Ike Quotes

Marry me, he says. I got all my own teeth, I wash twice a year an I'll cut you in fer half the business here.

Ike! Jack yells, pointin at the villains at the table. Look! He's takin seconds! Oh no, he ain't!

Don’t worry, says Ike, I didn’t do yer pretty face no harm. I should of though. After what you done to me. He glares at Jack an Jack actually looks shame-faced. Ike jabs him in the chest with a big meaty finger. You left me, you sonofabitch, he says, hangin upside down, stark naked, with all them women in their— Jack grabs his hand. Not now, Ike, he says. We’ll talk about it later.

Jack lifts his mug. Me an Ike do the same. To Molly Pratt, says Jack. Ike scowls at him. Watch yer mouth, he says. Jeez, Ike, says Jack. All I’m sayin is … to Molly Pratt. Ike looks sly. Leans in an waggles his eyebrows. To Molly Pratt, he says, an her frilly red bloomers. One helluva woman, says Jack. One helluva pair of undies, says Ike. Then they throw their drinks down their necks.

Everything must be like something, so what is this ike?

A'ohe I pau ka 'ike I ka halau ho'okahi, she said. It was a popular hula adage that meant:All knowledge is not contained in only one school.

Girls say to me, very reasonably, 'why isn't it a bunch of girls? Why did you write this about a bunch of boys?' Well, my reply is I was once a little boy - I have been a brother, a father, I am going to be a grandfather. I have never been a sister, or a mother, or a grandmother. That's one answer. Another answer is of course to say that if you - as it were - scaled down human beings, scaled down society, if you land with a group of little boys, they are more ike a scaled-down version of society than a group of little girls would be. Don't ask me why, and this is a terrible thing to say because I'm going to be chased from hell to breakfast by all the women who talk about equality - this is nothing to do with equality at all. I think women are foolish to pretend they are equal to men, they are far superior and always have been. But one thing you can't do with them is take a bunch of them and boil them down, so to speak, into a set of little girls who would then become a kind of image of civilisation, of society. The other thing is - why aren't they little boys AND little girls? Well, if they'd been little boys and little girls, we being who we are, sex would have raised its lovely head, and I didn't want this to be about sex. Sex is too trivial a thing to get in with a story like this, which was about the problem of evil and the problem of how people are to live together in a society, not just as lovers or man and wife.

Ike thought one of the worst things you could give a man was a clipboard. He’d been at the mercy of men with clipboards. They could keep you out of a gated community or put you on a bus to prison. Give a man a clipboard and watch his true nature come out.

I am often very lonely up on this hill by myself, and when Mr. Poe wrote to me about your troubles I didn't want you to be as lonely as I was when I lost my dear Ike.

[L]ike a kingfisher I have made my nest on the waves.

Ike noticed the preacher had pictures of Ronald Reagan and Jesse Helms in his office, with a portrait of Jesus in the middle. Ike said that seemed appropriate since the Bible said Jesus was nailed up between two thieves. The preacher didn’t like that much, so Ike quit going to church for awhile.

Here’s another. Kill man’s sense of values. Kill his capacity to recognise greatness or to achieve it. Great men can’t be ruled. We don’t want any great men. Don’t deny conception of greatness. Destroy it from within. The great is the rare, the difficult, the exceptional. Set up standards of achievement open to all, to the least, to the most inept – and you stop the impetus to effort in men, great or small. You stop all incentive to improvement, to excellence, to perfection. Laugh at Roark and hold Peter Keating as a great architect. You’ve destroyed architecture. Build Lois Cook and you’ve destroyed literature. Hail Ike and you’ve destroyed the theatre. Glorify Lancelot Clankey and you’ve destroyed the press. Don’t set out to raze all shrines – you’ll frighten men, Enshrine mediocrity - and the shrines are razed. Then there’s another way. Kill by laughter. Laughter is an instrument of human joy. Learn to use it as a weapon of destruction. Turn it into a sneer. It’s simple. Tell them to laugh at everything. Tell them that a sense of humour is an unlimited virtue. Don't let anything remain sacred in a man’s soul – and his soul won’t be sacred to him. Kill reverence and you’ve killed the hero in man. One doesn’t reverence with a giggle. He’ll obey and he’ll set no limits to obedience – anything goes – nothing is too serious.

We are all ike candles, and whether we are single or joined with another does not affect how brightly we can burn. Respectfully submitted, Miss Sweetie

Lately the muse has been treating me like Ike treated Tina.

If you are unhappy with anything - you mother, you father, your husband, your wife, your job, your boss, your car - whatever is being you down, get rid of it. Because you'll find when you're free, your true creativity, your true self comes out.

However, on glimpsing in shop window realized outfit insane. Now am on bus, remember also that corset-ike nature of dress is torture when sitting down. One's rolls of fat are squezzed together like dough being kneaded in a food processor.

It’s like that story. The wolf gets to the turnip patch at six in the morning. The rabbit been there and gone,” Ike said. “We the rabbits, in that story, right?” Buddy Lee said. “Yeah, but we gonna eat them like we’re the wolves,” Ike said.

Life is too short not to show your truest form EVERY day... Live it, Like it, Love it and then push for more ~~

We ike to think we are our own people, but sometimes it seems we are just playing out a script that was imprinted in us along ago.

Johnny Cash, God’s Gonna Cut You Down,” he says. I can’t help it; I look up at Ike and smirk. “What? You’re not a Cash fan?” He gives me a sad look. “I am,” I whisper. “What?” he groans. “Beautiful and fantastic taste in music! Where were you when I was alive?

Nadie rezará un kaddish por Weinstein -Harriet, ¿Cuál ha sido nuestro error? -Jamás nos enfrentamos a la realidad. -No fue mía la culpa. Dijiste que estaba al norte. -La realidad está al norte, Ike. -No, Harriet. Los sueños están al norte. La realidad está al oeste. Las falsas esperanzas, al este, y creo que Luisiana está al sur.

Daddy, Momma! I made a friend. His name is Ike, and he ain’t got no tail because they chopped it off, but Aidan didn’t cop it off. Tourists chopped it off. But then Aiden went and fought the tourist. I hope we don’t get no tourists here. We would have to hide all the dogs.

What Edith did not yet appreciate was that Wilson was now a man in love, and as White House usher Ike Hoover observed, Wilson was “no mean man in love-making when once the germ has found its resting place.

The Baudelaires were sad to see a framed photograph of a kind-looking man with a handful of crackers in one hand and his lips pursed as if he were whistling. It was Ike, and the Baudelaires knew that she had placed his photograph there because she was too sad to look at it.

Rock Steady’ by Aretha Franklin, ‘Cold Sweat’ by James [Brown], all the Stax records, Ike and Tina Turner – we took it for granted, thinking that music would always be like that. That was just normal to us.

You are my universe. You are in my blood,” Ike rasps urgently into my ear. “I will worship and protect you all my life. I love you more than any man will ever love anything. Anyone.” He plants kisses all over my face, my neck, my hair. “I love you more with every breath I take. No, every breath you take. Your breaths keep you alive and so I love them, too.

Be choosy. Know what you want. Say what you want. When you speak, be very definite. When

I can't make any promises... I became a scientist because...it's ike panning for gold in a muddy torrent. Truth is the gold. I- I don't know what I want to do...' 'Journalists work in torrents just as muddy.' The moon is over the water. 'Do...whatever you can't not do.

Are the Gods real or is Ike Karton just crazy? And the answer is: Yes.

Really, when you get to know him Ike’s OK. I mean not grouchy or anything and not too bright. I mean OK for a general – you wouldn’t want him to be President or anything like that.

Ike was like a giant umbrella. He absorbed what was coming down from above, shielded his commanders from higher authority, and about them to fight the war without excessive second-guessing.

From what I hear of what has been appearing in the newspapers,” Ike wrote his son John, “you are learning that it is easy enough for a man to be a newspaper hero one day and a bum the next.

I lost Ike,' Aunt Josephine said, 'and I lost Lake Lachrymose. I mean, I didn't really lose it, of course. It's still down in the valley. But I grew up on its shores. I used to swim in it every day. I know which beaches were sandy and which were rocky. I knew all the islands in the middle of its waters and all the caves alongside it's shore. Lake Lachrymose felt like a friend to me. But when it took poor Ike away from me I was too afraid to go near it anymore. I stopped swimming in it. I never went to the beach again. I even put away all my books about it. The only way I can bear to look at it is from the Wide Window in the Library.

An when Ike walks through that door- after I finish kissin him to death- I'm gonna tie him to that chair an never let him go, cux life's too gawdamn short an it's about time I start takin my own advice. I might need yer help, of course, but I'm sure you won't mind, seein how- Molly! Jack grabs her hand. Stop, Molly, please. Dammit Moll. Ike ain't gonna walk through the door. She goes still. Very still. Her smile fades. Please don't say it, she whispers. He can't bear to. But he has to. Ike's dead, he says. He's dead, Molly. I'm sorry.

I go looking I might find them. And if I find them, I’ll kill them,” he said. The words came out plain and without much inflection. She’d known him since he was fifteen and she was thirteen. Mya knew he wasn’t exaggerating. Ike waited for her to say he couldn’t do that. He stood there waiting for her to say let the cops handle it. He waited and waited.

Nothing can come to you unless you believe you deserve it, and nothing can go from you unless you believe you don't deserve it.

Ike always loved the sunshine, and I like to imagine that wherever he is now, it's as sunny as can be. Of course, nobody knows what happens to you after you die, but it's nice to think of my husband someplace very, very hot, don't you think?

In biology, nothing is clear, everything is too complicated, everything is a mess, and just when you think you understand something, you peel off a layer and find deeper complications beneath. Nature is anything but simple. This emerging virus was ike a bat crossing the sky at evening. Just when you thought you saw it flicker through your field of view, it was gone.

The two of us are lIke sunshine and the rain. Together... We are the wellspring of all life. But between us, there will will bloom no flowers. We shall bear no fruit. For us, all of time... Shall be evergreen. "And that's fine. I will be here always. To you... I give eternity." Hotaka

All mists curl off the roof of my being. That confidence I shall keep to my dying day. :ike a long wave, like a roll of heavy waters, he washes over me, his devastating presence - dragging me open, laying bare the pebbles on the shore of my soul. It was humiliating. I was turned to small stones.

The people of Ike-no-o used to say that Zenchi Naigu was lucky to be a priest: no woman would ever want to marry a man with a nose like that. Some even claimed it was because of his nose that he had entered the priesthood to begin with. The Naigu himself, however, never felt that he suffered any less over his nose for being a priest. Indeed, his self-esteem was already far too fragile to be affected by such a secondary fact as whether or not he had a wife.

None of my ten friends, even today, ascribes moral evil to Hitler, although most of them think (after the fact) that he made fatal strategical mistakes which even they themselves might have made at the time. His worst mistake was his selection of advisers—a backhand tribute to the Leader's virtues of trustfulness and loyalty, to his very innocence of the knowledge of evil, fully familiar to those who have heard partisans of F. D. R. or Ike explain how things went wrong.

[L]iking" something is very important evolutionarily, because most things are harmful to us. Of the millions of objects that we bump into every day, only a handful are beneficial to us. Hence to "like" something is to make a decision between one out of the tiny fraction of things that can help us over against the millions of things that might harm us.

Be aware! Walk with intent! Do your job with purpose! Empower your mind in your daily routine

Poof,

People of different races are God wrapped in different color packages.

Poor Ike. He'll say do this and do that and nothing at all will happen.

[L]ike DiMaggio putting daily flowers on Marilyn’s grave, I find myself compulsively drifting past here every day in a vigil that only reinforces my unredeemability.

The Eisenhower administration, and Ike himself, bear heavy responsibility for snuffing out responsible government in Iran.

picked up on comments that suggested Ike Boone struggled with the bottle

Times of isolation with God will precede the times of inspiration we receive from God.”—IKE REIGHARD

Ike didn’t want to be a king. A king never sleeps. He ends up like Slice. Staring at everyone and anticipating how they might try to come for his crown.

Paint the picture of your life with godly decisions and you will never be ashamed to attach your signature to the portrait you create.”—IKE REIGHARD

When God is all we have left, we then realize that God is all we need.”—IKE REIGHARD

Ike knew what gave Buddy Lee’s eyes that murderous sheen. It was the rage coursing through his veins. A poison that killed off certain parts of yourself. The parts that made you weak. It was coursing through Ike’s veins, too. It was powerful but deadly. It made you determined but reckless. It gave you an edge that could turn against you and slit your own throat.

Oh, you get the truck. But you also get pulled over four or five times a month because ain’t no way your Black ass can afford a nice truck like this, right? You get the truck but you get followed around in the jewelry store because you know you probably fitting to rob the place, right? You can get the truck but you gotta deal with white ladies clutching their purses when you walk down the street because Fox News done told them you coming to steal their money and their virtue. You get the truck but then you gotta explain to some trigger-happy cop that no, Mr. Officer, you’re not resisting arrest. You get the truck but then you also get two in the back of the head because you reached for your cell phone,” Ike said. He glanced at Buddy Lee.

So why do they do it? Simple. Just ask the families of Michele Wallace, Diane Keidel, Cher Elder; Lois Kleber, Ike Hampton, Gerry Boggs, Heather Ikard, Heather Dawn Church, and Christine Elkins. No one could replace the lives lost, but neither were their loved ones left wondering what had happened to them. There is no statute of limitations on grief, and the truth does matter.

If you are looking for a god-in-the-sky to depend on, if you are looking for a god outside of you to help you, forget it! God is within you. And when you discover God, you will discover Him within your own being.

The general doesn’t know any more about politics than a pig knows about Sunday,” Truman griped, ignoring the fact that he himself had once urged Eisenhower to run for president, before he learned Ike was a Republican. Truman

Separate the truth of a person from what he appears to be. Look all the way through what appears, and see him, his Divine Self, the Presence of God within him. See him as he really is. There is only one true identity, and that is the Divine Self.

Ike tried to remember a time when men with badges coming to his door early in the morning brought anything other than heartache and misery, but try as he might, nothing came to mind. They felt like the long-awaited answer to a mournful prayer for rain.

Man, the bravest of animals and the one most accustomed to suffering, does not repudiate suffering as such; he desires it, he even seeks it out, provided he is shown a meaning for it, a purpose of suffering. The meaninglessness of suffering, not suffering itself, was the curse that lay over mankind so far―and the ascetic ideal offered man meaning! It was the only meaning offered so far; any meaning is better than none at all; the ascetic ideal was in every sense the "faute de mieux" par excellence so far. In it, suffering was interpreted; the tremendous void seemed to have been filled; the door was closed to any kind of suicidal nihilism. This interpretation - there is no doubt of it - brought fresh suffering with it, deeper, more inward, more poisonous, more life-destructive suffering: it placed all suffering under the perspective of guilt. But all this notwithstanding - man was saved thereby, he possessed a meaning, he was henceforth no longer 1ike a leaf in the wind, a plaything of nonsense - the "sense-less" - he could now willsomething; no matter at first to what end, why, with what he willed: the will itself was saved. We can no longer conceal from ourselves what is expressed by all that willing which has taken its direction from the ascetic ideal: this hatred of the human, and even more of the animal, and more still of the material, this horror of the senses, of reason itself, this fear of happiness and beauty, this longing to get away from all appearance, change, becoming, death, wishing, from longing itself. All this means - let us dare to grasp it - a will to nothingness, an aversion to life, a rebellion against the most fundamental presuppositions of life; but it is and remains a will. Man would rather will nothingness than not will at all.

The Army of Eisenhower’s day valued understatement. With rare exceptions generals did not decorate themselves like Christmas trees. Action spoke for itself. Nothing did that more eloquently than the simple soldier’s funeral of the nation’s thirty-fourth president. On April 2, 1969, in Abilene, Kansas, Eisenhower was laid to rest in the presence of his family. He was buried in a government-issue, eighty-dollar pine coffin, wearing his famous Ike jacket with no medals or decorations other than his insignia of rank.

And if we really want to stay current and relevant, we have to use social media. And by that I mean Facebook. There are one billion people on Facebook. Maybe older people should have our own social media. We can call it What Did That Doctor Do to Your Face Book? In fact, we can have our own text and Facebook abbreviations. We can have our own WTF, LOL, and LMAO. GNIB: Good news, it’s benign. OMG: Oh, my gout. DMMLIMNWD: Don’t make me laugh, I’m not wearing Depends. WAI: Where am I? ITIHSBCR: I think I had sex but can’t remember. ILI: I like Ike. TKDC: The kids didn’t call. DTLSTY: Does this look swollen to you? CTDMELOFM: Call the doctor—my erection lasted over four minutes. PAMUHNASIHSB: Put a mirror under his nose and see if he’s still breathing. Bottom line: we can’t be dial-up in a Wi-Fi world.

are certain things we will be required to suffer to equip us to fulfill our purpose. 1 Peter 5: 10 (ESV) states, “after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.

Of the trials that Eisenhower encountered in politics, McCarthy’s behavior was the most difficult to abide. In his private correspondence, Eisenhower repeatedly conveyed his conviction that the way to curb a demagogue was to ignore him. And, given the separation of powers, the president had few levers to discipline a senator. He could try to rally public opinion, but an open clash would elevate McCarthy and tarnish the presidency. “I personally deal in principles, ideas and national purposes,” Ike told a supporter. “I shall not demean this office by indulging in personal Donnybrooks.

Jade: The Devil goes to God and says, "you think Job is your faithful servant, but if you took away all the gifts you've given him, he'll abandon you." So God does it... He takes away all of Job's blessings. His family dies, he gets sick, everything just starts to suck for him... but he never turns his back on God. Ike: Everyone knows this story. But I've always had a problem with it, myself. Jade: You mean like, why does God let him suffer? Ike: No, I assume God couldn't care less about the poor fuck. No, what I wonder is... what is God doing entertaining an audience with the Devil?

You really pounded him, Ma,” Ike said. He dropped a heavy hackberry branch and ran over and threw his arms around her, nearly knocking her farther down the hill. Abe slammed into her from the other side, thus balancing her again. The rest of the boys swarmed her. “Wow, Ma, we saw you beating that man up. I never knew you were tough like that.” Mark looked up at her, his eyes shining with admiration. Grace thought of all the times she’d tried to get this little scamp to respect her when she was teaching school. Apparently all she’d needed to do was get in a fistfight on Mosqueros’s Main Street and he’d have behaved.

He trusted only Devers, and why was that? Devers said, “We’re going here,” and they went there. Devers said, “Expect this and that,” and this and that came to pass. But the rumor was that Ike didn’t like Devers, and Frank figured this was the reason—Devers didn’t have his head up his ass, and everyone else did.

When General Eisenhower was elected president, his predecessor, Harry Truman, said: “Poor Ike; when he was a general, he gave an order and it was carried out. Now he is going to sit in that big office and he’ll give an order and not a damn thing is going to happen.” The reason why “not a damn thing is going to happen” is, however, not that generals have more authority than presidents. It is that military organizations learned long ago that futility is the lot of most orders and organized the feedback to check on the execution of the order. They learned long ago that to go oneself and look is the only reliable feedback.5 Reports—all an American president is normally able to mobilize—are not much help. All military services have long ago learned that the officer who has given an order goes out and sees for himself whether it has been carried out. At the least he sends one of his own aides—he never relies on what he is told by the subordinate to whom the order was given. Not that he distrusts the subordinate; he has learned from experience to distrust communications.

The first step to Happiness is deciding exactly what kind of life you want. That kinda comes from experience.

A distinguished historian has said that one of the most valuable things about history is that it teaches us how things do not happen.

God tends to fight not on the side of the oppressed but on the side of the oppressor because the later has bigger battalions.

It is remarkable how little concern men seem to have for logic, statistics, and even, indeed, survival: we live by emotion, prejudice, and pride.”24

There’re no more dangerous rhymes in these dangerous times, 'cause danger is all we breed.

I never see thy face but I think upon hell-fire.

Mida ma ütelda tahan, Ike. Sa eu saa oodata surmalt lahendusi. Sa võid ette kujutada, et see lõpetab kõik, mis sinu eksistentsi puutub, aga see on ettekujutus, mitte fakt. Pealegi, tappa ja surra oskab igaüks. Elada mitte. See on ju paradoksaalne. Me teame, mida elus teha saab, aga püüame sellest loobuda. Surma mängureeglitest pole meil aimugi, aga igatseme sinna küll.

Eisenhower and Patton, old friends and figures crucial to the Allies' upcoming success, conferred over yet another gaffe on Patton's part that could have cost him his command. Patton's head is on Ike's shoulder in gratitude, but the scene is rescued from being completely maudlin by Eisenhower's internal question as to whether Patton wears his ever-present helmet to bed.

Evan Thomas writes that Ike told his grandson, David, that that smile “came not from some sunny feel-good philosophy but from getting knocked down by a boxing coach at West Point. ‘If you can’t smile when you get up from a knockdown,’ the coach said, ‘you’re never going to lick an opponent.’ ”16 He thought it was necessary to project easy confidence in order to lead the army and win the war:

Promise me one thing, Lucy.” “Anything.” “Don’t tell anybody.” “I wouldn’t even tell Ike.” “I don’t care about Ike, or any of these people, what they think. It’s on account of the children, and I don’t want anybody at all to know it, for fear somebody’ll say something to them. They mustn’t know it—and specially not Veda.” “That Veda, if you ask me, has some funny ideas.” “I respect her ideas.” “I don’t.” “You don’t understand her. She has something in her that I thought I had, and now I find I haven’t. Pride, or whatever it is. Nothing on earth could make Veda do what I’m going to do.” “That pride, I wouldn’t give a snap of my finger for it. You’re quite right about her. Veda wouldn’t do it herself, but she’s perfectly willing to let you do it and eat the cake.” “I want her to have it. Cake—not just bread.

[L]ike it or not, the right timing is an inescapable part of human endeavor and thus of politics. . . . But some activists suggest that "timing" is irrelevant in public policy and politics. In their view, it's just another "excuse" by "incrementalists," another example of their traitorous cowardice, another reason why they should be condemned and purged. . . . There is a fundamental ethical and practical difference between compromise and prudently fighting for the most good that can be gained in the face of overwhelming odds. . . . Realizing the constraints and limits of this world should guard us against unrealistic expectations of what politics can or should achieve. And yet, the examples of Wilberforce and Lincoln, among many others, demonstrate that moral purpose can be successfully pursued in politics with prudence.

Ike never needlessly grudged time for a photo session, but he did insist that meetings with individual academics should have a specific and useful purpose. He did on one occasion observe that his academic colleagues tended “to need more time to come to the point than people in the Army,” and he went on the record with this definition of an intellectual: “A man who takes more words than is necessary to tell more than he knows.

Truman was surly in his leave-taking, unable to forgive Ike for his campaign critiques and move on. Although Eisenhower was invited to the White House to confer with Truman after the election, the meeting was chilly. Looking ahead to the inauguration, Eisenhower grumbled, “I wonder if I can stand sitting next to him.” By inauguration day, things deteriorated to the degree that Truman even took umbrage at Ike’s choice of a homburg over a

Hell, and what to do in the lower planes   Tell people that they will go to hell if they do not convert to your particular brand of religion and you'll soon have converts knocking at your door. Sadly, many religions have used the fear of retribution to threaten their flock. The New Age philosopher David Ike summed it up for me when we met on a television show called the “Mystic Challenge.” "Religion is the most sophisticated form of brainwashing ever invented.

Eisenhower's military life taught him that talent was a necessary but not sufficient condition for success. The only way to guarantee smart decisions, Ike believed, was to bring all the responsible parties together and have them fight it out. "I do not believe in bringing them one at a time and therefore being more impressed by the most recent one you hear," he later said. "You must get courageous men, men of strong views and let them debate and argue with each other".

a top hat—a deliberate act of rebellion on Ike’s part that shocked the protocol mavens. For their part, the Eisenhowers had refused to enter the White House for a pre-inauguration cup of coffee, choosing instead to wait in the car that would take both the president and president-elect to the ceremony. At least Ike didn’t meet Truman at the Capitol steps, as he’d threatened. But it was a very uncomfortable car ride. “I’m glad I wasn’t in that car,” head White House usher J. B. West said.

If you are unhappy with anything - your mother, your father, your husband, your wife, your job, your boss, your car - whatever is bringing you down, get rid of it. Because you'll find when you're free, your true creativity, your true self comes out.

Ik was op Amors aanval niet bedacht, die Vrijdag, toen zijn pijlen mij doorstaken. Hij kon zich meester van mijn leven maken en kreeg mij daarna steeds meer in zijn macht. Ik had niet van zijn wapenen verwacht dat zij mijn hart zo hevig zouden raken, nadat zij door zijn harde pantser braken: de straf voor wie zich onverslaanbaar acht. Nu laat ik mij door Amor ringeloren, omdat ik mij vergeefs verzet bespaar en hoop dat hij mijn bede zal verhoren. Mijn enige verweer is hem te smeken, niet om mijn vuur te doen bedaren, maar om deze vlam bij haar ook te ontsteken. (Ike Cialona)

Als de geluiden op de aard vervagen, de wind gaat liggen en de oceaan het deinen staakt, de dieren slapen gaan, de Nacht zich wiegt in zijn besterde wagen, dan blijf ik waken, peinzen, gloeien, klagen, want elke ochtend vangt mijn oorlog aan, en slechts in wie mij dit heeft aangedaan vind ik mijn vrede en mijn welbehagen. De bron die mij het levenssap moet geven, brengt zowel bitter water voort als zoet; en één hand heelt me, na me te doorboren. Zij doet mij duizendmaal per dag herleven, omdat mijn lijden eeuwig duren moet, terwijl mij geen verlossing is beschoren. (Ike Cialona)

Vol schaamte dat ik niet genoeg liet horen over uw schoonheid, vrouwe, denk ik weer hoe zij mij zozeer trof, die eerste keer, dat mij geen ander ooit nog zal bekoren. Maar u te loven is mij niet beschoren: te ontoereikend blijkt mijn ganzenveer. Mijn hersens lijken, als ik het probeer, verlamd te zijn en in ontzag bevroren. Vaak ving ik aan te zingen, maar moest zwijgen omdat mijn krachten mij begaven, want welk stemgeluid kan tot uw hoogte stijgen? Vaak wilde ik een lofdicht op u maken, maar schroom heeft steeds mijn pen, mijn hoofd, mijn hand gedwongen om die pogingen te staken. (Ike Cialona)

Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed. This world in arms is not spending money alone. It is spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, the hopes of its children.

Every time he moved, with every breath he took, it seemed the man was carried along by iridescent orange and black wings. She tried to convey how it was like travelling through the inside of a living body at times, the joints and folds of the earth, the liver-smooth flowstone, the helictites threading upward like synapses in search of a connection. She found it beautiful. Surely God would not have invented such a place as His spiritual gulag. It took Ali’s breath away. Sometimes, once men found out she was a nun, they would dare her in some way. What made Ike different was his abandon. He had a carelessness in his manner that was not reckless, but was full of risk. Winged. He was pursuing her, but not faster than she was pursuing him, and it made them like two ghosts circling. She ran her fingers along his back, and the bone and the muscle and hadal ink and scar tissue and the callouses from his pack straps astonished her. This was the body of a slave. Down from the Egypt, eye of the sun, in front of the Sinai, away from their skies like a sea inside out, their stars and planets spearing your soul, their cities like insects, all shell and mechanism, their blindness with eyes, their vertiginous plains and mind-crushing mountains. Down from the billions who had made the world in their own image. Their signature could be a thing of beauty. But it was a thing of death. Ali got one good look, then closed her eyes to the heat. In her mind, she imagined Ike sitting in the raft across from her wearing a vast grin while the pyre reflected off the lenses of his glacier glasses. That put a smile on her face. In death, he had become the light. There comes a time on every big mountain when you descend the snows and cross a border back to life. It is a first patch of green grass by the trail, or a waft of the forests far below, or the trickle of snowmelt braiding into a stream. Always before, whether he had been gone an hour or a week or much longer – and no matter how many mountains he had left behind – it was, for Ike, an instant that registered in his whole being. Ike was swept with a sense not of departure, but of advent. Not of survival. But of grace.

And so, by means both active and passive, he sought to repair the damage to his self-esteem. He tried first of all to find ways to make his nose look shorter. When there was no one around, he would hold up his mirror and, with feverish intensity, examine his reflection from every angle. Sometimes it took more than simply changing the position of his face to comfort him, and he would try one pose after another—resting his cheek on his hand or stroking his chin with his fingertips. Never once, though, was he satisfied that his nose looked any shorter. In fact, he sometimes felt that the harder he tried, the longer it looked. Then, heaving fresh sighs of despair, he would put the mirror away in its box and drag himself back to the scripture stand to resume chanting the Kannon Sutra. The second way he dealt with his problem was to keep a vigilant eye out for other people’s noses. Many public events took place at the Ike-no-o temple—banquets to benefit the priests, lectures on the sutras, and so forth. Row upon row of monks’ cells filled the temple grounds, and each day the monks would heat up bath water for the temple’s many residents and lay visitors, all of whom the Naigu would study closely. He hoped to gain peace from discovering even one face with a nose like his. And so his eyes took in neither blue robes nor white; orange caps, skirts of gray: the priestly garb he knew so well hardly existed for him. The Naigu saw not people but noses. While a great hooked beak might come into his view now and then, never did he discover a nose like his own. And with each failure to find what he was looking for, the Naigu’s resentment would increase. It was entirely due to this feeling that often, while speaking to a person, he would unconsciously grasp the dangling end of his nose and blush like a youngster. And finally, the Naigu would comb the Buddhist scriptures and other classic texts, searching for a character with a nose like his own in the hope that it would provide him some measure of comfort. Nowhere, however, was it written that the nose of either Mokuren or Sharihotsu was long. And Ryūju and Memyoō, of course, were Bodhisattvas with normal human noses. Listening to a Chinese story once, he heard that Liu Bei, the Shu Han emperor, had long ears. “Oh, if only it had been his nose,” he thought, “how much better I would feel!

Rigor Mortis.” I say, almost as an apology. But he won’t have any of it. He locks onto my gaze. He doesn’t lean forward, but he doesn’t need to, suddenly the room feels like it’s filled with him. His presence floats in the air like a noxious gas, and I’m breathing it in. “Ike, you don’t get it. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Do you think I have the right to talk to anyone? Do you think its fun to have a ‘human’ brain in a pet’s body? Sure, I have Kamu. And that’s fugging great, but guess what? Kamu is queen to be, and emotionally unstable.” I've never heard Rig talk this powerfully before, but he doesn’t seem scary, just sad. “And then I get someone else I can actually talk to, Ike, I get you. And you don’t treat me like I’m a pet and you talk about Kamu like she needs to be protected and you are there. You are there, and you keep being there, and the only one who’s ever there is Kamu, but now there is Ike. And Ike is perfect, albeit a bit dense, but perfect.” “Rig, I’m really sorry bu-“ I start, I don’t know how much more of this I can take. With each sentence Rig loses some of his force, he sounds more pathetic and lost. “I’m not done.” He pronounces the words in such a voice that it makes me shut up more than the context of the sentence does. “And all I want is to be with this boy who is there, this boy who is my friend, this boy who isn’t always caught up in politics. All I want is to have my one good break.” He finishes. I keep holding his eye contact, and his eyes, they already reflect hurt and rejectment. I don’t know if from me…or from life.

The accomplishment of the testimony was two-fold: It changed the death of Marshall from suicide to death by gunshot, and it brought into light bespectacled Johnson hit man, Malcolm “Mac” Wallace. At one point, Wallace, a former marine who had been the president of the University of Texas student body, had strong political aspirations. In 1946, Wallace was an organizer for Homer Rainey’s campaign for governor.44 Wallace eventually became indebted to Johnson, and the closest he would ever get to political office would be in administering of carnage for Johnson and his Texas business associates. Wallace was the Mr. X at the gas station asking Nolan Griffin for directions. Described as a “hatchet man”45 for Johnson by Lyndon’s mistress Madeleine Brown, Wallace was an important link in many of the murders connected to Johnson. Estes’s lawyer, Douglas Caddy, revealed Wallace’s and Johnson’s complicity in Texas-style justice in a letter to Stephan S. Trott at the US Department of Justice: My client, Mr. Estes, has authorized me to make this reply to your letter of May 29, 1984. Mr. Estes was a member of a four-member group, headed by Lyndon Johnson, which committed criminal acts in Texas in the 1960’s. The other two, besides Mr. Estes and LBJ, were Cliff Carter and Mack Wallace. Mr. Estes is willing to disclose his knowledge concerning the following criminal offenses: Murders 1.   The killing of Henry Marshall 2.   The killing of George Krutilek 3.   The killing of Ike Rogers and his secretary 4.   The killing of Coleman Wade 5.   The killing of Josefa Johnson 6.   The killing of John Kinser 7.   The killing of President J. F. Kennedy46

Los humanos suelen sobrevalorar cualquier grupo del que formen parte y demonizar al grupo de fuera. Los grupos excluyentes suelen estar definidos por la edad, así que cuando tienes 15 años un deseo clave que tanto tú como tus compañeros tenéis es que quede lo bastante claro que no os parecéis en nada a cualquier grupo de edad anterior a vosotros. (...) Un cuarto de siglo después la misma sensación de identificarte con tu generación hace que te aferres a ella como puedas. "¿Por qué voy a escuchar esta nueva basua? Nuestra música era lo suficientemente buena cuando estábamos venciendo a Hitler, nos gustaba Ike o teníamos relaciones sexuales en Woodstock." Las personas llegan a estar dispuestas a morir a causa de distinciones grupales, por lo que no hay duda de que estarán dispuestas a escuchar mala música por la misma causa.

Jess pushed herself up to sit next to him. "In case you didn't get the memo, it' s my turn to take care of you right now." Ike dropped his face into his hands on a groan, and Jess's cool hand massages his neck. "Oh, my God. You're so hot." He chuffed out a small laugh. "Why, thank you." Jess Chuckled. "You realize you don't have to fish for compliments, right? Not from me. Because I will straight-up tell you that the sight of your Ravens tat stretched over all these muscles gives me a lady boner." Her fingers traced the design across his shoulder blades - a spread-winged raven perches on the hilt of a dagger sunk into the eye socket of a skull. The block letters of the club's name arched over the menacing black bird. He threw her some major side-eye. "I know I'm sick because the perverted part of my brain just heard you say my ink gives you a lady boner.

The silence spreads. I talk and must talk. So I speak to him and to say to him: "Comrade, I did not want to kill you. If you jumped in here again, I would not do it, if you would be sensible too. But you were only an idea to me before, an abstraction that lives in my mind and called forth its appropriate response. It was that abstraction I stabbed. But now, for the first time, I see you are a man like me. I thought of your hand-grenades, of your bayonet, of your rifle; now I see your wife and your face and our fellowship. Forgive me, comrade. We always see it too late. Why do they never tell us that you are poor devils like us, that your mothers are just as anxious as ours, and that we have the same fear of death, and the same dying and the same agony --- Forgive me, comrade; how could you be my enemy? If we threw away these rifles and this uniform you could be my brother just ike Kat and Albert. Take twenty years of my life, comrade, and stand up --- take more, for I do not know what I can even attempt to do with it now.

The silence spreads. I talk and must talk. So I speak to him and to say to him: "Comrade, I did not want to kill you. If you jumped in here again, I would not do it, if you would be sensible too. But you were only an idea to me before, an abstraction that lives in my mind and called forth its appropriate response. It was that abstraction I stabbed. But now, for the first time, I see you are a man like me. I thought of you hand-grenades, of your bayonet, of your rifle; now I see your wife and your face and our fellowship. Forgive me, comrade. We always see it too late. Why do they never tell us that you are poor devils like us, that your mothers are just as anxious as ours , and that we have the same fear of death, and the same dying and the same agony --- Forgive me, comrade; how could you be my enemy? If we threw away these rifles and this uniform you could be my brother just ike Kat and Albert. Take twenty years of my life, comrade, and stand up --- take more, for I do not know what I can even attempt to do with it now.

They’d been sitting on the couch for a few hours trying to find something to watch. Cop and military type shows were out—too much like real life. The Walking Dead marathon was out, because people you liked always died on that show—too much like what they feared life might become. Ike had suggested the World Series of Poker, but Jess thought watching people play cards was boring. She’d suggested a dancing reality show, but Ike put the kibosh on that idea with a single look. Ike’s desire to put off sleeping alone again had him finally agreeing to a house hunting show Jess liked where the couple saw three houses and had to decide which to buy. Ike’s conclusion: people were idiots sometimes. “Should’ve picked the older house. More character,” he said. “Right?” Jess said, smiling. “You can fix up an older house, but it’s harder to give a newer house that kind of character.” “I knew I liked you for a reason,” he said, giving her a wink. “Because I’m awesome.” She turned toward him on the couch and propped her elbow on the back of the couch.