. They follow in the beaten track, And out and in, and forth and back, And still their devious course pursue, To keep the path that others do. They keep the path a sacred groove, Along which all their lives they move. But how the wise old wood-gods laugh, Who saw the first primeval calf! Ah! Many things this tale might teach— But I am not ordained to preach. —Sam Walter Foss

LXXII In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see Their barbarous, yet their not indecent, glee, And as the flames along their faces gleam’d, Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free, The long wild locks that to their girdles stream’d, While thus in concert they this lay half sang, half scream’d: Tambourgi! Tambourgi! thy ’larum afar Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war; All the sons of the mountains arise at the note, Chimariot, Illyrian, and dark Suliote! Oh! who is more brave than a dark Suliote, To his snowy camese and his shaggy capote? To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock, And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock. Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live? Let those guns so unerring such vengeance forego? What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe? Macedonia sends forth her invincible race; For a time they abandon the cave and the chase: But those scarves of blood-red shall be redder, before The sabre is sheathed and the battle is o’er. Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the waves, And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves, Shall leave on the beach the long galley and oar, And track to his covert the captive on shore. I ask not the pleasure that riches supply, My sabre shall win what the feeble must buy; Shall win the young bride with her long flowing hair, And many a maid from her mother shall tear. I love the fair face of the maid in her youth, Her caresses shall lull me, her music shall soothe; Let her bring from her chamber the many-toned lyre, And sing us a song on the fall of her sire. Remember the moment when Previsa fell, The shrieks of the conquer’d, the conquerors’ yell; The roofs that we fired, and the plunder we shared, The wealthy we slaughter’d, the lovely we spared. I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear; He neither must know who would serve the Vizier: Since the days of our prophet, the Crescent ne’er saw A chief ever glorious like Ali Pasha. Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped, Let the yellow-haired Giaours view his horsetail with dread; When his Delhis come dashing in blood o’er the banks, How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks! Selictar, unsheath then our chief’s scimitar: Tambourgi! thy ’larum gives promise of war; Ye mountains, that see us descend to the shore, Shall view us as victors, or view us no more!

Ein ser seg sjølv, kjenner det som ein har eit landskap i seg med tørre moar, og skrånande fjellsider med vandrande skuggar over. Dessutan veit ein om stygge og avgøymde stup. Ein går utanom dei, ferdast ikkje på den kanten. Der er ting på botnen av vatnet. La det ligge der. Ingen skal få visst det. La det ligge på havsens botn. – Så kjem det ei minning: Det skal koma ein dag då alt som – Å langt ifrå! svarar ein hastig, og bit det av. Prøver bite det av, for det hjelper ikkje overfor det einvise mælet, det fullfører det som det skal ha sagt: Det kjem ein dag då havet ditt skal gje frå seg alt som det gøymer no. Ditt vesle djupe stygge hav. Der er roti der nede. Slam og mørker. Ta deg i akt. Ein skubbar det frå seg. Arg, som ein blir overfor alt som er påtrengande. Og svarar frank: eg er slett ikkje redd. Ein reknar aldri med skredet, raset som riv all nådig dekning av. Så går raset. Og tek med seg. Ikkje berre det ein visste måtte gå i vasken om det skulle prøvast, men òg alt det som det er sviande skam at blir nækt: Det at folk ser kva som verkeleg har vori der heile tida.

Mr. Nixon had said things like this: "If our cities are to be livable for the next generation, we can delay no long. er in launching new approaches to the problems that beset them and to the tensions that tear them apart." And he said, "When you cut expenditures for education, what you are doing is shortchanging the American future.” But frankly. I have never cared too much what people say. What I am interested in is what they do. (From Voices of Multicultural America)

Men kan zich in een vreemd land bv nutteloos gaan uitsloven, zich gaan bedienen van de taal en zelfs praat uitlokken in de openbare vervoermiddelen om erger te voorkomen. Ik herhaal: men kan zich natuurlijk best nutteloos gaan uitsloven. Maar kijkend uit de ramen wandelen er slechts enkele goed uitziende heren door de straat. Zij bezitten zoveel voeten dat zij onmogelijk kunnen omwaaien, maar ze bewegen zich te snel om nuttig gebruik te kunnen maken van hun luwte. Men kan zich in een vreemd land nutteloos gaan uitsloven.

Against Socrates and Plato Nietzsche set ‘the Sophists.’ In a Basel lecture he had referred with approval to Grote’s defense of them (iv. 361 Mus.). But he later condemned Grote for representing them as ‘respectable men and models of morality’; on the contrary, ‘their glory was that they refused to cheat with big words and phrases,’ but ‘had the courage, which all strong spirits have, to recognize their own unmorality’ (Will to Power, 429). It seems evident that in this large generalization Nietzsche had in mind men of the stamp of Callicles or Thrasymachus. His words recall the passage where Socrates praises Callicles’ frankness in ‘saying plainly what others think but do not care to say’ (Gorg. 492d); and that Nietzsche in fact considered Callicles a spokesman for ‘the Sophists’ is made clear in his lectures on Plato (iv. 422 Mus.).

Rakibinin senden korktuğu an, korkunun dizginlerini bırakacağın andır, bırak korku rakibinin içinde işlesin. Bırak korku dehşet haline gelsin. Dehşete düşen adam kendi kendisiyle dövüşür. Er geç çaresizlik içinde saldıracaktır.

Well,“ I said, attempting a smile, “at least we know Frank is safe, after all.” Jamie glowered down at me, ruddy brows nearly touching each other. “Damn Frank!” he said ferociously. “Damn all Randalls! Damn Jack Randall, and damn Mary Hawkins Randall, and damn Alex Randall—er, God rest his soul, I mean,” he amended hastily, crossing himself. “I thought you didn’t begrudge—” I started. He glared at me. “I lied.” He grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me slightly, holding me at arm’s length. “And damn you, too, Claire Randall Fraser, while I’m at it!” he said. “Damn right I begrudge! I grudge every memory of yours that doesna hold me, and every tear ye’ve shed for another, and every second you’ve spent in another’s man bed! Damn you!” He knocked the brandy glass from my hand—accidentally, I think—pulled me to him and kissed me hard. He drew back enough to shake me again. “You’re mine, damn ye, Claire Fraser! Mine, and I wilna share ye, with a man or a memory, or anything whatever, so long as we both shall live. You’ll no mention the man’s name to me again. D'ye hear?” He kissed me fiercely to emphasize the point. “Did ye hear me?” he asked, breaking off. “Yes,” I said, with some difficulty. “If you’d ….stop…shaking me, I might…answer you.” Rather sheepishly, he released his grip on my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Sassenach. It’s only…God, why did ye….well, aye, I see why…but did you have to—" I interrupted this incoherent sputtering by putting my hand behind his head and drawing him down to me. "Yes,” I said firmly, releasing him. “I had to. But it’s over now.” I loosened the ties of my cloak and let it fall back off my shoulders to the floor. He bent to pick it up, but I stopped him. “Jamie,” I said. “I’m tired. Will you take me to bed?

„Sie waren nicht zufrieden mit ihm, weil er sich anders verhielt als ein Held, und sie suchten den Grund in der Verdauung.

De souvereiniteit kan niet gerepresenteerd worden; om dezelfde reden waarom die zich niet laat vervreemden; zij bestaat in essentie uit de algemene wil en de wil laat zich niet representeren; ofwel die blijft wat die al was, of dat is niet het geval, daar zit niets tussen. De afgevaardigden van het volk kunnen daarom niet zijn representanten zijn, zij zijn slechts zijn zaakwaarnemers; er is niets waarover zij vrijelijk kunnen beslissen’. (.....) ‘het Engelse volk denkt vrij te zijn. Maar het vergist zich daar lelijk in. Vrij is het slechts op verkiezingsdag, daarna is het slaaf, niets. En in de zeldzame momenten dat het de vrijheid heeft, maakt het er een zodanig gebruik van dat het verdient die vrijheid te verliezen’. (Quoted by Frank Ankersmit in his Farewell Oration given on April 12th, 2010)

Mamah realized she cared for him for the very reasons he made other people squirm. He was fearlessly outspoken. And he was eccentric, but it was the kind of eccentricity she had come to admire in her father. Anyone as attuned as Frank was to nature’s order, anyone raised to reason outside the mainstream, was not going to be penned in very well by society’s rules. Her father had responded to the order of the natural world, too. He was more interested in the habits of wasps than the politics of Oak Park. He hadn’t cared a fig about fashion or the neighbors’ opinions about the goats he kept in their suburban backyard. He was a “one-er,” as he called stubborn nonconformists like himself, and he had nourished the same independence in his children. Frank was like that. His ears and eyes and heart were tuned to seek truth in places where other people didn’t look. In this, and in so many other ways, she felt a kindred spirit to him.

Mijn klanten waren geen arme sukkels. Bij mij moest je niet afkomen met een miljoen frank, je moest meteen 10 miljoen dollar neertellen. Als je bij hen geld zou achterhouden, maken ze je af. M’n klanten waren vooral Joden. Een heel speciaal ras, die brengen je tien miljoen dollar en moeten niks op papier hebben. Achteraf viel mijn frank: als er iets met me gebeurde, was er ook geen link, begrijp je?

Frank Verstraeten beloofde me tien miljoen frank als ik haar ei kon pellen over die homejacking. Hij vermoedde dat Brigitta die opgezet had. Ik ben er eens mee gaan eten, maar ze loste niks. Zij is werkelijk de allerlaatste vrouw op aarde waar ik zou op vallen, met haar zen-gedoe en andere spirituele kloterij.

Er is ook emotionele literatuur over de bezettingstijd. Die oorlog was niet vrolijk in Nederland, maar in mijn schooltijd is alles zo geweldig overdreven, vooral de rol van het verzet. De feiten werden opzijgeschoven en als dat door was blijven gaan, waren we nooit tot nieuwe inzichten gekomen. Als we ons blind hadden gestaard op Anne Frank, dan hadden we nooit kunnen ontdekken dat Nederland in die tijd helemaal geen heldenrol gespeeld heeft.

Mostly you realize you can handle it. You'd rather turn it all upside down and dump it out and watch it scatter and disappear. You'd rather do that, because you don't want to have to handle it. You really don't. It's too stupid and crazy and incredibly, incredibly unfair. But you do handle it. Because the thing you learn is that you can.

for that matter, were any of the people of the little world of Polk Street. The shop girls, the plumbers’ apprentices, the small tradespeople, and their like, whose social position was not clearly defined, could never be sure how far they could go and yet preserve their “respectability.” When they wished to be “proper,” they invariably overdid the thing. It was not as if they belonged to the “tough” element, who had no appearances to keep up. Polk Street rubbed elbows with the “avenue” one block above. There were certain limits which its dwellers could not overstep; but unfortunately for them, these limits were poorly defined. They could never be sure of themselves. At an unguarded moment they might be taken for “toughs,” so they generally erred in the other direction, and were absurdly formal. No people have a keener eye for the amenities than those whose social position is not assured.

Det er en interessant kjensgjerning i lys av folkestemningen i dag. I de fleste av de 200 årene siden 1814 er det flere nordmenn som er blitt utlendinger enn omvendt. Det er en makroobservasjon flere burde ta inn over seg.

Men det var mer betenkelig å gi stemmerett til «innerster» – den del av tjenestefolket som bodde på selve gården. Det ville være det samme som å gi odelsbonden flere stemmer, ble det hevdet. Og siden kvinner har det med å lystre sin far før de er gift, og sin mann etterpå, ville det være urettferdig mot ugifte menn å gi kvinnene denne rettigheten, lød innvendingene – fordi fedre og gifte menn ergo ville få flere stemmer!

Jeg ser på min virksomhet som å være en statsvitenskapelig flanør – en eldre akademiker på spasertur gjennom historien. Jeg hilser på noen på min vei, andre treffer jeg ikke selv om de er viktige, og atter andre kan jeg ha kommet i skade for å overse.

Det er unektelig litt rart å tenke på at hovedgaten i Oslo ble oppkalt etter Carl Johan, når vi den gang følte oss så undertrykt av Sverige. I dag gjør det selvsagt ingenting, for de fleste som jobber på Karl Johan er jo fra Sverige!

She’d been trying to put distance between them, afraid that the strange attraction she felt for him would somehow be noticed and he’d think her incapable of doing her job. And all this time, he was in love with her! This would never do. Polly took a deep breath as she entered the kitchen. What if Mitch was there? What was she supposed to say? Mitch, I got your note, and, against my better judgment, I am finding myself very attracted to you, but I cannot imagine how a romance between us would work? Preposterous. That’s what it was. How could she even consider falling in love with a man who would keep her tied down to a family that… “Good morning, Polly!” Five cheerful voices greeted her as she entered the kitchen. They were all seated at the kitchen table, working on their…lessons? Isabella held up a slate. “I wite name!” Someone had clearly written Isabella on her slate, and underneath, Isabella had scribbled. “I’ve already done my spelling,” Louisa said. “And the other children are still working on theirs, but we should be ready for the rest of our lessons soon.” Then she held up a book. “Pastor, er, Uncle Frank said it was all right to borrow something from his study. I thought this looked interesting.” Robinson Crusoe. Not something Polly would have picked for the girl, but if she wanted to read it… “That sounds just fine.” Polly looked around the spotless kitchen. “Where’s Maddie?” Maddie came in the back door, drying her hands on her apron. “Just out finishing up a few things. I don’t know what you did to these children, but they’ve been well behaved all morning. Said they wanted you to get your rest and helped me with the washing up, then got right to their lessons.” Polly stared at them. “Really?” “Oh, yes,” Clara said, her smile filling her face. “We like you best of all of our nannies, and since the other ones left

Diese Nacht gefiel ihm nicht. Genaugenommen gefiel ihm keine Nacht, sofern er sie nicht im eigenen Bett verbrachte oder in den Armen einer Kourtisane.

Es ist die Angst vor der Frage, wie weit ich entfernt bin von dem, was er ist. Ob wir uns im Wesen unterscheiden oder nur im Stadium.

Einen Augenblick lang fixierte er ihn, als schwanke er zwischen Mord und Kniefall.

Du kannst mich nicht vertreiben, nicht verbrennen und nicht ertränken. Dein Hass reicht nicht aus, mich zu besiegen, er macht mich nur stärker.