Goy Quotes

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Rachel? my dad prompts. Do I have to...?" His stern expression answers my question Fine. I'm grateful that the Native Americans are finally getting revenge on the white man for destroying their culture, by building megacasinos.
Melissa Schorr (Goy Crazy)
Bubby scoffs at my question. A Jew can never be a goy, she says, even if they try their hardest to become one. They may dress like one, speak like one, live like one, but Jewishness is something that can never be erased. Even Hitler knew that.
Deborah Feldman (Unorthodox: The Scandalous Rejection of My Hasidic Roots)
You said a formal dinner was where we dress up!" explained the little boy behind the monkey mask.
Michael Kroft (On Herring Cove Road: Mr. Jew and the Goy Boy)
But now, except for a county in Alabama where the citizens voted no on a referendum, I believe the poor goy cannot elude the bagel anywhere in America.
Philip Roth (Sabbath's Theater)
Calm.” “If Yahweh wanted me to be calm, he would have made me a goy. Four days. No. Now.” “We can’t,” she whispered. “Come Saturday—I’ll give you a periodontal probe.
Philip Roth (Sabbath's Theater)
The perfect couple: she puts the id back in Yid, I put the oy back in goy.
Philip Roth (Portnoy’s Complaint)
My mother openly lives her life as a goy, and who could guarantee that the same insanity won’t enter my head like it did hers? Only complete lunacy could explain why someone would reject God and the ways of his people, like she did.
Deborah Feldman (Unorthodox: The Scandalous Rejection of My Hasidic Roots)
And she would hope that the girl who had tittered was living in a shitty tract house with a goy husband who beat her, that she had been pregnant three times and had miscarried each time, that her husband cheated on her with diseased women, that she had slipped discs and fallen arches and cysts on her dirty tittering tongue. She would hate herself for these thoughts, these uncharitable thoughts, and promise to do better – to stop drinking these bitter gall-and-wormwood cocktails.
Stephen King (It)
Just because you're aware that you're a nincompoop, doesn't make you any less of one.
Michael Kroft (On Herring Cove Road: Mr. Jew and the Goy Boy)
Uncle Avi. He said he’d heard that upward of thirty thousand Jewish men had been arrested by the Gestapo and the SS. Jacob blanched when he heard the number. But his father seemed to believe neither the number nor the source. “Arrested? Arrested for what?” “For being Jews—what else?” Avi said. “Thirty thousand? That’s ridiculous.” “It’s a fact, Reuben.” “Says who?” “I heard it from one of my suppliers, a goy from Wiesbaden,” Avi replied. “His son is high up in the Gestapo. Tells him everything. The man was practically bragging about it.” “Why would he tell you?” Dr. Weisz asked. “He doesn’t know I’m a Jew,” Avi said. “How’s that possible?” “He thinks I’m Catholic. Remember the crucifix I asked you to get me a few years back from your priest friend in Berlin?” “Of course.” “It’s hanging in my office in Cologne,
Joel C. Rosenberg (The Auschwitz Escape)
When I saw them on the beach, perfectly tanned, or when I watched them twirling in the waves, I grasped the transcendental element in surf music. It was all about freedom from the rules of life, the whole of your being concentrated in the act of shooting the tube. For several years after that trip to L.A. I subscribed to Surfer magazine, and I practiced the Atlantic Ocean version of the sport, though only with my body and on rather tame waves. With my voice muffled by the water I would shout a line from “Surf City.” To me, this was the ultimate fantasy of plenty: “two girls for every boy,” except I sang it as “Two girls for every goy.” Fortunately, Brian has survived the schizoid tendencies that seemed close to the surface when I met him. He’s still performing and writing songs. But it was his emotional battle and the intersection of that struggle with the acid-dosed aesthetic of the sixties that produced his most astonishing music.
Richard Goldstein (Another Little Piece of My Heart: My Life of Rock and Revolution in the '60s)
girls were sent to different parts of the country. While there were no formal dances, or other organized coed activities, the two groups were often left alone to mingle naturally. The first sign of a coupling occurred during the traditional Friday-night walk by the dimly lit lake. It was all so innocent, the religious prohibition against negiah, physical contact, having been firmly pounded into their heads on numerous occasions so that even the most daring didn’t go beyond gentle hand holding or a chaste kiss. And while there possibly might have been an occasional rebel who got to first base, no one ever got to second. As for home runs … well, you might as well have dreamt of being a blond goy in Norway. Saturdays were Sabbath days, reserved
Naomi Ragen (The The Devil in Jerusalem)
goy
Marion Kummerow (From the Dark We Rise (Margarete's Journey, #2))
I’ve been talking about the ins and outs of local mandates so far. These are situations where you are the decision maker, which gives you access to a wealth of information as well as all of the players. In any decent-sized organization, you are equally likely to be on the receiving end of foreign mandates. This is a mandate that occurs way outside of your sphere of influence. We have a brand new strategy. Ready. Go.Yes, the tables are turned. Mandates might just randomly show up and there isn’t a thing you can do about it. Guess what? The same rules mentioned previously apply, with one exception. Just like your team, you are going to have one of the three opinions (yay, boo, or yawn) regarding the mandate. Regardless of what your opinion is, you must figure out the justification behind the mandate.
Michael Lopp (Managing Humans: Biting and Humorous Tales of a Software Engineering Manager)
Goy-machin chose
Michelle Gable (L'appartement oublié)
que el judío está preparado por su educación, por su anhelo de lo sagrado para hacer psicoanálisis, a diferencia del no judío (goy).
LEANDRO ALTAMIRA (KABBALAH Y PSICOANÁLISIS.: EL PODER DE LA PALABRA (Spanish Edition))
Such are the stories that Bronka Ginsberg tells Jastrow while toiling up the mountain trail. “Sidor Nikonov is really not a bad man, for a goy,” she sums up, sighing. “Not a wild beast like some. But my grandfather was a rabbi in Bryansk. My father was the president of the Zhitomir Zionists. And look at me, will you? A forest wife. Ivan Ivanovitch’s whore.” Jastrow says, “You are an aishess khayil.” Bronka, ahead of him on the trail, looks back at him, her weatherbeaten face coloring, her eyes moist. Aishess khayil, from the Book of Proverbs, means “woman of valor,” the ultimate religious praise for a Jewess. Late
Herman Wouk (War and Remembrance (The Henry Family, #2))
The Golem, The Monster was in love with herself; the Goy was in love with her too. She was in love with Club Golan. A perfect storm was approaching and I could almost feel it. I didn't know what was wrong with my beautiful girlfriend as her face gradually began to look like a monster's and she started treating me like garbage. What was controlling her mind? Who was behind her, making her get so sick again so quickly after meeting some new people at the beach bar? Why did Sabrina say that I would die lonely and sad, and why was Martina's perception of me so wrong and unreal? How was their plan on track, I didn't understand while I was running after Martina and I couldn't understand where our happiness had slipped out of our hands again? I was desperately trying to figure out what had happened to my life, my career, and what had happened to my pretty girlfriend, what had happened to my baby? It was almost like my girlfriend's perceptions were all wrong somehow. She had seen me as a useless homeless bum and she had seen the only value or service in Europe and Barcelona which could make a living or money as, 'short shorts and loose legs'. I felt hopeless and I didn't understand what the spell was. How was my 'Stupid Bunny' a Frankenstein? I could feel it on my skin, and I could see it in Martina's eyes, that the criminals' plans were in play and had been working since the moment Adam arrived in Spain, or maybe even before that somehow. Before I even met Martina. Before we even broke all up with Sabrina. Before the Red Moon, the last date and before the provocation the following night. I felt like 10-20 criminals were trying to bully me and trying to woo Martina and outsmart me with her, but I was so worried for her and was so busy trying to save her every day with her on my mind, as if I too was under spells, under possession and couldn't do anything about it to help her or break the illusions keeping her possessed, even when supposedly she was, we were, rid of the bad people. I felt like I was in a screenplay in the set up stages of a drama. I felt like someone had sat down with a piece of paper and a pen, and was drawing plans against my life. I felt like someone had written a screenplay on how to play this out, how to take the club from me and Martina. Someone must have written a list of characters. Casting. I never called Sabrina a bitch. Adam and Martina both called her “bitch.” Martina said “The Bitch” and Adam said “that Crazy Bitch.” ’The Goy’ ’The Bitch’ ’The Gipsy’ ’The Giants’ ’The Golem’ ’The Lawyer’ ’The Big Boss’ ’My Girlfriend’ ’The False Flag’ ’The Big Brother’ ’The Stupid Bunny’ ’The Big Boss Daddy’ ’The Italian Connection’, etc. I was unable to break any illusion, the secret, the code; I was dumbstruck in love with “my girlfriend” (who I thought was my “stupid bunny”), being the ‘false flag’, and maybe it was actually “the bitch” portrayed by Sabrina who was my true love perhaps, putting me to the tests, with Adam and the rest, using Martina and her brother, playing with strings, with her long pretty fingernails, teaching me a lesson for cheating when I thought she was cheating too and making me unhappy when I thought she was unhappy with me. As if I knew, Sabrina had been behind my new girlfriend, Martina playing roles; I had seen all the signs and jokes. I just couldn't comprehend it having a cover over my eyes. I was unsure what should I do what would be real wise? I didn't think Sabrina would be capable of hurting me at all. Why did Martina keep saying, Tomas you are so nice and tall?
Tomas Adam Nyapi
At one particular moment, with my eyes closed, I was crying and asking the question over and over aloud, „Does true love exist? Does true love exist in girls? Does true love exist? Does Sabrina love me? Does true love exist? Does true love exist?” - I had suddenly seen a flash. As if I was poking the Devil in the dark, staring too long into the darkness until it looked back at me as they say. I have never told anyone about this before. I try to describe what I had seen that night in that windowless, dark, and cold place deep inside under that big, old building, with my eyes closed. It made a half turn, flashing one of its eyes at me for a moment before disappearing again into the dark. As if it was nodding to me, I still get goosebumps years later when I try to describe it. As if it had been standing there all along, and just tried to reassure me that it had heard my question and would answer. Quite close. Just to make me be quiet finally. His eyes were yellow and red. I'm not actually sure if it had two eyes; I only saw one of them. One Evil Eye. Perhaps he had lost an eye, that's why I had seen the light of only one of them. His eye was malicious, but not particularly. It was more tired and angry yet understanding, as if he had heard this question over a billion times before from fools like me and I did not amuse him with my question and demand. As if he was about to show me a trick he had known for a long time. As if Satan had seen it all already. He knows all the tricks, he invented them, he inspired them all. As if he was bored of humanity already. (There is only One Evil Eye. The planet Saturn.) I was cuddling with Adam's cat, crying a lot, asking the darkness, about Love, and reflecting on Sabrina. Perhaps it was merely an optical illusion. I leave it up to the reader to decide what they believe about what I was facing and how I miraculously survived, as an atheist goy, as well as who truly supported me throughout the ordeal. If anyone or anything supported me in Spain at all. I had seen an advertisement somewhere saying that Miss Kittin would be playing on Saturday night, November 16th, 2013 in Barcelona at The Marhes. Satan. Saturn. Saturday. Coincidence? Maybe. So far. Perhaps. I knew I had to see her again after such a long time; she had been playing drum and bass in the early 2000s across the globe, and also in Budapest. I checked the map; The Marhes was next to Camp Nou, the FC Barcelona stadium. I thought of buying a bottle of champagne, which I didn't like, unless it’s Italian, but I wanted to celebrate, and I would walk along Avenida Roma to get there straight. I knew I'd get drunk; I didn't want to drive, I wanted to arrive intoxicated. I re-posted the Miss Kittin party’s flyer, on Instagram, writing underneath it : ‘All roads lead to Rome.
Tomas Adam Nyapi (BARCELONA MARIJUANA MAFIA)
On one of those nights in January 2014, we sat next to each other in Maria Vostra, happy and content, smoking nice greens, with one of my favorite movies playing on the large flat-screen TVs: Once Upon a Time in America. I took a picture of James Woods and Robert De Niro on the TV screen in Maria Vostra's cozy corner, which I loved to share with Martina. They were both wearing hats and suits, standing next to each other. Robert de Niro looked a bit like me and his character, Noodles, (who was a goy kid in the beginning of the movie, growing up with Jewish kids) on the picture, was as naive as I was. I just realized that James Woods—who plays an evil Jewish guy in the movie, acting like Noodles' friend all along, yet taking his money, his woman, taking away his life, and trying to kill him at one point—until the point that Noodles has to escape to save his life and his beloved ones—looks almost exactly like Adam would look like if he was a bit older. “All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.” – William Shakespeare That sounds like an ancient spell or rather directions, instructions to me, the director instructing his actors, being one of the actors himself as well, an ancient spell, that William Shakespeare must have read it from a secret book or must have heard it somewhere. Casting characters for certain roles to act like this or like that as if they were the director’s custom made monsters. The extensions of his own will, desires and actions. The Reconquista was a centuries-long series of battles by Christian states to expel the Muslims (Moors), who had ruled most of the Iberian Peninsula since the 8th century. The Reconquista ended on January 2, 1492. The same year Columbus, whose statue stands atop a Corinthian custom-made column down the Port at the bottom of the Rambla, pointing with his finger toward the West, had discovered America on October 12, 1492. William Shakespeare was born in April 1564. He had access to knowledge that had been unavailable to white people for thousands of years. He must have formed a close relationship with someone of royal lineage, or used trick, who then permitted him to enter the secret library of the Anglican Church. “A character has to be ignorant of the future, unsure about the past, and not at all sure what he/she’s supposed to be doing.” – Anthony Burgess Martina proudly shared with me her admiration for the Argentine author Julio Cortazar, who was renowned across South America. She quoted one of his famous lines, saying: “Vida es como una cebolla, hay que pelarla llorando,” which translates to “Life is like an onion, you have to peel it crying.” Martina shared with me her observation that the sky in Europe felt lower compared to America. She mentioned that the clouds appeared larger in America, giving a sense of a higher and more expansive sky, while in Europe, it felt like the sky had a lower and more limiting ceiling. “The skies are much higher in Argentina, Tomas, in all America. Here in Europe the sky is so low. In Argentina there are huge clouds and the sky is huge, Tomas.” – Martina Blaterare “It was curious to think that the sky was the same for everybody, in Eurasia or Eastasia as well as here. And the people under the sky were also very much the same--everywhere, all over the world, hundreds or thousands of millions of people just like this, people ignorant of one another’s existence, held apart by walls of hatred and lies, and yet almost exactly the same--people who had never learned to think but were storing up in their hearts and bellies and muscles the power that would one day overturn the world.” – George Orwell, 1984
Tomas Adam Nyapi (BARCELONA MARIJUANA MAFIA)
- So what do you want me to do, Adam? I cannot be everywhere at the same time. I already have to be in three places at once, not just two. My Spanish is much better than it was half a year ago, but I am not native, Adam - I am not Catalan, I am not Spanish. - Alright, alright, alright. Jesus. - What do you mean, Boss Jesus? I am Tomas, the king of the Goys, not the Jews. - HAHAHA. Get serious now. This costs me money. - You’re kidding. You don’t even pay me a salary and my girlfriend is crazy about it. How do you want me to make over 10,000 Euros in net traffic a month if you are sending me to the same Estanco stores that never order and barely have any traffic, just wasting my time, Adam? - Mario made a lot of business with Estancos. - Bullshit, Boss. Mario, Mister Jerk Twister made monkey-business with a handful of Estancos. He sold a set of twelve crumble-cards with a free display in 2012 Spring and he never showed up again, they said. Was he even in Spain, Adam? - That’s not the point. - OK. So what is the point? - Mario made a lot of business. - Would you like to show me the total sum of wholesale figures Mario allegedly made in 2012, Boss? - No. - Because Mario didn’t make 10 000 Euros traffic in an entire year, Boss. Monkey-business. - You are spending 140 Euros on these two kids for the two catalogs and wasting time here with Rachel. - So do you want Rachel to stay here all night to laminate all this by herself, or may I help her so that we can give the catalogs to the two kids and we at least triple our potential tomorrow, so they can do sales, Adam, so they could go and visit all the Estancos as you wish? - Yeah, sure. - Thank you. Adam the tiny Estancos are seasonal and some of them don’t even keep our kinds of products they rely soley on tobacco sales, elder Catalan people. Clubs are opening at every corner, Adam and they need us to supply them with products. They won’t be so seasonal, they cannot rely on the tourism by law they cannot register walk-ins. - Cccc. They register anyone, what are you talking about? - No. Which club? - Club Alfalfa. The custom card client, Mario and Tom made in 2012. - Yeah, the marijuana club where there were two Police razzias both found cocaine twice behind the booth, so far. - But they are open again. Selling weed. - For how long Adam? How many times can they re-open after the Police had shut the club down twice already because of cocaine? How many members or employees they arrested, Adam? Would you bail me out if I go inside the wrong door one day, representing you?
Tomas Adam Nyapi (BARCELONA MARIJUANA MAFIA)
You should smile at that,’ he said. ‘There is a Yiddish word, schlemiel, a man who falls over everything, who buys brass for gold. There should be a goy word for the elegant schlemiel, who has been born to handle gold but never knows it from brass and calls it gold with the weight of authority, who falls over everything but does it with such assurance that the fall is taken for a curtsy.
Rebecca West (The Saga of the Century Trilogy: The Fountain Overflows, This Real Night, and Cousin Rosamund)
he kissed the
Michael Kroft (On Herring Cove Road: Mr. Jew And The Goy Boy)
Myron remained unconvinced. “Even if I agreed to go along with this cockamamy scheme, what about nights? You expect me to watch her twenty-four hours a day?” “Of course not. Win will help you there.” “Win has better things to do.” “Tell that goy boy-toy it’s for me,” Norm said. “He loves me.” A
Harlan Coben (One False Move (Myron Bolitar, #5))
The book was shelved and now collects dust !
Lance Goy
vomits out the jew periodically / the JEW won’t take responsibility for civic order he WONT organize a state / he is a god damned Iriquois Indian / necessary defense against parasites / JEW parasite on principle / IF you are content to be sheep all right / but MAN declining to be GOY to jewish shearer will defend himself.
Diogo Mainardi (The Fall: A father's memoir in 424 steps)
An independent youth [Tuffle], he did not belong to the Reisby faction or the Goy faction but held himself superior to both. By these perpetual and emphatic disagreements he obtained a reputation for true knowledge and originality
Anthony Rolls (Scarweather)
Goy, sir, is one of those amiable though obstructive blockheads who believe in the sanctity of the written label....The moment he sticks his finicky label upon a thing, the nature of that thing is determined for all eternity.
Anthony Rolls (Scarweather)
Did you ever hear the old story about the grieving Jewish father who went to his rabbi and told him about his son’s elopement with a shickseh and subsequent conversion?” “No,” Michael said. “‘I had a son, Rabbi,’ the man said, ‘and he became a goy. What shall I do?’ “And the rabbi shook his head. ‘I, too, had a son,’ he told the man. ‘And he married a shickseh and became a goy.’ “‘So what did you do?’ the Jewish man asked the rabbi. “‘I went into the temple and I prayed to God,’ the rabbi said, ‘and suddenly a great voice filled the temple.’ “‘What did the voice say, Rabbi?’ the Jewish father asked. “‘The voice said, I, TOO, HAD A SON....
Noah Gordon (The Rabbi)
Who’s the goy?
Mazey Eddings (A Brush with Love (A Brush with Love, #1))
Dear, she's not tolerant at all of our being Jewish," said Mrs. Rosen. "She has no problem with it that requires any.
Michael Kroft (On Herring Cove Road: Mr. Jew and the Goy Boy)
They probably don't really like pale skin but they certainly like walking into a store without some security dude following them. Hating Your Goy and Eating One Too, as the great Philip Roth put it. So if everyone in America aspires to be WASPs, then what do WASPs aspire to? Does anyone know?
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
And the influence of their peers can be utterly overwhelming. As their closest friends succumb to the trend of G.O.Y., many children feel pressured to match them for the sake of popularity and acceptance. And sadly, instead of stepping in to be the voice of reason, many parents are feeding into this cultural trend. Many
James Emery White (Meet Generation Z: Understanding and Reaching the New Post-Christian World)
embarrassing himself, he
Michael Kroft (On Herring Cove Road: Mr. Jew And The Goy Boy)
Israel’s story involves a number of stages or contexts.13 Stage #1: Ancestral wandering clan (mishpachah): Genesis 10:31–32 Stage #2: Theocratic people/nation (‘am, goy): Genesis 12:2; Exodus 1:9; 3:7; Judges
Paul Copan (Is God a Moral Monster?: Making Sense of the Old Testament God)
Esty Oberlander has a sister at home who is twenty-two, my friends whisper. She got stuck waiting for her brother to get married, and by the time she was up for consideration, she was already twenty-one, three years too old. Even if you come from a fine family like the Oberlanders and you have more money than you can ever spend, a twenty-one-year-old girl does not go easy. I won’t go easy, not with two renegade parents blocking my path. I have to pass my father on the street and pretend not to recognize him, even when he waves energetically from across the road, his coffee—splattered shirt stretched awkwardly over his belly, his skinny legs shuffling eagerly toward me. My mother openly lives her life as a goy, and who could guarantee that the same insanity won’t enter my head like it did hers? Only complete lunacy could explain why someone would reject God and the ways of his people, like she did.
Deborah Feldman (Unorthodox: The Scandalous Rejection of My Hasidic Roots)
Bubby scoffs at my question. A Jew can never be a goy, she says, even if they try their hardest to become one. They may dress like one, speak like one, live like one, but Jewishness is something that can never be erased. Even Hitler knew that. At night I lie awake after the street traffic quiets down and I fold my pillow in half and press the tense edge into my stomach, bending my body around its crease. I ask God if he loves me. Will he send another sheid, another Hitler, to kill me too? Did he put the gnawing pain in my belly or did Satan?
Deborah Feldman (Unorthodox: The Scandalous Rejection of My Hasidic Roots)