Gan Gan Quotes

Tír gan teanga, tír gan anam. A country without a language is a country without a soul.

Time flies, knells call, life passes, so hear my prayer. Birth is nothing but death begun, so hear my prayer. Death is speechless, so hear my speech. This is Jake, who served his ka and his tet. Say true. May the forgiving glance of S’mana heal his heart. Say please. May the arms of Gan raise him from the darkness of this earth. Say please. Surround him, Gan , with light. Fill him, Chloe, with strength. If he is thirsty, give him water in the clearing. If he is hungry, give him food in the clearing. May his life on this earth and the pain of his passing become as a dream to his waking soul, and let his eyes fall upon every lovely sight; let him find the friends that were lost to him, and let every one whose name he calls call his in return. This is Jake, who lived well, loved his own, and died as ka would have it. Each man owes a death. This is Jake. Give him peace.

[When asked how it felt to take human life] "I wouldn't know, I've only killed communists.

My parents can take themselves off on a scenic tour of hell before they tell me who my friends will be,” Gan said pleasantly.

Un kas gan paliek pāri no cilvēka dzīves? Tikai zāle. Vasarā viņa izaug un lēni novīst, bet viņas saknes glabā kluso pagājību. *Pasaku pūķis, 1920

The mariners all ‘gan work the ropes, where they were wont to do: They raised their limbs like lifeless tools - We were a ghastly crew.

The hands pulled him forward regardless. The hands of the Tower knew no mercy. They were the hands of Gan, the hands of ka, and they knew no mercy. He smelled alkali, bitter as tears. The desert beyond the door was white; blinding; waterless; without feature save for the faint, cloudy haze of the mountains which sketched themselves on the horizon. The smell beneath the alkali was that of the devil-grass which brought sweet dreams, nightmares, death. But not for you, gunslinger. Never for you. You darkle. You tinct. May I be brutally frank? You go on. And each time you forget the last time. For you, each time is the first time.

aefry ember of hope gan lic the embers of a fyr brocen in the daegs beginnan brocen by men other than us. hope falls harder when the end is cwic hope falls harder when in the daegs before the storm the stillness of the age was writen in the songs of men so it is when a world ends who is thu i can not cnaw but i will tell thu this thing be waery of the storm be most waery when there is no storm in sight

I feel stuffy, as if there were not enough air to breathe - hot, and uneasy. Two months of no exercise have made me weak and plegmatic mentally and physically. On the short walk from here to the libe I drink the cold pure night air and the clear unbelievably delicate crescent-moonlight with a greedy reverence. Days are bizarre collections of hothouse languidities, mystical and poignant sensuous quotations (white thy fambles, red thy gan, and thy quarrons dainty is ... " Dark, liquid loveliness of words half dimly understood.)

Zināšanas ne vienmēr un ne visur bijušas līksmas, lai gan tām tādām būtu jābūt.

The faithfull knight now grew in litle space, By hearing her, and by her sisters lore, To such perfection of all heavenly grace, That wretched world he gan for to abhore,

Patiesībā lēciens ar izpletni nav īpaši liels risks. Tas tikai atdarina dzīves īsto risku. Mīlestība, intimitāte un pārējie ir īstais risks. Kas gan ir brauciens ar plostu pa krācēm salīdzinājumā ar atraidījumu? Kas ir lēciens ar gumiju salīdzinājumā ar to, ka tu nesagaidi mīļotā zvanu?

Mīlestībai nav nekāda sakara ar sirdi - šo atbaidošo orgānu, asiņu pumpi. Mīlestība vispirms saņem ciet plaušas. Vajadzētu teikt nevis: "Man ir salauzta sirds,"bet gan:"Man ir aizsprostojušās plaušas.

Jautāt otram nozīmē vēl joprojām izvairīties no izšķirošā spieduma. Es gan arī īstenībā negaidīju atbildi no jums. Būtībā esmu jautājis tikai pats sev. Bet dažbrīd to var izdarīt, tikai jautājot otram.

Dechymic pwy yw. Creadt kyn dilyw. Creadur kadarn Heb gic heb ascwrn. Heb wytheu heb waet. Heb pen aheb traet. Ny bed hyn ny byd ieu. No get y dechreu. Ny daw oe odeu Yr ofyn nac agheu. Ny dioes eisseu Gan greaduryeu. Guess who it is. Created before the deluge. A creature strong, Without flesh, without bone, Without veins, without blood, Without head, and without feet. It will not be older, it will not be younger, Than it was in the beginning. There will not come from his design Fear or death. He has no wants From creatures.

A ógánaigh... ná bris an ghloine ghlan 'tá eadrainn (ní bhristear gloine gan fuil is pian) óir tá Neamh nó Ifreann thall 'gus cén mhaith Neamh mura mairfidh sé go bráth? ní Ifreann go hIfreann iar-Neimhe... (Impí)

Đọc những lời như: "Bảo đảm trị hết bịnh cùi", "Cam đoan trị hết bịnh lao", "Thông tiếng Pháp trong 100 ngày" hoặc gan hơn nữa, trắng trợn hơn nữa: "Bảo đảm thi đỗ, không đỗ thì hoàn lại học phí" chúng ta chỉ mỉm cười, cho là một bọn bịp mà ngu, ngu vì họ không biết quy tắc căn bản này của môn quảng cáo: "Có thành thật thì quảng cáo mới có kết quả lâu bền." Hạng trí thức cũng ít ai khỏi bị lừa vì thuật quảng cáo ngày nay đã tuyệt xảo.

Tu esi gan labais, gan sliktais. Es esmu vispār. Man vajadzēja klusēt. Un tad caur klusumu tu ienāktu manī. Mīlestība - tā ir Senās Divupes valsts, viens veselums - Divupe, kas patiesībā, kā tu zini, tiek ierobežota ar Tigru (viens vesels) un Eifratu (viens vesels). Starp Tigru un Eifratu ir tuksnesis, tur dzīvoja gudrie šumeri - viens no pirmajiem Dieva pakāpieniem lejup. Bet reiz un galu galā šīs abas upes atkal ietek vienā veselā - Sarkanajā jūrā.

Mīlestība ir pārejošs ārprāts, tā izverd kā vulkāns un pēc tam norimst. Un, kad tā norimusies, ir jāpieņem lēmums. Tad ir jāizdomā, vai jūsu abu saknes ir savijušās kopā tik cieši, ka par šķiršanos nespējat pat iedomāties. Jo tāda ir mīlestība. Mīlestība nav elpas trūkums, tā nav satraukums, tā nav nebeidzamās kaisles solījumu neapturamā plūsma, tā nav vēlēšanās katru mīļu brīdi pāroties, tā nav gulēšana naktī nomodā un iztēlošanās, ka viņš noklāj skūpstiem katru tavu miesas pleķīti. Nesarksti, es tev saku patiesību. Tā ir vienkārši "iemīlēšanās", tā katram muļķim pa spēkam. Mīlestība pati ir tas, kas paliek pāri pēc tam, kad iemīlēšanās izplēnējusi, un tā ir gan māksla, gan veiksme.

Ko gan es atdotu, lai ar pasaules lielāko muļķi varētu patērzēt kaut piecas minūtes! Cilvēks pats par sevi nav nekas, tikai saskarē ar sabiedrību viņš kļūst cilvēks. [..] Esmu pats savs vergs, esmu pats savs īpašnieks. Esmu pats savs tiesnesis, pats savs bende. Es varu glābties vārdu spēlēs, pats savs cirvis, savs bluķis, bet es nevaru būt pats bez sabiedrības.

He grasped the knob. It was engraved with a wild rose wound around a revolver, one of those great old guns from his father and now lost forever. Yet it will be yours again, whispered the voice of the Tower and the voice of the roses—these voices were now one. What do you mean ? To this there was no answer, but the knob turned beneath his hand, and perhaps that was an answer. Roland opened the door at the top of the Dark Tower. He saw and understood at once, the knowledge falling upon him in a hammerblow, hot as the sun of the desert that was the apotheosis of all deserts. How many times had he climbed these stairs only to find himself peeled back, curved back, turned back? Not to the beginning (when things might have been changed and time's curse lifted), but to that moment in the Mohaine Desert when he had finally understood that his thoughtless, questionless quest would ultimately succeed? How many times had he traveled a loop like the one in the clip that had once pinched off his navel, his own tet-ka can Gan? How many times would he travel it? "Oh, no!" he screamed. "Please, not again! Have pity! Have mercy!" The hands pulled him forward regardless. The hands of the Tower knew no mercy. They were the hands of Gan, the hands of ka, and they knew no mercy.

NHỮNG NGƯỜI YÊU BƯU THIẾP (Dịch bài hát Postcards Lovers – Stacey Kent, để tặng những người yêu bưu thiếp) Bỗng gần đây mình rất yêu bưu thiếp Yêu nhất là những tấm viết vu vơ Dẫu bạn có nguệch ngoạc rồi quên gửi Mình đâu nguôi háo hức đợi và chờ. Mình hình dung bạn đứng trên cầu cảng Trông tàu xa, nắng chiếu ở trên đầu Hay tẩn mẩn chọn lựa từng tấm thiếp Trước quầy hàng bao kẻ lạ chào nhau. Bạn có trải qua nhiều đêm lãng đãng Viết linh tinh trong góc quán cô đơn? Những dòng chữ thuần nhiên tràn xúc cảm Gửi cho mình mà tự sự nhiều hơn. Mình giữ cả, dẫu chẳng theo thứ tự Tháng ngày hay là nơi chốn bạn qua Đời lạ vậy, cứ như là bắt buộc Những người yêu bưu thiếp dễ đi xa Và có thể khi chúng mình gặp lại Thì rất nhiều năm tháng đã trôi qua. Bạn có tìm được đồng hành lý tưởng Trong những ngày ôi những bướm cùng hoa? Hay bạn nhớ đến cồn cào gan ruột Chốn đông vui chợt thấy bóng quê nhà? Mình đọc mãi những dòng trên bưu thiếp Từ chốn nào xa lắc của hành tinh Không tưởng nổi đời bạn giờ sao nữa Bạn thành ai sau mỗi dặm hành trình? Bưu thiếp vẫn giữ hộ mình ký ức Những chân trời xa lắm ở ngoài kia Nơi mình giấu trong tận cùng khiếp sợ Hay những nơi mình thực đã mơ về. Đời lạ vậy, cứ như là bắt buộc Những người yêu bưu thiếp dễ đi xa Và có thể khi chúng mình gặp lại Thì rất nhiều năm tháng đã trôi qua.

Gans and Savigny controversy; he took Savigny, he took Gans, read

Cilvēks necieš no notikumiem, bet gan no to interpretācijas. (Epiktēts, 50–135.g.)

Es jau nu gan negribētu, ka mani gleznotu pliku! "No māksliniekiem neviens nekaunas. Tāpat kā no dakteriem!" Poga paziņoja.

Ak, ir ko gi mes čia / dar galėtume geisti? Ne angelų, ne žmonių, / ir apdairūs žvėrys jau regi, / kad ne taip jau labai įsikūrę / mes šitam gan mįslingam pasauly.

Taču laikam gan ir tā, ka atsevišķa cilvēka nāve vienmēr ir nāve, bet divu miljonu nāve - vienmēr tikai statistika.

Nekad dzīvē nepietiek, un tā tas ir katram. Laikam gan vienmēr ir par maz, un tā ir pasaules nelaime.

Mīlestība ir nāvējošākā no visām nāvīgajām slimībām - tā nogalina gan tad, ja tev tā ir, gan tad, ja tev tās nav.

Cilvēkiem patīk trīt mēles un kladzināt. Cilvēks nav vis cēlies no pērtiķa, bet gan no vistas.

Ar mīlestību ir tāpat kā ar desām: ir gan liesas cūkgaļas žāvējumi, gan tradicionālā Boloņas desa. Visam ir sava vieta un nozīme.

Un, ja arī burvība bija, tā nebija dievišķas izcelsmes, bet gan pagāniska.

Cik gan balts cilvēks var izskatīties uz sniega fona?

An té a bhíonn i bhfad gan práta ní bhíonn sé folláin

Laikam gan katrs kādam bija labs cilvēks. Un kādam tieši pretēji.

- Dažbrīd cilvēks pavisam aizmirst, ka viņš dzīvo. - Es gan to arvien apzinos. Tikai nezinu lāgā, ko ar to iesākt.

Atriebība un atmaksa - divi galvenie dzinējspēki gan puišelim, kurš skolā tiek apsmiets un vēlāk kļūst par multimiljonāru, gan bankas aplaupītājam, kuram liekas, ka sabiedrība nodarījusi viņam pāri.

Here haue I cause, in men iust blame to find, That in their proper prayse too partiall bee, And not indifferent to woman kind, To whom no share in armes and cheualrie They do impart, ne maken memorie Of their brave gestes and prowess martiall; Scarse do they spare to one or two or three, Rowme in their writs; yet the same writing small Does all their deeds deface, and dims their glories all, But by record of antique times I find, That women wont in warres to beare most sway, And to all great exploits them selues inclind: Of which they still the girlond bore away, Till enuious Men fearing their rules decay, Gan coyne straight laws to curb their liberty; Yet sith they warlike armes haue layd away: They haue exceld in artes and policy, That now we foolish men that prayse gin eke t'enuy.

He stopped the flyers And by his rare example made the coward Turn terror into sport. As weeds before A vessel under sail, so men obeyed And fell below his stem. His sword, Death's stamp, Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot He was a thing of blood, whose every motion Was timed with dying cries. Alone he entered The mortal gate o' th' city, which he painted With shunless destiny; aidless came off And with a sudden reinforcement struck Corioles like a planet. Now all's his, When by and by the dim of war gan pierce His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit Requickened what in flesh was fatigate, And to the battle came he, where he did Run reeking o'er the lives of men as if 'Twere a perpetual spoil; and till we called Both field and city ours, he never stood To ease his breast with panting.

Tieši caur sāpēm, caur to, ka izdzīvojam šīs sāpes, sajūtam, ka esam dzīvi. Dzīves kvalitāti nenosaka sasniegumi, skaitļi, rangs, bet gan atziņa, ko iegūsti, kad apzinies kādas darbības plūsmu un spēj to izjust.

Alus, protams, bija labs. Taču īstais alus ne tuvu nebija tik garšīgs kā tas, ko biju nesakarīgi iedomājies skriedams. Laikam gan pasaulē nekur neatrast kaut ko tik skaistu kā tās ilūzijas, kas rodas, kad cilvēks zaudē apziņu.

Nelaimei ir daudz seju. Ļaužu izmisumam ir daudzi veidi. Līdzīgi varavīksnei, tas liecas pāri plašajam apvārsnim, un tā veidi ir tikpat dažādi kā šī loka krāsas- tikpat izšķirīgas un tomēr saplūdušas vienotā mirdzumā. Liecas pāri plašajam apvārsnim kā varavīksne! Kā gan varēja gadīties, ka es minēju skaisto, lai izskaidrotu pretīgo, izvēlējos miera vēstnesi par salīdzinājumu postam.? Bet, tāpat kā ētiskos secinājumos ļaunums ir labā sekas, tā arī no prieka dzimst bēdas.

Liktenis parasti stāv tepat, aiz mājas stūra. Izlikdamies par kabatzagli, ieleni vai loterijas biļešu pārdevēju: tās ir viņa trīs visbiežāk lietotās inkarnācijas. Bet vienu gan tas nedara - nedodas mājas vizītēs. Ir pašam jādodas pie viņa.

Jo mūzikas radīšanas pamatā jābūt cilvēku saskarsmes vai atgrūšanās spēkam vai sāpēm. Vai arī visiem kopā. Jo savā dziļākajā būtībā mūzika ir sekss. Trubadūri zem logiem dziedāja, lai pievilinātu daiļavas ar savās vīrišķīgajās iekarotāju balsīs dziedātajām sirdi plosošajām serenādēm. Sievietēm ir radītas seksīgas balsis ne jau tādēļ, lai tajās lasītu pārtikas receptes vai deklamētu pantiņus par dzimtenes nodevību. Lai gan - kāda starpība, ko sieviete deklamē vai dzied, ja viņa spēj ar vienu skaņu, parādīšanās mirkli vai gaistošām smaržām modināt vīriešos iekāri! Mūzikas skurbulī cilvēki metas dejā un sadalās pa pāriem, lai pret rītu iegūtu viens otru. Vismaz viens no abiem to vēlas vienmēr un melo, ja saka pretējo. Pasaulē valda viens vienīgs sekss, apreibināšanās un rokenrols.

Zui-Gan called out to himself every way, "Master." Then he answered himself, "Yes, sir." And then he added, "Become sober." Again he answered, "Yes, sir." "And after that," he continued, "do not be deceived by others." "Yes, sir; yes, sir," he replied. -Mu-Mon-Kwan.

Zāles stūrī satiku Evas bandu. Sīs laida no rokas rokā limonādes "Fantastika" pusotrlitrīgo pudeli. Baiba sniedza to man un teica: - Tur iekšā ir skrūve! Ticiet vai ne, es toreiz biju vēl tik šķīsts, ka pacēlu pudeli pie acīm un pētīju, kā gan tur būtu varējusi iekrist skrūve.

Zui-Gan her sabah kendi kendisine seslenirdi: "Usta" Sonra da kendi kendisine cevap verirdi: "Buyrun efendim." Sonra da eklerdi: "Ayıl." Yine cevap verirdi: "Peki efendim." "Ondan sonra da," diye devam ederdi, "başkalarının seni aldatmasına izin verme." "Peki efendim; peki efendim," diye cevap verirdi.

Suņa prieks, suņa prieks, viņš pa brītiņam atkārto. Suņa prieks. Laikam jau līdz ar dzīvību tas ikvienam tiek dots, gan suņam, gan cilvēkam. Prieks. Jā, jā, tas lielais dzīvības prieks. Tas nudien laikam nav tikai piedeva, nav tikai piedeva. Būtu jau cilvēkam jādzīvo ar to iedzimto prieku, būtu jau gan.

Đôi khi cái tò mò đẩy cái gan ra khỏi chỗ nấp, thậm chí còn thúc sau lưng buộc cái gan phải chạy. Nhưng cái tò mò thường chóng qua, cái gan thì còn lại lâu. Cái tò mò cũng giống như người bạn vui tính nhưng ta không tin tưởng hoàn toàn được, rồi lại bỏ ta đi, mặc ta hành động một mình, khi đó ta phải vận hết cái gan có ở trong ta.

Jābrīnās, ko tik visu cilvēks nenorij! Laikam gan minū­tes desmit es lasīju avīzi, ar redzes starpniecību ielaizdams sevī kāda bezatbildīga cilvēka domas — tāda, kurš apviļā un apsiekalo citu teikto, lai tad nesagremotu atkal izspļautu. Un kaut ko tādu es apēdu — slejas garumā. (No vācu valodas tulkojuši Ģirts Bļodnieks un Alīda Bļodniece.)

Yes I can. Gerald Van Der Gans. Wait—who? Good-bye, Citra. I do hope we speak again. But I’d have to be dead for that to happen. I’m sure you could arrange it.

Contrary to popular belief, overeating often stems from not eating enough of the right foods at the right time.

Our oldest resident has passed away. Mrs. De Gans. For many years as senile as a goldfish, she had to be tied to her chair so she wouldn’t slide off,

Let's just say that society tells you to be whoever you want to be, but they don't accept you.

Rejection often leads to better things. Better things. Sometimes, they are unthinkable.

A true philosopher will never be an atheist, nor a religious fanatic.

So life is a rectangle then. The length is the years we live and the breadth is the love we get from the people that matter in our lives.

The fundamental thesis of generative anthropology is that the principal concern of human culture is and has been from the outset to defer the potential violence of mimetic desire. To this mode of thought, constructing a model of the good society in any but the general terms of “exchange” and “reciprocity” is unfaithful to the human community, whose operations have been from the beginning beyond the grasp of any individual mind whitin the society, and in which since the rise of the market system we participate largely unmediated by ritual.

This Absolon gan wype his mouth ful drye; Derk was the night as pich, or as the cole, And at the window out she putte hir hole, And Absolon, him fil no bet ne wers, But with his mouth he kiste hir naked ers Ful savourly, er he was war of this. Abak he sterte, and thoghte it was amis, For wel he wiste a womman hath no berd; He felte a thing al rough and long y-herd,

I thought you were someone else,” she told him. “Someone named Gerald Van Der Gans. . . .” “My birth name,” he told her. “A name I surrendered when I became Honorable Scythe Michael Faraday.

Kāda gan tam ir nozīme, Vatson? - Holmss nopietni teica, nolikdams papīra lapu. - Kāds mērķis ir sasniegts ar šo bēdu, varmācības un šausmu apli? Tam ir jāvirzās uz kaut kādu mērķi, jo pretējā gadījumā taču pār mūsu pasauli valda nejaušība, kas ir neiedomājami. Bet uz kādu mērķi? Tas, lūk, ir pastāvīgais, mūžīgais jautājums, uz kuru cilvēka saprāts vēl joprojām nav spējis sniegt atbildi.

Vai tas ir zaudēts, ko tu reiz esi izjutis un glabā savā apziņā? Vai tad pilsēta vairs neatrodas te, ja jūs to atstājat? Vai tā nedzīvotu jūsos, ja arī tiktu sagrauta? Un kurš gan zina, kas ir miršana? Vai tikai gaismas stars lēni nepārslīd pār mūsu mainīgajām sejām? Un vai mums jau nav bijusi kāda seja, pirms piedzimām, tā seja no visām pārējām, kurai jāpaliek pēc citu — pārejošo sabrukšanas pīšļos?

Tại sao mỗi ngày tôi phải sống khổ sở như vầy? Vừa mở cửa sổ ra để thấy mặt trời và thở không khí phải gặp một bộ mặt nào đó chìa ra. Tôi tránh tất cả khách; tôi tránh gặp tất cả bạn bè; tôi tránh tất cả người quen; tôi tránh gặp tất cả những người trong gia đình. Không muốn gặp ai hết và không muốn nói chuyện với hết ai hết. Tôi muốn được im lặng và sống một mình suốt ngày và suốt đêm. Thế mà mọi người đều đến tìm tôi; họ đeo vào tôi như đeo vào chiếc phao; họ là những con đỉa đói, họ hút máu tôi bằng những câu chuyện bàn tán nhảm nhí của họ, bằng kiến thức thối tha của họ, bằng những ý kiến, tin tức, khuyên răn, thăm dò, miệng lưỡi, tóc, tay, tim, bao tử, gan, mật, thận, phổi v.v… Tôi hoàn toàn lạnh lùng. Dù mười trái bom H nổ tại thành phố này, tôi vẫn thản nhiên lạnh lùng. Dù động đất, hoả diệm sơn nổ, đại hồng thủy, dịch hạch, một tỷ người chết, dù gì đi nữa, tôi vẫn lạnh lùng. Dù là ngày tận thế, dù nhân loại, văn minh, văn hóa bị tiêu diệt trước mắt tôi, tôi vẫn lạnh lùng, hoàn toàn lạnh lùng.

Deepfakes are built on a technology called generative adversarial networks (GAN). As the name suggests, a GAN is a pair of “adversarial” deep learning neural networks. The first network, the forger network, tries to generate something that looks real, let’s say a synthesized picture of a dog, based on millions of pictures of dogs. The other network, the detective network, compares the forger’s synthesized dog picture with genuine dog pictures, and determines if the forger’s output is real or fake.

I was a member of the Gans group for over 20 years. I didn't realize it was really a cult until I took the step, out the door. Ironically, that's when I finally felt and tasted the very freedom that had eluded me during my 20 years of "working on myself.

...nhưng nói ra ai biết tưởng cũng không làm gì, việc riêng của mình thì chỉ để một mình mình hay, một mình mình biết, nói cho ai hay phỏng có ích gì; bắt người ta phải ngồi nghe những câu chuyện riêng của mình, tưởng là dở, mà hà tất phải cần cho ai biết đến tâm sự mình. Túng nhiên có ai hiểu thấu mà rỏ cho mình được một giọt nước mắt, thì nước mắt ấy có mát chỉ mát được một lúc, phương chi đời hay lấy cái ngoại diện mà cả gan kết đoán một việc phát nguyên từ trong những từng đáy bí mật của lòng người.

Pháp luật và trật tự là cái giếng thần để các thầy uống từng gầu quyền lực, thỏa mãn các thầy giống hệt như quyền lực cá nhận thỏa mãn hẫu hết mọi người. Mặt khác, trong lòng các thầy thường xuyên âm ỉ một sự bất mãn đối với những người mà họ phải phục vụ. Với các thầy, thằng dân vừa là người được che chở, vừa là đối tượng. Là người được che chở, nó rất vô ơn, thô tục, hay bẻ hành bẻ tỏi. Là đối tượng nó lại khỏe quanh co và nguy hiểm, đầy những mưu mô xảo quyệt. Chỉ cần một thằng dân rơi vào tay những người bảo vệ pháp luật là chính cái đám người mà cảnh sát đang bảo vệ ấy liền rùng rùng chuyển đồng để tìm mọi cách xóa bỏ hết những cố gắng của các thầy. Các ông tai to mặt lớn vộ vàng mang quà cáp đút lót. Bọn côn đồ các ôn mất hết tính người thì được ông quan tòa non gan phóng tay cho án treo. Thống đốc bang và cả Tổng thống cũng vung tay ân xá nếu như các thầy cãi cãi hết hơi vẫn chưa chạy tội được cho hung phạm. Dần dần rồi các thầy cũng phải không ra. Tại sao các thầy không làm béng món tiền bọn côn đồ chi ra để tránh búa rìu công lí? Ai chứ các thầy thì cần tiền hơn tất cả. Con cái các thầy cũng phải vào đại học, kém cạnh gì bố con đứa nào. Bà xã nhà các thầy cũng phải được rảo các cửa hàng sang trọng chứ. Bản thân các thầy mùa đông cũng phải xuống Florida phơi nắng một tí chứ. Nói gì thì nói, các thầy phải liều tính mạng đâu có phải đùa. Nhưng dù sao cũng có một giới hạn mà các thầy không dám vượt qua. Ừ thì các thầy ăn tiền của bọn bao đề đánh các và nhắm mắt cho chúng làm ăn. Các thầy đút túi ít tiền của mấy tay đỗ xe không đúng chỗ hay phóng nhanh vượt ẩu. Các thầy đồng ý làm ngơ với giá cả phải chăng để mặc cho các em hành nghề bán thịt sống qua điện thoại, mặc cho các em gái vui tính giải sầu cho khách khứa trong các động tội lỗi. Những căn bệnh ấy đã có từ đời nào đời nào, chúng gắn liền với bản chất của loài người. Nhưng các thầy không có cái lệ ngậm tiền mà dung túng cho ăn cướp vũ trang, cho buôn bán ma túy, hiếp dâm, giết người và các tội ác khác. Theo quan điểm của các thầy thì làm thế là phá hoại chính những nền tảng đã tạo ra uy quyền của các thầy và vì lẽ đó mà không thể chấp nhận được.

- Cik žēl, ka cilvēkam ir tik maz spēka, -sacīja Inese. - Žēl gan, -piekrita Ferdinands. -Bet nu man ir jāiet... Pienākums sauc. - Cik žēl, ka es neesmu tavs pienākums... - Tur nekā nevar darīt- tikai ielasmeitām pienākums sakrīt ar dvēseles aicinājumu, - sacīja Ferdinands un sāka ģērbties.

Viņš sēž klusi un brīnās, sēž gluži kā pie mūžības vārtiem. Virs viņa lēnām ieplešas dzīle, cita pēc citas iemirdzas zvaigznes. Kāda gan sūtība ir zvaigznēm? Ir īstais brīdis, Mēness paceļas no jūras un izelpo pasaules telpā sudraba dūmus, tāpēc Markuss prāto arī par to. Kādam nolūkam kalpo Mēness? Tas izskatās vareni, jā gan, bet ko Mēnesim patiesībā nolikts darīt, ja neskaita to, ka tas izrotā debesis? Markuss domā par dzīvi un domā par nāvi, taču visvairāk par cilvēku pašu. Kāpēc īsti pastāv cilvēks, un kas tam jādara še, uz zemes? Tas ienāk pa vienām durvīm un iziet pa citām – kāpēc, uz kurieni?

Thus began   Outrage from liveless things; but Discord first   Daughter of Sin, among th' irrational,   Death introduc'd through fierce antipathie:   Beast now with Beast gan war, & Fowle with Fowle,   And Fish with Fish; to graze the Herb all leaving,   Devourd each other; nor stood much in awe   Of Man, but fled him, or with count'nance grim   Glar'd on him passing: these were from without   The growing miseries, which ADAM saw   Alreadie in part, though hid in gloomiest shade,   To sorrow abandond, but worse felt within,   And in a troubl'd Sea of passion tost,   Thus to disburd'n sought with sad complaint.

Have do," qoud she, "come of, cand speed the fase, Lest that oure neighbores thee espie." This Absolon gan wype his mouth ful drie. Derk was the nyght as pich, or as the cole, And athe wydnow out she putte hir hole, And Absolon, hym fil no bet new wers, but with his mouth he kiste hir naked ers Ful savourly, er he were war of this. Abak he stirte, and thoughte it was amys, For wel he wiste a woman hath no berd. He felte athyng al rough and long yherd, And seyde, "Fy! allas! what have Ido?" "Tehee!" qoud she, and clapte the wyndow to, And Absolon gooth forth a sory pas. "A berd! A berd!" qoud hende Nicholas,...

And I’d have you hear me well now, lady and gentlemen, for this may be very important; I simply don’t know. All I know for certain is that what Trampas told me next gave me a terrible deep chill. He said that of all the other-side worlds, there’s one that’s unique. They call it the Real World. All Trampas seems to know about it is that it’s real in the same way Mid-World was, before the Beams began to weaken and Mid-World moved on. In America-side of this special “Real” World, he says, time sometimes jerks but always runs one way: ahead. And in that world lives a man who also serves as a kind of facilitator; he may even be a mortal guardian of Gan’s Beam.

Op het erf van de boerderij zag je soms de meest onwaarschijnlijke vormen van verbondenheid - de gans verliefd op de ezel, het katje veilig spelend tussen de poten van de vervaarlijke kettinghond. En op het erf van de mensheid bestonden vormen van verbondenheid die al even onwaarschijnlijk, en toch, voor de betrokkenen, nooit absurd waren.

Gerald Van Der Gans. The Thunderhead had spoken to her, and now, so had Scythe Curie. There was a long journey ahead of Citra, and at the end of it, much work to be done. Citra couldn’t glean, but she could exact vengeance. She would find a way to deliver justice to this scythe-killer one way or another. Never was she so thankful to have a sack full of weapons.

Es neprotu ne pareizu klavierspēli, ne dzīves spēli, nekad, nekad neesmu to pratis, vienmēr esmu bijis pārāk steidzīgs, vienmēr pārāk nepacietīgs, vienmēr noticis kaut kas neparedzēts, vienmēr spēle pārtrūkusi... Bet kurš gan prot pareizi spēlēt, un, ja arī prot, tad ko tas viņam līdz? Vai lielā tumsa tāpēc ir mazāk tumša, vai neatbildami jautājumi tāpēc kļuvuši mazāk bezcerīgi, vai izmisums par mūžīgo nepietiekamību tāpēc ir mazāk sāpīgs, un vai dzīvi tāpēc ir iespējams izskaidrot un saņemt grožos un jāt kā rāmu zirgu, vai arī tā vienmēr ir kā varena bura, kas vētrā mūs nes, bet, kad mēs to gribam satvert, ielingo mūs ūdenī? Reizēm manā priekšā paveras bedre, kas šķiet sniedzamies pat līdz zemes centram. Kas to aizpilda? Ilgas? Izmisums? Laime? Un kāda? Nogurums? Rezignācija? Nāve? Kādēļ es dzīvoju? Jā, kādēļ es dzīvoju?

Netaisi centrālapkuri, mūrē krāsni, dvēselīt! Krāsns, ir kā suns — būs pateicīgs, ja labi barosi, taču būs gatavs kopā ar tevi ciest arī badu. Ar centrālapkuri tu mājā ielaidīsi tīģeri. Tīģeris jau ir lepnāks zvērs, tiesa gan, tikai tas neko nepiecietīs. Nevis viņš kalpos tev, tu kalposi viņam, dvēselīt. Kamēr glaudīsi viņu pa spalvai, viņš būs silts un mīlīgs kā sievas cicis, bet, kolīdz kas, uzreiz parādīs tev savu zvēra dabu.

The racist conscience of America is such that murder does not register as murder, really, unless the victim is white. And it was only when the newspapers and magazines started carrying pictures and stories of white demonstrators being beaten and maimed by mobs and police that the public be-gan to protest. Negroes have become so used to this double stan-dard that they, too, react differently to the death of a white. When white freedom riders were brutalized along with blacks, a sigh of relief went up from the black masses, because the blacks knew that white blood is the coin of freedom in a land where for four hundred years black blood has been shed unremarked and with impunity. America has never truly been outraged by the murder of a black man, woman, or child. White politicians may, if Negroes are aroused by a particular murder, say with their lips what they know with their minds they should feel with their hearts-but don't.

Jaidee studies the general's desk. "I wasn't aware that the Environment Ministry only inspected cargo at others' convenience." "I am trying to reason with you. My hands are full with tigers: blister rust, weevil, the coal war, Trade Ministry infiltrators, yellow cards, greenhouse quotas, fa' gan outbreaks. . . And yet you choose to add another." Jaidee looks up. "Who is it?" "What do you mean?" "Who is so angry that you're pissing your pants this way? Coming to ask me not to fight? It's Trade, yes? Someone in the Trade Ministry has you by the balls." Pracha doesn't say anything for a moment. "I don't know who it is. Better that you don't know, either. What you do not know, you cannot fight." He slides a card across the desk. "This arrived today, under my door." His eyes lock on Jaidee so that Jaidee cannot look away. "Right here in the office. Inside the compound, you understand? We are completely infiltrated." Jaidee turns over the card.

Time flies, knells call, life passes, so hear my prayer. “Birth is nothing but death begun, so hear my prayer. “Death is speechless, so hear my speech.” The words drifted away into the haze of green and gold. Roland let them, then set upon the rest. He spoke more quickly now. “This is Jake, who served his ka and his tet. Say true. “May the forgiving glance of S’mana heal his heart. Say please. “May the arms of Gan raise him from the darkness of this earth. Say please. “Surround him, Gan, with light. “Fill him, Chloe, with strength. “If he is thirsty, give him water in the clearing. “If he is hungry, give him food in the clearing. “May his life on this earth and the pain of his passing become as a dream to his waking soul, and let his eyes fall upon every lovely sight; let him find the friends that were lost to him, and let every one whose name he calls call his in return. “This is Jake, who lived well, loved his own, and died as ka would have it. “Each man owes a death. This is Jake. Give him peace.

- Anh là người sung sướng vì anh sớm biết theo cái chí hướng của anh, không cần thiên hạ, còn tôi ngày ngày hai buổi đi về, tôi có phải là tôi đâu, cái đời tôi thật là khốn nạn quá. Không biết sau đây, anh đạt được mục đích, có để cho tôi về nương thân ở đấy không, hay cái lòng tôi còn tục quá, còn hám tiền của, danh lợi quá, vẫn ưa những cái phiền phức, xấu xa, chưa biết yêu cảnh thiên nhiên nên không đáng là người đồng chí với anh chăng. Nếu thế thời từ nay tôi xin luyện hồn trước đi, còn về đường vật chất chắc anh làm cho tôi thoát ly ra dễ lắm. Nhưng tôi giúp gì anh được, các công việc tôi học mấy năm trời vứt đi cả, lệ luật mà tôi nhồi vào óc bấy lâu dùng ở cái xã hội nhân công tổ tạo này thời nay còn được, chứ nó sống sượng lắm nên quẳng nó đi cho nhẹ óc, trước kia tôi cũng có cái ý nghĩ như anh, nhưng còn mập mờ chưa rõ, là vì sợ người khác, sợ người khác họ chê là tại mình dốt, mình yếu nên không chen được với họ nên mới đâm ra nghĩ như thế. Vả đời sống là sống thế này rồi, ai ai cũng công nhận như thế, nay trái hẳn lại, mấy người đã có cái gan ấy!

(from Lady of the Lake) The western waves of ebbing day Rolled o’er the glen their level way; Each purple peak, each flinty spire, Was bathed in floods of living fire. But not a setting beam could glow Within the dark ravines below, Where twined the path in shadow hid, Round many a rocky pyramid, Shooting abruptly from the dell Its thunder-splintered pinnacle; Round many an insulated mass, The native bulwarks of the pass, Huge as the tower which builders vain Presumptuous piled on Shinar’s plain. The rocky summits, split and rent, Formed turret, dome, or battlement, Or seemed fantastically set With cupola or minaret, Wild crests as pagod ever decked, Or mosque of Eastern architect. Nor were these earth-born castles bare, Nor lacked they many a banner fair; For, from their shivered brows displayed, Far o’er the unfathomable glade, All twinkling with the dewdrop sheen, The brier-rose fell in streamers green, And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes, Waved in the west-wind’s summer sighs. Boon nature scattered, free and wild, Each plant or flower, the mountain’s child. Here eglantine embalmed the air, Hawthorn and hazel mingled there; The primrose pale, and violet flower, Found in each cliff a narrow bower; Fox-glove and night-shade, side by side, Emblems of punishment and pride, Grouped their dark hues with every stain The weather-beaten crags retain. With boughs that quaked at every breath, Gray birch and aspen wept beneath; Aloft, the ash and warrior oak Cast anchor in the rifted rock; And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung His shattered trunk, and frequent flung, Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high, His boughs athwart the narrowed sky. Highest of all, where white peaks glanced, Where glist’ning streamers waved and danced, The wanderer’s eye could barely view The summer heaven’s delicious blue; So wondrous wild, the whole might seem The scenery of a fairy dream. Onward, amid the copse ’gan peep A narrow inlet, still and deep, Affording scarce such breadth of brim As served the wild duck’s brood to swim. Lost for a space, through thickets veering, But broader when again appearing, Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face Could on the dark-blue mirror trace; And farther as the hunter strayed, Still broader sweep its channels made. The shaggy mounds no longer stood, Emerging from entangled wood, But, wave-encircled, seemed to float, Like castle girdled with its moat; Yet broader floods extending still Divide them from their parent hill, Till each, retiring, claims to be An islet in an inland sea. And now, to issue from the glen, No pathway meets the wanderer’s ken, Unless he climb, with footing nice A far projecting precipice. The broom’s tough roots his ladder made, The hazel saplings lent their aid; And thus an airy point he won, Where, gleaming with the setting sun, One burnished sheet of living gold, Loch Katrine lay beneath him rolled, In all her length far winding lay, With promontory, creek, and bay, And islands that, empurpled bright, Floated amid the livelier light, And mountains, that like giants stand, To sentinel enchanted land. High on the south, huge Benvenue Down to the lake in masses threw Crags, knolls, and mountains, confusedly hurled, The fragments of an earlier world; A wildering forest feathered o’er His ruined sides and summit hoar, While on the north, through middle air, Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare.

Sniegam ir piecas pamatpazīmes. Tas ir balts. Tas sastindzina dabu un pasargā to. Tas nemitīgi pārvēršas. Tas ir slidens. Tas pārtop par ūdeni. Kad Juko par to ieminējās tēvam, viņš tajā saskatīja tikai negatīvo, it kā dēla dīvainā kaisle uz sniegu viņa acīs ziemas sezonu padarītu vēl biedējošāku. -Tas ir balts. Tātad neredzams un nav pelnījis būt redzams. Tas sastindzina dabu un pasargā to. Lepnais. Kas viņš tāds ir, lai apgalvotu, ka spēj sastindzināt pasauli? Tas nemitīgi pārvēršas. Tātad tas nav uzticams. Tas ir slidens. Kurš gan gūst baudu, paslīdot sniegā? Tas pārtop par ūdeni. Lai vairāk mūs appludinātu atkušņu laikā. Bet Juko savā sabiedrotajā saskatīja piecas citas īpašības, kas pilnībā apmierināja viņa māksliniecisko talantu. -Tas ir balts. Tātad sniegs ir dzeja. Neizsakāmas tīrības dzeja. Tas sastindzina dabu un pasargā to. Tātad sniegs ir glezna. Vissmalkākā ziemas glezna. Tas nemitīgi pārvēršas. Tātad sniegs ir kaligrāfija. Ir desmittūkstoš veidu, kā uzrakstīt vārdu sniegs. Tas ir slidens. Tātad sniegs ir deja. Uz sniega ikviens var sajusties kā virves dejotājs. Tas pārtop par ūdeni. Tātad sniegs ir mūzika. Pavasarī tas pārvērš upes un strautus baltu nošu simfonijās. -Sniegs Tev nozīmē to visu? - jautāja priesteris. -Vēl vairāk.

I glad by any meanes her grace to gaine, Bad her commaund my life to saue, or spill. Eftsoones she bad me, with incessaunt paine To wander through the world abroad at will, And euery where, where with my power or skill I might do seruice vnto gentle Dames, That I the same should faithfully fulfill, And at the twelue monethes end should bring their names And pledges; as the spoiles of my victorious games. So well I to faire Ladies seruice did, And found such fauour in their louing hartes, That ere the yeare his course had compassid, Three hundred pledges for my good desartes, And thrise three hundred thanks for my good partes I with me brought, and did to her present: Which when she saw, more bent to eke my smartes, Then to reward my trusty true intent, She gan for me deuise a grieuous punishment. To weet, that I my trauell should resume, And with like labour walke the world around, Ne euer to her presence should presume, Till I so many other Dames had found, The which, for all the suit I could propound, Would me refuse their pledges to afford, But did abide for euer chast and sound. Ah gentle Squire (quoth he) tell at one word, How many foundst thou such to put in thy record? In deed Sir knight (said he) one word may tell All, that I euer found so wisely stayd; For onely three they were disposd so well, And yet three yeares I now abroad haue strayd,..

Oxford’dan bir ÜNİVERSİTELİ vardı, Müzmin öğrencilerdendi, mantıktı bölümü, Bir deri bir kemik atı bekliyordu ölümü. Kendisi de hiç geri kalmıyordu atından, Üstünde pelerini lime lime olmuştu, Kilisede yer yoktu henüz, tüm kadrolar dolmuştu. Hem o kadar uzaktı ki dünya işlerinden, Bir işe girmek için görmüyordu bir neden. İsterdi Aristo’nun felsefe kitapları Olsundu baş ucunda, kırmızı siyah kapları. Pahalı giysileri kim alırsa alsındı, İlahiler söylesin, kemanı kim çalarsa çalsındı. Kendisi bunca yıllık filozof olsa da Yok denecek kadar az altını vardı kasada Eşten dosttan ne kadar borç para Koparırsa yatırırdı hepsini kitaplara. Karşılığında onlara yürekten dualar ederdi, Borçlarını ancak bu şekilde öderdi. "A clerk ther was of oxenford also, That unto logyk hadde longe ygo. As leene was his hors as is a rake, And he nas nat right fat, I undertake, Ful thredbare was his overeste courtepy; For he hadde geten hym yet no benefice, Ne was so worldly for to have office. For hym was levere have at his beddes heed Twenty bookes, clad in blak or reed, Of aristotle and his philosophie, Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrie. But al be that he was a philosophre, Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre; But al that he myghte of his freendes hente, On bookes and on lernynge he it spente, And bisily gan for the soules preye Of hem that yaf hym wherwith to scoleye.

Hegel did not deceive himself about the revolutionary character of his dialectic, and was even afraid that his Philosophy of Right would be banned. Nor was the Prussian state entirely easy in its mind for all its idealization. Proudly leaning on its police truncheon, it did not want to have its reality justified merely by its reason. Even the dull-witted King saw the serpent lurking beneath the rose: when a distant rumor of his state philosopher's teachings reached him he asked suspiciously: but what if I don't dot the I's or cross the T's? The Prussian bureaucracy meanwhile was grateful for the laurel wreath that had been so generously plaited for it, especially since the strict Hegelians clarified their master's obscure words for the understanding of the common subjects, and one of them wrote a history of Prussian law and the Prussian state, where the Prussian state was proved to be a gigantic harp strung in God's garden to lead the universal anthem. Despite its sinister secrets Hegel's philosophy was declared to be the Prussian state philosophy, surely one of the wittiest ironies of world history. Hegel had brought together the rich culture of German Idealism in one mighty system, he had led all the springs and streams of our classical age into one bed, where they now froze in the icy air of reaction. but the rash fools who imagined they were safely hidden behind this mass of ice, who presumptuously rejoiced who bold attackers fell from its steep and slippery slopes, little suspected that with the storms of spring the frozen waters would melt and engulf them. Hegel himself experienced the first breath of these storms. He rejected the July revolution of 1830, he railed at the first draft of the English Reform Bill as a stab in the 'noble vitals' of the British Constitution. Thereupon his audience left him in hordes and turned to his pupil Eduard Gans, who lectured on his master's Philosophy of Right but emphasized its revolutionary side and polemicized sharply against the Historical School of Law. At the time it was said in Berlin that the great thinker died from this painful experience, and not of the cholera.

Where do you get your stories?" the interviewer asked. It was a typical question. Ben had answered it himself once. He believed that writers gathered sensory data from dreams and experiences, and then in the imagination all that information stirred up like celestial dust into giant pillars of creation, where all that data bonded together into characters, settings, an entire universe. Fleischer, however, believed that stories came from a much different place. He believed that all good wrtiers were simply tools for a greater force. "Call it the Muse, call it Gan, call it God, or whatever you want. I personally don't have a name for it. But you know you're in it's grip when the story just flows through you, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. At that point... you're just a pen.

By a law of August 1822, Jews had been excluded from state academic posts–a ruling aimed specifically at Gans. Ten years later Heine defended his Protestantism as his ‘Protest against injustice’, his ‘warlike enthusiasm which made me take part in the struggles of this militant church’. But this was nonsense, for he also argued that the spirit of Protestantism was not really religious at all: ‘The blooming flesh in Titian’s paintings–that is all Protestantism. The loins of his Venus are much more fundamental theses than those the German monk stuck on the church door of Wittenberg.’ And at the time of his baptism, he wrote to his friend Moses Moser: ‘I should not like it if you saw my baptism in a favourable light. I can assure you, if our laws allowed the stealing of silver spoons, I would not have done it.’71 His saying that baptism was ‘the entrance-ticket to European culture’ became notorious.

-La cuestión de cómo debe practicar la filosofía una ciudad que no quiera perecer; porque todas las grandes empresas son peligrosas y verdaderamente lo hermoso es difícil, como suele decirse. -Sin embargo -dijo-, hay que completar la demostra­ción dejando aclarado este punto. -Si algo lo impide -dije- no será la falta de voluntad, sino de poder. Pero tú, que estás aquí, verás cuánto es mi celo. Mira, pues, de qué modo tan vehemente y temera­rio voy ahora a decir que la ciudad debe adoptar con res­pecto a este estudio una conducta enteramente opuesta a la de ahora. -¿Cómo? -Los que ahora se dedican a ella -dije- son mozalbe­tes, recién salidos de la niñez, que, después de haberse asomado a la parte más difícil de la filosofía -quiero de­cir lo relativo a la dialéctica-, la dejan para poner casa y ocuparse en negocios y con ello pasan ya por ser con­sumados filósofos. Y en lo sucesivo creen hacer una gran cosa si, cuando se les invita, acceden a ser oyentes de otros que se dediquen a ello, porque lo consideran como algo de que no hay que ocuparse sino de manera acceso­ria. Y al llegar la vejez, todos, excepto unos pocos, se apa­gan mucho más completamente que el sol heracliteo, porque no vuelven a encenderse de nuevo. -¿Y qué hay que hacer? -dijo. -Todo lo contrario. Cuando son niños y mozalbetes deben recibir una educación y una filosofía apropiadas a su edad; y en esa época en que crecen y se desarrollan sus cuerpos tienen que cuidarse muy bien de ellos preparán­dolos así como auxiliares de la filosofía. Llegada la edad en que el alma entra en la madurez, hay que redoblar los ejercicios propios de ella; y, cuando, por faltar las fuerzas, los individuos se vean apartados de la política y milicia, entonces hay que dejarlos ya que pazcan en libertad y no se dediquen a ninguna otra cosa sino de manera acce­soria; eso si se quiere que vivan felices y que, una vez ter­minada su vida, gocen allá de un destino acorde con su existencia terrena.

Sợ hãi là đối thủ thực sự duy nhất của cuộc sống. Chỉ có sợ hãi mới đánh bại được cuộc sống. Nó là một đối thủ khôn ngoan và xảo quyệt, tôi biết điều này quá rõ. Nó không có liêm sỉ, không tuân thủ bất cứ một luật lệ gì, không biết thương xót. Nó tấn công chỗ yếu nhất của ta, và bao giờ cũng tìm thấy chỗ đó một cách dễ dàng. Nó luôn luôn tấn công trước hết vào tinh thần của ta. Ta đang bình tĩnh, chủ động, hạnh phúc. Đùng một cái, sợ hãi, ngụy trang dưới dạng một nghi ngờ, nhẹ nhàng, lẻn vào tinh thần ta như một tên gián điệp. Nghi ngờ gặp phải Không tin và Không tin cố đánh bật nó ra. Nhưng không tin là một anh lính quèn kém võ trang. Nghi ngờ loại anh này ra khỏi vòng chiến một cách dễ dàng. Ta bắt đầu lo lắng, bồn chồn. Lý lẽ liền xung trận bảo vệ ta. Ta thấy yên lòng lại. Lý lẽ được trang bị bằng mọi thứ vũ khí và công nghệ hiện đại nhất. Nhưng, trước sự kinh ngạc của ta, mặc dù đã có những chiến thuật siêu đẳng và một số chiến thắng không thể phủ nhận, Lý lẽ vẫn bị yếu thế. Ta lại thấy yếu lòng, hoang manh. Nỗi lo lắng và bồn chồn của ta trở thành kinh hoàng. Lúc ấy, Sợ hãi dồn toàn lực sang cơ thể ta, vốn đã lờ mờ cảm thấy có chuyện chẳng lành đang xảy ra. Lập tức, hai lá phổi ta vỗ cánh bay mất như một con chim, và ruột gan ta thì như bầy rắn hốt hoảng trườn đi. Rồi đến lưỡi ta cứng đơ lại, còn hàm thì bắt đầu phi nước kiệu tại chỗ. Tai ta điếc đặc. Cơ bắp bắt đầu run rẩy như sốt rét và hai đầu gối thì lắc như múa. Tim ta thắt lại quá nhỏ và các cơ vòng thì lỏng ra quá nhiều. Và tất cả các bộ phận khác cũng vậy. Bộ phận nào cũng hỏng, theo kiểu riêng của chúng. Chỉ có hai con mắt là vẫn chạy tốt. Chúng luôn chú ý đến Sợ hãi. Và thế là ta nhanh chóng có những quyết định rất tai hại. Ta bỏ rơi những đồng minh cuối cùng của mình là Hy vọng và Tin tưởng. Đó là lúc ta đã tự đánh bại chính mình. Và Sợ hãi, thực chất chỉ là một ấn tượng, đã đánh bại ta. Chuyện đó rất khó nói ra bằng lời. Bởi vì Sợ hãi, nỗi Sợ hãi thực sự, hằn sâu vào tận cốt tủy như khi ta phải đối mặt với cái chết, sẽ làm tổ trong kí ức ta như một ổ thịt thối: nó tìm cách làm thối mọi thứ, kể cả những lời sẽ phải dùng để nói về chính nó. Cho nên ta phải tranh đấu kịch liệt để diễn đạt nó ra. Ta phải chiến đấu đến cùng để làm rõ ràng ánh sáng của những lời dùng để nói về nó. Bởi lẽ nếu không thế, nếu nỗi Sợ hãi của ta trở thành một cõi đen tối không lời mà ta lẩn tránh, thậm chí còn có thể lãng quên, ta sẽ bỏ ngỏ chính ta cho những cuộc tấn công khác nữa của Sợ hãi, vì ta đã chưa bao giờ thực sự kháng cự kẻ đã từng đánh bại ta.

Small Change Snack Tips 1. Limit a snack to approximately 200 calories maximum. 2. Turn coffee or a tea into a snack by adding a cup of low-fat milk or soymilk. 3. Do not have a carbohydrate alone (such as an apple or a serving of crackers); you will still be hungry. Instead, pair a carb with a lean protein or healthy fat. Have low-fat cheese with your apple, or some peanut butter on your whole grain crackers. 4. It’s okay to have carbs alone before bed (such as a piece of fruit) because it doesn’t need to keep you full—you’re about to go to sleep. 5. Don’t double dip. For instance, don’t do string cheese and nuts, or string cheese and yogurt. Instead, choose one high-fiber carb and one lean protein or healthy fat; otherwise your calories (and fat) can add up. 6. When you eat straight from the bag, box, or can, you’ll consume more. Preportion items like nuts in resealable snack-size bags. 7. Try to keep snacktime to three hours after you have eaten. If you eat it too close to your last meal, it won’t do its job for the next meal. 8. If buying an energy bar, read the label and look for more fiber and protein, less calories and fat. 9. Just because it’s a “100-calorie pack” doesn’t mean it is a healthy snack. Make sure it offers some fiber and protein or healthy fat—and if not, skip it.

(Amavia's suicide) But if that carelesse heauens (quoth she) despise The doome of iust reuenge, and take delight To see sad PAGEANTS OF MEN'S MISERIES, As bound by them to liue in liues despight, Yet can they not warne death from wretched wight. Come then, come soone, come sweetest death to mee, And take away this LONG LENT LOATHED LIGHT: Sharpe be thy wounds, but sweet the medicines bee, That long captiued soules from wearie thraldome free. But thou, sweet Babe, whom frowning froward fate Hath made sad witnesse of thy fathers fall, Sith heauen thee deignes to hold in liuing state, Long maist thou liue, and better thriue withall, Then to thy lucklesse parents did befall: Liue thou, and to thy mother dead attest, That cleare she dide from blemish criminall; Thy litle hands embrewd in bleeding brest Loe I for pledges leaue. So giue me leaue to rest. With that a deadly shrieke she forth did throw, That through the wood reecchoed againe, And after gaue a grone so deepe and low, That seemd her tender heart was rent in twaine, Or thrild with point of thorough piercing paine; As gentle Hynd, whose sides with cruell steele Through launched, forth her bleeding life does raine, Whiles the sad pang approching she does feele, Brayes out her latest breach, and vp her eyes doth seele. Which when that warriour heard, dismounting straict From his tall steed, he rusht into the thicke, And soone arriued, where that sad pourtraict Of death and dolour lay, halfe dead, halfe quicke, In whose white alabaster brest did sticke A cruell knife, that made a griesly wound, From which forth gusht a streme of gorebloud thick, That all her goodly garments staind around, And into a deepe sanguine dide the grassie ground. Pittifull spectacle of deadly smart, Beside a bubbling fountaine low she lay, Which she increased with her bleeding hart, And the cleane waues widi purple gore did ray; Als in her lap a louely babe did play His cruell sport, in stead of sorrow dew; For in her streaming blood he did embay His litle hands, and tender ioynts embrew; Pitifull spectacle, as euer eye did view. Out of her gored wound the cruell steele He lighdy snatcht, and did the floudgate stop With his faire garment: then gan softly feele Her feeble pulse, to proue if any drop Of liuing bloud yet in her veynes did hop; Which when he felt to moue, he hoped faire To call backe life to her forsaken shop. ... Not one word more she sayd But breaking off, the end for want of breath, And slyding soft, as downe to sleepe her layd, And ended all her woe in quiet death. That seeing good Sir Guyon, could vneath From tears abstaine, for griefe his hart did grate, And from so heauie sight his head did wreath, Accusing fortune, and too cruell fate, Which plunged had faire Ladie in so wretched state. Then turning to his Palmer said, Old syre Behold the image of mortalitie, And feeble nature cloth’d with fleshly tyre, When raging passion with fierce tyrannie Robs reason of her due regalitie, And makes it seruant to her basest part: The strong it weakens with infirmitie, And with bold furie armes the weakest hart; The strong through pleasure soonest falles, the weake through smart.

This is the wandring wood, this Errours den, This is no place for liuing men. But full of fire and greedy hardiment, The youthfull knight could not for ought be staide, But forth vnto the darksome hole he went, And looked in: his glistring armor made A litle glooming light, much like a shade, By which he saw the vgly monster plaine, Halfe like a serpent horribly displaide, But th’other halfe did womans shape retaine, Most lothsom, filthie, foule, and full of vile disdaine. And as she lay vpon the durtie ground, Her huge long taile her den all ouerspred, Yet was in knots and many boughtes vpwound, Pointed with mortall sting. Of her there bred A thousand yong ones, which she dayly fed, Sucking vpon her poisonous dugs, each one Of sundry shapes, yet all ill fauored: Soone as that vncouth light vpon them shone, Into her mouth they crept, and suddain all were gone. Their dam vpstart, out of her den effraide, And rushed forth, hurling her hideous taile About her cursed head, whose folds displaid Were stretcht now forth at length without entraile. For light she hated as the deadly bale, Ay wont in desert darknesse to remaine, Where plaine none might her see, nor she see any plaine. Which when the valiant Elfe perceiu’ed, he lept As Lyon fierce vpon the flying pray, And with his trenchand blade her boldly kept From turning backe, and forced her to stay: Therewith enrag’d she loudly gan to bray, And turning fierce, her speckled taile aduaunst, Threatning her angry sting, him to dismay: Who nought aghast, his mightie hand enhaunst: The stroke down from her head vnto her shoulder glaunst. Much daunted with that dint, her sence was dazd, Yet kindling rage, her selfe she gathered round, And all attonce her beastly body raizd With doubled forces high aboue the ground: Tho wrapping vp her wrethed sterne arownd, Lept fierce vpon his shield, and her huge traine All suddenly about his body wound, That hand or foot to stirre he stroue in vaine: God helpe the man so wrapt in Errours endlesse traine. His Lady sad to see his sore constraint, Cride out, Now now Sir knight, shew what ye bee, Add faith vnto force, and be not faint: Strangle her, else she sure will strangle thee. That when he heard, in great perplexitie, His gall did grate for griefe and high disdaine, And knitting all his force got one hand free, Wherewith he grypt her gorge with so great paine, That soone to loose her wicked bands did her constraine. Therewith she spewd out of her filthy maw A floud of poyson horrible and blacke, Full of great lumpes of flesh and gobbets raw, Which stunck so vildly, that it forst him slacke His grasping hold, and from her turne him backe: Her vomit full of bookes and papers was, With loathly frogs and toades, which eyes did lacke, And creeping sought way in the weedy gras: Her filthy parbreake all the place defiled has. (...) That welnigh choked with the deadly stinke, His forces faile, ne can no longer fight. Whose corage when the feend perceiu’d to shrinke, She poured forth out of her hellish sinke Her fruitfull cursed spawne of serpents small, Deformed monsters, fowle, and blacke as inke, Which swarming all about his legs did crall, And him encombred sore, but could not hurt at all. (...) Thus ill bestedd, and fearefull more of shame, Then of the certaine perill he stood in, Halfe furious vnto his foe he came, Resolv’d in minde all suddenly to win, Or soone to lose, before he once would lin; And strooke at her with more then manly force, That from her body full of filthie sin He raft her hatefull head without remorse; A streame of cole black bloud forth gushed from her corse.

Oh God, full of compassion, Who dwells on high, grant true rest upon the wings of the Divine Presence, in the exalted spheres of the holy and pure, who shine as the resplendence of the firmament, to the soul of this poor woman, who has gone to her supernal world, for charity has been donated in remembrance of her soul; may her place of rest be in Gan Eden. Therefore, may the All-Merciful One shelter her with the cover of His wings forever, and bind her soul in the bond of life. The Lord is her heritage; may she rest in her resting-place in peace; and let us say: Amen.

Rather than provide a template for the “good society”, originary thinking provides a touchstone for ethical progress: act so as to contribute to reciprocal exchange, negatively, by aiding those who need help to participate in the exchange system more fully, and positively, by creating new foci of desire that enrich the system of exchange, the circulation of desire and satisfaction. The result of these acts is to reduce or “defer” resentment, negatively, by removing grievances, and positively, by creating new opportunities for recycling resentment into productive activity.

Determining the proper relationship between universal morality and historically particular ethics poses a particularly acute problem in the postmodern era. The question that has remained with us since the end of World War II is how to overcome the paralysis of Auschwitz – how to acknowledge the necessary deferral of reciprocity without condoning genocide. If we hold history’s institutions to the touchstone of the moral model, they will always be found wanting, yet this historical experience tells us that if we do not so hold them, anything is possible. The fact that accusations of Nazism (or “fascism”) continue to be made today – notably against Israel itself – is a sign that the moral dilemma hos not yet been resolved. But unlike metaphysical thought, originary thinking takes the Holocaust as sign not of the need to construct a social model that will resolve this dilemma, but of the inapproapriateness of confronting it directly. Making the world a better place not only does not require but is in fact incompatible with a prior image of the world made good.

When Jews “unplug,” and maintaina distance toward the society in which they live, they do not do it forthe sake of their own different substantial identity—in a way, anti-Semitism is right here: the Jews are, in effect, “rootless,” their Law is“abstract,” it “extrapolates” them from the social Substance.And there we have the radical gap that separates the Christian sus-pension of the Law, the passage from Law to love, from the pagan sus-pension of the social law: the highest (or, rather, deepest) point ofevery pagan Wisdom is, of course, also a radical “unplugging” (ei-ther the carnivalesque orgy, or direct immersion in the abyss of theprimordial Void, in which all articulated differences are suspended);what is suspended here, however, is the “pagan” immanent law ofthe social, not the Jewish Law that already unplugs us from the so-cial. When Christian mystics get too close to the pagan mystical ex-perience, they bypass the Jewish experience of the Law—no wonderthey often become ferocious anti-Semites. Christian anti-Semitismis, in effect, a clear sign of the Christian position’s regression into pa-ganism: it gets rid of the “rootless,” universalist stance of Christian-ity proper by transposing it onto the Jewish Other; consequently,when Christianity loses the mediation of the Jewish Law, it loses thespecific Christian dimension of Love itself, reducing Love to the pa-gan “cosmic feeling” of oneness with the universe. It is only refer-ence to the Jewish Law that sustains the specific Christian notion of Love that needs a distance, that thrives on differences, that has noth-ing to do with any kind of erasure of borders and immersion inOneness. (And within the Jewish experience, love remains on thispagan level—that is to say, the Jewish experience is a unique combi-nation of the new Law with pagan love, which accounts for its innertension.)The trap to be avoided here is the opposition of the “external” so-cial law (legal regulations, “mere legality”) and the higher “inter-nal” moral law, where the external social law may strike us ascontingent and irrational, while the internal law is fully assumed as“our own”: we should radically abandon the notion that external so-cial institutions betray the authentic inner experience of the true we should radically abandon the notion that external so-cial institutions betray the authentic inner experience of the trueTranscendence of Otherness (in the guise, for example, of the oppo-sition between the authentic “inner” experience of the divine and its“external” reification into a religious institution in which the reli-gious experience proper degenerates into an ideology legitimizingpower relations). If there is a lesson to be learned from Kafka, it isthat, in the opposition between internal and external, the divine di-mension is on the side of the external. What can be more “divine”than the traumatic encounter with the bureaucracy at its craziest—when, say, a bureaucrat tells us that, legally, we don’t exist? It is insuch encounters that we catch a glimpse of another order beyondmere earthly everyday reality. There is no experience of the divinewithout such a suspension of the Ethical. And far from being simplyexternal, this very externality (to sense, to symbolic integration)holds us from within: Kafka’s topic is precisely the obscene jouissancethrough which bureaucracy addresses the subject on the level of thedisavowed innermost (“ex-timate,” as Lacan would have put it) realkernel of his being.

Dad paid for him to gan ower to Naples for voice training and schooling, what with there not being much opportunity for opera in Govan and the Gorbals and all that, and how he got himself a few small singing parts but really it was too late to get into it all by then. Why, I ask. Because ice cream was in his blood son, Arty says all serious and sombre

rechecks via a perfection technique called generative adversarial networks (GAN), which will soon make it nearly impossible even for a computer to distinguish the real from the fake.

I felt comforted to hear that Gan-Gan was there, a place I knew she loved.

I like a good challenge. However, hoping and waiting for readers to read is soul crushing. "Money doesn't buy happiness" is the biggest lie in life, when rent (medical, power, food, etc.) are monetarily based. If I had the money, I wouldn't have to beg people to read my books. I'd be a best seller without the struggle. The struggle is part of the challenge, and I have rent that is always due.