Igor Quotes

I haven't understood a bar of music in my life, but I have felt it.

IT WASN’T A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT. It should have been, but that’s the weather for you. For every mad scientist who’s had a convenient thunderstorm just on the night his Great Work is finished and lying on the slab, there have been dozens who’ve sat around aimlessly under the peaceful stars while Igor clocks up the overtime.

The only really sane person in there is Igor, and possibly the turnip. And I'm not sure about the turnip.

Otela mi je, Igore brate, moju sebičnost, moje remekdelo!

Can you just saw his arm off while we're here and get me loose? (Amanda) I could do that, but he needs his more. I'd cut yours off before I did his. (Tate) Oh, great, what are you, his Igor? (Amanda) Wrong movie, Igor was Frankenstein's flunky. Renfield is the one you're thinking of, and no, I'm not Renfield. Name's Tate Bennett. Parish coroner. (Tate)

To listen is an effort, and just to hear is no merit. A duck hears also.

A double bed can seem awfully small if your'e sharing it with someone you don't love. (Misia)

Biers was where the undead drank. And when Igor the barman was asked for a Bloody Mary, he didn't mix a metaphor.

In order to create there must be a dynamic force, and what force is more potent than love?

Silence will save me from being wrong (and foolish), but it will also deprive me of the possibility of being right.

One lives by memory . . . and not by truth.

Music is the sole domain in which man realizes the present.

The Igor position on prayer is that it is nothing more than hope with a beat to it.

I'm an Igor, thur. We don't athk quethtionth." "Really? Why not?" "I don't know, thur. I didn't athk.

Could be worse ... could be raining." - Igor

Too many pieces of music finish too long after the end.

Suffering through his classes, the young Igor steeped himself in angst. He would later describe his childhood as 'a period of waiting for the moment when I could send everyone and everything connected with it to hell.

You're not exactly the father I'd choose for my children. (Coco Chanel)

Film music should have the same relationship to the film drama that somebody's piano playing in my living room has to the book I am reading.

my childhood was a peroid of waiting to the moment when i could send everyone in it to hell.

To continue in one path is to go backward.

Igor?' said Moist. 'You have an Igor?' Oh, yes,' said Hubert. 'That's how I get this wonderful light. They know the secret of storing lightning in jars! But don't let that worry you, Mr Lipspick. Just because I'm employing an Igor and working in a cellar doesn't mean I'm some sort of madman, ha ha ha!' Ha ha,' agreed Moist. Ha hah hah!,' said Hubert. 'Hahahahahaha!! Ahahahahahahhhhh!!!!!-' Bent slapped him on the back. Hubert coughed. Sorry about that, it's the air down here,' he mumbled.

Igor speaks only Russian. How can he teach her anything?” “I have no idea. He tells her what to do, and when she does it wrong, he yells.” My head snaps to the side to look at Varya. “He yelled at my wife?” “She yelled at him more.

Music praises God. Music is well or better able to praise him than the building of the church and all its decoration; it is the Church's greatest ornament.

He was a six and a half foot scowl. (on Rachmaninov)

A good composer does not imitate; he steals.

Have you ever been to Florence?” asked Dr. Igor. “No.” “You should go there; it’s not far, for that is where you will find my second example. In the cathedral in Florence, there’s a beautiful clock designed by Paolo Uccello in 1443. Now, the curious thing about this clock is that, although it keeps time like all other clocks, its hands go in the opposite direction to that of normal clocks.” “What’s that got to do with my illness?” “I’m just coming to that. When he made this clock, Paolo Uccello was not trying to be original: The fact is that, at the time, there were clocks like his as well as others with hands that went in the direction we’re familiar with now. For some unknown reason, perhaps because the duke had a clock with hands that went in the direction we now think of as the “right” direction, that became the only direction, and Uccello’s clock then seemed an aberration, a madness.” Dr. Igor paused, but he knew that Mari was following his reasoning. “So, let’s turn to your illness: Each human being is unique, each with their own qualities, instincts, forms of pleasure, and desire for adventure. However, society always imposes on us a collective way of behaving, and people never stop to wonder why they should behave like that. They just accept it, the way typists accepted the fact that the QWERTY keyboard was the best possible one. Have you ever met anyone in your entire life who asked why the hands of a clock should go in one particular direction and not in the other?” “No.” “If someone were to ask, the response they’d get would probably be: ‘You’re crazy.’ If they persisted, people would try to come up with a reason, but they’d soon change the subject, because there isn’t a reason apart from the one I’ve just given you. So to go back to your question. What was it again?” “Am I cured?” “No. You’re someone who is different, but who wants to be the same as everyone else. And that, in my view, is a serious illness.” “Is wanting to be different a serious illness?” “It is if you force yourself to be the same as everyone else. It causes neuroses, psychoses, and paranoia. It’s a distortion of nature, it goes against God’s laws, for in all the world’s woods and forests, he did not create a single leaf the same as another. But you think it’s insane to be different, and that’s why you chose to live in Villete, because everyone is different here, and so you appear to be the same as everyone else. Do you understand?” Mari nodded. “People go against nature because they lack the courage to be different, and then the organism starts to produce Vitriol, or bitterness, as this poison is more commonly known.

Just because I'm employing an Igor and working in a cellar doesn't mean I'm some sort of madman, ha ha ha!

The trick is to compose what one wants to compose and to get it commissioned afterward.

There is no beauty in Music itself, the beauty is within the listener

Georgian folk music has more new musical ideas than all the contemporary music. [Los Angeles Times. 26.02.1990]

Why is Mediocrity now good enough? When did crap become the new black?

I have tutored Little Igor to be a man of this world. For example, I exhibited him a smutty magazine three days yore, so that he should be appraised of the many positions in which I am carnal. 'This is sixty-nine,' I told him, presenting the magazine in front of him. I put my fingers--two of them--on the action, so that he would not overlook it. 'Why is it dubbed sixty-nine?' he asked, because he is a person hot on fire with curiosity. 'It was invented in 1969. My friend Gregory knows a friend of the nephew of the inventor.' 'What did people do before 1969?' 'Merely blowjobs and masticating box, but never in chorus.

My friends are appeased to stay in Odessa for their entire lives. They are appeased to age like their parents, and become parents like their parents. They do not desire anything more than everything they have known. OK, but this is not for me, and it will not be for Little Igor.

A lot of habitually creative people have preparation rituals linked to the setting in which they choose to start their day. By putting themselves into that environment, they start their creative day. The composer Igor Stravinsky did the same thing every morning when he entered his studio to work: He sat at the piano and played a Bach fugue. Perhaps he needed the ritual to feel like a musician, or the playing somehow connected him to musical notes, his vocabulary. Perhaps he was honoring his hero, Bach, and seeking his blessing for the day. Perhaps it was nothing more than a simple method to get his fingers moving, his motor running, his mind thinking music. But repeating the routine each day in the studio induced some click that got him started. In the end, there is no ideal condition for creativity. What works for one person is useless for another. The only criterion is this: Make it easy on yourself. Find a working environment where the prospect of wrestling with your muse doesn't scare you, doesn't shut you down. It should make you want to be there, and once you find it, stick with it. To get the creative habit, you need a working environment that's habit-forming. All preferred working states, no matter how eccentric, have one thing in common: When you enter into them, they compel you to get started.

Cărțile citite sunt deopotrivă ca să te înalți pe degete să vezi mai departe și să te apleci în genunchi ca să privești mai adânc în sufletul tău.

I live neither in the past nor in the future. I am in the present. I cannot know what tomorrow will bring forth. I can know only what the truth is for me today. That is what I am called upon to serve, and I serve it in all lucidity.

Recordings of Georgian folk polyphonic songs makes a great musical impression. They are recorded in a tradition of active reproduction of Georgian folk music the origin of which begins from ancient time. It is a wonderful finding and can give to the performance much more than all the modem music can... Yodel or "Krimanchuli" as it is called in Georgia is the best song which I have ever heard. ["America" magazine, No 23 1967]

89 La 89 de ani, cu tortul în față, Într-un costum din trei piese, Ai răspunsul la întrebarea: ce-i viața? Un espresso.

„Dragostea este atunci când accepți necondiționat ca cel de alături de sub plapumă să pună tălpile lui mereu reci pe picioarele tale întotdeauna calde”.

„Cum să răspund deplin, la toate alteritățile mele, cu singurul nume pe care îl port în inimă?” (Impostorul. Curriculum Vitae Abisal)

„Iubirea moare întotdeauna de partea imperfecțiunii” (poema eventivă)

Aeronautics was neither an industry nor a science. It was a miracle.

A double bed can seem awfully small if your'e sharing it with someone you don't love." -Misia ― Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky

إيغور، مساء الخير! تستطيع أن تضحك من "اكتشافي" ولكني مع ذلك، أريد محادثتك عنه. لقد اتضح لي أن كل الناس يكذبون. إيغور، أنا لا أقول: تقريباً كل الناس، بل كل الناس! حتى أنا نفسي، لم أتوقع من نفسي ذلك - كم هذا محزن، كم هو مثير للجنون!

I suddenly remembered that Murray Gell-Mann and I were supposed to give talks at that conference on the present situation of high-energy physics. My talk was set for the plenary session, so I asked the guide, "Sir, where would the talks for the plenary session of the conference be?" "Back in that room that we just came through." "Oh!" I said in delight. "Then I'm gonna give a speech in that room!" The guide looked down at my dirty pants and my sloppy shirt. I realized how dumb that remark must have sounded to him, but it was genuine surprise and delight on my part. We went along a little bit farther, and the guide said, "This is a lounge for the various delegates, where they often hold informal discussions." They were some small, square windows in the doors to the lounge that you could look through, so people looked in. There were a few men sitting there talking. I looked through the windows and saw Igor Tamm, a physicist from Russia that I know. "Oh!" I said. "I know that guy!" and I started through the door. The guide screamed, "No, no! Don't go in there!" By this time he was sure he had a maniac on his hands, but he couldn't chase me because he wasn't allowed to go through the door himself!

Do you know anything about frogs?" "Frogs?" "Yes, various biological studies have shown that if a frog is placed in a container along with water from its own pond, it will remain there, utterly still, while the water is slowly heated up. The frog doesn't react to the gradual increase in temperature, to the changes in its environment, and when the water reaches the boiling point, the frog dies, fat and happy. On the other hand, if a frog is thrown into a container full of already boiling water it will jump straight out again, scalded, but alive!" Olivia doesn't quite see what this has to do with the destruction of the world. Igor goes on: "I was like that boiled frog. I didn't notice the changes. I thought everything was fine, that the bad things would just go away, that it was just a matter of time. I was ready to die because I lost the most important thing in my life, but instead of reacting, I sat there bobbing apathetically about in water that was getting hotter by the minute.

Modern, Historical and Fictional Examples: Helena Blavatsky, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Anandamayi Ma, Kahlil Gibran, Herman Melville, Paul Gaugin, Whoopie Goldberg, Alice Walker, Mattie Stepanek, Igor Stravinsky, Meryl Streep

Chişinău e singurul oraş din lume în care Mihai Eminescu se întîlneşte cu Veronica Micle şi aproape de ei se află Luceafărul. Teatrul Luceafărul.

„Acolo unde Dumnezeu respiră sub formă de muzică, Satan i se împotrivește. În culoare” (Fiziologia respirației: Isihasm)

Se zice ca esentele tari se tin in sticlutze mici. Cam ca si bucata asta de poezie, bunaoara. ........... "Esti la masa, esti viu Tu postesti, ei posteaza, Ca esti om sau meniu, Aluatul conteaza". Adio, lucruri - de Igor Guzun, poezia "Meniu

Principles of Liberty 1. The only reliable basis for sound government and just human relations is Natural Law. 2. A free people cannot survive under a republican constitution unless they remain virtuous and morally strong. 3. The most promising method of securing a virtuous and morally strong people is to elect virtuous leaders. 4. Without religion the government of a free people cannot be maintained. 5. All things were created by God, therefore upon him all mankind are equally dependent, and to Him they are equally responsible. 6. All men are created equal. 7. The proper role of government is to protect equal rights, not provide equal things. 8. Men are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights. 9. To protect man's rights, God has revealed certain principles of divine law. 10. The God-given right to govern is vested in the sovereign authority of the whole people. 11. The majority of the people may alter or abolish a government which has become tyrannical. 12. The United States of America shall be a republic. 13. A constitution should be structured to permanently protect the people from the human frailties of their rulers. 14. Life and Liberty are secure only so long as the Igor of property is secure. 15. The highest level of securitiy occurs when there is a free market economy and a minimum of government regulations. 16. The government should be separated into three branches: legislative, executive, and judicial. 17. A system of checks and balances should be adopted to prevent the abuse of power. 18. The unalienable rights of the people are most likely to be preserved if the principles of government are set forth in a written constitution. 19. Only limited and carefully defined powers should be delegated to the government, all others being retained by the people. 20. Efficiency and dispatch require government to operate according to the will of the majority, but constitutional provisions must be made to protect the rights of the minority. 21. Strong human government is the keystone to preserving human freedom. 22. A free people should be governed by law and not by the whims of men. 23. A free society cannot survive a republic without a broad program of general education. 24. A free people will not survive unless they stay strong. 25. "Peace, commerce, and honest friendship with all nations; entangling alliances with none." 26. The core unit which determines the strength of any society is the family; therefore, the government should foster and protect its integrity. 27. The burden of debt is as destructive to freedom as subjugation by conquest. 28. The United States has a manifest destiny to be an example and a blessing to the entire human race.

every day to the top of the mountain and let it drink from the stream. As it drinks, you are to sing to him.” She taught Elya a special song to sing to the pig. “On the day of Myra’s fifteenth birthday, you should carry the pig up the mountain for the last time. Then take it directly to Myra’s father. It will be fatter than any of Igor’s pigs.” “If it is that big and fat,” asked Elya, “how will I be

I have no use for a theoretic freedom. Let me have something finite, definite — matter that can lend itself to my operation only insofar as it is commensurate with my possibilities. And such matter presents itself to me together with limitations. I must in turn impose mine upon it. So here we are, whether we like it or not, in the realm of necessity. And yet which of us has ever heard talk of art as other than a realm of freedom? This sort of heresy is uniformly widespread because it is imagined that art is outside the bounds of ordinary activity. Well, in art as in everything else, one can build only upon a resisting foundation: whatever constantly gives way to pressure, constantly renders movement impossible. My freedom thus consists in my moving about within the narrow frame that I have assigned myself for each one of my undertakings. I shall go even further: my freedom will be so much the greater and more meaningful the more narrowly I limit my field of action and the more I surround myself with obstacles. Whatever diminishes constraint, diminishes strength. The more constraints one imposes, the more one frees one’s self of the chains that shackle the spirit.

My freedom thus consists in my moving about within the narrow frame that I have assigned to myself for each one of my undertakings. I shall go even further: my freedom will be so much the greater and more meaningful the more narrowly I limit my field of action and the more I surround myself with obstacles. Whatever diminishes constraint diminishes strength. The more constraints one imposes, the more one frees oneself of the claims that shackle the spirit.” — Igor Stravinsky, Poetics of Music

„Astăzi din exclamația „șah și mat!” a rămas doar matul. Însăși mat-uritatea începe cu un мат*.

Когда нам безвыходно сразу со всех обозримых сторон, надежда надежней, чем разум, и много мудрее, чем он.

„Rusia răstignită pe picior larg între două continente cu grániță instabilă: Kalașnikov și Karamazov” (locus amoenus)

You can't build a wall round a village. The sun and the wind will always find their way in.

I have learned throughout my life as a composer chiefly through my mistakes and pursuits of false assumptions, not by my exposure to founts of wisdom and knowledge.

They are just a strange whim, kink of nature, deviation that doesn’t seem to exist but is encountered every day.

Every Hungarian wishes to die an elegant gentleman

Het leven is waardeloos, gelet op het feit dat men moet sterven.

Musk dubbed his new company X.AI and personally recruited Igor Babuschkin,

Igor von Moosenflüfen.

I cannot now evaluate the events that, at the end of those thirty years, made me discover the necessity of religious belief. I was not reasoned into my disposition. Though I admire the structured thought of theology, it is to religion no more than counterpoint exercises are to music.

For I consider that music is, by its very nature, essentially powerless to express anything at all, whether a feeling, an attitude of mind, a psychological mood, a phenomenon of nature, etc. Expression has never been an inherent property of music. That is by no means the purpose of its existence. If, as is nearly always the case, music appears to express something, this is only an illusion and not a reality. It is simply an additional attribute which, by tacit and inveterate agreement, we have lent it, thrust upon it, as a label, a convention – in short, an aspect which, unconsciously or by force of habit, we have come to confuse with its essential being.

I love ballet and am more interested in it than in anything else. . . . For the only form of scenic art that sets itself, as its cornerstone, the tasks of beauty, and nothing else, is ballet.

I think this is why I relish writing for you so much. It makes it possible for me to be not like I am, but as I desire for Little Igor to see me. I can be funny, because I have time to meditate about how to be funny, and I can repair my mistakes when I perform mistakes, and I can be a melancholy person in matters that are interesting, not only melancholy. When writing, we have second chances

Taj će led zauvijek ostati smrznut u mom pogledu, nešto što nikada nisam uspio otopiti i ostaviti iza sebe; hladni teret koji ću do kraja života nositi na leđima. Led koji će ohladiti svako moje buduće pripadanje, svaku zaljubljenost, svaki moj dolazak i brzi odlazak, svaku moju misao i moj san.

Oh I would never dream of assuming I know all Hogwarts' secrets, Igor," said Dumbledore amicably.n"Only this morning, for instance, I took a wrong turning on the way to the bathroom and found myself in a beautifully proportioned room I have never seen before, containing a really rather magnificent collection of chamber pots. When I went back to investigate more closely, I discovered that the room had vanished. But I must keep an eye out for it. Possibly it is only accessible at five-thirty in the morning. Or it may only appear at the quarter moon — or when the seeker has an exceptionally full bladder.

Dizer não basta. Não é suficiente, não tem valor algum. O próprio Igor deixou claro. Palavras desaparecem, as ações, os gestos é que realmente contam. Você também acredita nisso, e me disse isso uma vez, lembra? Que era preciso mais que um amontoado de palavras para te convencer. Então eu te disse de outro jeito. Não se deu conta de todas as vezes em que me declarei pra você? Eu não disse que te amava quando encontrei você chorando naquelas escadas e te emprestei meu ombro? Ou quando seu irmão estava mal no hospital e fiquei ali do seu lado? Não disse que te amava quando levei você pra voar ou quando ficamos no meio daquele lago? Tem certeza que eu não disse que te amava todas as vezes em que rimos juntos, em que impliquei com você, todas as vezes em que fizemos amor? Tem certeza que eu nunca disse, Luna?

The phenomenon of music is given to us with the sole purpose of establishing an order in things, including, and particularly, the co-ordination between man [sic] and time." Igor Stravinsky, quoted in DeLone et. al. (Eds.) (1975). Aspects of Twentieth-Century Music. Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall. ISBN 0130493465, Ch. 3. from Igor Stravinsky' Autobiography (1962). New York: W.W. Norton & Co., Inc., p. 54.

Ja sam, Igore, stvorio Euridiku, ja sam joj oblik ispevao. Mogao sam iz dana u dan da pratim metamorfozu njenih grudi što su se pod mojim dlanovima oblile da bi postale krhke i fine kao najfiniji kineski porcelan. Ja sam joj bokove razigrao, rascvetao, struk joj zaljiljanio... Jezik sam joj začinio kamilicom i zumbulom, poljupcima zašiljio, razuzdao. Prste sam joj, Igore, druže, u nežnosti pretvorio, u milovanja, u lautu. Mišice sam joj oplemenio, u uzglavlje, u san pretvorio. U svoju sam je sebičnost pretvorio, Igore druže, u u zdah, u disanje... I šta sad mogu, Kozorogi, Nego da čupam sebi kosu, da oči sebi vadim. Otela mi je, Igore, brate moj, moju sebičnost, moje remek-delo!

Hoeveel jaar ben je nu alweer? Zeven? Mooi. Jij wordt al groot. Nog even en ook jij staat in de oetan van het leven waar de mysteries je omringen. Dan zal ook jij je mes moeten trekken om je er doorheen te kappen, kerel. Of je wordt erdoor verstikt.

So since we’ve clearly created a monster, which of us is Dr. Frankenstein, and who gets to be Igor?” I asked, hoping to inject a little levity. “I’m definitely the doctor. He had the nicer ass.” “I hate to be a bubble burster, but you’re a disembodied AI; you don’t have an ass.” “I have since I met you.” “Aw. And you do have quite a mainframe on you.” I realized after saying it how weird that was, since technically her mainframe was my mainframe, and I really didn’t want to dwell on how incestuous that was. “But what if I’m not ready to be a father?” “Well, you’re already a bother, so all you’d really need to do is give an F.” “That was low, and given how terrible my standards are, you should recognize what kind of an insult that really is.” “Don’t be a jerk. It’s unbecoming.” “Well, apparently I’m becoming a jerk. Were you expecting a pumpkin?

Look, Bob, what part of this don't you understand, eh? It's a matter of style, okay? A proper brawl doesn't just happen. You don't just pile in, not anymore. Now, Oyster Dave here--put your helmet back on, Dave--will be the enemy in front, and Basalt, who, as we know, don't need a helmet, he'll be the enemy coming up behind you. Okay, it's well past knuckles time, let's say Gravy there has done his thing with the Bench Swipe, there's a bit of knife play, we've done the whole Chandelier Swing number, blah blah blah, then Second Chair--that's you, Bob--you step smartly between their Number Five man and a Bottler, swing the chair back over your head, like this--sorry, Pointy--and then swing it right back onto Number Five, bang, crash, and there's a cushy six points in your pocket. If they're playing a dwarf at Number Five, then a chair won't even slow him down, but don't fret, hang on to the bits that stay in your hand, pause one moment as he comes at you, and then belt him across both ears. They hate that, as Stronginthearm here will tell you. Another three points. It's probably going to be freestyle after that but I want all of you, including Mucky Mick and Crispo, to try for a Double Andrew when it gets down to the fist-fighting again. Remember? You back into each other, turn around to give the other guy a thumping, cue moment of humorous recognition, then link arms, swing round and see to the other fellow's attacker, foot or fist, it's your choice. Fifteen points right there if you get it to flow just right. Oh, and remember we'll have an Igor standing by, so if your arm gets taken off do pick it up and hit the other bugger with it, it gets a laugh and twenty points. On that subject, do remember what I said about getting everything tattooed with your name, all right? Igors do their best, but you'll be on your feet much quicker if you make life easier for him and, what's more, it's your feet you'll be on. Okay, positions, everyone, let's run through it again...

The more art is controlled, limited, worked over, the more it is free.

the culprit would get a commendation, not condemnation.

The perfection of performance has escalated to the extent that the music itself is threatened with relegation.

Cartea pe care o citești o poți cuprinde strâns la piept ca pe un prieten și o poți da mai departe ca să-ți faci prieteni noi ori să-ți amintești de cei vechi.

„În retorta re-nașterilor africane ne întîlnim la cursul de alquimie festivă salutare, Durere, și Ție!” (Taofizică)

Grandfather interrogates me about you every day. He desires to know if you forgive him for the things he told you about the war, and about Herschel. (You could alter it, Jonathan. For him, not for me. Your novel is now verging on the war. It is possible.) He is not a bad person. He is a good person, alive in a bad time. Do you remember when he said this? Everything is the way it is because everything was the way it was. Sometimes I feel ensnared in this, as if no matter what I do, what will come has already been fixed. For me, OK, but there are things that I want for little Igor. There is so much violence around him, and I mean more than merely the kind that occurs with fists. I do not want him to feel violence anymore, but also I do not want him to one day make others feel violence. I parrot: Grandfather is not a bad person, Jonathan. Everyone performs bad actions. I do. Father does. Even you do. A bad person is someone who does not lament his bad actions. Grandfather is now dying because of his. I beseech you to forgive us, and to make us better than we are. Make us good.

When you point a weapon at someone, you are making a declaration of intent and your intent was to kill me. I'm just returning the sentiment.” With those words, he pulled the trigger.

I wrote her name in the sand, left coded messages on trees, believed in the compatibility of souls, was sad when she didn't appear for meetings to which I hadn't invited her. In short, I was in love.

They stopped caring about people and are only concerned with their own personal power. The elections are reality television popularity contests, and corruption has become a standard, not an exception.

„În proboscida mítică a zilei noi avansăm ușor împrieteniți în morțile pasagere pentru a reveni la viața mărinimoasă de toate zilele dușmani la categoria grea și cu un trup mai îngîndurați” (break-even point)

This is Aria, daughter of Nathaniel of the Gango kingdom. I present her as my mate. I am here so she is severed from her previous mate and becomes mine in all realms. In high heaven and in the lowest purgatory.” He says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Aria, daughter of Nathaniel, do you accept Igor, son of Zad as your mate, and sever yourself from any previous connections in front of the Gods of all creation?” “Yes, I do.” I answer.

Wonder, known in Sanskrit as Camatkāra, is that sense of spiritual astonishment when our mundane consciousness, otherwise dominated by subject-object dynamics, is rendered asunder and a state of unity is a spontaneous outcome.

DINCOLO DE FERESTRE Însemnăm cu fotografii clipele frumoase Pentru că însemnăm unii pentru alții imens. Înainte păstram pozele în sertarul de la masă, Azi le postăm pe un perete pe care-l rulăm în jos fără sens. Acolo ne strigăm bucuria și amărăciunea, Acolo ne înmulțim păcatele. Iar când ne așezăm la masă, în loc să ne spunem rugăciunea, Fotografiem repede bucatele. Acolo pe perete prieteni ai o mulțime Și cel mai des te uimesc reacțiile lor. E la fel ca înălțimea: Unora le dă amețeli, altora – poftă de zbor. Dar ție îți plac geamurile. Atunci, privește-le! Dincolo de ele viața continuă amețitor. Ca să ieșim de aici, trebuie să închidem ferestrele Din casă și din calculator.

The raison d'être for “being in the world,” the incentive behind the entire creation, is to know, to behold and to savor one’s presence through the direct partaking in Being. The world itself is a movement in Awareness to get to know itself.

There is a direct correlation between the creation of a work of art and the transformation of one’s own consciousness. When this is properly understood, or even better, intuited, then this is one of the most beautiful parts of any spiritual unfoldment.

Uvideo sam da je moja otuđenost, moja sve veća, sve uočljivija ravnodušnost prema ljudima, zapravo posledica toga što nas kod drugih uzbuđuje samo ono što i u nama postoji, kod drugih mrzimo ili volimo samo ono što dotiče nešto istovetno u nama samima. Ostale ne primećujemo. Zar to nije sjajno?!

Everything unfolds in that creative tension between the subject and the object, and the relationship between them. It is for that reason the refinement of perception is seen as an indispensable part of the soul's unfoldment; until subject and object, Lover and Beloved are drowned in the Sea of Love.

I don’t know how I know about things. I just do, I just happen to know stuff about stuff. A cross for me to bear for sure, in particular when it comes to my mind-blowing talent for spotting evil. As talents go, looks like I drew a short straw yet again, because what’s the point in clocking a shitstorm charging at you at fifty million miles per hour, I mean it’s not like you come equipped with an umbrella that’s capable of withstanding such force. No such thing exists, unless the Japanese have invented it whilst I was busy looking the other way, namely towards this epic shitstorm that by the way keeps following me no matter where I go. Nothing I can do about that, except sit there, waiting to be hit.

BT came up to the rear of the truck. “Who made you boss?” his voice boomed. “You know what, BT?” I said as I tried to make myself as tall and intimidating as possible. Not an easy trick to pull off when I was pretty much looking him in the sternum. “No, what?” he asked. “Rhetorical, BT, rhetorical. Nobody made me boss. In fact, I don’t want to be boss at all. That would make this entire fuck fest a lot easier if I didn’t have to worry about any of my decisions getting people killed. I would like nothing more than to lie in the back of that truck and help Igor polish off whatever liquor he has stowed away. So, my giant friend, feel free to take the reins of this carnival ride and do with it what you may. I’m just too tired to deal with it.

The ability to bring beauty forth through the refinement of perception is, at once, what makes us truly human and what transcends that notion altogether. It is in itself an invocation, an inborn presence within all of us. A threshold to mark that sacred movement of the inner and the outer, as the doorway to walk free, to be transported. To behold something, to conceive, and to give birth to a new reality.

So? When do you want to be turned?” “I didn’t agree to turn,” Valerie squawked with amazement. “You haven’t, but you will,” he said with a shrug. “What makes you think that?” she asked warily. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to have to wipe your memories and have you returned to your life and neither of us wants that,” he said simply. “Anders said I could have time to decide,” Valerie protested, and then frowned and added, “And what do you mean, neither of us wants that? Why would you care?” “You saved my wife and children, Valerie. And Leigh adores you. You’re family now.” “Oh.” She stared at him nonplussed, wondering if he meant that. “I mean it,” he said firmly. “Leigh has decided it’s so, so it’s so. She’d be disappointed if you didn’t become one of us and I won’t have her disappointed.” Valerie scowled slightly. The last part sounded like a threat. “As for Anders saying you could have time to decide,” Lucian continued. “What do you need time for? The nanos have paired you, you’re meant to be together.” “You make it sound so simple,” she said wearily. “It is simple. Don’t make it hard.” “Great, the nanos paired us. But what about love?” she asked. Lucian shifted impatiently. “Do you like him?” “Yes,” she admitted. “Respect him?” She nodded. “Trust him?” “Of course,” she said without hesitation. Lucian nodded and said dryly, “I don’t need to ask if you want him sexually.” Valerie flushed and raised her chin. “All those things combined make up love,” Lucian assured her. “Whether you realize it or not, you already do love him.” Valerie swallowed, knowing in her heart he was right. She bit her lip, and then blurted, “But does he love me?” “Ah.” Lucian nodded. “So that’s the holdup, is it? He hasn’t said it yet.” Valerie sighed and looked away, muttering, “When he asked me to be his life mate he went on about finding peace and being able to relax and be at peace. It was all peace, peace, peace,” she added with frustration and glanced to Lucian, eyes narrowing when she caught his lips twitching. If he laughed at her, she would— “Don’t you feel at peace with him?” he asked, and then added, “When you’re not hot and bothered, I mean.” “Well, yeah, but—” “But you want to hear that he loves you,” Lucian said and shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to ask him then.” “Ask him if he loves me?” she asked with dismay. Lucian sighed with exasperation. “You took on Igor and staked him, saving yourself and six other women in the process—” “Four,” she corrected unhappily. “Two died, remember.” “And then,” he continued heavily, ignoring her interruption. “You took on Ambrose and saved my wife and unborn twins by crashing the van you were all in and repeatedly bashing the man over the head until help got there. You are not a coward, Valerie, so stop acting like one. Ask him. And when he says yes he loves you, I will personally oversee the turning and pay for the wedding.

The four women came to see them at the house later in the afternoon. Alexander and Tatiana were playing soccer. Actually Tatiana had just gotten the ball away from him and, squealing, was trying to hold on to it, while he was behind her, trying to kick it from under her. He had lifted her off the ground and was pressing himself hard into her while she was shrieking. All he was wearing was his skivvies, and all she was wearing was his ribbed top and her underwear. Flummoxed, Tatiana stood in front of Alexander, trying to shield his near-naked body from four pairs of wide eyes. He stood behind her, his arms on her shoulders, and Tatiana heard him say, “Tell them—No, forget it, I will,” and before she could utter a sound, he came forward, walked up to them, twice their size, bare and unrelentingly himself, and said, “Ladies, in the future you might want to wait for us to come and see you.” “Shura,” Tatiana muttered, “go and get dressed.” “Soccer is probably the least of what you’ll see,” Alexander said into the women’s stunned faces before going inside the house. When he came back out, suitably covered, he told Tatiana he was going to the village to get a couple of things they needed, like ice and an ax. “What an odd combination,” she remarked. “Where are you going to get ice from?” “The fish plant. They have to refrigerate their fish, don’t they?” “Ax?” “From that nice man Igor,” Alexander yelled, walking up the clearing, blowing her a kiss. She gazed after him. “Hurry back,” she called. Naira Mikhailovna apologized hastily. Dusia was mouthing a prayer. Raisa shook. Axinya beamed at Tatiana, who invited them all for a bit of kvas. “Come inside. See how nicely Alexander cleaned the house. And look, he repaired the door. Remember, the top hinge was broken?” The four women looked around for a place to sit. “Tanechka,” said Naira nervously, “there is no furniture in here.” Axinya whooped. Dusia crossed herself. “I know, Naira Mikhailovna. We don’t need much.” She looked down on the floor. “We have some things, we have my trunk. Alexander said he will make us a bench. I’ll bring my desk with the sewing machine…we’ll be fine.” “But how—” “Oh, Naira,” said Axinya, “leave the girl alone, will you?” Dusia glared at the rumpled bedsheets on top of the stove. A flustered Tatiana smiled. Alexander was right. It was better to go and visit them. She asked when would be a good time to come for dinner. Naira said, “Come tonight, of course. We’ll celebrate. But you come every night. Look, you won’t be able to eat here at all. There’s nowhere even to sit or cook. You’ll starve. Come every night. That’s not too much to ask, is it?

PROLOGUE Some years ago in the Planet Orfheus ... It was dark when Lucius reached the rendezvous which had been chosen to be the new hideout. The latter had been used for several months and they were concerned that they were being followed and were close to being discovered. "I thought you were not coming. I've been waiting for you for almost an hour. I was getting anxious," Sofia said, relieved. "Sorry, love. It is becoming increasingly difficult. I almost didn't make it today. The troops were ambushed in the last invasion. Igor and many warriors returned seriously injured," Lucius replied. He looked worried. Why this sudden encounter? They had agreed that the next would be the following week. Lucius gave her a big hug, pulled her close to him, and remained silent for a few moments. His longing and desire consumed him. She meant the world to him. Without Sofia, his life would never make sense. He would never forget those eyes, serene and sincere, with a blue so bright and clear that were able to see the soul of the tormented warrior that was he. With her golden hair, Sofia looked like an angel. "Is there a problem? You're so quiet and deep in thought," she asked, puzzled. He answered, "I'm thinking about us. How long are we keeping it secret?" He walked away from her, sighing. "We can't keep lying and pretending that all is well. You have no idea how much I have to endure when you are away from me, or when I see you with him." "Love, not now. We have already discussed this subject several times. You know that our only alternative would be to flee and pray they will never find us," she replied. Sofia knew very well that the laws of the kingdom could not be disregarded. Love, respect, and loyalty were key factors that were part of the hierarchy of Orfheus. Although she had always been in love with Lucius who had never shown any interest in her, Sofia was bound to his brother Alex as a result of a pact. Over the centuries, Lucius began to change and express loving feelings for her. She never ceased to love him and both succumbed to the temptation and passion of it. Inevitably, a love affair developed between the two. Interrupting her thoughts, Lucius grabbed her by the hand and led her into the hut. This hut was located inside a vast and beautiful forest. He pulled her by the waist, gave her a passionate kiss, stroked her hair, and said softly, "Love, I missed you so much." "I also felt homesick but the real reason I came here today is to tell you something very important. I need you to listen carefully and keep calm," she said as she ran her hands through her hair which contrasted with her pale skin. Sofia did not want to scare him. However, she imagined that he would be upset and angry with the news. Unfortunately, the revelation was inevitable and sooner or later, everything would come out. "I'm pregnant," she said unceremoniously. For a brief moment, Lucius said nothing. He just stared at her without any reaction. He seemed to be in a silent battle with his own thoughts. "But how?" he babbled, not believing what he had just heard. It was surely a bombshell revelation. That would be the end for them. Sofia said, "Stay calm, love. I know this changes everything. What we were planning for months is no longer possible." She sat on a makeshift stool and continued with tears in her eyes. "With the baby coming, I cannot simply go through the portal. The baby and I would die during the crossing." Lucius replied, "Could we ask for help from Aunt Wilda? She is very powerful. Probably she would be able to break through the magic of the portals." Sofia had already thought of that. She was well aware that it was the only choice left. Aunt Wilda had always been like a mother to her. The sorceress adopted her when she was a girl, soon after her family had died in combat.