Iam Me Quotes

Without you there would be no me. I am everything reflected in your eyes. I am everything approved by your smile. I am everything born of your guidance. I am me only because of you.

He gave her his best smile. His best I-almost-died-so-how-can-you-deny-me smile. Or at least that’s how he hoped it appeared. The truth was, he wasn’t a very accomplished flirt, and it might very well have come across as an Iam- mildly-deranged-so-it’s-in-all-of-our-best-interests-if-youpretend- to-agree-with-me smile.

People sometimes ask me , what religion are you ? I always answer by saying, ''Iam a little part of all religions and and a big part of no religion.

You asked me to speak. If this is a problem, the solution is not to get defensive because you don't like what you hear. The answer is to not invite me to talk." iAm ~ Lover At Last

I am not what you see. I am what time and effort and interaction slowly unveil.

I am a complicated person with a simple life.

I am a tale, I am a book, written in different languages and styles I can’t be read, can’t be understood, neither by me nor the greatest of minds I am too big, I am too small, to be processed or seen by the naked eye I am too dim, I am too bright, to appear in the shadows or the sunshine.

kiss me again," He says ,drunk and foolish "kiss me until iam sick of it" "if you're the sickness , i suppose you cant also be the cure.

I’m well aware that this—that I—am the first man to ever do this to her. And yes, as a guy, that fact makes it even better. You know who Neil Armstrong is, don’t you? Now tell me who the second guy was. Hell, tell me any other guy you know who made it to the moon after him. You can’t, can you? That’s why this is such a rush. She’ll never forget this. She’ll always remember…me. Maybe that’s chauvinistic and egotistical, but it’s the truth. -Drew Evans

• Just love me the way I am!

From the moment I met you, I wanted you more than reason. From the moment I saw you in my house, you were all I could think about. And it terrified me. No one has ever had such power over me. And Iam still terrified that if I let myself have you...it will be taken away.

Qui jacet in terra non habet unde cadat. In me consumpsit vires fortuna nocendo, Nil superest ut iam possit obesse magis." (loosely translated: "He who lies on the ground can fall no farther. In me, Fortune has exhausted her power of hurting; nothing remains that can harm me anymore.")

It is raining at the top of my roof and I'am inside my blanket in this chilling night with an open window, missing my love and listning the rain singing a lullaby to me.

burning in hell this piece of me fits in nowhere as other people find things to do with their time places to go with one another things to say to each other. Iam burning in hell some place north of Mexico. flowers don’t grow here. I am not like other people other people are like other people. they are all alike: joining grouping huddling they are both gleeful and content andIam burning in hell. my heart is a thousand years old. I am not like other people. I’d die on their picnic grounds smothered by their flags slugged by their songs unloved by their soldiers gored by their humor murdered by their concern. I am not like other people. Iam burning in hell. the hell of myself.

Ai dor! Era-me preciso enterrar magnificamente os meus amores. Eles lá iam, mar em fora, no espaço e no tempo, e eu ficava-me ali numa ponta de mesa, com os meus quarenta anos, tão vadios e tão vazios; ficava-me para os não ver nunca mais, porque ela poderia tornar e tornou, mas o eflúvio da manhã quem é que o pediu ao crepúsculo da tarde?

Iam a sensitive, introverted woman, which means that I love humanity but actual human beings are tricky for me. I love people but not in person. For example, I would die for you but not, like…meet you for coffee. I became a writer so I could stay at home alone in my pajamas, reading and writing about the importance of human connection and community. It is an almost perfect existence. Except that every so often, while I’m thinking my thoughts, writing my words, living in my favorite spot—which is deep inside my own head—something stunning happens: A sirenlike noise tears through my home. I freeze. It takes me a solid minute to understand: The siren is the doorbell. A person is ringing my doorbell. I run out of my office to find my children also stunned, frozen, and waiting for direction about how to respond to this imminent home invasion. We stare at each other, count bodies, and collectively cycle through the five stages of doorbell grief: Denial: This cannot be happening. ALL OF THE PEOPLE ALLOWED TO BE IN THIS HOUSE ARE ALREADY IN THIS HOUSE. Maybe it was the TV. IS THE TV ON? Anger: WHO DOES THIS? WHAT KIND OF BOUNDARYLESS AGGRESSOR RINGS SOMEONE’S DOORBELL IN BROAD DAYLIGHT? Bargaining: Don’t move, don’t breathe—maybe they’ll go away. Depression: Why? Why us? Why anyone? Why is life so hard? Acceptance: Damnit to hell. You—the little one—we volunteer you. Put on some pants, act normal, and answer the door. It’s dramatic, but the door always gets answered. If the kids aren’t home, I’ll even answer it myself. Is this because I remember that adulting requires door answering? Of course not. I answer the door because of the sliver of hope in my heart that if I open the door, there might be a package waiting for me. A package!

E este lugar que era mundo, agora, vazio oco quer ser mundo ainda. E, realmente, tudo se mantém suspenso. Tudo quer e tenta ser igual. Todos parecem acreditar. Sem ti, as pessoas ainda vão para onde iam, ainda seguem as mesmas linhas invisíveis. Mas eu sei, pai. Perderam-se as leis contigo. Perdeu-se a ordem que trazias. Pai

song of the rain iam dotted silverthreads dropped from heaven by the gods ,nature then takes me to adornher fields and valleys iam beautiful pears plucked from the crown of ishtar by the daugter of down to embellish the garden when icry the hills laugh when i humble my self the flower rejoice when i bow all the things are elated

A single day in my own shoe that is comfortable for me is better than 365 days in someone else's shoes that does not fit me at all.

Today someone had asked me who my person was. I thought about the question for a moment and said, ‘I am.’.

He's not good enough for you." "What?" I stared at him incredulously. "I'd say you have that backwords. He's from a good family. Iam not" His fingers slid away from mine. A swallow darted past us. "So if you'll excuse me, I have to go convince his mother that I'm not a desperate fortune hunter with a liar for a mother an a disgusting talent for drugging old ladies." "No" I frowned. "What do you mean, no?Whats the matter with you?" He just stepped closer to me, right on my shadow, which had been the only thing between us. His eyes were angry and conflicted but his hands were gently on my face, wrapping around the back of my neck. He pilled slightly and i stumbled forward. His mouth closed over mine, the kiss sending warmth shooting all the way from my belly down into my knees. His tongue was bold, sliding over mine as if I were strawberry ice cream. I felt devoured, delicious, decadent. He stopped abruptly, pulling back, his breath ragged. "I'm not good enough for you either.

This is my wife, Marian Robertson. No matter what came before the day we joined ourselves each to the other, she is mine now and Iam hers. If anyone speaks ill of her or calls her whore, they attack me as well and Iwill answer for it.

No Thought, No Concept, No Identity, No Personality, No Religion, No Country, No I-Me-Myself, No Me n Mine, No Goal, No Time, No Search, No Conflict, Right Now,Right Here - I am nameless, undivided, unlimited, untouched source of life in which bodies come and go like waves in the ocean.

I am that I am I am me I am you We are one

His feet started in her direction, his body following rather as a dog would its master, with no thought of deviating from the path chosen by her for him— iAm grabbed his arm and yanked him back. “Don’t even fucking think about it.” Trez’s first impulse was to rip himself free, even if he left his own limb behind in his brother’s grip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—” “Do not make me grab your hard-on to prove my point,” iAm hissed. Numbly, Trez looked down at the front of himself. Well. What do you know. “I’m not going to…” Fuck her came to mind, but God, he couldn’t use the f-word around that female, even in the hypothetical. “You know, do anything.” “You actually expect me to believe that.” Trez’s eyes flipped over to the doorway she’d disappeared through. Shit. Talk about having no credibility on the subject of abstinence

Are you tired of hoping that someone else could fill the place that was meant for Me? Isee you, all of you, and you do not have to hide anymore. Isee your sin and I see your flaws and I still desire you as My own. I am crazy about you. Iam the answer for your longing. The “more” that your heart waits for is Me.

Lord Petyr,” Ned called after him. “I … am grateful for your help. Perhaps I was wrong to distrust you.” Littlefinger fingered his small pointed beard. “You are slow to learn, Lord Eddard. Distrusting me was the wisest thing you’ve done since you climbed down off your horse.

I want people to know that I am a real person who exists in a real world. I am not a raped girl or victim. I had a life before that evening and I will continue to have a life. What happened with me that night will stay with me but if it has not killed me, it has made me stronger. ~ Subhangi Tyagi

I don't know what keeps me mingled— in excitement and grief. I know no name of this fire I burn in— but only that it is and I am.

People think rape victims forget how to laugh. I have not forgotten how to laugh. It is beyond the capability of this person to make me forget how to laugh. ~ Subhangi Tyagi

Everybody is living for a purpose, you might turn out to be significant or insignificant depending on the kind of message you are feeding the world with.

Hide me, I cry, protect me, for I am the youngest, the most naked of you all. Jinny rides like a gull on the wave...but I...am broken into separate pieces; I am no longer one.

God knows me more than I know myself. God loves me more than I love myself. God is more committed to my ultimate joy than I am. So I can trust him.

Iam confused. It is hard to understand brains. My grandpa had a heart attack and now his brain is making him forget what is real. He told me yesterday that he was flying a plane and it crashed. He was telling me all about it when Mom made him stop and made me go home. She is worried that it will make me scared. I told her that there are so many things in the world to be scared about and this is just one. That did not make her feel better.

Hic Priamus, quamquam in media iam morte tenetur, non tamen abstinuit, nec voci iraeque pepercit: 'At tibi pro scelere,' exclamat, 'pro talibus ausis, di, si qua est caelo pietas, quae talia curet, persolvant grates dignas et praemia reddant debita, qui nati coram me cernere letum fecisti et patrios foedasti funere voltus. At non ille, satum quo te mentiris, Achilles talis in hoste fuit Priamo; sed iura fidemque supplicis erubuit, corpusque exsangue sepulchro reddidit Hectoreum, meque in mea regna remisit.

Grace is from God for me, not from me to everyone else around me. I'am not supposed to be the source of grace; I am supposed to be the receipient of it. In this way, it is not something I do but rather something I believe and receive. If I can't appropriate the love and mercy of God for myself in a deeply personal and individual way, what use am I to anyone else? We can't minister from a place of guilt, from a feeling that if the world knew our secrets, they would stone us. We have to know that even though the whole world rightly wants to judge us, and we truly have no defense, Jesus still stands on our side and still defends us. He is rich in mercy and lavishes us with grace.

Fiquei querendo que os livros fossem igual sanfona. Que tudo que eu escrevesse ficasse sanfonando na calçada pras pessoas ouvirem, em vez de lerem, já que ninguém sai lendo muito por aí. Daí as páginas abriam e fechavam no meu braço e as palavras iam saindo e se eu escrevesse muito muito muito bem igual o Leonardo toca, as pessoas acabariam dançando.

When you left me I was lost. I didn’t know what to do, who I was or what I was going to do. Time froze for me. I woke up every morning with you in my head. That feeling of being lost, not knowing who I was, was terrible. It was so bad that I spent everyday numbing my pain with drugs and alcohol until I passed out. Not because I enjoyed it but because it was the only way I could sleep. When I look back, you had every reason to leave me. I was no good for you. We rotted at my place, didn’t do anything, treated you bad, picked everything over you. I had no motivation to do begin work, debt stacked up higher and higher. Until finally, welcome to rock bottom. Heck im surprised you stayed as long as you did. But when you left and I realized what I did to cause this, I thought to my self that when I look back at this I want to know I tried to get her back. I couldn’t let you go without a fight, I wanted to know that I tried to get you back. And I tried. After I saw you with another person my heart broke in pieces and like pieces of glass it felt stuck in my throat. You told me its what you wanted to do from the beginning and I didn’t want to believe it. But after that I gave up on you and decided to pick up whatever pieces I had left and move on. At least I tried, that’s what I told my self. If I could go back and do it all over again, would I do it differently? Of course, but that’s not reality. I focused on what was. In a way im glad things happened this way. It opened my eyes to a different world, it made me who iam today. It gave me the best motivation possible, to prove to you and my self that I could be better. I used you everyday to get to that extra mile. Waking up every morning at awkward times thinking about you and not being able to fall back asleep. I used that to motivate me to start work everyday at 6am. And now I sit here with my successful career, my new girl friend, debt free and a fat bank account in less then a year and I have no one else to thank but MY SELF! To everyone that has made a mistake, im here to tell you that it always gets worse before its gets better!

One can perceive me only with his limited vision. A droplet can't perceive the extent of the ocean. ~ Aarush Kashyap

it stands behind me like a boneless ghost and depends on me alone to lend it my flesh.

Because at the end of the day, I am what you made me. And you are, what I could never change.

I am never in control of what happens around me but I am always in control that what happens within me.

I am what they tell me i am sir. I really don't care either way.

A disciple motivated by the spiritual license drinks from the empty cup of spiritual freedom. Gospel-centered disciples drink deeply from the cup of costly grace and fight to live lives of obedience to King Jesus. Faith in the gospel actually makes us slaves to Christ, who frees us from sin and graciously binds us to his side. At his side, we discover a better God and enjoy a more gracious Master. Spiritual license deceives us by saying: Because God has forgiven me, I'am free to disobey. The truth of the gospel is Because God has forgiven me in Christ, I am bound to obey.

I heard my teacher said "great people make history". I am not concern about "great" or "people" or "history". I am concerned about "make" and it keeps me asking the next question "how?"! They are Determined and Disciplined!

When the wind stops, the trees still move, the way my heart creaks long after it bends. Iam always surprised at the aftereffect of being moved deeply by something. I can be hurt or disappointed or feel the warmth of being loved or the gentle sway of being temporarily left, and then I'm ready to chew on something else, seldom allowing for the feelings to digest completely. In fact, I've come to see that much of my confusion in life comes from giving my attention to the next thing too soon, and then wrapping new experience in the remnants of feeling that are not finished with me. For example, the other day I felt sad because an old friend is ill. I addressed my sadness directly and thought I'd been with this mood enough, so I continued on my way. The next day I found myself in the usual frustration of traffic and shopping, and the indifferent reactions of waitresses and clerks were suddenly making me sad. Or so I thought. Though it seems obvious here in the telling, it wasn't in the happening, and I spent a good deal of misguided energy wondering if it was time to change my lifestyle. But really I was feeling ripples of sadness about my friend's illness. The deeper lesson involves nature's sway: its approach, its impact, and, especially, its echo. Everything living encounters it, especially us in the unseeable ripples of what we think and feel. Being alive takes time.

What was its name? Fine. It was Goddamn Cat, then. Looking down into those wide, contented eyes, iAm thinned his lips as he rubbed under its chin. Behind an ear. “Okay, enough with this.” He played with one of the paws. “I gotta put you down now.” Assuming control, he took the cat out of its recline and went to put it down on the— Somehow the thing managed to claw its way into the very fibers of his fleece and hang off the front of him like a tie. “Are you kidding me.

Quid est enim tempus? Quis hoc facile breuiterque explicauerit? Quis hoc ad uerbum de illo proferendum uel cogitatione comprehenderit? Quid autem familiarius et notius in loquendo commemoramus quam tempus? Et intellegimus utique cum id loquimur, intellegimus etiam cum alio loquente id audimus. Quid est ergo tempus? Si nemo ex me quærat, scio; si quærenti explicare uelim, nescio. Fidenter tamen dico scire me quod, si nihil præteriret, non esset præteritum tempus, et si nihil adueniret, non esset futurum tempus, et si nihil esset, non esset præsens tempus. Duo ergo illa tempora, præteritum et futurum, quomodo sunt, quando et præteritum iam non est et futurum nondum est? Præsens autem si semper esset præsens nec in præteritum transiret, non iam esset tempus, sed æternitas. Si ergo præsens, ut tempus sit, ideo fit, quia in præteritum transit, quomodo et hoc esse dicimus, cui causa, ut sit, illa est, quia non erit, ut scilicet non uere dicamus tempus esse, nisi quia tendit non esse?

Quando as irmãs no Carnaval (sobretudo no Carnaval) iam a bailes e ela ficava em casa porque não a tinham convidado escrevia no diário a verdadeira vida estás no bailes de Carnaval a que as minhas irmãs vão e quando uma noite num baile de Carnaval a que as irmãs pediram que fosse mascarada de órfã ela ficou sentada entre um espelho e um reposteiro a ver as irmãs dançar pensou quem me dera estar no meu quarto a escrever no meu diário *perdi o hábito de escrever no meu diário* *«gostava de dançar»*

I wouldn’t have gone if he’d made me. But it was different, deciding myself. It made staying too easy. It took the...the rebelliousness out of it.' Peter nodded. 'It’s easy to take the opposite path from the one you’re directed to,' he said. 'It’s much harder to find the right path alone.

So out of the six major subcontractors who buy from us, there are two left? Man, that’s a turf war, right there.” “And whoever’s pulling this shit is probably going to try to work his way up the food chain.” Trez spoke up. “Which is why iAm and I think you should have someone with you twenty-four/seven until this shit shakes out.” Rehv seemed annoyed but he didn’t disagree. “We got any intel on who’s leaving all those bodies around?” “Well, duh,” Trez said. “People think it’s you.” “Not logical. Why would I kill off my own buyers?” Now Rehv was the one getting the hairy eyeball from the peanut gallery. “Oh, come on,” he said. “I’m not that bad. Well, okay, but only if someone fucks with me." -Rehv & Trez

Ruby,” Kai said in a strained voice that was a far cry from his usual lackadaisical tones, “I know I am far from worthy of you, but would you do me the great honor of consenting to be my wife?” If the sky had rained fire, I would have been less shocked. I turned to stone. At least, that’s what it felt like. I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t even blink for what felt like a full minute. Then Kai lifted a brow and the air rushed back into my lungs. “You’re not serious” was all I could manage. He produced a winning, though forced, smile. “I assure you, the queen—that is, I—am quite serious. I’m asking for your hand in marriage.” “To…you,” I said with heavy emphasis. “Yes, that is why I am the one asking.” Despite his blinding display of teeth, he spoke as if his jaw was too rigid to form words properly. “To me.” I said it carefully, as if testing out new words in a foreign language. “Which is why it is your hand I’m asking for.

Fritz.” The butler rushed over from the crudité arrangement he was working on. “Yes, master! I am eager to be of aid.” “Take this.” iAm peeled the cat off himself, prying both of its front claws out of his fleece. “And do whatever it is you do with it.” As he turned away, he felt like glancing back and making sure G*dd*mn was okay. But why the fuck would he do that? He had to get to Sal’s and check on his staff. Usually he hit the restaurant in the early afternoon, but shit had not been “usual,” what with that migraine: Every time his brother had one, they both got a headache. Now, though, with Trez rebounding and no doubt soon to be on the grind with that Chosen, it was time to get back on his own track. If only to keep himself from going psychotic. Jesus Christ, Trez was now going to fuck that female. And God only knew where that was going to land them all. Just as he hit the exit, he called out over his shoulder, “Fritz.” Through the din of First Meal prep, the doggen answered back, “Yes, master?” “I never find any seafood in this place. Why is that?” “The King does not favor any manner of fin.” “Would he allow it in here?” “Oh, yes, master. Just not upon his table, and certainly never upon his plate.” iAm stared at the panels of the door in front of him. “I want you to get some fresh salmon and poach it. Tonight.” “But of course. I will not have it ready afore First Meal for you—” “Not for me. I hate fish. It’s for G*dd*mn Cat. I want him served that regularly.” He pushed the door open. “And get him some fresh veggies. What kind of cat food does he eat?” “Only the best. Hill’s Science Diet.” “Find out what is in his food—and then I want everything hand-prepared. Nothing out of the bag for him from now on.” Approval bloomed in the old doggen’s voice: “I’m sure Master Boo will appreciate your special interest.” “I’m not interested in that bag of fur.” -iAm, Fritz, & Boo

Needless to say he had a newfound respect for that blind vampire. There were very few things iAm hadn’t been able to move in his adult life. He’d changed a tire while acting as his own tire iron. Had been known to walk vats of sauce big as washing machines around a kitchen. Hell, he’d even actually relocated a washer and dryer without thinking much about it. And then he’d had to lift that truck off his brother about two years ago. Another example of Trez’s love life getting out of control. But down in the training center with Wrath? There’d been no budging that fucker. The King had been bulldog-locked on—and the expression on his face? No emotion, not even a grimace of effort. And that body—viciously strong. iAm shook his head as he crossed that apple tree in full bloom. Trying to budge Wrath had been like pulling on a boulder. Nothing moved; nothing gave. That canine had gotten through, though. Thank God. Now, ordinarily, iAm didn’t like animals in the house—and he definitely wasn’t a dog person. They were too big, too dependent, the shedding—too much. But he respected that golden whatever it was now— Meeeeeeeeeeeerowwwwwwwwwwwwww. “Fuck!” Speak of the devil. As the queen’s black cat wound its way around his feet, he was forced to Michael Jackson it over the damn thing so he didn’t step on it. “Damn it, cat!” The feline followed him all the way into the kitchen, always with the in-and-out around the ankles—almost like it knew he’d been thinking benes about the dog and was establishing dominance. Except cats couldn’t read minds, of course. He stopped and glared at the thing. “What the hell do you want.” Not really a question, as he didn’t care to give the feline an opening. One black paw lifted and then . . . Next thing he knew, the g*dd*mn cat was leaping into his arms, rolling over onto its back . . . and purring like a Ferrari. “Are you fucking kidding me,” he muttered. -iAm & Boo

Carmen LXXVI Siqua recordanti benefacta priora voluptas est homini, cum se cogitat esse pium, nec sanctam violasse fidem, nec foedere in ullo divum ad fallendos numine abusum homines, multa parata manent in longa aetate, Catulle, ex hoc ingrato gaudia amore tibi. nam quaecumque homines bene cuiquam aut dicere possunt aut facere, haec a te dictaque factaque sunt; omnia quae ingratae perierunt credita menti. quare cur tu te iam amplius excrucies? quin tu animum offirmas atque istinc teque reducis et dis invitis desinis esse miser? difficilest longum subito deponere amorem. difficilest, verum hoc qualubet efficias. una salus haec est, hoc est tibi pervincendum: hoc facias, sive id non pote sive pote. o di, si vestrumst misereri, aut si quibus umquam extremam iam ipsa in morte tulistis opem, me miserum aspicite et, si vitam puriter egi, eripite hanc pestem perniciemque mihi. heu, mihi surrepens imos ut torpor in artus expulit ex omni pectore laetitias! non iam illud quaero, contra me ut diligat illa, aut, quod non potis est, esse pudica velit: ipse valere opto et taetrum hunc deponere morbum. o di, reddite mi hoc pro pietate mea.

The question of ponderance has been am I the creator or is God the creator? How about God and I Am One creator together, with no disconnect whatsoever. To say that I Am God may sound controversial to some. But I am not God that rules over others, I am God that rules over my own being. As one with God I have the gift to control how I am. However I am being is all of my own doing. I, choose to be happy, sad, angry, or at peace. Whatever state of being I Am, determines the state of conditions that I attract. So if I elevate my state of being to one of acceptance and allowance, I will be at peace with whatever that occurs. Will I be able to control the circumstances around me? Control, no, but influence, yes. All that resonate with my being, I shall attract, thus expanding the circle of those with peaceful intentions. All of those with like thoughts would come together. The entire circle of peace is a connection of oneness. When united are the intentions of peace, the force of good shall rule the land. But when I say rule, it is not the ruling that forces against one's own free will, it is the ruling that the natural soul yearns for every being, to be at peace with one another. Want to know what harmony looks like? Look at this image.

Nunca durmo: vivo e sonho, ou antes, sonho em vida e a dormir, que também é vida. Não há interrupção na minha consciência: sinto o que me cerca se não durmo ainda, ou se não durmo bem; entro logo a sonhar desde que deveras durmo. Assim, o que sou é um perpétuo desenrolamento de imagens, conexas ou desconexas, fingindo sempre de exteriores, umas postas entre os homens e a luz, se estou desperto, outras postas entre os fantasmas e a sem-luz que se vê, se estou dormindo. Verdadeiramente, não sei como distinguir uma coisa da outra, nem ouso afirmar se não durmo quando estou desperto, se não estou a despertar quando durmo. A vida é um novelo que alguém emaranhou. Há um sentido nela, se estiver desenrolada e posta ao comprido, ou enrolada bem. Mas, tal como está, é um problema sem novelo próprio, um embrulhar-se sem onde. Sinto isto, que depois escreverei, pois que vou já sonhando as frases a dizer, quando, através da noite de meio-dormir, sinto, junto com as paisagens de sonhos vagos, o ruído da chuva lá fora, a tornarmos mais vagos ainda. São adivinhas do vácuo, trémulas de abismo, e através delas se escoa, inútil, a plangência externa da chuva constante, minúcia abundante da paisagem do ouvido. Esperança? Nada. Do céu invisível desce em som a mágoa água que vento alça. Continuo dormindo. Era, sem dúvida, nas alamedas do parque que se passou a tragédia de que resultou a vida. Eram dois e belos e desejavam ser outra coisa; o amor tardava-lhes no tédio do futuro, e a saudade do que haveria de ser vinha já sendo filha do amor que não tinham tido. Assim, ao luar dos bosques próximos, pois através deles se coava a lua, passeavam, mãos dadas, sem desejos nem esperanças, através do deserto próprio das áleas abandonadas. Eram crianças inteiramente, pois que o não eram em verdade. De álea em álea, silhuetas entre árvore e árvore, percorriam em papel recortado aquele cenário de ninguém. E assim se sumiram para o lado dos tanques, cada vez mais juntos e separados, e o ruído da vaga chuva que cessa é o dos repuxos de para onde iam. Sou o amor que eles tiveram e por isso os sei ouvir na noite em que não durmo, e também sei viver infeliz

Nihilne igitur illa vicinitas redolet, nihihne hominum fama, nihil Baiae denique ipsae loquuntur ? Illae vero non loquuntur solum,verum etiam personant, huc unius mulieris libidinem esse prolapsam, ut ea non modo solitudinem ac tenebras atque haec flagitiorum integumenta non quaerat, sed in turpissimis rebus frequentissima celebritate et clarissima luce laetetur. Verum si quis est, qui etiam meretriciis amoribus interdictum iuventuti putet, est ille quidem valde severus (negare non possum), sed abhorret non modo ab huius saeculi licentia, verum etiam a maiorum consuetudine atque concessis. Quando enim hoc non factitatum est, quando reprehensum, quando non permissum, quando denique fuit, ut, quod licet, non liceret? Hic ego iam rem definiam, mulierem nullam nominabo; tantum in medio relinquam. Si quae non nupta mulier domum suam patefecerit omnium cupiditati palamque sese in meretricia vita collocarit, virorum alienissimorum conviviis uti instituerit, si hoc in urbe, si in hortis, si in Baiarum illa celebritate faciat, si denique ita sese gerat non incessu solum, sed ornatu atque comitatu, non flagrantia oculorum, non libertate sermonum, sed etiam complexu, osculatione, actis, navigatione, conviviis, ut non solum meretrix, sed etiam proterva meretrix procaxque videatur: cum hac si qui adulescens forte fuerit, utrum hic tibi, L. Herenni, adulter an amator, expugnare pudicitiam an explere libidinem voluisse videatur? Obliviscor iam iniurias tuas, Clodia, depono memoriam doloris mei; quae abs te crudeliter in meos me absente facta sunt, neglego; ne sint haec in te dicta, quae dixi. Sed ex te ipsa requiro, quoniam et crimen accusatores abs te et testem eius criminis te ipsam dicunt se habere. Si quae mulier sit eius modi, qualem ego paulo ante descripsi, tui dissimilis, vita institutoque meretricio, cum hac aliquid adulescentem hominem habuisse rationis num tibi perturpe aut perflagitiosum esse videatur? Ea si tu non es, sicut ego malo, quid est, quod obiciant Caelio? Sin eam te volunt esse, quid est, cur nos crimen hoc, si tu contemnis, pertimescamus? Quare nobis da viam rationemque defensionis. Aut enim pudor tuus defendet nihil a M. Caelio petulantius esse factum, aut impudentia et huic et ceteris magnam ad se defendendum facultatem dabit.

The wind was blustering again, whipping the curtains. Peter went over to close the window. The moon was now high on the eastern rise, radiant above the church where small water-cart clouds raced across the sky. About to fasten the window latch, his eye was drawn down to the garden. The fox stood under the apple tree looking up at him. The animal began to bark. Each monosyllabic yip and yap seemed to mimic human speech. By some strange power or spell, Peter could understand what the animal was saying. He heard the words loud and clear. ‘I-am Si-on,’ the fox barked. Man and beast looked unwaveringly at one another, neither moving a muscle. The wind stopped blowing, the curtains hung at rest. Peter leaned out the window. ‘What do you want from me?’ he called down. ‘Save-us-from-the-stea-lers,’ barked Sion. Peter’s mind reeled. It would be madness to believe he could understand what the fox was saying—lunacy to think he could commune with it! ‘I must still be asleep,’ he reasoned, closing the window. He sat down on the bed, folding his hands in his lap. But this is not a dream. Lying down, he pulled the bedcovers over himself. ‘Save-us! Save-us! Save-us!’ the fox kept barking from the garden.

não poucas vezes me aconteceu achá-lo, no fundo da chácara, no lavadouro, a palestrar com as escravas que batiam roupa; aí é que era um desfiar de anedotas, de ditos, de perguntas, e um estalar de risadas, que ninguém podia ouvir, porque o lavadouro ficava muito longe de casa. As pretas, com uma tanga no ventre, a arregaçar-lhes um palmo dos vestidos, umas dentro do tanque, outras fora, inclinadas sobre as peças de roupa, a batê-las, a ensaboá-las, a torcê-las, iam ouvindo e redargüindo às pilhérias do tio João, e a comentá-las de quando em quando com esta palavra: — Cruz, diabo!... Este sinhô João é o diabo!

Eu não conhecia as pessoas que dormiam ao meu lado. Nunca lhes perguntei nada, e não porque seguisse o provérbio árabe: não pergunte e não mentirão para você. Pouco me importava se iam mentir pra mim ou não; eu estava do lado de fora da verdade, do lado de fora da mentira. Sobre isso, os bandidos têm um ditado duro, expressivo, grosseiro, repleto de um profundo desprezo em relação àquele que pergunta: se você não acredita, finja que é um conto de fadas

— Por favor, me leva de volta. — Relaxa, é só uma visita social. O único caminho era o que o lampião mostrava, um terreno de chão batido. Sussurros iam e vinham junto com o vento cortante que atravessava a pele de Ageu. Às vezes ele achava que podia entender o que diziam, mas sempre ficava no quase. Zeca parou de repente e quase se esbarraram. — Finalmente. Ele nos achou — Zeca falou.

Então levado do remorso, usei ainda uma vez do meu velho meio das promessas espirituais e pedi que me perdoasse e salvasse a vida de minha mãe, e eu lhe rezaria dois mil padre-nossos. [...] Eram mais dois mil; aonde iam os antigos? Não paguei uns nem outros, mas saindo de almas cândidas e verdadeiras tais promessas são como a moeda fiduciária - ainda que o vendedor as não pague, valem a soma que dizem.

When I queried the universe as to whether there was an invisible sign out there that had denoted me as a flophouse for the world’s strays, she asked me if I considered her such. She has not learned the art of coyness, therefore I knew it was an honest question and so I answered it in kind. “No, you are not a stray, Pamela. You are my friend.” “Thank you,” she said back to me, with the grave look that penetrates right through to my soul. What I did not add was that it is myself who is the stray, and that someday she will be old enough to know that. For now I am grateful for her ignorance. When I queried the universe as to whether there was an invisible sign out there that had denoted me as a flophouse for the world’s strays, she asked me if I considered her such. She has not learned the art of coyness, therefore I knew it was an honest question and so I answered it in kind. “No, you are not a stray, Pamela. You are my friend.” “Thank you,” she said back to me, with the grave look that penetrates right through to my soul. What I did not add was that it is myself who is the stray, and that someday she will be old enough to know that. For now I am grateful for her ignorance.

When I queried the universe as to whether there was an invisible sign out there that had denoted me as a flophouse for the world’s strays, she asked me if I considered her such. She has not learned the art of coyness, therefore I knew it was an honest question and so I answered it in kind. “No, you are not a stray, Pamela. You are my friend.” “Thank you,” she said back to me, with the grave look that penetrates right through to my soul. What I did not add was that it is myself who is the stray, and that someday she will be old enough to know that. For now I am grateful for her ignorance.

IAM I AM clear about who I am. I have no problem losing you or anyone. Do not speak to me out of obligation. Leave my life; I will be all right. Please give me your undivided attention. Respect who I AM I expect nothing more or less. Fakeness is disrespect. I will close any door when my presence is ignored; I will not hesitate for sure. I will never fight for anyone’s attention. I AM CHOOSING ME OVER ANYONE. Bursting words, painfully shy, Craving solitude, fierce and steady, Overcoming adversity... Do you want to try me? I AM READY! If you are going through tough times, It is time to embrace the genuine, authentic YOU. Unshakable Unstoppable Unbreakable Subtly powerful and vulnerable, Continuous growth is inevitable. My uniqueness is my greatness. Dare to be more challenging. When life throws you rocks, Dare to help them heal, even though they hurt you. Dare to fight back when the world attacks. Dare to cut people off because choosing you is the most important task.

IAM What I have survived might have killed me, but I did not die; I rise and keep soaring like the eagle I am. I have made an arduous but rewarding journey for myself and for the generation that will follow.

When your heart accuses you and says, “You’re so worthless. Look at the way you’ve failed him again!” you can confidently answer, “It is true that on my own I am worthless, but he has made me completely righteous in his Son. He has declared that he loves me and his love is now the most important thing about me. I believe that he won’t stop loving me until he stops loving his own Son. I can begin to serve him again because I know he is here, with me, sustaining me and granting me his grace.

Beverly Hills MD Lift + Firm Sculpting Cream The Anti Aging Cream evaluation is silky smooth, and moves onto your skin in a fashion that is new. Once it rubs in having a few rapid activities of the fingertips, it absorbs to the skin quite fast. After about two weeks of use the cream had rapidly entrenched itself inside the wrinkles that were existing on my face. They were much less obvious to people who recognize me and were slowly being lowered in appearance. I'm in my thirties and don't possess several struggles to struggle on my encounter nonetheless, nevertheless the people which are you can find being fought hard by this cream well that I'm Iam in front of the sport when I use this wrinkle treatment.

Accept me for who iam or leave me the the way iam, for a true image of God needs no Photoshop and the core of who i real am has no settings

Accept me for who iam or leave me the way iam, for a true image of God needs no Photoshop and the core of who i really am has no settings

Paw, paw, paw. On his shirt. “Fucking hell.” He gave in and rubbed that black belly. “And no, I don’t need anything.” The purring got so loud, he had to lean in to the butler. “What did you say?” “I’m happy to oblige whatever you require.” “Yeah. I know. But I’m going to take care of my brother. No one else. Are we clear.” The cat was now rubbing its head into his pec. Then stretching up into the itching. Oh, God, this was awful—especially as the butler’s already droopy face sagged down to what were no doubt knobby knees. “Ah, shit, Fritz—” “Is he ill?” iAm closed his eyes briefly as the female voice registered. Fantastic. Another party heard from. “He’s fine,” iAm said without looking at the Chosen Selena. Leaving the kibitzers in the dust, he went into the pantry with the freeloading cat and . . . Right. How was he going to get the load of post-migraine recovery rations down from the shelves with his arms full of— What was its name? Fine. It was G*dd*mn Cat, then. Looking down into those wide, contented eyes, iAm thinned his lips as he rubbed under its chin. Behind an ear. “Okay, enough with this.” He played with one of the paws. “I gotta put you down now.” Assuming control, he took the cat out of its recline and went to put it down on the— Somehow the thing managed to claw its way into the very fibers of his fleece and hang off the front of him like a tie. “Are you kidding me.” More purring. A blink of those luminous eyes. An expression of self-possession that iAm took to mean this interaction was going to go the cat’s way—and no one else’s. “Mayhap I shall help?” Selena asked softly. iAm bit out a curse and glared at the cat. Then at the Chosen. But short of taking off his pullover? G*dd*mn Cat was sticking with him. “I need some of those Milanos up there?” The Chosen reached up and took a bag from the Pepperidge Farm munchie department. “And he’s going to need some of those tortilla chips.” “Plain or the lime flavor?” “Plain.” iAm gave up the ghost and resumed servicing G*dd*mn—and the cat immediately went into full La-Z-Boy again. “He’s going to want one of the Entenmann’s pound cakes. And we’re going to bring him three ice-cold Cokes, two big Poland Springs, room temperature, and a partridge in a pear tree.” -Boo, iAm, Fritz, & Selena

The second he caught her scent, he stopped. “Leelan! Are you sure you should be up?” Turned out the smell of the food was one hell of a distraction: the spike of hunger she got in response enough to halt her in her tracks. “Ah . . . yeah, I feel okay. I’m hungry, actually.” As well as scared to death. While the staff continued on into the billiards room, filing in past some sheets of heavy plastic, Wrath came over to the base of the stairs. “Let’s get you into the kitchen.” Heading all the way down to join him, she let him take her arm, and leaned into his strength, taking a deep, easing breath. She’d probably just imagined everything up there. Really. Probably. Crap. “You know, I slept well,” she murmured as if to reassure herself. Which didn’t work. “Yeah?” “Mm-hm.” Together, they walked past the long dining table, and went through the flap door in the far corner. On the other side, iAm was once again at the stove, stirring a great pot. The Shadow turned—and immediately frowned as he looked at her. “What?” She put her hands to her stomach. “What are you—” “Nothing,” he said, banging his wooden spoon on the steel vat. “You two like chicken soup?” “Oh, yes, that sounds perfect.” Beth hopped up onto a stool. “And some bread maybe—” Fritz materialized at her elbow with a baguette and a plate with butter. “For you, madam.” She had to laugh. “How did you know?” As Wrath sat on the stool next to her, George parked it between them. “I had him on standby.” A steaming bowl of soup was slid in front of her by the Shadow. “Enjoy.” “Him, too?” she asked of iAm. “Yeah, the Shadow mighta been on it as well.” Picking up the spoon Fritz offered her, she dug in, aware the three males were staring at her—Wrath with such intensity, it was almost as if he’d gotten his sight back— “Mmmmm,” she said—and meant it. The soup was perfect, simple, not too heavy, and warm, warm, warm. Maybe it was just that she’d been through the needing and not eaten for how long? “So what’s going on in the billiards room,” she asked, to try to distract the males. “They’re cleaning up after me.” She winced. “Ah.” Wrath patted around for the baguette and broke off the hard end, putting it aside. The piece he then tore for her was soft in the middle, crunchy on the outside—and the butter he put on it was the unsalted, sweet kind. The combo was great with the soup. “Would you like something to drink?” Fritz asked. “Wine?” iAm said—before catching himself. “No, not wine. Milk. You need the calcium.” “Good idea, Shadow,” Wrath chimed in as he nodded at Fritz. “Make it whole—” “No, no, that will make me gag.” Annnnd didn’t that stop all of them in their tracks. “Which was true before all the, well, you know. But the skim does sound good.” And so it went, the three of them waiting on her: More soup? iAm hit her bowl again right away. More bread with butter? Husband was on it. More milk? The butler raced for the fridge.

Raise me up and cut me down, broken is the Son of Man. Pierce Me, stripe Me, Hide me behind a stone, I am the Ophikomen (that which is hidden and comes later). The rock is rolled, the curtain torn, I am brought to light. We the Three in One. Iam the Father, I am the Son, We send the Spirit, We the Three in One. We are the Son of Man.

When we were out of the room Michael stood watch as Gabriel filled me in. “The king of Babylon is at the gate.” “This I know,” I said shortly. “By morning, Nebuchadnezzar will break through the gates and deliver the Children of Israel to Babylon, fear not for you and mother will be well cared for Iam has prepared the way. Iam does not wish for the Mercy Seat to fall into the hands of a pagan king and sit before a pagan altar.” Gabriel finished, I merely thought of the temple and we were there in the “Holy of Holies” the smell of incense thick in the air, the Glory of Iam lit the room.

So you are the gods of sky and earth, the parents of the god Gilgamesh?” Nebuchadnezzar asked relishing the thought of being exalted higher than gods in his hall. “Anshar and Kishur are our names we are kin to Gilgamesh, we are neither his parents nor are we gods.” I answered without guile. The king liked this answer. “You do realize you take your life into your own hands by telling me this?” The king smiled slyly. “We do, there is only one God and that is Iam ha Fae.” Nebuchadnezzar pulled on his long braided beard and frowned. “Never the less, you will be welcomed here, in public you will be called Anshar and Kishur, but in your daily coming and going I would have you go by lesser names.

Come, we must find Abraham’s nephew, for the day grows short.” We left the great hall with due haste with bile gorging in our throats while once more traversing through those filthy streets as the people crowded in to see us, reached out, taunting, and jeering with all out scandalous solicitations. Finding Lot’s residence came none too soon for any of our liking. It had more to do with Iam’s leading than anything of our doing. Lot had come out of his dwelling when he heard the commotion, recognizing me straight off, he ran to usher us into his home.

darkness surrounded us as we fled to the hill, Gabriel turned back to instruct Lot and his family not to look to the left or to the right but straight on to the hills and never look back. Michael and Gabriel stopped to overlook the valley. Gabriel took his trumpet and blew the shofar with a dazzling single note. Lightning struck and thunder boomed, Iam walked through the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah; as fire, sulfur, and salt rained down from Ouranos. As He came toward us Michael and Gabriel bowed low, turned and took the lead, single file we walked with the tumultuous noise around us. Michael with his sword at the ready was in front, Gabriel, Lot, his two daughters, Judith, Iam, and with me following in the rear.

When we told Lot what had happened to his wife he tore his cloak and wept bitterly. He chose to stay with his daughters in that cave so he would never be far from her. Iam and the lads had returned to eternity leaving me to make the journey home in solitude. Reaching the little hill of Salem was a comfort; home never looked so grand and the embrace of my wife so warm.

It was not for you to save Me, but for Me to save all who come to Me. What has come to pass was to glorify the Father, for this was written long before the foundation of Gar was laid. Thank you Dowd for your strength, you have helped me to accomplish all that I have needed to accomplish. Now I will send One to go before all of the Kosmos to bring forth the Kingdom of Heaven. Pnuemagios!” Yeshua called out. There was a brief silence and then a strong gust of wind whipped by and there standing before us was a man of yellow gold who looked like Yeshua and that of Iam. “Go,” Yeshua commanded. Pnuemagios smiled and with a bold voice started singing.

looked into his eyes and they were troubled as if he was asking the most important question he would ever ask. “Would you explain it to me?” “It would be my honor,” I paused briefly then continued. “It is called the Yeshua Cup; it speaks of the break between the Great Unseen and His creation. Iam could not leave us in darkness so one day He shall send us His redeemer, He shall be raised up and broken, even to the point of death, but death will not have dominion over him. He shall be raised up and balance will be restored.

There’s an enormous propaganda machine in this world,' Peter said, 'that tries to make people think love — real, earthy, sweaty love — is wrong. But how in the hell they expect to propagate the race that way is beyond me.

Life has always seemed to me like a restaurant,' said Peter. 'When you’re born, you come in and sit down...' 'Oh, my God,' said Brenda. '...and they show you the menu,' went on Peter, frowning at Brenda. 'And it’s a swell menu. It’s got everything on it. And they tell you that you can have anything you want, the rarest and tastiest and most wonderful dishes imaginable.' 'Who’s they?' asked Brenda. 'They is a sort of waiter-cum-proprietor,' said Peter, 'and he represents organized society in the parable.' 'It’s a parable, is it?' 'Yes. So you study the menu and you pick out the dishes that appeal to you most. Some people pick more exotic viands than others, but everybody picks out something he thinks is swell and the waiter-cum-proprietor pats him on the back and says it’s an excellent choice. And you sit back and wait to be served. That represents the period of adolescence. ... Damn it, where was I?' 'You were adolescent.' 'So you sit and wait to be served your fondly chosen dish,' resumed Peter, 'and pretty soon the waiter comes in and what does he bring you? He brings you hash! "Hey," you say, "this isn’t what I ordered." "Oh isn’t it?" says the waiter who is no longer friendly. "Well, it’s what you’re gonna get." Now this is the important part. Some people meekly eat their hash. Some drown it with catsup and try to enjoy it.' 'I get it,' said Brenda. 'Those are the drunks.' 'But there are a few who say, "Goddamn it, I didn’t order hash and I don’t want hash and I won’t eat hash." They get out of their chairs and the waiter tries to push them back, but they say, "Get out of my way, who the hell are you?" And they fight their way into the kitchen while the waiter hollers and protests and there they find mountains and mountains of hash. But they keep looking around and pretty soon in odd corners of the kitchen they find the dishes they ordered, the rare and costly viands they had their hearts set on. And they eat ’em and they enjoy ’em and then they go out of the restaurant the same as the hash eaters do, but boy, they’ve dined!' He threw down his cigarette and stamped on it. 'That’s all,' he said. 'Thank you for your attention.' 'Who pays the bill?' asked George with interest. 'I don’t know,' said Peter irritably. 'That would complicate the parable to the point of chaos.' 'Who did you say the waiter was?' asked George. 'Organized society?' 'That’s right. A pale flabby guy with a walrus mustache.' 'I don’t quite see it,' said George. 'I do,' said Harriet, sitting up on the day bed. 'I see it. It’s beautiful.' 'It isn’t so bad at that,' said Brenda. 'You’re damn right it’s not.

So what would she be like?” “Man, you don’t quit, do you?” Now it was her turn to laugh. “Listen, I’m sitting here, freezing cold in this paper doily, about to be told that I have the flu and shouldn’t have bothered coming in. Do me a solid and get my mind off my reality, will you?” iAm sat back in his chair. “Well, like I said, I haven’t really given it a lot of thought.” “Can I set you up with someone—” “No,” he barked. “Nooooooooo. No, no, no, back right off the edge of that ledge, girlie.” She put out her hands. “Okay, okay. Just, I don’t know, you seem like a good guy.

Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dishonor; let no man attaint my memory by believing that I could have engaged in any cause but that of my country’s liberty and independence...

[…] Depois de algum tempo, de ter perguntado pelo Tô Manel a várias pessoas, lembrei-me de ir tentar a sorte no ponto de encontro. Meti-me na bicha e fui escutando os apelos que as pessoas iam fazendo em busca dos seus familiares: “me chamo Fololinda Gouveia, estou a precurar meu filho que desapareceu em oitenta e nove, nome dele mais conhecido é Joãozinho Gouveia, peço só nas pessoas que estão a me ouvir favor só de lhe falarem que mãe dele está lhe precurar, moro no Cazenga”; “Meu nome é André Sapanjo, estou a precurar minha mulher que fugiu com outro homem em noventa e dois, uma grande cabra!, perdão!, não era isso que queria dizer, faz só favor de cortar nesta parte, cabra era no antigamente, agora que estou com a palavra do Senhor no coração não lhe posso chamar nem de cabra nem de puta, ai! ai! ai!, corta, corta, corta só também nesta palavra de puta que é muito feia, já cortou?, hã, ok…, nome dela da minha santinha é Madalena, quero que ela volta, volta só mana Lena, minha fofinha, agora estou bem na vida, mijo forte, tenho carros nas lundas, aqui em Luanda tenho várias lojas e carros, vou te dar cama e mesa, vais ver só no amor que vou te dar, moro na Mabor!”; “Meu nome que me pusseram com ele no baptismo é Mana Maria Teresinha do Menino Jesus, diga?, juro mesmo é esse nome que me pusseram com ele!, me chamam também mana Teté, estou só a precurar no pai das crianças que ele me deixou quando quando foi na tropa em oitenta e nove, o nome dele?, o nome dele mesmo é Zeca, Zeca quê?, Zeca só!, o outro nome dele nunca lhe perguntei, mas está aqui foto dele, peço só para me falarem onde é que ele está, vivo ou morto!, Zeca vem só na casa, as crianças estão te chorar todos dias!, moro no Golfe perto da paragem dos autocarros.” Uma velha, de panos, falando umbundo, olhava atentamente para cãmera da TPA que fazia o registo dos apelos e gesticula como se estivesse a ver a imagem da pessoa que procurava reflectida no olhp da câmera: “ Onde é que andas meu Neto?, desde que foste na tropa não voltaste mais porquê?, te mataram nos bandidos ou quê?, fala só meu neto, fala, não faz mais sofrer na tua mãe e na tua avó, ouviste? Vem só na casa, estamos a morar na mesma casa aqui em Luanda, ele me ouviu né?, só logo a noite no Nação Coragem?, não faz mal, mas tenho certeza que está hora ele já me viu falar”. Quando chegou a minha vez exibi foto dele que dona Marília me tinha enviado com a carta, era uma foto muito antiga tirada nos anos sessenta que, talvez por isso, era capaz de não ajudar nada, o Tô hoje deve ter mais ou menos a minha idade, mas pronto, deixei a foto e a filiação dele, e acrescentei que ele devia de estar na província da Huíla, e a única forma de eu puder ser contactodo caso alguém soubesse do Tô era só memso na portária da Rádio. Pessoas que estvam por perto ainda se admiraram por um preto vir procurar paradeiro de um branco, por isso me olharam só dessas – as dúvidas. Sei que a foto dele passou várias vezes no Nação Coragem e depois, cerca de quarenta dias após minha ida no Ponto de Encontro, a Rádio pela mesma via mandou-me chamar: o Tô manel tinha morrido naufragado ao largo sudoeste da africano.[…] — Noites de Vigília, de Boaventura Cardoso

Oliver Quiteculo > My Quotes (showing 1-2 of 2) sort by Remove this quote from your collection “[…] Depois de algum tempo, de ter perguntado pelo Tô Manel a várias pessoas, lembrei-me de ir tentar a sorte no ponto de encontro. Meti-me na bicha e fui escutando os apelos que as pessoas iam fazendo em busca dos seus familiares: “me chamo Fololinda Gouveia, estou a precurar meu filho que desapareceu em oitenta e nove, nome dele mais conhecido é Joãozinho Gouveia, peço só nas pessoas que estão a me ouvir favor só de lhe falarem que mãe dele está lhe precurar, moro no Cazenga”; “Meu nome é André Sapanjo, estou a precurar minha mulher que fugiu com outro homem em noventa e dois, uma grande cabra!, perdão!, não era isso que queria dizer, faz só favor de cortar nesta parte, cabra era no antigamente, agora que estou com a palavra do Senhor no coração não lhe posso chamar nem de cabra nem de puta, ai! ai! ai!, corta, corta, corta só também nesta palavra de puta que é muito feia, já cortou?, hã, ok…, nome dela da minha santinha é Madalena, quero que ela volta, volta só mana Lena, minha fofinha, agora estou bem na vida, mijo forte, tenho carros nas lundas, aqui em Luanda tenho várias lojas e carros, vou te dar cama e mesa, vais ver só no amor que vou te dar, moro na Mabor!”; “Meu nome que me pusseram com ele no baptismo é Mana Maria Teresinha do Menino Jesus, diga?, juro mesmo é esse nome que me pusseram com ele!, me chamam também mana Teté, estou só a precurar no pai das crianças que ele me deixou quando quando foi na tropa em oitenta e nove, o nome dele?, o nome dele mesmo é Zeca, Zeca quê?, Zeca só!, o outro nome dele nunca lhe perguntei, mas está aqui foto dele, peço só para me falarem onde é que ele está, vivo ou morto!, Zeca vem só na casa, as crianças estão te chorar todos dias!, moro no Golfe perto da paragem dos autocarros.” Uma velha, de panos, falando umbundo, olhava atentamente para cãmera da TPA que fazia o registo dos apelos e gesticula como se estivesse a ver a imagem da pessoa que procurava reflectida no olhp da câmera: “ Onde é que andas meu Neto?, desde que foste na tropa não voltaste mais porquê?, te mataram nos bandidos ou quê?, fala só meu neto, fala, não faz mais sofrer na tua mãe e na tua avó, ouviste? Vem só na casa, estamos a morar na mesma casa aqui em Luanda, ele me ouviu né?, só logo a noite no Nação Coragem?, não faz mal, mas tenho certeza que está hora ele já me viu falar”. Quando chegou a minha vez exibi foto dele que dona Marília me tinha enviado com a carta, era uma foto muito antiga tirada nos anos sessenta que, talvez por isso, era capaz de não ajudar nada, o Tô hoje deve ter mais ou menos a minha idade, mas pronto, deixei a foto e a filiação dele, e acrescentei que ele devia de estar na província da Huíla, e a única forma de eu puder ser contactodo caso alguém soubesse do Tô era só memso na portária da Rádio. Pessoas que estvam por perto ainda se admiraram por um preto vir procurar paradeiro de um branco, por isso me olharam só dessas – as dúvidas. Sei que a foto dele passou várias vezes no Nação Coragem e depois, cerca de quarenta dias após minha ida no Ponto de Encontro, a Rádio pela mesma via mandou-me chamar: o Tô manel tinha morrido naufragado ao largo sudoeste da africano.[…]

Montei, fui trotando travado. Diadorim e o Caçanje iam já mais longe, regulado umas duzentas braças. Arte que perceberam que eu vinha, se viraram nas selas. Diadorim levantou o braço, bateu mão. Eu ia estugar, esporeei, queria um meio-galope, para logo alcançar os dois. Mas, aí, meu cavalo f’losofou: refugou baixo e refugou alto, se puxando para a beira da mão esquerda da estrada, por pouco não deu comigo no chão. E o que era, que estava assombrando o animal, era uma folha seca esvoaçada, que sobre se viu quase nos olhos e nas orêlhas dele. Do vento. Do vento que vinha, rodopiado. Redemoinho: o senhor sabe — a briga de ventos. O quando um esbarra com outro, e se enrolam, o dôido espetáculo. A poeira subia, a dar que dava escuro, no alto, o ponto às voltas, folharada, e ramarêdo quebrado, no estalar de pios assovios, se torcendo turvo, esgarabulhando. Senti meu cavalo como meu corpo. Aquilo passou, embora, o ró-ró. A gente dava graças a Deus. Mas Diadorim e o Caçanje se estavam lá adiante, por me esperar chegar. — “Redemunho!” — o Caçanje falou, esconjurando. — “Vento que enviesa, que vinga da banda do mar...” — Diadorim disse. Mas o Caçanje não entendia que fosse: redemunho era d’Ele — do diabo. O demônio se vertia ali, dentro viajava. Estive dando risada. O demo! Digo ao senhor. Na hora, não ri? Pensei. O que pensei: o diabo, na rua, no meio do redemunho... Acho o mais terrível da minha vida, ditado nessas palavras, que o senhor nunca deve de renovar. Mas, me escute. A gente vamos chegar lá. E até o Caçanje e Diadorim se riram também. Aí, tocamos.

I don't think I could be so generous. You see I've loved Her since e moment I layed eyes on her.I've been torchered to the point of death in her name. I would journey across the world to see her smile,to make her happy.when she becomes yours,dragon ,and blinds the threads of her scarf around your heart I will probably wither and die for iam as wrapped up in her as a vine at clings to a tree seeking sustenance. She's tied me to her for eternity,she's my home .she's my reason for being.to win and hold her heart is my ONLY purpose

Hide me, I cry, protect me, for I am the youngest, the most naked of you all. Jinny rides like a gull on the wave...but I...am broken into separate pieces; I am no longer one.

In seeing the thinkers in this tradition as embodying a certain fundamental viewpoint, I am far from denying that there is disagreement between them. Indeed, I try to show how Fichte’s concept of absolute freedom differs subtly from Kant’s, as well as how Fichte develops the theme of intersubjectivity in a new and creative direction. I also try to show how Kant and Herder differ concerning the correct way of understanding human nature, cultural difference and history; and also how Hegel’s theory of imputation differs from Kant’s, and deepens it. And, of course, I emphasize the radical difference between Marx’s treatment of themes having to do with right and the way these themes were treated by the thinkers earlier in the tradition. At the same time, in treating the German philosophers of this period whose thought interests me, I always tend to emphasize continuities and agreements rather than squabbles and the differences. I think it is both shortsighted and wrongheaded to treat these thinkers as though the fundamental issue is whether we should choose Hegel over Kant, or defend Kant against Hegel, or even champion Marx over against the entire later German idealist tradition, trying to show that he has rendered the entire classical German philosophical tradition obsolete (a dogmatic sectarian attitude that is not as fashionable now as it once was). Instead, I think that despite the controversies within this tradition, there is something unified and important in it, when it comes to themes of freedom, right, ethics, humanity, community, and history, which sets the classical German tradition apart from other strands in modern philosophy.

as alexander hamilton who shared my name with one phillp skylar my mother, and my father eliza who i told to steal my identy in the war, iam nothign more then proud of the work on my deathbed writing again. i always surive true imoratlity and amenia disorder wtih life like reborn disorders cant be cured. but as alexian smith the former princess diana and smauel sabery you just seem unread. unscripted. and missed the point of the burnings of heart and bon fires in reetribution to racism in state and notion. You miss the point of what occured or whatever relaxed to it. I dont hate having multiple personaltiis. or living forever in stupid wayward ideas. that donald bloke has a diosrder called idiocy where hes accidently racist and you liked him for that. no i still dont hate you as avery pines. and no matter what occured when i was tortured in stupid situations, worst then a single one and counting somehow creepily for all of them, because my dad was and i was not. you must understand the history of why it was a town you now never knew of the name of. and why it was occurance and why it was the stories of it. And why nobody knew the musical hamilton was about my father alexander of americas presdient and me the secretary of state. my real name is adam snowflake. and if you loved a dam thing i ever wrteo from death note to creepy stalkings or the kingdom diaries or lspds, and what i built at disney naimating snow white and aruara and filming hawkuseris abotu my lack of faith as scince lik ebuilding jeeus you would know i never often resented it after highschool. and its better to remember a dead name as dead. i am not the evil events that defined me. but i am all the pain of them. and that is my wolrd. And you are ar acit for demanding i be things liek civil war or holocuast. and you are a racist slutty loser like i and bad king actors were steryped to be. and no matter what ever occured or how casuality is evil when in office. i want you to know no matter what i study or why i dress. its th history of me being an emo teenage fagot, and my mother was abusive as reya. and just interputed me to scream her ass off as reya fine an adbucter when orphaned. its easy to blame a color when the person is faceless. did you know im half that story. and did you know in the way i looked like the one you liked? When you have a boogie man, its so easy to hate the things you try to stop. Fuck you ukraine im jewish. and i know what you took. and while i didnt go. Oh god can i never go by frank again as someone in a clsoet room who surived that. and i want you to know as adam i will never be what you did to me. but oh god did you amke it look liket he people from russia fuck you royal.

So Who Is Christen Kuikoua Who is Christen Kuikoua? Is It Just a Random Person is it Just a Dream, Or is a Person With a Soul Days By Days Night By Night You Work Through the valley of the Death Trying to Figure Who is Me, How did I Come To Be You ask Yourself, Am I Mistake Or just someone's Mistake Before You Remember That You are Not A Mistake Then You Ask Yourself Again Who is Christen Kuikoua? Then You Answer With Faith I am a Child of The Living God The God That Sent His Beloved Son To Die For me The God That Said In Jeremiah 29:11 'For I know the plans I have for you,' Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future. and Then You Asked Yourself Again Who is Christen Kuikoua? And In silence God Answer You Are My Child That I Will Use To Do Great Things You Are Not ordinary You Are Special You Are Loved, You are Cared For And Later With a Smile You Answer I am Christen Kuikoua The little Teen That God Love So Much That he Made His Own Son Die For Me And The Multitude You Answer I am Christen Kuikoua Not a Mistake For Before I Was he Knew The Plans He Had For Me.

— Ródia, meu irmão, que dizes? Mas tu derramaste sangue! respondeu ela, consternada. — E então? Toda gente o derrama, retorquiu ele com veemência, em todos os tempos correram ondas de sangue sobre a terra: os que o derramaram como champagne sobem depois ao Capitólio e são proclamados benfeitores da humanidade. Examina as coisas mais de perto antes de as julgares. Também eu queria fazer bem aos homens, centenas e milhares de boas ações teriam compensado amplamente essa única tolice, e, quando digo tolice, devia dizer falta de habilidade, porque a ideia não era tão má como agora pode parecer: depois do insucesso, os projetos mais bem combinados parecem idiotices. Eu queria, apenas conseguir uma situação independente, garantir os meus primeiros passos na vida, ter recursos; depois levantaria vôo… Mas fui mal sucedido, e é por isso que sou miserável! Se tivesse sido bem-sucedido, ter - me - iam coroado, ao passo que desse modo me lançar - me - ão às feras. — Mas não se trata disso! Que dizes, meu irmão? — É verdade que não procedi com as regras da estética! Decididamente não entendo por que mais glorioso bombardear uma cidade que matar alguém a machado! A preocupação estética é o primeiro sinal de fraqueza! Nunca o senti melhor do que hoje e cada vez compreendo menos qual é o meu crime! Nunca me senti mais forte, mais convencido do que agora!

IAM A SPY, a sleeper, a spook, a man of two faces. Perhaps not surprisingly, I am also a man of two minds. I am not some misunderstood mutant from a comic book or a horror movie, although some have treated me as such. I am simply able to see any issue from both sides.

- O sangue que toda a gente derrama - volveu ele quase fora de si -, o sangue que corre e sempre correu neste mundo como uma cascata, o sangue que se entorna como champanhe, pelo qual nos coroam no Capitólio e nos proclamam depois benfeitor da humanidade (...) Eu, porém, não dei até ao fim o primeiro passo, por simples cobardia. (...) se houvesse triunfado, coroar-me-iam de louros, ao passo que presentemente me encontro apanhado no laço!

I wish that my mirror wouldn't show me the way i look, but the way I'am. Because my inner beauty is more important than physical beauty.

Eu ia imaginando o interrogatório todo, repetidamente, as perguntas deles, minhas respostas. Mas e se eles não acreditassem? Não, eles iam acreditar, porque eles [árabes] entendem a fórmula do terrorismo melhor do que os americanos, e têm mais experiência. A barreira cultural entre o mundo cristão e o muçulmano ainda afeta consideravelmente a abordagem americana da questão. Os americanos são propensos a ampliar o círculo de envolvimento para capturar o maior número possível de muçulmanos. Falam sempre da Grande Conspiração contra os Estados Unidos. Eu mesmo fui interrogado a respeito de gente que apenas pratica os princípios da religião e simpatiza com movimentos islâmicos; pediram-me cada detalhe sobre os movimentos islâmicos, ainda que moderados. Isso é surpreendente num país como os Estados Unidos, onde organizações terroristas cristãs como os nazistas e os suprematistas brancos têm liberdade para se expressar e recrutam pessoas abertamente sem que ninguém os incomode. Mas como muçulmano, se você simpatizar com as opiniões políticas de alguma organização islâmica, vai ter sérios problemas. Até mesmo frequentar a mesma mesquita de um suspeito é grave problema. Quero dizer que esse fato é claro para qualquer pessoa que entenda o ABC da política americana para o chamado Terrorismo Islâmico.

Iam the only one who can come to my rescue. I am the only one who can help me now. But I don’t know how to help myself.

Os livros empilhados iam quase até o teto, e por um momento cheguei a pensar que o assoalho poderia ceder; mas o prédio me parecia bastante sólido, e deixei essa preocupação de lado.