Gel Quotes

Even the trip throught the Portal had not disarranged Magnus's hair spikes. He tugged on one proudly. "Check it out", he said to Isabelle. "Magic?" "Hair gel. $3.99 at Ricky's.

We need to get inside. I think my hair gel’s frozen.

Adults constantly raise the bar on smart children, precisely because they're able to handle it. The children get overwhelmed by the tasks in front of them and gradually lose the sort of openness and sense of accomplishment they innately have. When they're treated like that, children start to crawl inside a shell and keep everything inside. It takes a lot of time and effort to get them to open up again. Kids' hearts are malleable, but once they gel it's hard to get them back the way they were.

Rowena Clark and I had met on the first day of our mixed media class. I’d sat down at her table and said, “Mind if I join you? Figure the best way to learn about art is to sit with a masterpiece.” Maybe I was in love, but I was still Adrian Ivashkov. Rowena had fixed me with a flat look. “Let’s get one thing straight. I can see through crap a mile away, and I like girls, not guys, so if you can’t handle me telling you what’s what, then you’d better take your one-liners and hair gel somewhere else. I don’t go to this school to put up with pretty boys like you. I’m here to face dubious employment options with a painting degree and then go get a Guinness after class.” I’d scooted my chair closer to the table. “You and I are going to get along just fine.

What do you do to your hair?" "Dust, hair gel, and a little gun oil." "Ever thought of patenting the recipe?" "No.

He anxiously touched his hair. "I think my hair gel's frozen.

That’s an answer in the same way that ketchup can be hair gel.

You can tell it's a poem because it's swimming in a little gel pack of white space. That shows it's a poem.

gel dedi bana, kal dedi bana, sev dedi bana, öl dedi bana, geldim... kaldım... sevdim... öldüm.

Bekliyorum Öyle bir havada gel ki, Vazgeçmek mümkün olmasın.

You're just a character in my dream." "You wish." "I didn't mean my love interest," she replied defensively. "You'd have better hair. You're the character I dreamed up because the rest of the dream was making me homesick." "Maybe you're the character I dreamed up to scare myself awake." "That's not very nice!" "You made fun of my hair. I like it this way. Short and simple." I don't mind short. Mine is short." "Then what's wrong with mine?" Jason challenged. "Maybe we should talk about something else." "Like the guy on a horse coming to kill us?" "It needs more style," she muttered. "The horse?" "Your hair." "I forgot to bring my gel when I got eaten by a hippo.

Ranger’s gonna hate this,” Tank said. “Better to get shot than to have to explain the gate. Bad enough I got a horse that smells like his shower gel.

I'd slept with Ranger! Not sexually, of course. But I'd been in his bed. And then there was the evil shower gel. "It was all because of the shower gel," I said. Morelli's eyes narrowed. "Shower gel?" I made a major effort not to sigh. "Long story. You probably don't want to hear it.

What lies at the heart of every living thing is not a fire, not warm breath, not a 'spark of life.' It is information, words, instructions... If you want to understand life, don't think about vibrant, throbbing gels and oozes, think about information technology.

Dost Bir gece habersiz bize gel Merdivenler gıcırdamasın Öyle yorgunum ki hiç sorma Sen halimden anlarsın Sabahlara kadar oturup konuşalım Kimse duymasın Mavi bir gökyüzümüz olsun kanatlarımız Dokunarak uçalım. insanlardan buz gibi soğudum, işte yalnız sen varsın Öyle halsizim ki hiç sorma Anlarsın.

Seni kara saplı bir bıçak gibi sineme sapladılar Değirmen misali döner başım Sevda değil bu bir hışım Gel gör beni darmadağın Tel tel çözülüp kalmışım.

Gel peşimden, ey okur! Kim söyledi sana yeryüzünde gerçek, sadık, sonsuz aşk olmadığını? O yalancının iğrenç dilini kessinler! Gel peşimden, ey okurum ve sadece benim peşimden gel, ben sana böyle bir aşk göstereceğim!

Senin buraya gelmenin sebebi sadece bizim 'gel' dememiz değil, ayrıca onların sana 'Git' demeleri. Hiç kimseye 'kötüdür' deme. aslında onlar, bilmeden iyilik eden insanlardır.

There are the boys for whom the ink of a million glittery gel pens was spilled.

İçimdeki şu zalim şüpheyi kaldır Ya sen gel ya beni oraya aldır.

êvar e baran hûr hûr dibare tenê me na ne tenê me hemû bajar li gel min gav diavêje tenêtî karxezalek bû nêçirvanekî hat nîşan lê girt gavên min nagihêjinê

Messy hair, uncombed, gel-free, un-styled and perfectly imperfect.

Sloane stepped out from under the showerhead and grabbed his shower gel, catching Dex’s eyes on him as Dex said, “Not staring, appreciating,” before turning his attention back to Ash, “and who doesn’t partake in a good gander every so often? If you’re gonna stand there and tell me you ain’t never sneaked a peek at another dude’s love truncheon, I’m calling bull-poopie.

He was a super shiny boy and I liked the shape of him. Under the blanket. In the shower. I liked his shadow on the street and his imprint on the sofa. I hated the smell of hair gel on his head, but I loved it on the pillow. I love the smell of losing someone.

I am a freak in secondhand velour, a leper who uses L'Oreal Anti-sticky Mega Gel. I am rootless, ripped from all foundations, an orphan raising an orphan and wanting to take away everything there is and replace it with stuff I've made.

Gel sevgilim gel, benim dünyama gel çok zaman var içimde yerini hazırladım.

Sende kudretimi değil, aşkımı deneyeceğim, yemin ettim. Bana en kıymet bilen kalbinle gel.

It was too hot inside the hospital and the floors squeaked. There was a hand-gel dispenser outside the ward, and a big yellow sign above it read Do Not Drink. Did people actually drink sanitizing hand gel? I supposed they must--hence the sign. Part of me, a very small sliver, briefly considered dipping my head to taste a drop, purely because I'd been ordered not to. No, Eleanor, I told myself. Curb your rebellious tendencies. Stick to tea, coffee, and vodka.

The stuff of life turned out to be not a quivering, glowing, wondrous gel but a contraption of tiny jigs, springs, hinges, rods, sheets, magnets, zippers, and trapdoors, assembled by a data tape whose information is copied, downloaded and scanned.

Mm-hmm. You know, lip dye isn't a crime in this state. You ought to try it." "I've been kind of busy." "You're always kind of busy. You're not using the eye gel I gave you. You can't find a minute twice a day for eye gel? You want bags and wrinkles? You got the finest piece of man-candy on and off planet, and you want him looking at your face with bags and wrinkles? What are you going to do when he dumps you for a woman who takes time to maintain her face?" "Kill him.

When I first entered the school, I was all set to tie my hair in a ponytail, get a fake tan, and write my homework in pink gel ink. I was prepared to hear girls bragging nonchalantly about the BMWs and diamond earrings they recieved for their birthday. I almost looked forward to hearing the flashlight-wielding nuns tell me to "leave room for the holy ghost" when I danced lewedly with messy-haired prep-school boys

Yet, in my heart of hearts, I know I have never in my life wanted to eat anything so much as a sachet of silica gel, on which someone has stamped the words ‘Do Not Eat’.

evdale evîn, ciwaneke kale. û çîrokeke li gel qulingê birîndar, bi mitale kevintirîne ji mem û zîn û ji mejûyê hezar-sale... dilê'm, tu derwêşek î dilê kê seh dikî, qesîda te betal e!

Let's talk about happy things.What should I be for Halloween? I can't decide between a sexy vampire or a sexy fairy.I've got a whole tub of glitter body gel for either costume,if you want to be the one I'm not!" Faeries and vampires were glittery now? Honestly.

In fact we put so many things in our mouths we constantly have to be reminded what not to eat. Look at that little package of silicon gel that's inside your sneakers. It says DO NOT EAT for a reason. Somewhere sometime some genius bought a pair of sneakers and said Ooooh look. They give you free mints with the shoes

Ben bütün hüzünleri denemişim kendimde Canımla besliyorum şu hüznün kuşlarını Bir bir denemişim bütün kelimeleri Yeni sözler buldum seni görmeyeli Kuliste yarasını saran soytarı gibi Seni görmeyeli Kasketim eğip üstüne acılarımın Sen yüzüne sürgün olduğum kadın Kardeşim olan gözlerini unutmadım Çık gel bir kez daha beni bozguna uğrat Sen tutar kendini incecik sevdirirdin Bir umuttum bir misillemeydin yalnızlığa Şanssızım diyemem kendi payıma Hain bir aşk bu kökü dışarda Olur böyle şeyler ara sıra Olur ara sıra

Dear Hunger Games : Screw you for helping cowards pretend you have to be great with a bow to fight evil. You don't need to be drafted into a monkey-infested jungle to fight evil. You don't need your father's light sabre, or to be bitten by a radioactive spider. You don't need to be stalked by a creepy ancient vampire who is basically a pedophile if you're younger than a redwood. Screw you mainstream media for making it look like moral courage requires hair gel, thousands of sit ups and millions of dollars of fake ass CGI. Moral courage is the gritty, scary and mostly anonymous process of challenging friends, co-workers and family on issues like spanking, taxation, debt, circumcision and war. Moral courage is standing up to bullies when the audience is not cheering, but jeering. It is helping broken people out of abusive relationships, and promoting the inner peace of self knowledge in a shallow and empty pseudo-culture. Moral courage does not ask for - or receive - permission or the praise of the masses. If the masses praise you, it is because you are helping distract them from their own moral cowardice and conformity. Those who provoke discomfort create change - no one else. So forget your politics and vampires and magic wands and photon torpedoes. Forget passively waiting for the world to provoke and corner you into being virtuous. It never will. Stop watching fictional courage and go live some; it is harder and better than anything you will ever see on a screen. Let's make the world change the classification of courage from 'fantasy' to 'documentary.' You know there are people in your life who are doing wrong. Go talk to them, and encourage them to pursue philosophy, self-knowledge and virtue. Be your own hero; you are the One that your world has been waiting for.

I say, sah! Sorry to trouble you to get off your big fat bottom and help a poor gel out!" "I would not have helped if you hadn't have needed it. You were doing well on your own until the vermin started trying to use trickery." Dottie bounced on her footpaws, her large ears stand up straight. "I know, sah! The bally old blighters didn't know wot hit 'em!" Lord Brocktree hid a smile.

İnansaydım mesele değişirdi. Bilseydim ki vardır, insanlarla hiçbir davam kalmazdı. Yalnız onunla kavga ederdim. Her an bir yerde yakalar, bana hesap vermeğe mecbur ederdim. Ve zannederdim ki bana hesap vermeğe mecbur olurdu. Gel, derdim gel, yarattığın mahluklardan birisinin derisine bir an gir. Benim her gün yaptığımı yap. Bir tanesinin hayatım yirmi dört saat yaşa! Pek bedbahtına gitmene lüzum yok. Sen ki yaratıcısın, bilmemen, anlamaman kabil olmaz. Onun için herhangi birinin derisine gir. Ve kendi yalanını bir an bizimle beraber yaşa; bizim gibi yaşa. Yirmi dört saat bu bataklıkta küçük susuzlukların kurbağası ol!

Something pink? Something with extra Vitamin B? Vitamin B12? B13? Just the number of things with different types of Vitamin B in them was an embarrassment of choice itself. There were powders as well as oils, tubes of gel, even packets of some kind of pungent -smelling seed that was meant to be good for some obscure part of you in some arcane way.

Bu an için, sadece bu an için, beraberiz. Seni bana bastırıyorum. Gel, acı, beslen benden. Sivri dişlerini etime batır. Beni ikiye ayır. Ağlıyorum, ağlıyorum.

DONKEYMAN: S’pose there’s a gel mixed up in it someplace, ain’t there? SMITTY: What makes you think so? DONKEYMAN: Always is when a man lets music bother ‘im. [“The Moon of the Caribees”]

İşte onlar gibi biri, Venüs heykelinin altlığına büzülmüş, ölümsüz tanrıçaya bakıp gözyaşları döküyor... Gel gör ki insafsız Venüs, uzaklara bilmediğim bir şeylere bakıyor mermer gözleriyle.

Pip was trembling with fatigue. "I gotta sit down." He made it to a chair before he collapsed and Cassie was immediately there with a medikit, pulling up his shirt, examining gel patches. He'd felt them stop working some time ago and they were now dried and covered in dirt. "Stop trying to get my clothes off, woman!" He made a weak attempt to fend her off, but she smacked his hands away.

Ruith?" He looked at her with a smile. "Aye, my love?" "Are you sure?" He looked at her, puzzled, for a moment, then apparently he realized what she was asking. "How could you ask?" "Because when a gel wants something very badly, she tends to want to avoid breaking her heart over the false hope of having it." His breath caught. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought he was blinking rapidly from something besides the smoke the passageway.

günler geçer ve çalışır şafağın değirmeni kim bilebilir ki kim neyi eskittiğini ben ne kadar önemserdim kendimi hay allah sen ne kadar kumraldın aynalarda hay allah temmuz bu işe göredir bana kalırsa gel bağışlayalım birbirimizi

Carmen stood at the altar wearing a hand-beaded, curve hugging, ivory silk and chiffon gown that fit so perfectly, it looked as if it had been sewn on her. The fact that one of the breasts beneath the silken fabric was not her flesh but a form made of gel didn't detract from the gorgeousness of Carmen the slightest bit.

Tarryton did so, but not before saying, "I wouldn't be surprised if Billington came up to scratch on this gel." "Billington, Farnsworth, and a few others," Alex said with his most affable smile. "Ashbourne?" Dunford's voice was colder than ice. "Dunford?" "Shut up.

Yalnız kalmayı abartma! Kalabalıklarda kalmayı abartma! Birinden ötekine git ve gel! Her ikisinde de uzun zaman harcama!

Hacking shampoos, conditioners, gels and creams with your oil(s) of choice is a great way to promote healthy strong hair growth.

Açıklama yapmadan... Açıklama yapmamı beklemeden... Sevmemek uğruna bahaneler arayacağına... Bana bu gece, sanki her gecemiz yılbaşı olacakmış gibi, 'sevmek için bahane'lerle gel.

Her oil-black hair’s sort of punky. She must use gel. I’d love to gel her gel in for her.

Doğrusun. Haklısın Cabbar. Ama gel bana sor. İçerime sor. Yüreğimi iki el tutmus sık babam sık ediyor. Edemem. Hatçeyi görmeden edemem. Görmezsem ölürüm. Öyle ölceğime, böyle ölüyüm...

Your Cat Has More Self Esteem Than I Do There are no billboards for cats advertising feline plastic surgery feline acne gels feline gastric bands feline face-lifts. There are no commercials about feline makeup feline sex toys feline fashion. There are porn movies with cats, but no cats watch them.

Warren’s wavy, light brown locks are less tamed than usual. They’re higher—poofier—like an old lady fresh from the hairdresser. He pats the top of his head self-consciously. “I forgot my gel. But it’s cool—chicks dig the curls.” “Yeah, if it’s 1998 and your name is Justin Timberlake.” - Drew Evans

Sana ihtiyacim var, gel!'' diyebilmekmis güçlü olmak, Sana ''git'' dedigimde anladim.. Biri sana ''git'' dediginde, ''kalmak istiyorum'' diyebilmekmis sevmek, Git dediklerinde gittigimde anladim..

He's sporting that rumpled, rolled-out-of-bed hair, and yet I don't find it so adorable anymore. It just makes him look like a slob. Or maybe a phony, because I'm pretty sure I can see gel in his hair, which means he must've taken the time to create the I-don't-care style. Which makes him a fucking liar.

I would take in vast amounts of technical information that my brain somehow put together into bursts of insight that felt more like music or wind than mathematical combinations. Increasingly, I had the sense that the key to these leaps was interconnectedness—some part of my being was harmonizing all my relevant knowledge, making it gel into one potent eruption, and suddenly the enigmatic was crystal-clear. But what was really happening?

She tried to ignore that, this close to the man, he had the overpowering chemical scent of a manly shower gel. That sort that normally came in a black bottle and was called something like SHOCK or EXCITE or BLUNT TRAUMA.

She tried to ignore that, this close to the man, he had the overpowering chemical scent of a manly shower gel. The sort that normally came in a black bottle, and was called something like SHOCK or EXCITE or BLUNT TRAUMA.

She broke her See You Next Tuesday and can’t walk,” I answer for her. Dane whips his head to face me, the edge of his mouth twitching amongst a look of shock. “She what?” “Tingly gel is no bueno. Now help Tate get her to the bathroom.

It is time to buddle (scrub in water) all that is not illutile (unwash-awayable). Baudelaire said that humans were deluded if they thought they could wash away all their spots with vile tears, but Baudelaire was French and therefore knew nothing about hygiene or shower gel.

De l'autre côté de la fenêtre, le vent continue son folklore. Des nuages de neige passent avec une régularité de trains fantômes. Je pense à la mésange (...) Les mésanges gardent la forêt dans le gel. Elles n'ont pas le snobisme des hirondelles qui passent l'hiver en Égypte.

A different time. The era of synth pop and mixtapes, hair gel and new wave. Of Prince and paramilitaries, Madonna and moving statues. Magdalene laundries, the Eighth Amendment, bodies as battlegrounds—pig slit and gaping. Different but the same. Absolution for the guilty but not for us.

The room contains a few dozen living human bodies, each one a big sack of guts and fluids so highly compressed that it will squirt for a few yards when pierced. Each one is built around an armature of 206 bones connected to each other by notoriously fault-prone joints that are given to obnoxious creaking, grinding, and popping noises when they are in other than pristine condition. This structure is draped with throbbing steak, inflated with clenching air sacks, and pierced by a Gordian sewer filled with burbling acid and compressed gas and asquirt with vile enzymes and solvents produced by the many dark, gamy nuggets of genetically programmed meat strung along its length. Slugs of dissolving food are forced down this sloppy labyrinth by serialized convulsions, decaying into gas, liquid, and solid matter which must all be regularly vented to the outside world lest the owner go toxic and drop dead. Spherical, gel-packed cameras swivel in mucus-greased ball joints. Infinite phalanxes of cilia beat back invading particles, encapsulate them in goo for later disposal. In each body a centrally located muscle flails away at an eternal, circulating torrent of pressurized gravy. And yet, despite all of this, not one of these bodies makes a single sound at any time during the sultan’s speech.

There is something weird about facing a dripping wet, semi-naked man across a padded practice mat when you're wearing nothing but your own skin tight underwear and that's covered in a slippery, oily gel. If this got any more homoerotic, I'd have to think about introducing him to my parents.

While painting The Last Supper, Leonardo would sometimes stare at the work for an hour, finally make one small stroke, and then leave. He told Duke Ludovico that creativity requires time for ideas to marinate and intuitions to gel. “Men of lofty genius sometimes accomplish the most when they work least,” he explained, “for their minds are occupied with their ideas and the perfection of their conceptions, to which they afterwards give form.” Most of us don’t need advice to procrastinate; we do it naturally. But procrastinating like Leonardo requires work: it involves gathering all the possible facts and ideas, and only after that allowing the collection to simmer.

Do you think they’ll target her as well as you? Surely if you simply stay away from the gel, she’ll be safe?” “But I don’t propose to stay away from her,” Reynaud said. “Ah.” Vale stared at him for a moment, and then a wide smile spread across his face. “Like that, is it?” “That,” Reynaud snarled, “is none of your business.” “Indeed?” Vale was grinning like an idiot now. “Well, well, well.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “I have no idea. I just like saying it. Well, well, well. Makes one sound uncommonly insightful.

Remember us. Remember us as we used to be, before the universe turned against us. Young, beautiful, strong, brave, admirable, loved, loving...' --Alema Rar

When time and emotions gel, a new awareness forms.

ŞAŞIP KALMA ÜSTÜNE Sevebilirim, hem de nasıl, dile benden ne dilersen, canımı, gözlerimi. Kızabilirim, ağzım köpürmez, ama devenin öfkesi haltetmiş benimkinin yanında, devenin öfkesi, kinciliği değil. Anlayabilirim çoğu kez burnumla, yani en karanlığın, en uzaktakinin bile kokusunu alarak ve dövüşebilirim, doğru bulduğum, haklı bulduğum, güzel bulduğum her şey için, herkes için, yaşım başım buna engel değil, ama gel gör ki çoktan unuttum şaşıp kalmayı. Şaşkınlık, alabildiğine yuvarlak açık ve alabildiğine genç gözleriyle bırakıp gitti beni. Yazık.

I encourage you to try cold therapy yourself, but before you do, let me offer a note of caution: safe cold thermogenesis protocols involve gradually increasing your exposure to cold over time. Start off by simply putting your face in cold water for a few minutes, then if you choose you can graduate to using soft-gel ice packs that won’t freeze your skin, and then sitting in an ice bath for up to an hour.

To address this, we must wage a war on the militants. First, we must make it an offence, punishable by many years in jail, to ride a bicycle in anything other than what I like to call home clothes. Cycling shops selling gel for your bottom crack and outfits with padded gussets will be raided by the police and the owners prosecuted. This way, cyclists will be stripped of their uniforms and made to look like human beings.

Warmth flooded her body and she felt her skin flush, sweat prickling her hairline. Pain dissipated to nothing but a numb, hollow feeling. Some combination of drugs seeped into her, promoting pain relief and relaxation. She felt her taut muscles yielding, even as a network of filamentous webs encased her and tugged her lower into the gel. Her arms grew heavy and sank into the gel of their own volition. Or had they been pulled there?

For instance, my hair is the unmanageable kind of curly, the color of burnt toast. Imagine waking up every morning looking like the Lion King, or having to spend a disproportionate amount of your allowance on hair products that don’t deliver. Like the ones under my bathroom sink. Row after row of half-empty containers of mousse, gel, and hair tamer standing dejectedly like the third string of a basketball team that rarely gets to play.

Üşü, buz haline gel kışın, eğer gerçekten takdir etmek istersen yazı! Yürü, uçurumların kenarında yürü, güvenliğin anlamını doğru olarak öğrenmek istersen! Işıkları kapat, ışığın şaşırtıcı güzelliğini görmek istersen eğer!

Yanardağlıktan emekli olduktan sonra Gel zaman git zaman şiir ithafkârı olmuştum. Zamana emir verdim. Ona dedim ki: Gel zaman! Zamana emir verdim Ona dedim ki: Git zaman! On emri bile olmayan bir yanardağ eskisini kim dinlerdi.

It’s also probably fair to say she was probably too young at thirteen to innocently open the drawer under his bed and come across a leather gas mask type thing with a leather dick attached where she presumed a nose should be, along with associated whips, gels, handcuffs and other unexplainable objects Unfortunately, once seen, never unseen and it was a lesson for her at a young age that you never know people until you’ve been through their drawers and computer history

Basının üstünden büyük bir rüzgâr geçiyor. Yalancı bir fecirle(şafak) başlayan asır kararıyor ve sana tek ümit ışığı olarak en kudretli kaynağı uranium’da değil, senin ruhunda sıkışmış maddeden koparak çıkardığın korkunç tahrip âletinin patlayışından yükselecek alevi bekletiyor. Ey bahtsız! Tarihinin hiç bir devrinde kendine bu kadar yabancı, bu kadar hayran ve düşman olmadın. Laboratuarında aradığın, incelediğin, oyduğun, dibine indiğin, sırrını değiştiğin her şey arasında yalnız ruhun yok. Onu beyin hücrelerinin bir üfürüğü sanmakla başlayan müthiş gafletin, otuz yıl içinde gördüğün iki muazzam dünya harbinin kan ve göz yaşı çağlayanlarında en büyük dersi arayan gözlerine bir körlük perdesi indirdi. Bırak şu maddeyi, boğ şu ölçü dehanı, doy şu fizik ve matematik tecessüsüne, kov şu kemiyet fikrini, dal kendi içine, koş kendi kendinin peşinden, bul onu, bul kendini, bul ruhunu, bul, sev, bil, an, gör, kendi içinde gör Allah’ını. Kendine dön, kendine bak, kendine gel. Aptalca bir konfor aşkından doğduğu halde her biri daha korkunç bir dünya harbi hazırlayan teknik mucizelerinin yanında, senin iç zıtlıklarını elemeye yarayacak ye seni kendi kendinle boğuşmaktan kurtaracak ruh mucizelerini ara. İnan mânevilere ve mukaddeslere, inan! Onlar hakkında bu kadar küçükçe düşünmekten utan! Her sezilen derinliğin ifşa ettiklerini düşünmekten bile seni alıkoyan tabiatçı metodlarını fırlat ve bitlenmiş elbiseler gibi at. Ortaçağ papazında haklı olarak ayıpladığın dar kafalılığın anlayış sınırlarını daha fazla darlaştıran beş duyu idrakinin kapalı dünyası içinde kalma: Arşı geç, ferşi atla, sidreyi aş. Gör ne var maverada ibrethiz.

much.” “With all her faults,” said Uncle Andrew, “that’s a plucky gel, my boy. It was a spirited thing to do.” He rubbed his hands and cracked his knuckles, as if he were once more forgetting how the Witch frightened him whenever she was really there. “It was a wicked thing to do,” said Polly. “What harm had he done her?” “Hullo! What’s that?” said Digory. He had darted forward to examine something only a few yards away. “I say, Polly,” he called back. “Do come and look.” Uncle Andrew came with her; not because he wanted to see but because he wanted to keep close to the children – there might be a chance of stealing their rings. But when he saw what Digory was looking at, even he began to take an interest. It was a perfect little model of a lamp-post, about three feet high but lengthening, and thickening in proportion, as they watched it; in fact growing just as the trees had grown. “It’s alive too – I mean, it’s lit,” said

Come tae me, she heard from a distance. She shot upright, squinting into the shadows. At the entrance of the cave, warm amber eyes glowed in the darkness. He’d come back! “Ah, you’re excited about my return, then,” he murmured. “Your heart sped up at the verra sound of my voice.” The nerve! “Only because I’m eager to throw you around some more. That’ll never get old.” “You’re cold and still soaked through.” “Nothing escapes you.” “I’ve something for you to eat.” At the thought of more gel packs or green bananas, she almost retched, but then the scent of something cooked, something heavenly, assailed her. “What is that smell?” she asked just as the others awakened one by one. “Food for you, Mariketa,” he answered. “A feast of it.” Beside his spot at the edge of the cave, she spied what looked like grilled fish and crayfish, as well as some kind of roasted meat laid out on a smooth flank of wood. Succulent fruits lay in abundant piles, with not a green banana among them. As her mouth watered, Rydstrom muttered, “Methinks your Lykae is trying to impress you. What he can’t take, he’ll tempt.

When it came to my turn in the super spelling bee everyone had already been given really easy words. “Ryan,” Mr H said, “I want you to spell the word icup.” “Icup?” I thought.  I clammed up and my face went all warm and prickly, that feeling you get when you know you’re going to get the answer wrong. It’s a bit like the feeling you get when you walk up on stage to collect an award and you trip going up the stairs in front of everyone, or worse still, your pants fall down. It’s called embarrassment and I was feeling it big time. Actually it was worse than big time. It was humongous, mammoth, big time. All those long, boring afternoons sitting with Mom on the couch spelling word after word meant nothing anymore. I’d never heard of the word ‘icup’. “Oh no,” I thought. If I got this wrong I might not make the necessary criteria to get a raffle ticket before the big draw. Panic stations set in. This was going to be disastrous. ​Mom always said that if you get nervous or frightened, just imagine everyone around you is only in their underwear. It will make you laugh and you’ll forget your nerves. So I did, but it wasn’t a pretty sight. ​ “Ok get a grip of yourself Rino,” I said in my head. “Think about it and just sound the word out.” I could hear my Mom’s words bleating in my head as she so often did when I got stuck on a word. I began slowly, deep in thought and not willing to put one foot wrong sounding out each letter, “I … c.. u .. pee.”  There was silence and then the whole class erupted into hysterics, laughing their heads off, followed by Mr Higginbottom. Then I realised what I had just said when I sounded out the word; “I see you pee,” and I burst out into an embarrassed sort of laughter too. Mr Higginbottom came over and gave me a friendly pat on my head and ruffled my hair. It didn’t worry me that I’d combed it just the right way and put gel in it that morning. It was ok for Mr H to mess it up, but if my sister ever did it, she’d be dead meat. “Well

Hace años que tuvimos que contratar a alguien que hiciera lo que nosotros no podíamos. Nos ha faltado siempre tiempo. Nos ha faltado tiempo porque, hoy en día, para todo se necesita dinero. Dinero para mantener a un niño al que apenas veíamos; dinero para contratar a una persona que nos limpiara la casa en la que apenas estábamos; dinero para vivir una vida que no hemos disfrutado. Todo tan circular; todo tan ridículo.

Sile looked momentarily stymied, then shook his head sharply. "You won't go alone." "I can't ask anyone--" "You aren't asking," Sile said firmly. "I'm insisting--" "Grandfather, nay," Runach said, stunned. "I couldn't allow it." "Allow it?" Sile repeated, looking as if the gale were readying for another good blow. "Who do you think you are, whelp, to tell me what to do?" "I believe, your Majesty," Aisling said quietly, "he's someone who loves you..." Runach didn't dare smile, because his grandfather would have made the effort to get up out of his chair so he could deliver a brisk blow to the back of a grandson's head, of that he was certain. "Besides, I'm going to go along to keep him safe." Sile closed his eyes briefly before he leaned forward and looked at Aisling seriously. "You, my gel?" "Me, Your Majesty." Runach watched his grandfather look at his wife in consternation. "Are you listening to this?" he asked in disbelief. "She isn't even spawn of mine, and yet she exhibits this unsettling 'independence'." "I find it quite admirable, husband." Runach pushed away from the wall and walked over to squat down by Aisling's chair. He looked up at her. "I want you to stay here." She looked at him for a moment or two, then reached out and touched his scarred cheek. "This is my quest, and I must see it through to the end, wherever that end might lie." "I'll think about it," he said, and by that he meant not a chance in hell. He rose and glanced at his grandfather. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm going alone." Sile rubbed his hands over his face. "Breagha?" "Aye, my love?" "When did I lose control over my progeny?" "Several centuries ago, I believe, dear." "It seems more recent than that." "I don't think so, darling.

For the more you know about how dead bodies decay—the biological and chemical phases they go through, how long each phase lasts, how the environment affects these phases—the better equipped you are to figure out when any given body died: in other words, the day and even the approximate time of day it was murdered. The police are pretty good at pinpointing approximate time of death in recently dispatched bodies. The potassium level of the gel inside the eyes is helpful during the first twenty-four hours, as is algor mortis—the cooling of a dead body; barring temperature extremes, corpses lose about 1.5 degrees Fahrenheit per hour until they reach the temperature of the air around them. (Rigor mortis is more variable: It starts a few hours after death, usually in the head and neck, and continues, moving on down the body, finishing up and disappearing anywhere from ten to forty-eight hours after death.)

Ne mîne li hîvya çi kesa da bhên o te dil xush biken o jîyana te bashte biken.. Shertanê li ser çi kesan neke ko dê hên o te rizgar ken. Tu xodanê peyva dest pêkê o pêngava dest pêkê be, o destê xo bgre harîkarîya xo bike o bizane xodê harî wî kesî diket yê harî xo diket. Eger te ew kes ne dît te dil xush biket, tu bxo xo dil xush bike. Eger te ew kes ne dît bu te shemalkekê helket, li êkê dî ne gerhe shemalkên te bi vemrînît. Neçe bîyabanê o li gûlên ciwan bi gerhe, tu hîç tshtekî li bîyabanê nabînî ji blî strî o dehlîya. Tu bitnê dishêy wê jîyanê bu xo avakey ya di hzr û xeyalên te da. Kes na hêt o xewnêt te o hez o hîvîyên te bikete rastî, evca ji xew rabe o kar bike bu hîvîyên xo. Serê xo bilind ke o eger tarî bi ser te da hat li rûnahîyê bi gerhe o bizane heyv ya li hîvya te. Çi dergeha li xo ne gre , çûnkî de her rojek hêt pêdvî wî dergehî bî. Torre ne be demê kesek axftneka ne ciwan di bêjît te o bizane ew kesatîya xo pênase diket ne ya te. Bawerîyê bi xo o bê hîvî nebe, beref xewnên xo ve here . Çi car rêka xo ne ber de, eger rêk çenda dirêj bît, xo dana çîya bît, xo bihêz bike o geshbîn be. Ya çoy ji bîr ke, o bizane di gel helatna rojeka nî, delîvên nî dihên o pshtî zvstana dijwar dê bûhar hêt o gûl dê vebn. Ev gerdûne xodê yê bu te çêkrî, supasîya wî bike ko tu day saxlem. Di gel xodê be o dê ew te parêzît o xewnên te di gel wî de bine rastî.

In the center of the room Sarra the demon hung upside down by one leg, its arms bound behind its back, its suit scuffed-looking. Beneath it, crawling around an intricately scribed circle, a woman with short, curly red hair drew binding symbols with a gold stick. She looked up as I fanned away the smoke that was billowing up from the crack in the tile. "You're a Summoner. Hullo. I'm Noelle. Did you know that you have mismatched eyes?" I walked around the demon. It glared at me. "Yes, I know. Why do you have Sarra strung up by one leg?" She drew another symbol. It flared bright green as soon as the stick lifted from the circle. "It was getting a bit stroppy with me. The Hanged Man always teaches them a few manners. It's retaliating with the smoke. Are those spirits I saw yours, then?" "Yes, they are. There are four others as well. I hate to be a bother, but I'm in a bit of a hurry, what with Christian being held by this one's master and all, so if you could possibly just give me the abbreviated version of what's going on here, I'll be on my way to rescue him." She leaned back on her heels and sucked the tip of her gold stick. "Asmodeus, eh?" The demon snarled. A chunk of ceiling fell behind me. We both ignored it. It just never does to give a demon the satisfaction of knowing it's startled you. "It's a nasty bag of tricks, but I heard through the demonic grapevine that it was weakened and searching for a suitable sacrifice to regain its power," she added. "Well, it can't have Christian; he's mine. Back to the demon, if you don't mind…" She looked up at Sarra, still sucking the stick. "It's a pretty specimen, isn't it? I like the hair gel. Nice touch. The mustache is a bit much, though, don't you think? Makes it look so smarmy." "Um…" "I'm destroying it, so I suppose it really doesn't matter." I blinked and avoided two wine bottles as they flew out of a rack when the demon hissed at the Guardian.

Oh God. We’re talking about me being naked, in the shower with cooter cream. Please world, end. Kill me. “I know it’s not soap. I just… if it’s scented… I can’t do scented. Flowers and stuff like that. Fruit-flavored soaps make… things… burnish.” She could tell from the peeks at his face Mr. Fitzwell had never stepped foot in bath and lotion store, wanting to try the array of fun fragrances. Nor had he purchased Peppermint Candy shower gel, foamed up his nether regions, and felt like he had dipped them in lava. Dove crossed and uncrossed her legs at the memory. Mr. Fitzwell seemed concerned. “Okay, just a heads-up. It’s definitely not good to put any fruits or plant life near your genitals.” He made a V with his hands and formed his own pretend vagina in front of his pants. Dove covered her eyes and tried to defend herself because now she could hear the sickly older woman beating her supporters with a purse. Dove’s mumbling got louder with her embarrassment. “I don’t put weird things down… there. Just make sure that the cream’s vagina-scented. Just plain. For vaginas.” She kept her eyes on the counter.

In the house Jake shoved his hands deep in his pockets as he stood at the window watching the women, his expression a mixture of stupefaction and ire. “Gawdamighty,” he breathed, glancing at Ian, who was scowling at the unopened, note in his hand. “The women are chasin’ you clear into Scotland! That’ll stop soon as the news is out that yer betrothed.” Reaching up, he idly scratched his bushy red hair and turned back to the window, peering down the path. The women had vanished from view, and he left the window. Unable to hide a tinge of admiration, he added, “Tell you one thing, that blond gel had spunk, you have to give her that. Cool as can be, she stood there tauntin’ you with your own words and callin’ you a swine. I don’t know a man what would dare to do that!” “She’d dare anything,” Ian said, remembering the young temptress he’d known. When most girls her age were blushing and simpering, Elizabeth Cameron had asked him to dance at their first meeting. That same night she’d defied a group of men in the card room; the next day she’d risked her reputation to meet him in a cottage in the woods-and all that merely to indulge in what she’d described in the greenhouse as a “little weekend dalliance.

He accepted a cup of ale from his brother-in-law, sat back, then sighed. "Get on with the bludgeoning." "Me?" Miach asked innocently. "Why would I bludgeon?" Runach pursed his lips. "Because you are whoyou are, and you know Soilleir of Cothromaiche very well. I am continually appalled by the simialarites between the two of you." Miach only watched his steadily, a small smile playing around his mouth. "You know what she is, don't you?" "Who?" "Aisling." Runach shot him a look. "A girl, thank you. I haven't been so long at Buidseachd that I cant recognize one when I see one." He finally leaned on his sword, and looked at his sister's husband. "I'm biting. What is she?" "A girl." Runach growled. At least he thought he growled. It was difficult to tell what he was doing when all he wanted to do was wipe the smirk off Miach's face. "You know," he said shortly, "you annoyed me when you were a lad. You haven't improved since then." Runach looked over his shoulder to make sure no observant gel with shorn hair was standing behind him, eavesdropping with abandon, then leaned closer to his brother-in-law. "Let me lay out for you King Mochriadhemiach, all the problems that sit arranged pleasingly on a trencher before me. Perhaps then you can stop smirking long enough to examine them with me." "You're testy.

...I drag the kids to the farmers' market and fill out the week's cheap supermarket haul with a few vivid bunches of organic produce...Once home, I set out fresh flowers and put the fruit in a jadeite bowl. A jam jar of garden growth even adorns the chartreuse kids' table...I found some used toddler-sized chairs to go around it...It sits right in front of the tall bookcases...When the kids are eating or coloring there, with the cluster or mismatched picture frames hanging just to their left, my son with his mop of sandy hair, my daughter just growing out of babyhood...they look like they could be in a Scandinavian design magazine. I think to myself that maybe motherhood is just this, creating these frames, the little vistas you can take in that look like pictures from magazines, like any number of images that could be filed under familial happiness. They reflect back to you that you're doing it - doing something - right. In my case, these scenes are like a momentary vacation from the actual circumstances of my current life. Children, clean and clad in brightly striped clothing, snacking on slices of organic plum. My son drawing happy gel pen houses, the flourishing clump of smiley-faced flowers beneath a yellow flat sun. To counter the creeping worry that I am a no-good person, I must collect a lot of these images, postage-stamp moments I can gaze upon and think, I can't be fucking up that bad. Can I?

O zaman anılarımızdan vaz mı geçmeliyiz?" diye söze girdi Genç Prens, çiçeğin ve arkadaşının anısı onun için çok değerli olduğundan böyle bir soru sormuş olmalıydı. "Hayır, tüm iyi anılarını ve mutluluk veren tecrübelerini, kendini yalnız hissettiğin, zorluk çektiğin anlarda sana teselli verebilmeleri için her zaman yanında taşıyabilirsin. Kaçınman gereken, sana güvence sunan geçmişe takılı kalmaktır; aksi takdirde oraya mahkûm kalabilir ve yaşadığın anın sana sunacağı tecrübeleri reddedebilirsin. Geçmiş güven verir; çünkü artık bitmiş, ölmüştür. Bazıları hayatın acı ve mutluluk dolu sınırsız olasılığını içeren öngörülemezliği yerine, ölümün güven veren sessizliğini tercih eder." Daha sonra ekledim: Anıların şimdiki anın mutluluğuna zarar verebilecekleri başka bir durum da geçmişte hissettiklerinin aynısını hissetmeye çabalamandır. Boş yere verilen bir uğraştır bu. Bir nehirden akan suyun asla aynı olmaması gibi, hayattaki durumlar da hiçbir zaman birbirinin tıpatıp aynısı olmaz. Gel gör ki geçmişteki tecrübelerin aynısını yaşamak için kendilerini onlara mahkûm etmiş o kadar fazla insan var ki... Zihinlerini hapsettikleri eski hayatları sebebiyle, belki de daha mutlu olacakları yeni hayatı yaşamak ve keyif almaktan alıkoyarlar kendilerini. Bir kez orada yemek bulduğu için, biraz daha ileride yeni bir şeyler aramak yerine, sürekli aynı yere dönerek sonunda açlıktan ölen bir hayvana benzer bu insanlar.

Bu oda karanlık” diyordum, “bu oda yalnız bugün değil, her zaman böyle karanlık.. Burada kitaplarımla ben yaşarız ve bize aydınlık getirecek kimsemiz yok… Ben burada yalnızlığı bardak bardak içiyorum. Ve ihtiyar kanepelerle konuşmak istediğim zaman, onlar artık bana anlatacak yeni bir şey bulamıyorlar.. Sen bu odaya hiç görülmemiş bir şey gibi geldin.. Bu sarı duvarlar, bu yıllanmış eşya seni bir daha unutamazlar. Bana her gün senden bahsedeceklerdir. Onlar da benimle beraber seni arayacaklar, buraya her girişimde sorucu gözlerle bakarak: “Nerede o?..” diyeceklerdir. Tahmin etmiyorum ki senin bulunduğun yerler buradan daha aydınlık olsun. Buraya gelmek, tekrar başını göğsüme koymak, ellerini böyle yumruk yaparak avucuma vermek istediğin anlar olacaktır. O zaman hiç düşünmeden gel; beni kitaplarımın temiz arkadaşlığından ayıracağından korkma.. 

Bu,' diye düşündü Alice, 'hiçbir şeyin adının olmadığı koru olmalı. Oraya gidersem, acaba benim adıma ne olacak. Adsız kalmak hiç de hoşuma gitmez...çünkü o zaman bana başka bir isim vermek zorunda kalacaklar, bu da hiç kuşku yok ki çirkin bir ad olacak. Ama o zaman da eski adımı alan yaratığı bulmaya çalışırken ne eğlenirim doğrusu! Bu, insanların köpeklerini kaybettiklerinde verdikleri ilanlar gibi bir şey...Fırla* diye adıyla çağırdığınız anda hemen tepki verir, pirinçten tasması var...Biri karşılık verinceye değin karşınıza çıkan her şeye *Alice diye seslendiğinizi bir hayal edin! Ama akılları varsa buna karşılık vermezler!' Böyle dolaşıp durduğu sırada birde baktı ki koruya varmış; pek serin ve gölgeli bir yerdi burası. 'Neyse, yine de bu da bir teselli,' dedi Alice ağaçların altına girdiği anda, 'bu kadar sıcaktan bunaldıktan sonra, bu şeyin, şeyin altına girmek...neyin?' diye devam etti, o sözcüğün bir türlü aklına gelmemesinin verdiği şaşkınlıkla . 'Yani demek istiyorum ki, bu şeyin altına...şunun altına, hani işte şu!' dedi elini ağacın gövdesine değdirerek. 'Acaba bu kendine ne ad takmıştır? Hiçbir adı olmadığından eminim...Yok canım, kesinlikle yoktur!' Düşüncelere dalarak bir dakika öylece sessiz kaldı; sonra birden yeniden başladı. 'İşte şimdi gerçekten başıma geldi! Şimdi kimim ben? Elimden gelse hatırlayacağım! Kararlıyım, anımsayacağım!' Ne ki, kararlı olmasının ona çok da bir faydası olmamıştı, büyük bir şaşkınlıktan sonra tek söyleyebildiği, 'L, biliyorum, adım L ile başlıyor!' oldu. Tam o anda bir Yavru Alageyik çıkageldi; o kocaman uysal gözleriyle Alice'e bakıyordu; ama hiç de korkmuşa benzemiyordu. 'Buraya gel! Buraya gel!' dedi Alice, elini uzatıp onu okşamaya çalışarak; fakat Yavru Alageyik irkilerek biraz geri çekildi ve tekrardan Alice'i seyretmeye başladı. 'Adın ne?' dedi Yavru Alageyik sonunda. Öyle yumuşak, tatlı bir ses tonu vardı ki! 'Keşke bilebilseydim!' diye aklından geçirdi zavallı Alice. 'Şimdilik hiçbir şey,' dedi hüzünle. 'Bir daha düşün,' dedi Yavru Alageyik, 'böle olmaz.' Alice düşündü, ama aklına hiçbir şey gelmiyordu. 'Lütfen söyler misin, senin adın ne?' dedi Alice çekine çekine. 'Belki bu birazcık bana yardımcı olabilir. 'Birazcık ileriye gelirsen söyleyeceğim,'dedi Yavru Alageyik. 'Burada anımsayamıyorum.' Bunun üzerine Alice, kollarını Yavru Alageyik'in yumuşacık boynuna sevgiyle doladı ve koru boyunca başladılar birlikte yürümeye; sonunda başka bir açık alana vardılar; Yavru Alageyik burada aniden havaya zıplayarak, kendini Alice'in kollarından kurtardı. 'Ben bir Yavru Alageyik'im!' diye haykırdı sevinç içinde. 'Aman Tanrım, sen bir insan yavrususun!' Yavru'nun o güzelim kahverengi gözlerine birden bir korku çöktü ve anında dörtnala koşup oradan uzaklaştı.

TICKLED PINK LEMONADE COOKIES   Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position. Hannah’s 1st Note: This recipe is from Lisa’s Aunt Nancy. It’s a real favorite down at The Cookie Jar because the cookies are different, delicious, and very pretty. ½ cup salted, softened butter (1 stick, 4 ounces, ¼ pound) (do not substitute) ½ cup white (granulated) sugar ½ teaspoon baking powder ¼ teaspoon baking soda 1 large egg, beaten cup frozen pink or regular lemonade concentrate, thawed 3 drops of liquid red food coloring (I used ½ teaspoon of Betty Crocker food color gel) 1 and ¾ cups all-purpose flour (pack it down in the cup when you measure it) In the bowl of an electric mixer, beat the softened butter with the sugar until the resulting mixture is light and fluffy. Mix in the baking powder and baking soda. Beat until they’re well-combined. Mix in the beaten egg and the lemonade concentrate. Add 3 drops of red food coloring (or ½ teaspoon of the food color gel, if you used that). Add the flour, a half-cup or so at a time, beating after each addition. (You don’t have to be exact—just don’t put in all the flour at once.) If the resulting cookie dough is too sticky to work with, refrigerate it for an hour or so. (Don’t forget to turn off your oven if you do this. You’ll have to preheat it again once you’re ready to bake.) Drop the cookies by teaspoonful, 2 inches apart, on an UNGREASED cookie sheet. Bake the Tickled Pink Lemonade Cookies at 350 degrees F. for 10 to 12 minutes or until the edges are golden brown. (Mine took 11 minutes.) Let the cookies cool on the cookie sheet for 2 minutes. Then use a metal spatula to remove them to a wire rack to cool completely. FROSTING FOR PINK LEMONADE COOKIES   2 Tablespoons salted butter, softened 2 cups powdered sugar (no need to sift unless it’s got big lumps) 2 teaspoons frozen pink or regular lemonade concentrate, thawed 3 to 4 teaspoons milk (water will also work for a less creamy frosting) 2 drops red food coloring (or enough red food color gel to turn the frosting pink) Beat the butter and the powdered sugar together. Mix in the lemonade concentrate. Beat in the milk, a bit at a time, until the frosting is almost thin enough to spread, but not quite. Mix in the 2 drops of red food coloring. Stir until the color is uniform. If your frosting is too thin, add a bit more powdered sugar. If your frosting is too thick, add a bit more milk or water.

Achievement ceremonies are revealing about the need of the powerful to punish women through beauty, since the tension of having to repress alarm at female achievement is unusually formalized in them. Beauty myth insults tend to be blurted out at them like death jokes at a funeral. Memories of these achievement ceremonies are supposed to last like Polaroid snapshots that gel into permanent colors, souvenirs to keep of a hard race run; but for girls and young women, the myth keeps those colors always liquid so that, with a word, they can be smeared into the uniform shades of mud. At my college graduation, the commencement speaker, Dick Cavett—who had been a “brother” of the university president in an allmale secret society—was confronted by two thousand young female Yale graduates in mortarboards and academic gowns, and offered them this story: When he was at Yale there were no women. The women went to Vassar. There, they had nude photographs taken in gym class to check their posture. Some of the photos ended up in the pornography black market in New Haven. The punch line: The photos found no buyers. Whether or not the slur was deliberate, it was still effective: We may have been Elis but we would still not make pornography worth his buying. Today, three thousand men of the class of 1984 are sure they are graduates of that university, remembering commencement as they are meant to: proudly. But many of the two thousand women, when they can think of that day at all, recall the feelings of the powerless: exclusion and shame and impotent, complicit silence. We could not make a scene, as it was our parents’ great day for which they had traveled long distances; neither could they, out of the same concern for us. Beauty pornography makes an eating disease seem inevitable, even desirable, if a young woman is to consider herself sexual and valuable: Robin Lakoff and Raquel Scherr in Face Value found in 1984 that “among college women, ‘modern’ definitions of beauty—health, energy, self-confidence”—prevailed. “The bad news” is that they all had “only one overriding concern: the shape and weight of their bodies. They all wanted to lose 5–25 pounds, even though most [were] not remotely overweight. They went into great detail about every flaw in their anatomies, and told of the great disgust they felt every time they looked in the mirror.” The “great disgust” they feel comes from learning the rigid conventions of beauty pornography before they learn their own sexual value; in such an atmosphere, eating diseases make perfect sense.

Regina’yı bir yana bırakıp yıllar sonra birdenbire yeniden Gregor Samsa’yı düşünmeye başladığın o güz gününü hatılıyor musun? Güneşli ama serin bir gündü ve sis henüz dağılmamıştı. Yoksulluğun tepelerinden koşarak gelen çocuklar tarlalara dağılırken, sen onların rüzgarla aşıp geçtikleri çitin önünde duruyordun. Özenli, iyi giysiler vardı üzerinde. Tertemiz, boyalı ayakkabılarından birini tele dayayıp gözlüklerinin arkasından ufku görmeye çalıştın. Sakin bir gündü. “Sis ne zaman kalkacak acaba?” diye düşündün. Çit seni rahatsız ediyordu ve özgürlük duygusunu henüz yitirmemiştin. Kendinden yana ciddi bir sıkıntın yoktu. Hatta seni başkalarından ayıran özelliklerin olduğuna inanıyordun. Diyordun ki “Değişim, doğanın ve insanların yasasıdır. Nasıl olsa böyle gitmez bu…” Ama çit olduğu yerde duruyordu. Bilinçaltı bir kolaylık isteği yüzünden mi düşündün Gregor Samsa’yı? Bir böcek bir insandan daha kolay aşar kimi engelleri. Üstelik göze çarpmaksızın. İlk bakışta haklı görünüyordun. Çit yüksekti, teller dikenli, ufuk belirsiz. Ortalık neredeyse ıssızdı, tellere yanlış notalar tünemiş kargaları saymazsan. Onları da eskiden beri küçümsersin. Belirsiz bir zamanda, tertemiz çoraplarının içinde rahatça duran ayaklarının derisine bir kıl örtüsünün dokunuşunu ilk kez fark ettin. Şaşkınlıkla çıkardın ayakkabı ve çoraplarını. Tuhaf bir şeydi, ama gerçek. Ayakların küçülmüştü ve adamakıllı kıllıydı. Tırnakların uzun, ince, hafifçe kıvrık. Önce “nasıl olsa fark edilmez” diye düşünüp çoraplarını yeniden giymek istedin. Hatırlıyor musun hangi gündü bu? Herkesin değil, ama “senin” kaybedecek şeylerin olduğunu düşündüğün, olup bitenleri bir alınyazısı gibi karşılamaya hazırladığın gün mü? Yoksa biraz daha önceye mi gidelim? Belki de tam kıyıda durmanın daha akıllıca olduğunu akıl ettiğin gün. Değişen duruma göre çitin iki yanına da kolayca geçebilecek bir noktada bulunmak. Şimdi tıpkı tavuk-yumurta örneği, senin tarihini düşündüğümde, bir türlü yanıtlayamadığım iç içe iki soru var: Ellerinin de ayakların gibi kıllı ve sinirli pençelere dönüştüğünü gördükten sonra mı rahatlayıp “bakın artık evcil ve zararsızım” dedin, yoksa bu ikinci değişiklik, sen böyle dediğin için mi başladı? Her neyse, zaten ikisi de aynı kapıya çıkar. Kendi küçük ve dar dünyanın sorunlarıyla o derece yüklüydü ki kafan, bunları uzun boylu düşünecek zamanın bile yoktu. Ayrıca değişikliği yavaş yavaş benimsemeye de başlamıştın. Mevsimler göz açıp kapayıncaya kadar geçiyordu. Bir gün uzaklardan yağmur ve kar kokuları geldi burnuna. Eskisine göre nedense daha iyi koku alıyordun. Neredeyse bir ikinci karakterin olan güvensizlik, hafifçe kıpırdadı içinde. Mevsimlerin ötesine geçenler vardı ama sen onlardan değildin. Ayrıca korunması gerekli, değerli bir varlıktın. Bir ses, “gel buraya” dedi, “gir içeriye.” İşte bir soru daha: Kendi içinden mi geldi bu ses, yoksa yukardan , göklerden mi? Döndün. Arkanda, tam da senin için hazırlanmışa benzeyen bir çatı. Bir ev değildi bu. Daha çok bir kulübecik. Ama seni fırtınalardan koruyabilirdi. Yüzündeki değişikliği ne zaman fark ettin diye soracaktım, vazgeçtim. Çünkü bilirim, yüzümüz görmek için eğildiğimiz her aynanın arkasında bir sır vardır. İstersen burada sana bir öykü anlatayım. Bir köpekle bir çocuğun öyküsünü: Yağmurlardan sonra bir ikindi vakti, bir köpek geçmişin aynasına bakıyormuş. Orada, burnunu cama dayamış bir çocuk görmüş. Ve çocuğun içinde durmadan büyüyen, çiçek açan bir şeftali ağacı. “Eğer bu bir düş değilse” demiş köpek, “ seninle bir yerlerden tanışıyoruz…” Gülmüş çocuk. “Hayır” demiş, “yüzü seninkine benzeyen bir arkadaşım yok benim…” Öyle sanıyorum ki o çocuk sendin. Ama artık düş bile değil senin için. Hazirandı.İkimiz de biliyoruz, o gün fark ettin, arada çit değil, dipsiz bir uçurum bulunduğunu. Özgür bir insanla bir köpeği ayıran. Ve ben sana bu soruları hiç sormazdım, durduğun yerde Gregor Samsa’yı düşünmeseydin. (15 Ağustos '83)

Üç yıl önce kayak yapmak için dağa gitmiştim. Baharda gündüz eriyen kar, gece don tutar. Yerler buz keser. Sabah bir arkadaşımla dağın tepesinden kayarak iniyorduk. Aniden yuvarlandım yere, arka üstü düştüm ve aşağıya doğru neredeyse yüz metre sürüklendim. Vücudumda yara, kırık veya incinme yoktu. Tekrar kaymak istemiş fakat yapamamıştım. Sanki kaymaya ilk başladığım acemilik haline dönmüş, kaymakla ilgili tüm becerilerim hafızamdan uçup gitmişti o an. Bilgisayarın yere düşünce hard diskindeki bütün verilerinin silinmesi gibi. Ertesi gün çok iyi kayan bir arkadaşım, 'Sen beni izle, peşimden gel,' deyip bana güven verdi. O önden yavaş yavaş kayıyor, ben onu takip ediyordum. Dağılan parçalarımı tekrar topladım o gün, yol aldıkça kaygım yavaş yavaş söndü, güvenim yerine geldikçe eski kayma hünerime yeniden kavuştum. Buraya gelirken o anı hatırladım. Şimdi de sanki aynı şeye ihtiyaç duyuyorum. Gitmek isteyip de korktuğum yoldan daha önce güvenle geçmiş birini arıyorum. Birinin varoluş okyanusunun ortasındaki adama gelip, 'Evet, seni anlıyorum', demesine ihtiyacım var. Karışan saçları tarakla açmak gibi. Hayatımdaki karmaşayı düzene sokacak bir tarağa ihtiyacım var benim. Size de bunun için geldim. Ruhumda sıkı sıkıya atılmış düğümler var. Bu düğümler içimde anlayamadığım bir öfke doğuruyor. Yaratıcıdan başlayıp kendime, sonra da bütün nesnelere yayılan bir öfke.

Nerdeyse: gelme, diye yalvaracağım. Seni çağırmak zorunda kaldığım bir güne bırak bu gelmeyi, o umutla yaşayayım, gel dediğimde hemen geleceğinden emin olma umuduyla. Hayır, gelme şimdi, nasıl olsa dönmek zorundasın, değil mi? (Vereceğin karşılığı biliyorum, gene de yazılı görmek isterim.) Ne iyilik, ne de kötülük var dilenci kadın konusunda; ya çok dalgındım ya da birini düşünüyordum o sırada belki, yoksa bu türlü davranışımın, silik anılarımla ilintisi yok pek. "Dilencilere çok para vermeyin, acınırsınız sonra!" diye bir söz anımsıyorum örneğin. Bir gün anam bir lira vermişti, çocuktum daha, büyük Ringle küçük Ring'in ortasında oturan yaşlı bir dilenci kadına vermekti bu parayı bütün isteğim. Gelgelelim para çok görünmüştü gözüme, bir dilenciye bu kadar çok para verilmez diye düşünmüş, sıkılmıştım. Ama parayı vermek de istiyordum; bozdurdum lirayı, önce bir onluk attık kadının önüne. Sonra bütün o alanı koşarak geçtim, soldan geldim bu sefer, yeni, başka biri gibi, gene bir onluk attım kadına, gene dolandım, gene koştum, gene bir onluk attım... Tam on kez alanı koşarak dolanmıştım. (Pek on kez olamamıştı anlaşılan, çünkü kadın bıkmış, kalkıp gitmişti.) Sonunda yorgun, bitik dönmüştüm eve, başlamıştım ağlamaya, anam acımıştı da bir lira daha vermişti bana. Görüyorsun ya, talihim yok dilencilerle, ama varımı yoğumu Avusturya parasına çevirip, Opera Alanındaki dilenciye vermeye hazırım, yeter ki, sen yanımda olasın, ben de yakınlığını duyabileyim senin. Franz

Change Your Look With These Top Notch Fashion Tips In fashion, there aren't any set rules. There is no one right way to be fashionable. Read a lot of different sources and then take what you've learned, pick it apart and use the tips that are best for you. Continue reading to learn great advice that you can tailor to your own wants and needs. If you like a shirt or skirt think about getting it in more than one color. Because clothes come in so many varying cuts and styles, you're likely find it difficult to find clothes that fit well for your body type. When you do just get more than one so that you can feel great more often. If you have thick or very curly hair, using a gel product will help you to create the style you desire. Work the product into towel-dried hair and then style it as you want. You can allow it to dry naturally, or use a hair drier. This is especially helpful in humid weather. In today's business world, it is imperative that men be well dressed. Therefore, it is essential to shop for top drawer clothing when buying clothes for your next interview. To begin your search, look through today's business magazines to ensure your wardrobe matches the top executives. Look for whether men are wearing cuffed pants or hemmed pants, ties with designs or solid ties as well as what type of shoe is currently in style. Skimpy tops are comfortable to wear in hot weather, but be careful if you are a big busted gal. Your figure needs good support, and you will feel more secure if you wear a sports bra under a lightweight top that has skinny straps and no shape of its own. Don't overstock your beauty kit with makeup. Just choose a few colors that match the season. Consider your needs for day and evening applications. Makeup can go bad if it's opened, just like other products. Bacteria can build on it, too. Have yourself professionally fitted for a bra. An ill-fitting brassiere is not only unflattering, but it affects how your clothing fits. Once you know your true size, buy a few bras in different styles and cuts. A plunge or demi-cup bra, a strapless bra, and a convertible bra give you versatile options. The thing about fashion is that it's a very easy topic once you get to know a little bit about it. Use the ideas you like and ignore the rest. It's okay not to follow every trend. Breaking away from the trends is better if you desire to be unique.