Kamala Quotes

64oz is 1.89L (64: Kamala 1:won 89: Taylor Swift endorsement)

By the end of the four-year term, Americans hold a bifurcated view of Mrs. Trump. Many Republicans, especially women, revere her as elegant, graceful, beautiful and wronged by the press. A pastor in Missouri held up Melania as a wifely model to which other women should aspire — or risk losing their men. At the same time some southern preachers referred to then-Senator and presidential candidate Kamala Harris as Jezebel, the Bible’s most nefarious woman and archetype of female cunning. There could be no surer sign that the life stories of prominent women affect the lives of private women than when pastors hold them up as positive or negative role models.

A patriot is not someone who condones the conduct of our country whatever it does. It is someone who fights every day for the ideals of the country, whatever it takes.

It is nice to be nice," said Kamala with a sage nod. "And it is also nice to eat people.

Once he said to her: 'You are like me; you are different from other people. You are Kamala and no one else, and within you there is a stillness and sanctuary to which you can retreat any time and be yourself, just as I can. Few people have that capacity and yet everyone could have it.

The best motivation is love," I offered. Beside me, Kamala nodded vigorously. "And food!

It is I who drink lonely Drinks at twelve, midnight, in hotels of strange towns, It is I who laugh, it is I who make love And then, feel shame, it is I who lie dying With a rattle in my throat. I am sinner, I am saint. I am the beloved and the Betrayed. I have no joys that are not yours, no Aches which are not yours. I too call myself I.

Democracy just cannot flourish amid fear. Liberty cannot bloom amid hate. Justice cannot take root amid rage. America must get to work. . . . We must dissent from the indifference. We must dissent from the apathy. We must dissent from the fear, the hatred, and the mistrust.

In the years to come, what matters most is that we see ourselves in one another's struggles. p 120

For as long as ours has been a nation of immigrants, we have been a nation that fears immigrants. Fear of the other is woven into the fabric of our American culture, and unscrupulous people in power have exploited that fear in pursuit of political advantage.

Most people, Kamala, are like a falling leaf, which is blown and is turning around through the air, and wavers, and tumbles to the ground. But others, a few, are like stars, they go on a fixed course, no wind reaches them, in themselves they have their law and their course

At sunset, on the river ban, Krishna Loved her for the last time and left. . . That night in her husband's arms, Radha felt So dead that he asked, What is wrong, Do you mind my kisses, love? And she said, Not not at all, but thought, What is It to the corpse if the maggots nip?

But when you can’t sleep at night, how can you dream?

When you break through a glass ceiling, you're going to get cut, and it's going to hurt.

For where shall a man turn who has no money? Where can he go? Wide, wide world, but as narrow as the coins in your hand. Like a tethered goat, so far and no farther. Only money can make the rope stretch, only money.

I swear to Vishnu, if this doesn’t work, I’m going to stab you in the throat with a Pipette.

If wrappings of cloth can impart respectability, the most respectable persons are the Egyptian mummies, all wrapped in layers and layers of gauze

Kamala: You're WOLVERINE! My Wolverine-and-Storm-in-space fanfic was the third-most upvoted story on Freaking Awesome last month! Logan: Oh my God. Kamala: I had you guys fighting this giant alien blob that farts wormholes! Logan: Sounds great, kid. [pause] Logan: Wait--so what was the MOST upvoted story? Kamala: Umm...Cyclops and Emma Frost's romantic vacation in Paris? Logan: This is the worst day of my life.

Our unity is our strength, and our diversity is our power. We reject the myth of “us” vs. “them.” We are in this together

You think you just fell out of a coconut tree? You exist in the context of all in which you live and what came before you.

Once, he said to her: "You are like me, you are different from most people. You are Kamala, nothing else, and inside of you, there is a peace and refuge, to which you can go at every hour of the day and be at home at yourself, as I can also do. Few people have this, and yet all could have it.

Good is not a thing you are. It's a thing you do.

I have a saying: Disappointment is a function of unreasonable expectations.

Like it or not, most people prioritize their own safety over the education of someone else’s child. I wanted to make them see that if we didn’t prioritize education now, it would be a public safety matter later.

The job of an elected official is not to sing a lullaby and soothe the country into a sense of complacency. The job is to speak truth, even in a moment that does not welcome or invite its utterance.

Hiram Revels, Blanche K. Bruce, Edward Brooke, Carol Moseley Braun, Barack Obama, Roland W. Burris, Tim Scott, William “Mo” Cowan, Cory A. Booker, Kamala D. Harris, Raphael Warnock: that is the full and complete list of African Americans to serve in the United States Senate in the history of this country.

The criminal justice system punishes people for their poverty.

Who am I? It seems like an easy question. And then I realize... Maybe what I said to those cops wasn't a joke. Maybe the name belongs to whoever has the courage to fight. And so I tell them. I tell them who I am.

My daily challenge to myself is to be part of the solution, to be a joyful warrior in the battle to come. My challenge to you is to join that effort. To stand up for our ideals and our values. Let's not throw up our hands when it's time to roll up our sleeves. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever. Years from now, our children and our grandchildren will look up and lock eyes with us. They will ask us where we were when the stakes were so high. They will ask us what it was like. I don't want us to just tell them how we felt. I want us to tell them what we did.

It is often the mastery of the seemingly unimportant details, the careful execution of the tedious tasks, and the dedicated work done outside of the public eye that make the changes we seek possible.

One of my mother’s favorite sayings was “Don’t let anybody tell you who you are. You tell them who you are.

I am sinner, I am saint. I am the beloved and the betrayed. I have no joys that are not yours, no aches which are not yours. I too call myself I.

It's too late for any of us. But you youngsters, you still have hope. Go and explore. Don't be afraid to search for the truth. There is nothing to fear.

Everyone can perform magic; everyone can reach his goals, if he is able to think, to wait, and to fast.” Kamala

Troubled, yet also with laughter, he recalled that time. He remembered that at that time he had boasted of three things to Kamala, three noble and invincible arts: fasting, waiting and thinking.

You are like me, you are different from most people. You are Kamala, nothing else, and inside of you, there is a peace and refuge, to which you can go at every hour of the day and be at home at yourself, as I can also do. Few people have this, and yet all could have it.

In a study of children's toy and television preferences, researchers Isabelle Cherney and Kamala London found that, when left alone, half of boys ages five through thirteen picked "girl" and "boy" toys equally - until they thought they were being watched. They were especially concerned about what their fathers would think if they saw them. Over time, boys' interests in toys and media become more rigidly masculinized and codified, whereas girls' stay relatively open ended and flexible.

He’s an expert at suggesting that someone is a fraud—that you cannot believe this person. Which I believe some psychologists would call “projection.

That’s why I have no patience for anyone saying, I’m giving up on America because America wanted this. We did not. Of the third that voted for Trump, a good part of them voted for him on promises unkept.

This is how fascism begins,” warned Françoise Giroud, a journalist who served in the French Resistance. “It never says its name. It creeps, it floats. When it reaches the tips of people’s noses, they say: ‘Is this it? You think? Don’t exaggerate!’ And then one day it smacks them in the mouth, and it is too late to get rid of it.

Well, and what if we give in to our troubles at every step! We would be pitiable creatures indeed to be so weak, for is not a man's spirit given to him to rise above his misfortunes? As for our wants, they are many and unfilled, for who is so rich or compassionate as to supply them? Want is our companion from birth to death, familiar as the seasons or the earth, varying only in degree. What profit to bewail that which has always been and cannot change?

Sometimes at night I think that my husband is with me again, coming gently through the mists, and we are tranquil together. Then the morning comes, the wavering grey turns to gold, there is stirring within me as the sleepers awake, and he softly departs.

Drawing on the words of Coretta Scott King, I reminded the audience that freedom must be fought for and won by every generation. "It is the very nature of this fight for civil rights and justice and equality that whatever gains we make, they will not be permanent. So we must be vigilant, " I said.

You didn't ever love him, but you were sentimental about him

Jack...why is there a dragon in our backyard?

Don’t let anybody tell you who you are. You tell them who you are.

Kamala did not try to find him. She was not surprised when she learned that Siddhartha had disappeared.

For too long, we’d been told there were only two options: to be either tough on crime or soft on crime—an oversimplification that ignored the realities of public safety. You can want the police to stop crime in your neighborhood and also want them to stop using excessive force. You can want them to hunt down a killer on your streets and also want them to stop using racial profiling. You can believe in the need for consequence and accountability, especially for serious criminals, and also oppose unjust incarceration. I believed it was essential to weave all these varied strands together.

Throughout my career I’ve maintained that people in positions of power must be required to ask of themselves: Who am I not hearing from? Then make it their business to seek those folks out.

To those who live by the land there must always come times of hardship, of fear and of hunger, even as there are years of plenty. This is one of the truths of our existence as those who live by the land know: that sometimes we eat and sometimes we starve. We live by our labours fromone harvest to the next, there is no certain telling whether we shall be able to feed ourselves and our children, and if bad times are prolonged we know we must see the weak surrender their lives and this fact, too, is within our experience. In our lives there is no margin for misfortune.

You have to sweat the small stuff, because sometimes it turns out the small stuff is actually the big stuff.

Implicit bias lives in split seconds. It is the unconscious shorthand that our brains use to help us make a quick judgment about a stranger.

You must cry out if you want help. It is no use whatsoever to suffer in silence. Who will succour the drowning man if he does not clamour for his life?

A book is a good substitute for a man. Fiction, preferably

fact, if DACA recipients were deported, it is estimated that the U.S. economy as a whole could lose as much as $460 billion over a decade.

The amount of energy necessary to refute bullshit is an order of magnitude bigger than to produce it. —ALBERTO BRANDOLINI

Two of the trending searches after the election: What is a tariff? Can I change my vote?

We live by our labors from one harvest to the next, there is no certain telling whether we shall be able to feed ourselves and our children, and if bad times are prolonged we know we must see the weak surrender their lives and this fact, too, is within our experience. In our lives there is no margin for misfortune.

Today at Nariman Point the tall buildings crowd one another. But when I was young and in love with a grey-eyed man it was a marshy waste. We used to walk aimlessly along the quiet Panday Road or cross the Cuffe Parade to walk towards the sun. We did not have a place to rest. But in the glow of those evening suns, we felt that we were Gods who had lost their way and had strayed into an unkind planet..

Most people, Kamala, are like a falling leaf, which is blown and is turning around through the air, and wavers, and tumbles to the ground. But others, a few, are like stars, they go on a fixed course, no wind reaches them, in themselves they have their law and their course.

You were willing. Look, Kamala, when you throw a rock into the water, it will speed on the fastest course to the bottom of the water. This is how it is when Siddhartha has a goal, a resolution. Siddhartha does nothing, he waits, he thinks, he fasts, but he passes through the things of the world like a rock through water, without doing anything, without stirring; he is drawn, he lets himself fall. His goal attracts him, because he doesn’t let anything enter his soul which might oppose the goal. This is what Siddhartha has learned among the Samanas. This is what fools call magic and of which they think it would be effected by means of the demons. Nothing is caused by demons, there are no demons. Everyone can perform magic, everyone can reach his goals, if he is able to think, if he is able to wait, if he is able to fast.

He’s fine,” Kamala said. “It’s not like that. You’re not listening.” “I am listening! You just told me he’s delusional, and I’m asking—” “I DID NOT SAY HE IS DELUSIONAL. I SAID HE WAS TALKING TO HIS MOTHER.” “Who is dead,” Amina said gently. “Obvious.” “And that’s not delusional?

Black men use drugs at the same rate as white men, but they are arrested twice as often for it. And then they pay more than a third more than their counterparts, on average, in bail. Black men are six times as likely as white men to be incarcerated. And when they are convicted, black men get sentences nearly 20 percent longer than those given to their white counterparts. Latino men don’t fare much better. It is truly appalling.

As I sat alone in my new office, I recalled a time, as a young prosecutor, when I overheard some of my colleagues in the hallway. “Should we add the gang enhancement?” one of them asked. “Can we show he was in a gang?” the other said. “Come on, you saw what he was wearing, you saw which corner they picked him up on. Guy’s got the tape of that rapper, what’s his name?” I stepped out into the hallway. “Hey, guys, just so you know: I have family that live in that neighborhood. I’ve got friends who dress in that style. And I’ve got a tape of that rapper in my car right now.

What I want young women and girls to know is: You are powerful and your voice matters. You're going to walk into many rooms in your life and career where you may be the only one who looks like you or who has had the experiences you've had. But you remember that when you are in those rooms, you are not alone. We are all in that room with you applauding you on. Cheering your voice. And just so proud of you. So you use that voice and be strong.

Cei mai mulți oameni, Kamala, sunt precum frunzele care se scutură, plutind și rostogolindu-se în aer, clătinându-se și legănându-se până ajung la pământ. Alții însă, puțini la număr, sunt ca stelele cu traiectorie fixă, neatinse de vânt, ei poartă într-înșii propria lor lege și propria lor traiectorie.

She turned back to the spot where Kamala had been, and where the bow she'd held still was. Andrea walked over to it and picked it up. She ran her hands over it gently, feeling the intricate designs carved into it, the elegance of the metal guard. Andrea held it out before her and pulled the string back. It came easily, though with all the tensions of a thousand taut muscles. She relaxed the string and looked at the bow with a sad familiarity, as she uttered one word. “Sister.

İnsanların büyük çoğunluğu Kamala, düşen bir yaprak gibidir, kapılıp gider rüzgarın önüne, havada süzülür, dönüp durur, sağa sola yalpalar vurarak iner yere. Pek az kişi de vardır, yıldızlara benzer, belli bir yörüngede ilerler durur, hiçbir rüzgar varamaz yanlarına, kendi yasalarını ve izleyecekleri yolu kendi içlerinde taşırlar

Nature is like a wild animal that you have trained to work for you. So long as you are vigilant and walk warily with thought and care, so long will it give you its aid; but look away for an instant, be heedless or forgetful, and it has you by the throat.

Kamala trotted beside me, her lips a ghastly shade of red. I bowed to her. “You can have a bite of my arm now if you’d like.” She tossed her head, gesturing at the fallen demons around us. “I am quite sated. I would, however, ask another thing…” “What is that?” Kamala bent her head to the ground, her voice low and shy. “…I could stay with you. If you’ll have me. And I wouldn’t eat anyone. That is a promise. Unless you asked me to eat someone. In which case, I would be easily persuaded.” I drew her to a hug. “You may stay.

That is all you can think of: what people will say! One goes from one end of the world to the other to hear the same story. Does it matter what people say?

The truth is unpalatable.

Like other women writers of my class, I am expected to tame my talent to suit the comfort of my family.

How quickly children grow! They are infants -- you look away a minute and in that time they have left their babyhood behind.

God, a God who asked us to “speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves” and to “defend the rights of the poor and needy.” This is where I learned that “faith” is

. . . Being a good person meant standing for something larger than yourself; that success is measured in part by what you help others achieve and accomplish.

We have to act with fierce urgency. Justice demands it.

This generation is the destiny of our country and the world.

Anyone can reach his goals if he can think, if he can wait, if he can fast.” Kamala

Rob Halford?” Chacko asked. “He’s a singing priest,” Kamala said, and the others nodded quickly. “Akhil admired him very much.

Jason Carter, eulogizing his grandfather, observed that Jimmy Carter “was the same person, no matter who he was with or where he was. And for me, that’s the definition of integrity.

Broken-bone, broken-bone, smash her with a silver stone,” trilled Kamala in my ear. “Maybe-queen-maybe-liar, you share something with this crone. Is it blood? Is it sinew? Let me rend and taste her tissue.” I shoved Kamala. “Why don’t you go graze?” “Graze?” she retorted. “I do not graze.” “Go stalk a peacock.” “You are not very nice,” said Kamala, huffing and trotting away.

Take the issue of women being interrupted. An analysis of fifteen years of Supreme Court oral arguments found that ‘men interrupt more than women, and they particularly interrupt women more than they interrupt other men’.73 This goes for male lawyers (female lawyers weren’t found to interrupt at all) as well as judges, even though lawyers are meant to stop speaking when a justice starts speaking. And, as in the political sphere, the problem seems to have got worse as female representation on the bench has increased. An individualist solution might be to tell women to interrupt right back74 – perhaps working on their ‘polite interrupting’75 skills. But there’s a problem with this apparently gender-neutral approach, which is that it isn’t gender-neutral in effect: interrupting simply isn’t viewed the same way when women do it. In June 2017 US Senator Kamala Harris was asking an evasive Attorney General Jeff Sessions some tough questions. When he prevaricated once too often, she interrupted him and pressed him to answer. She was then in turn (on two separate occasions) interrupted and admonished by Senator John McCain for her questioning style.76 He did not do the same to her colleague Senator Rob Wyden, who subjected Sessions to similarly dogged questioning, and it was only Harris who was later dubbed ‘hysterical’.

You don’t add the intractable problems to the list because they are new, but because they are big, because people have been fighting against them for dozens—maybe even hundreds—of years, and that duty is now yours. What matters is how well you run the portion of the race that is yours.

All round me are words, and words and words, They grow on me like leaves, they never Seem to stop their slow growing From within... But I tell my self, words Are a nuisance, beware of them, they Can be so many things, a Chasm where running feet must pause, to Look, a sea with paralyzing waves, A blast of burning air or, A knife most willing to cut your best Friend's throat... Words are a nuisance, but. They grow on me like leaves on a tree, They never seem to stop their coming, From a silence, somewhere deep within...

Then it is settled. You will be my guest,” said Skanda. “What about me?” muttered Kamala in my ear. “And my horse?” “And the horse,” said Skanda, with such false graciousness, I almost considered letting Kamala eat him.

Local officials don’t have the ability to make national policy. They have no authority beyond their jurisdiction. But when they land on good ideas, even on a small scale, they can create examples that others can replicate.

I believe it is time for my Republican colleagues to put country ahead of party and join us and hold this President accountable. And it is far past time that a special prosecutor be appointed to oversee the FBI’s investigation into Russia.

True equality, true acceptance and appreciation of each other, true freedom, may be the scariest thing. Do we have the capability as a country to opt for it, for enough of us to opt for it to get it despite all the historical impediments?

And what is this?” asked Airavata, leaning forward. His voice was rich and deep, streaked with friendliness and a wizened timber. “A demon near my waters and someone who smells of secrets.” Kamala turned to me, whispering, “Which one am I?” “The person full of secrets,” I muttered. Kamala whinnied. “Oh, I hope you are a queen. You are funny. Funny, funny. What does funny taste like?” She paused. “Maybe I hope you are not a queen. I would like to taste funny.” “I am certain you do.

Kamala kept pawing at the ground. “Let me, let me, let me,” she pleaded. “No.” “I’ll be so very nice. If you let me, I’ll only nibble at your skin. You won’t even bleed too much. I swear on my soul.” “You have no soul.” Kamala considered this.

Listen, Kamala, when you throw a stone into the water, it finds the quickest way to the bottom of the water. It is the same when Siddhartha has an aim, a goal. Siddhartha does nothing; he waits, he thinks, he fasts, but he goes through the affairs of the world like the stone through water, without doing anything, without bestirring himself; he is drawn and lets himself fall. He is drawn by his goal, for he does not allow anything to enter his mind which opposes his goal. That is what Siddhartha learned from the Samana. It is what fools call magic and what they think is caused by demons. Nothing is caused by demons; there are no demons. Everyone can perform magic, everyone can reach his goal, if he can think, wait and fast.

(During the same period, Trump also sent four-figure donations to California attorney general Kamala Harris, a Democrat. Her office ultimately took no action against Trump University even as it went after other for-profit educational entities.)

We had for so long accepted her obedience to our will that when it ceased to be given naturally, it came as a considerable chock; yet there was no option but to accept the change, strange and bewildering as it was, for obedience cannot be extorted.

Most people, Kamala, are like a falling leaf that drifts and turns in the air, flutters, and falls to the ground. But a few others are like stars which travel one defined path: no wind reaches them, they have within themselves their guide and path.

I was born into a fight for freedom and stood in that tradition. Freedom to vote, to control one’s own body, to breathe clean air and drink clean water, to be free from the fear of weapons of war on our city streets and in our children’s classrooms. Freedom from anxiety about health care costs, childcare costs, a retirement spent in poverty. Freedom to afford a home, build wealth, provide our kids a good education. The freedom not just to get by but to get ahead. And the freedom to simply be.

Stop where you are, imposter.” I stopped. Kamala bent her head to me. “Surely I can eat that one.” “No,” I hissed. “No? You won’t stop?” said the voice, laughing. Gauri. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to the horse.” Kamala snorted indignantly.

Kamala le enseñó que no se puede recibir placer sin devolverlo, y que cada gesto, cada caricia, cada contacto, cada mirada y cada parte del cuerpo, por pequeña que sea, tienen su propio misterio, cuyo desciframiento produce felicidad al que lo descubre.

Most people, Kamala, are like a falling leaf, which drifts and turns in the air, and sways, and zigzags to the ground. But others, just a few, are like stars; they travel a fixed route, no wind reaches them; their law and their route lie within themselves

Most people, Kamala, are like a falling leaf, that wafts and drifts through the air, and twists and tumbles to the ground. Others, however, few, are like stars: they have a fixed course, no wind reaches them, they have their law and their course inside them.

I had divided my to-do list into three categories: short-, medium-, and long-term. Short-term meant “a couple of weeks,” medium-term meant “a couple of years,” and long-term meant “as long as it takes.” It was that far side of the ledger where I wrote down the most intractable problems we were facing—the ones you can’t expect to solve on your own, over a term, perhaps even over a career. That’s where the most important work is. That’s where you take the bigger view—not of the political moment but of the historical one.

We are the only country in the world where the leading cause of death for children is guns. Every day in America there are parents who drop their kids off at the bus stop or at the school gate and say a silent prayer that their children will return home that day.

You are like me, you are different from most people. You are Kamala, nothing else, and inside you there is a stillness, a sanctuary that you can enter at any time and be at home in, just as I can inside myself. Few people have that, and yet all people could have it.

They were turning now, panning past the Sandias, the black-green crags and rocky faces, the ribbon of road leading to the white crest. Amina looked down on Albuquerque, the light bouncing off the sprawling tile of houses and pools, the cars running along the highways like busy insects. She imagined all of it gone, undone, erased back to 1968, when the city was nothing but eighty miles of hope huddling in a desert storm. She imagined Kamala on the tarmac, walking toward a life in the desert, her body pulled forward by faith and dirty wind.

When I die                             do not throw                             the meat and bones away                             but pile them up                             and let them tell                             by their smell                             what life was worth                             on this earth                             what love was worth                             in the end.

Most people, Kamala, are like a falling leaf that is blown and is turning around through the air, wavering and tumbling to the ground. But others, a few, are like stars: they go on a fixed course, no wind reaches them, and in themselves they have their law and their direction.

You know what your problem is?” Kamala asked. “Which one? I have many.” “You feel like you revealed too much last night. You like this boy. You showed him more than you were ready to show him and now you’re pretending like it’s him who’s trying to pull back when really it’s you.

Now that the sadhvi woman is here, perhaps we could let her decide.” No one would argue with that. Even Gauri bowed her head deferentially. I shifted my feet and attempted some measure of mysticism and authority. “Does your stomach ail you?” whispered Kamala. My attempt clearly failed.

La maggior parte degli uomini, Kamala, sono come foglia secca, che si libra e si rigira nell'aria e scende ondeggiando al suolo. Ma altri, pochi, sono come stelle fisse, che vanno per un loro corso preciso, e non c'è vento che li tocchi, hanno in se stessi la loro legge e il loro cammino.

When you show people the math, you give them the tools to decide whether they agree with the solution. And even if they don’t agree with everything, they may find that they agree with you most of the way—a kind of policy-making “partial credit” that can form the basis for constructive collaboration.

Einmal sagte er zu ihr: Du bist wie ich, du bist anders als die meisten Menschen. Du bist Kamala, nichts andres, und in dir innen ist eine Stille und Zuflucht, in welche du zu jeder Stunde eingehen und bei dir daheim sein kannst, so wie auch ich es kann. Wenige Menschen haben das, und doch könnten alle es haben.

I’m sorry that more than your brain actually likes a boy. It’s not a fun feeling to let your heart out of its cage, is it?” I took another bite of the cookie. “It sucks. And it’s only out for loan.” “Your heart?” “Yes, I’m just letting him borrow it for a while. It’s a trial run.” Kamala laughed. “If that makes you feel better.

Getting a man to love you is easy Only be honest about your wants as Woman. Stand nude before the glass with him So that he sees himself the stronger one And believes it so, and you so much more Softer, younger, lovelier. Admit your Admiration. Gift him all, Gift him what makes you woman, the scent of Long hair, the musk of sweat between the breasts, The warm shock of menstrual blood, and all your Endless female hungers. Oh yes, getting A man to love is easy, but living Without him afterwards may have to be Faced.

Cooking was a talent of her mother's that Amina often thought of as an evolutionary way for Kamala to survive herself with friendships intact. Like plumage that expanded to rainbow an otherwise unremarkable bird, Kamala's ability to transform raw ingredients into sumptuous meals brought her the kind of love her personality on its own might have repelled.

Innovation is the pursuit of what can be, unburdened by what has been.

There is a rare gentleness in you, the sweeter for its brief appearances.

She was no longer a child, to be cowed or forced into submission, but a grown woman with a definite purpose and an invincible determination.

Wipe out the paints, unmould the clay, Let nothing remain of that yesterday.

The end is of importance and not the beginning

I am sinner, I am saint, I am the beloved and the betrayed”.

Being confident, well-informed, and in control doesn't make you a "monster". It makes you a strong leader. People fear what (and who) they can't control.

You may be the first to do many things, but make sure you are not the last.

Why do you love this man who offers you only pain?

The value of a thing is never so poignantly precious as when we contemplate the loss of it

A society is judged by the way it treats its children—and history will judge us harshly for this.

History has shown that one person's willingness to stand up for what is right can be the spark that ignites far-reaching change.

We have so much more in common than what separates us.

But it remains true that the vice president’s role will be as little or as much as the sitting president desires. That can be a hard pill to swallow.

Democracy is complicated. It’s also easily compromised by blatant bias, downright lies, and the media organizations that enable them.

Vedi, Kamala, se tu getti una pietra nell’acqua, essa si affretta per la via più breve fino al fondo. E così è di Siddharta, quando ha una meta, un proposito. Siddharta non fa nulla. Siddharta pensa, aspetta, digiuna, ma passa attraverso le cose del mondo come la pietra attraverso l’acqua, senza far nulla, senza agitarsi: viene scagliato, ed egli si lascia cadere. La sua meta lo tira a sè, poichè egli non conserva nulla nell’anima propria, che potrebbe contrastare a questa meta. Questo è ciò che Siddharta ha imparato dai Samana. Questo è ciò che gli stolti chiamano magia, credono che sia opera dei demoni. Ognuno può compiere opera di magia, ognuno può raggiungere i propri fini, se sa pensare, se sa aspettare, se sa digiunare [...]

You were willing. See here, Kamala: When you throw a stone into water, it falls quickly by the fastest route to the bottom of the pond. This is the way it is when Siddhartha has an aim, an intention. Siddhartha does nothing—he waits, he thinks, he fasts—but he passes through the things of the world like the stone through the water, without bestirring himself. He is drawn forward and he lets himself fall. His goal draws him to it, for he lets nothing enter his mind that interferes with the goal. This is what Siddhartha learned from the shramanas. This is what fools call magic, thinking that it is brought about by demons. Nothing is brought about by demons; demons do not exist. Anyone can do magic, anyone can reach his goals if he can think, wait, and fast.

And if we are lucky enough to be in a position of power, if our voice and our actions can mobilize change, don't we have a special obligation? Being an ally can't just be about nodding when someone says something we agree with - important as that is. It must also be about action. It's our job to stand up for those who are not at the table when life-altering decisions are made. Not just those people who look like us. Not just those who need what we need. Not just those who have gained an audience with us. Our duty is to improve the human condition - in every way we can, for everyone who needs it.

An analysis of 15 years of Supreme Court oral arguments found that men interrupt more than women. And they particularly interrupt women more than they interrupt other men... An individualist solution might be to tell women to interrupt right back... But there’s a problem... interrupting simply isn’t viewed the same way when women do it. In June 2017, US senator Kamala Harris was asking an evasive attorney general Jeff Sessions some tough questions. When he prevaricated once too often, she interrupted him and pressed him to answer. She was then in turn, on two separate occasions, interrupted and admonished by senator John McCain for her questioning style. He did not do the same to her (male) colleague Senator Ron Wyden who subjected Sessions to similarly dogged questioning. And it was only Harris who was then dubbed ‘hysterical’.

But I also know this: it is a false choice to suggest that you must either be for the police or for police accountability. I am for both. Most people I know are for both. Let's speak some truth about that, too.

And we the people have the power. And there is nothing more powerful than a group of determined sisters marching alongside their partners and their determined sons and fathers standing up for what we know is right.

There comes a point when you’ve done all you can do. When your work has been completed… That’s when you just stand. Stand believing and knowing that you’ve done your part. Stand in the strength given to you by God.

Congressman John Lewis, before his passing, wrote: “Democracy is not a state. It is an act.” And what he meant was that America’s democracy is not guaranteed. It is only as strong as our willingness to fight for it, to guard it and never take it for granted. And protecting our democracy takes struggle. It takes sacrifice. There is joy in it and there is progress. Because we, the people, have the power to build a better future

The strident chimes of prayer bells from the distant temple resonated in the night air with ritual insistence, and nudged Kamala from her repose. What had once sounded to her like a sharp and persistent call to prayer now, with ceaseless repetition, mellowed to become plaintive and wistful, like one's favourite recording playing in the background to the syncopated percussion of lovemaking. (From the novel Blood & Nemesis by Ben Antao).

He sighed impatently. 'You simplify everything, being without understanding. Your views are so limited it is impossible to explain to you.' 'Limited, yes,' I agreed. Yet not wholly without understanding. Our ways are not your ways.

Kamala looked into his eyes. She spoke with a heavy tongue, paralysed by the poison. "You've become old, my dear," she said, "you've become gray. But you are like the young Samana, who at one time came without clothes, with dusty feet, to me into the garden. You are much more like him, than you were like him at that time when you had left me and Kamaswami. In the eyes, you're like him, Siddhartha. Alas, I have also grown old, old—could you still recognise me?

Act like you’re chanting a prayer,” hissed Kamala in my ear. “Like what?” “Mutter something,” said Kamala. “Do you know how many sadhus I’ve listened to? Let alone eaten? If you don’t start muttering something, they will turn on you. And I don’t want to eat them. They look like they’d taste horrible.” “I--” “A list or something.” “Uh,” I stammered, trying to draw out the sound into the beginning of a chant. The people of Bharata were beginning to frown at me. Some had even stopped hurling shouts at the gates to watch me fail. “Skies…fingers…teeth…” Kamala nodded approvingly. “Can they hear you?” I hissed. “No, not at all. Continue talking to me. That will definitely make you seem crazy. Very convincing for a holy person.” “Are you sure?” “Quite,” said Kamala. “You are like me. Half a thing. Mildly insane. A little of the Otherworld.” “How comforting,” I muttered, continuing with my ridiculous list as we shouldered through people.

Politicians talk a big game about the value of hard work. But it's time we speak some truth. The truth is that the economy stopped rewarding and valuing most hard work a long time ago. And we've got to acknowledge that if we're going to change it.

Joe Biden was a smart guy with long experience and deep conviction, able to discharge the duties of president. On his worst day, he was more deeply knowledgeable, more capable of exercising judgment, and far more compassionate than Donald Trump on his best.

The memory was gone. The hole I had made for it had fallen in on itself; moon-bright roots clung to the sides, forming a tunnel veined with quartz. “Is that how--” Kamala began. “Yes,” I said, pushing her back, “get in, get in!” “I don’t like being underground.” “Not the time!” I said. I squatted to the ground, kicking my legs into the hole, and suppressed a shiver. It was cold and damp. But not like dirt. Like sweat-covered skin cooling in the wind. “Ready?” “Absolutely not--” I grabbed hold of her reins. “Not looking for an answer.” And then we slid forth.

Siddhartha said nothing, and they played the game of love, one of the thirty or forty different games Kamala knew. Her body was flexible like that of a jaguar and like the bow of a hunter; he who had learned from her how to make love, was knowledgeable of many forms of lust, many secrets. For a long time, she played with Siddhartha, enticed him, rejected him, forced him, embraced him: enjoyed his masterful skills, until he was defeated and rested exhausted by her side. The courtesan bent over him, took a long look at his face, at his eyes, which had grown tired.

In the distance, I could see Skanda sitting on a pavilion wreathed in lotus blossoms and flanked with serving girls. He was, as I had guessed, fat. And in his golden jacket, he indeed looked like a toad. “Ah, I remember him,” muttered Kamala. “He’s my half-brother.” “Nasty, nasty.” “I know.” “Would you like me to eat him?” “Definitely not,” I said, a little too quickly. I patted Kamala’s neck. “But I appreciate your offer. It was almost nice.” “It is nice to be nice,” said Kamala with a sage nod. “And it is also nice to eat people,” she added as an afterthought.

Kamala owned a small, rare singing bird in a golden cage. Of this bird, he dreamt. He dreamt: this bird had become mute, who at other times always used to sing in the morning, and since this arose his attention, he stepped in front of the cage and looked inside; there the small bird was dead and lay stiff on the ground. He took it out, weighed it for a moment in his hand, and then threw it away, out in the street, and in the same moment, he felt terribly shocked, and his heart hurt, as if he had thrown away from himself all value and everything good by throwing out this dead bird.

Lately, with Thomas not working and Kamala trying her hand at puff pastry, there was almost always someone around, someone shuffling below and making it feel like even if they weren’t quite in sync, they were a team of sorts, a little tight unit. Now, with Sanji on her way to the hospital, Amina was alone with the unease of having brought the others into the mix. It wasn’t that she doubted their love or intentions, but the weight of that love would be no small thing. What would they do with everyone else’s worry on top of their own? Thomas did not weather other people’s concern well. He was not going to be happy with her.

She guided me down a narrow cobblestone path winding toward the cottage. Blue-and-white flowers shaped like conch shells bordered the path, and their satiny petals brushed against my ankles. The heady fragrance of frangipane lingered in the air. A rainbow of butterflies circled above our heads. The cottage's thatched roof winked under the sun. The peacock was lying on the front step, docile and languid as a Persian cat. He lifted his head to meet Tulasi's outstretched hand. "This is Puck," she said, stroking his feathers. "Aren't you afraid he'll fly away?" "No, Puck would never do that. He's just as bound to this garden as I am.

We need a soul, my lord. You said so yourself. If I do as you ask, the sadhvi must take his place. A soul for a soul.” Amar wasn’t laughing anymore. The muscles in his neck tightened. His jaw clenched. But he didn’t say anything. Nritti’s grip on the noose turned her knuckles white. She was controlling him. I bit back a snarl. Nritti turned back to me and her face was triumphant. “No soul, no bargain.” Kamala shinnied, pulling against Gupta. I dropped my gaze to the ground, my heart frantic when I saw my sandals--mud crusted, tearing at the seams. I grinned. Don’t worry, Kamala, I thought, I’m not dying. “I have one.” When I spoke, my gaze was for Amar alone. “Here,” I said, tearing off the sandal and throwing it at Nritti’s feet, “a sole for a soul.” Kamala began to laugh and the deranged sound pitched off the walls, scattering between the bodies of the dark Otherworld beings. They stood slack-jawed and still. Only their eyes moved--bounding between me and Nritti and back. Before Nritti could speak, a creaking sound clattered through the room. Amar scooped the dirtied sandal in one hand before pulling me away from Nritti. His grip crushed into my arm, strong as iron. But there was something else…he was trembling. I could feel it through my skin. “I accept her barter.

The person you received word from,” I said after a while. “You love one of them, don’t you?” Gauri started, a protest on the tip of her lips. “I…,” she began before weakly trailing off. She quickly regained composure and her eyes narrowed. “That’s none of your concern.” You are my concern, I wanted to say. You are my sister. But I said nothing. I just let her words hang in the air. “The best motivation is love,” I offered. Beside me, Kamala nodded vigorously. “And food!” Gauri’s eyes widened. Like a ghost of sound laid atop the other, I heard what Gauri did--a sort of mangled neighing. “Your horse is rather strange.” Kamala nodded again.

എനിക്ക് സ്നേഹം വേണം അത് പ്രകടമായി തന്നെ കിട്ടണം. അകത്തു സ്നേഹമുണ്ട്,പക്ഷെ പ്രകടിപ്പിക്കാനാവില്ല എന്നതില്‍ ഞാന്‍ വിശ്വസിക്കുന്നില്ല. ശവകുടീരത്തില് വന്നു പൂവിട്ടാല് അവരുടെ സ്നേഹം ഞാനറിയുമോ? പ്രേമമെന്ന രഥത്തിന്റെ കൊടിക്കൂറയാണ് കാമം. പ്രേമത്തിനു കാമം കൂടിയേ തീരു എന്ന് ഞാന് വിശ്വസിക്കുന്നു. ശരീരത്തിലൂടെയാണ് നാം എല്ലാം അറിയുന്നത്

So it’s clear what Joe Biden meant when he said unity again and again in his speech. Unity, to Progressive Democrats, means, “You can come along with me as long as you agree with everything I do and say. You’re welcome to join the left and support our radical policies. If you conform to our Progressive agenda, we’ll have unity.

I've learned, through history and experience, that not all progress is gradual or linear. Sometimes it simply goes from one plateau to another. Sometimes we fall back tragically. Sometimes we leap forward and achieve things beyond the realm of what we thought possible. I believe that our job is to provide the force propulsion that will get us to a higher plane.

Siddhartha said nothing, and they played the game of love, one of the thirty or forty different games Kamala knew. Her body was flexible like that of a jaguar and like the bow of a hunter; he who had learned from her how to make love, was knowledgeable of many forms of lust, many secrets. For a long time, she played with Siddhartha, enticed him, rejected him, forced him, embraced him: enjoyed his masterful skills, until he was defeated and rested exhausted by her side. The courtesan bent over him, took a long look at his face, at his eyes, which had grown tired. “You are the best lover,” she said thoughtfully, “I ever saw. You’re stronger than others, more supple, more willing. You’ve learned my art well, Siddhartha.

We all know President Trump and his administration, and their allies, are counting on the notion that fear can be contagious. They are counting on the notion that if they make some people afraid, it will have a chilling effect on others. But what they're overlooking - what they have overlooked - is that fear is not the only thing that's contagious. Courage is contagious.

But you did want. Listen, Kamala, when you throw a stone into the water, it finds the quickest way to the bottom of the water. It is the same when Siddhartha has an aim, a goal. Siddhartha does nothing; he waits, he thinks, he fasts, but he goes through the affairs of the world like the stone through water, without doing anything, without bestirring himself; he is drawn and lets himself fall. He is drawn by his goal, for he does not allow anything to enter his mind which opposes his goal. That is what Siddhartha learned from the Samanas. It is what fools call magic and what they think is caused by demons. Nothing is caused by demons; there are no demons. Everyone can perform magic, everyone can reach his goal, if he can think, wait and fast.

It is normal human behavior to want to stop feeling pain, whether physical or emotional, and people will find ways to do so. Sometimes that will mean getting help, and sometimes it will mean getting hooked on heroin. Our job is not to punish our friends and family members and neighbors by throwing them in prison. It is to put them on a sustainable path to better manage their pain.

Kamala, listen: if you throw a stone into water it drops quickly to the bottom by the fastest route it can. Siddhartha does nothing, he waits, he thinks, he fasts, but he goes through the things of the world like a stone through water without doing anything, without making any effort; he is drawn, he lets himself fall. His objective pulls him to itself, for he allows nothing into his soul that might work against his objective. That, Kamala, is what Siddhartha learnt among the samanas. That, Kamala, is what fools call magic in the supposition that it is performed by demons. Nothing is ever performed by demons, there are no demons. Anyone can perform magic, anyone can attain his objectives if he is capable of thought, if he is capable of waiting, if he is capable of fasting.

Communities—and in particular the black community—have been shouting and crying, mothers over their dead children’s bodies, been crying in deep pain about these things. But people turned a blind eye or they didn’t believe it or they didn’t want to believe it. But now, because of the smartphone, America and the world are seeing in vivid detail the brutality that communities have known for generations.

Look, Kamala: When you throw a rock into the water, it will speed on the fastest course to the bottom of the water. This is how it is when Siddhartha has a goal, a resolution. Siddhartha does nothing, he waits, he thinks, he fasts, but he passes through the things of the world like a rock through water, without doing anything, without stirring; he is drawn, he lets himself fall. His goal attracts him, because he doesn't let anything enter his soul which might oppose the goal. This is what Siddhartha has learned among the Samanas. This is what fools call magic and of which they think it would be effected by means of the daemons. Nothing is effected by daemons, there are no daemons. Everyone can perform magic, everyone can reach his goals, if he is able to think, if he is able to wait, if he is able to fast.

Kamala kept pawing at the ground. “Let me, let me, let me,” she pleaded. “No.” “I’ll be so very nice. If you let me, I’ll only nibble at your skin. You won’t even bleed too much. I swear on my soul.” “You have no soul.” Kamala considered this. “Just let me, let me--” “There are no bodies to be found there. Trust me. She gave me her word no one would be injured.” “Then let me make sure,” wheedled Kamala. “Let me make sure that the nasty crone kept her word--” “No. We are waiting for Gauri and then we are leaving.” “You are not very kind.” “You are not very patient.” Kamala harrumphed and snuffled my hair, sending showers of something wet and stinking down my neck. I suppressed a groan. I wanted to sink into a frothing hot bath and collapse into pillows bursting with feathery down. Instead, I had Kamala’s increasingly bony spine to look forward to.

Jack coughed slightly and offered his hand. “Hi, uh. I’m Jack.” Kim took it. “Jack what?” “Huh?” “Your last name, silly.” “Jackson.” She blinked at him. “Your name is Jack Jackson?” He blushed. “No, uh, my first name’s Rhett, but I hate it, so…” He gestured to the chair and she sat. Her dress rode up several inches, exposing pleasing long lines of creamy skin. “Well, Jack, what’s your field of study?” “Biological Engineering, Genetics, and Microbiology. Post-doc. I’m working on a research project at the institute.” “Really? Oh, uh, my apple martini’s getting a little low.” “I’ve got that, one second.” He scurried to the bar and bought her a fresh one. She sipped and managed to make it look not only seductive but graceful as well. “What do you want to do after you’re done with the project?” Kim continued. “Depends on what I find.” She sent him a simmering smile. “What are you looking for?” Immediately, Jack’s eyes lit up and his posture straightened. “I started the project with the intention of learning how to increase the reproduction of certain endangered species. I had interest in the idea of cloning, but it proved too difficult based on the research I compiled, so I went into animal genetics and cellular biology. It turns out the animals with the best potential to combine genes were reptiles because their ability to lay eggs was a smoother transition into combining the cells to create a new species, or one with a similar ancestry that could hopefully lead to rebuilding extinct animals via surrogate birth or in-vitro fertilization. We’re on the edge of breaking that code, and if we do, it would mean that we could engineer all kinds of life and reverse what damage we’ve done to the planet’s ecosystem.” Kim stared. “Right. Would you excuse me for a second?” She wiggled off back to her pack of friends by the bar. Judging by the sniggering and the disgusted glances he was getting, she wasn’t coming back. Jack sighed and finished off his beer, massaging his forehead. “Yes, brilliant move. You blinded her with science. Genius, Jack.” He ordered a second one and finished it before he felt smallish hands on his shoulders and a pair of soft lips on his cheek. He turned to find Kamala had returned, her smile unnaturally bright in the black lights glowing over the room. “So…how did it go with Kim?” He shot her a flat look. “You notice the chair is empty.” Kamala groaned. “You talked about the research project, didn’t you?” “No!” She glared at him. “…maybe…” “You’re so useless, Jack.” She paused and then tousled his hair a bit. “Cheer up. The night’s still young. I’m not giving up on you.” He smiled in spite of himself. “Yet.” Her brown eyes flashed. “Never.

What is she running against? The belief that only men, preferably white men, preferably white men with certain credentials and money, are allowed to be the inspiring, authoritative, wise ones. And that the old status quo-- a diehard societal hierarchical structure-- is worth dying for because even though it offered them no real, actual benefits, at least they had some kind of perceived power over some others, and so someone they could look down upon.

What is it?” I hissed at Kamala. “I thought you were going to talk right then and there and then we would’ve been thrown out.” Kamala wouldn’t look at me. “It’s the Dharma Raja.” I froze. “What about him?” “I can sense him.” The blue veins that once stood out so prominently on her skin had begun to sink beneath pearlescent hair. Even the garnet gaze of her eyes had receded into something bright and black. Thoroughly animal. “And?” “He was here, but only for a moment.” “Where did he go?” “I couldn’t tell you that, not for all the salk-skin in the world.” Kamala sighed. “Do you know where he was?” “That’s the thing I was trying to tell you, maybe-queen!” exclaimed Kamala, pawing at the ground. “He was at the Chakara Forest. You were right.” I was right. There was a soft glow of warmth in that knowledge, even if knowing that I had just missed him rent through me like a new wound. I had trusted my instinct and it had been right.

Nothing makes a child feel more secure than being tucked in by a parent at the end of a day, getting a kiss and a hug, a good-night story, falling asleep to the sound of their voice. Nothing is more important to a parent than talking with their child at night before the child goes to sleep, answering their questions, comforting and reassuring them in the face of any fears, making sure they know that everything will be okay. Parents and children everywhere relate to these rituals.

The United States spends more on health care than any other advanced economy, but we don't see better outcomes in exchange. Incredibly, in many parts of the country, life expectancy is actually shrinking, and when it comes to maternal mortality, the United States is one of only thirteen countries where rates have gotten worse over the past twenty-five years. Meanwhile, working families are overwhelmed by medical bills, which are one of America's leading causes of personal bankruptcy.

When, one day, Kamaswami held against him that he had learned everything he knew from him, he replied: “Would you please not kid me with such jokes! What I’ve learned from you is how much a basket of fish costs and how much interests may be charged on loaned money. These are your areas of expertise. I haven’t learned to think from you, my dear Kamaswami, you ought to be the one seeking to learn from me.” Indeed his soul was not with the trade. The business was good enough to provide him with the money for Kamala, and it earned him much more than he needed. Besides this, Siddhartha’s interest and curiosity was only concerned with the people, whose businesses, crafts, worries, pleasures, and acts of foolishness used to be as alien and distant to him as the moon. However easily he succeeded in talking to all of them, in living with all of them, in learning from all of them, he was still aware that there was something which separated him from them and this separating factor was him being a Samana. He saw mankind going through life

In their courage, their dignity, and their determination, they reminded me of my mother. Standing among them, I thought about the duality of the immigrant experience in America. On the one hand, it is an experience characterized by an extraordinary sense of hopefulness and purpose, a deep belief in the power of the American Dream—an experience of possibility. At the same time, it is an experience too often scarred by stereotyping and scapegoating, in which discrimination, both explicit and implicit, is part of everyday life.

We need to get to the Chakara Forest,” I said, turning to Kamala. She had not moved once since I sank into that memory. She had not laughed, nor gnashed her awful teeth, claggy with blood. “You changed,” she said slowly. “What?” Kamala whinnied. “You looked different. Shade-play, shadow-play against my eyes. Trust me, false queen”--she paused--“maybe queen, I know shadows.” “What did I look like?” “Like ink-spills and umbra, cloudless nights and winter mornings. Lovely, lovely,” said Kamala in her singsong voice. “But you wore no crown of blackbuck horns and something swirled across your skin. I almost tried to taste it, but I did not want to get swatted by a maybe-deity. Maybe-deity! Maybe-deity! Oh, what a song.” I glanced at my arm, ignoring Kamala as she pranced about in a circle, tossing her head and singing maybe-deity so loudly it might summon thunder. There was nothing on me but the crust of sea-salt and dried ash. I dusted it off. Kamala’s words put flesh on the bones of my hope. Still, that didn’t give me as much comfort as I’d like. I was asking a flesh-eating demon for comfort.

Politics is a realm where the grand pronouncement often takes the place of the painstaking and detail-oriented work of getting meaningful things done. This isn't to say that there's anything inherently wrong with grand pronouncements. Good leadership requires vision and aspiration. It requires the articulation of bold ideas that move people to action. But it is often the mastery of the seemingly unimportant details, the careful execution of the tedious tasks, and the dedicated work done outside of the public eye that make the changes we seek possible.

So oft it chances in particular men That, for some vicious mole of nature in them, As in their birth,— wherein they are not guilty, Since nature cannot choose her origin,— By the o’ergrowth of some complexion, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason; Or by some habit, that too much o’er-leavens The form of plausive manners; — that these men,— Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect, Being nature’s livery or fortune’s star,— Their virtues else, — be they as pure as grace, As infinite as man may undergo,— Shall in the general censure take corruption

You will leave as soon as our meeting concludes. Right under his nose. And when you return, you will praise him.” Gauri balked. “Praise him? He did nothing!” “You would do well to learn how to play the games of court,” I said. “Sometimes an illusion is just as good as the actual thing. The difference lies in the telling. Make this one concession. Find out what happens next. If you bring back these soldiers and word gets out that it was your idea and your escape, he may punish them on your behalf.” Gauri considered me. “What are you?” “A maybe-false queen!” butted in Kamala. It must have come out as another deranged horse whinny because Gauri nearly jumped. “I told you,” I said, not meeting her gaze. “I’m a person who lived here once upon a time.” “You know far too much about the political schemes of Bharata.” “My father was a diplomat.” “No, he wasn’t! No, he wasn’t!” sang Kamala. “Lies are fun. Lies are nice. They taste like rice soaked in milk and sliced and diced with cardamom and--” “Is your horse ill?” asked Gauri. “No, not at all,” I said and smacked Kamala on her flank. “She’s eager.” “For blood,” said Kamala.

Imagine if U.S. health care coverage was based not on how much you can pay but instead on your health needs. The purpose of the system would be to maximize good health care outcomes rather than maximizing profits. That, in itself, would be revolutionary. Getting sick would no longer mean risking bankruptcy. Employers would no longer have to spend so much to provide health insurance to their employees. And the system itself would run far more efficiently, as we see when we compare the high administrative costs of private health insurance companies with the lower costs of Medicare.

What are people supposed to think about a government that has left them behind? How are you supposed to feel when you're drowning and no one is coming to your aid, and then you turn on the television and hear that the economy is doing great? Great for whom? It's not great for people who have had to move hours away from their job just to find an affordable place to live. It's not great for people who are dropping out of the workforce because they can't afford child care. It's not great for the people who are giving up on their dream of going to college because they know they can't afford it.

Engaging in the fight for civil rights and social justice is not for the faint of heart. It is as difficult as it is important, and the wins may never taste as sweet as the losses taste sour. But count yourself as part of the lineage of those who refused to relent. And when we’re feeling frustrated and discouraged by the obstacles in front of us, let’s channel the words of Constance Baker Motley, one of my inspirations as the first black American woman appointed to the federal judiciary. “Lack of encouragement never deterred me,” she wrote. “In fact, I think the effect was just the opposite. I was the kind of person who would not be put down.

which did not touch his heart. He was not in Kamaswami's house for long, when he already took part in his landlords business. But daily, at the hour appointed by her, he visited beautiful Kamala, wearing pretty clothes, fine shoes, and soon he brought her gifts as well. Much he learned from her red, smart mouth. Much he learned from her tender, supple hand. Him, who was, regarding love, still a boy and had a tendency to plunge blindly and insatiably into lust like into a bottomless pit, him she taught, thoroughly starting with the basics, about that school of thought which teaches that pleasure cannot be taken without giving pleasure, and that every gesture, every caress, every touch, every look, every spot of the body, however small it was, had its secret, which would bring happiness to those who know about it and unleash it. She taught him, that lovers must not part from one another after celebrating love, without one admiring the other, without being just as defeated as they have been victorious, so that with none of them should start feeling fed up or bored and get that evil feeling of having abused or having been abused. Wonderful hours he spent with the beautiful and smart artist, became her student, her lover, her friend. Here with Kamala was the worth and purpose of his present life, nit with the business of

A Rakshasi did not live here. A princess did. I was staring into the most dazzling garden I had ever seen. Cobblestone pathways meandered between rows of salmon-hued hibiscus, regal hollyhock, delicate impatiens, wild orchids, thorny rosebushes, and manicured shrubs starred with jasmine. Bunches of bougainvillea cascaded down the sides of the wall, draped across the stone like extravagant shawls. Magnolia trees, cotton-candy pink, were interspersed with coconut trees, which let in streaks of purplish light through their fanlike leaves. A rock-rimmed pond glistened in a corner of the garden, and lotus blossoms sprouting from green discs skimmed its surface. A snow white bird that looked like a peacock wove in and out through a grove of pomegranate trees, which were set aflame by clusters of deep orange blossoms. I had seen blue peacocks before, but never a white one. An Ashoka tree stood at one edge of the garden, as if on guard, near the door. A brief wind sent a cluster of red petals drifting down from its branches and settling on the ground at my feet. A flock of pale blue butterflies emerged from a bed of golden trumpet flowers and sailed up into the sky. In the center of this scene was a peach stucco cottage with green shutters and a thatched roof, quaint and idyllic as a dollhouse. A heavenly perfume drifted over the wall, intoxicating me- I wanted nothing more than to enter.

Siddhartha said: "Yesterday, I told you I knew how to think, to wait, and to fast, but you thought this was of no use. But it is useful for many things, Kamala, you'll see. You'll see that the stupid Samanas are learning and able to do many pretty things in the forest, which the likes of you aren't capable of. The day before yesterday, I was still a shaggy beggar, as soon as yesterday I have kissed Kamala, and soon I'll be a merchant and have money and all those things you insist upon." "Well yes," she admitted. "But where would you be without me? What would you be, if Kamala wasn't helping you?" "Dear Kamala," said Siddhartha and straightened up to his full height, "when I came to you into your grove, I did the first step. It was my resolution to learn love from this most beautiful woman. From that moment on when I had made this resolution, I also knew that I would carry it out. I knew that you would help me, at your first glance at the entrance of the grove I already knew it." "But what if I hadn't been willing?" "You were willing. Look, Kamala: When you throw a rock into the water, it will speed on the fastest course to the bottom of the water. This is how it is when Siddhartha has a goal, a resolution. Siddhartha does nothing, he waits, he thinks, he fasts, but he passes through the things of the world like a rock through water, without doing anything, without stirring; he is drawn, he lets himself fall. His goal attracts him, because he doesn't let anything enter his soul which might oppose the goal. This is what Siddhartha has learned among the Samanas. This is what fools call magic and of which they think it would be effected by means of the daemons. Nothing is effected by daemons, there are no daemons. Everyone can perform magic, everyone can reach his goals, if he is able to think, if he is able to wait, if he is able to fast.

Meravigliosa fu in realtà la mia vita, pensava, meravigliose vie ha seguito. Ragazzo, non ho avuto a che fare se non con dei e sacrifici. Giovane, non ho avuto a che fare se non con ascesi, meditazione e contemplazione, sempre in cerca di Brahma, sempre intento a venerare l'eterno nello Atman. Ma quando fui giovanotto mi riunii ai penitenti, vissi nella foresta, soffersi il caldo e il gelo, appresi a sopportare la fame, appresi a far morire il mio corpo. Meravigliosa mi giunse allora la rivelazione attraverso la dottrina del grande Buddha, e sentii la conoscenza dell'unità del mondo circolare in me come il mio stesso sangue. Ma anche da Buddha e dalla grande conoscenza mi dovetti staccare. Me n'andai, e appresi da Kamala la gioia d'amore, appresi da Kamaswami il commercio, accumulai denaro, dissipai denaro, appresi ad amare il mio stomaco, a lusingare i miei sensi. Molti anni dovetti impiegare per perdere lo spirito, disapprendere il pensiero, dimenticare l'unità. Non è forse come se lentamente e per grandi traviamenti io mi fossi rifatto, d'uomo, bambino, di saggio che ero, un uomo puerile? Eppure è stata buona questa via, e l'usignolo non è ancor morto nel mio petto. Ma che via fu questa! Son dovuto passare attraverso tanta sciocchezza, tanta bruttura, tanto errore, tanto disgusto e delusione e dolore, solo per ridiventare bambino e poter ricominciare da capo. Ma è stato giusto, il mio cuore lo approva, gli occhi miei ne ridono. Ho dovuto provare la disperazione, ho dovuto abbassarmi fino al più stolto di tutti i pensieri, al pensiero del suicidio, per poter rivivere la grazia, per riapprendere l'Om, per poter di nuovo dormire tranquillo e risvegliarmi sereno. Ho dovuto essere un pazzo, per sentire di nuovo l'Atman. Ho dovuto peccare per poter rivivere. Dove può ancora condurmi il mio cammino? Stolto è questo cammino, va strisciando obliquamente, forse va in cerchio. Ma vada come vuole, io son contento di seguirlo.

On July 4, 1992, one of my heroes and inspirations, Thurgood Marshall, gave a speech that deeply resonates today. “We cannot play ostrich,” he said. “Democracy just cannot flourish amid fear. Liberty cannot bloom amid hate. Justice cannot take root amid rage. America must get to work. . . . We must dissent from the indifference. We must dissent from the apathy. We must dissent from the fear, the hatred, and the mistrust.” This book grows out of that call to action, and out of my belief that our fight must begin and end with speaking truth. I believe there is no more important and consequential antidote for these times than a reciprocal relationship of trust. You give and you receive trust. And one of the most important ingredients in a relationship of trust is that we speak truth. It matters what we say. What we mean. The value we place on our words—and what they are worth to others. We cannot solve our most intractable problems unless we are honest about what they are, unless we are willing to have difficult conversations and accept what facts make plain.

In this country, you are innocent until proven guilty and—unless you are a danger to others or highly likely to flee the jurisdiction—you shouldn’t have to sit in jail waiting for your court date. This is the basic premise of due process: you get to hold on to your liberty unless and until a jury convicts you and a judge sentences you. It’s why the Bill of Rights explicitly prohibits excessive bail. That’s what justice is supposed to look like. What it should not look like is the system we have in America today. The median bail in the United States is $10,000. But in American households with an income of $45,000, the median savings account balance is $2,530. The disparity is so high that at any given time, roughly nine out of ten people who are detained can’t afford to pay to get out. By its very design, the cash bail system favors the wealthy and penalizes the poor. If you can pay cash up front, you can leave, and when your trial is over, you’ll get all of your money back. If you can’t afford it, you either languish in jail or have to pay a bail bondsman, which costs a steep fee you will never get back.

Bharata, do not think that I have no sympathy for you in this your predicament. I understand it fully. But, then, my child, no man is allowed to do as he pleases. Man has no freedom. Fate tosses him about in all directions. The game which Fate plays is unpredictable. Nothing lasts in this world. What has been gathered is scattered about. What was once at the top soon reaches the lowest position. Meetings only end in separations and, as for life, it only ends in death. Ripe fruits have but one fear, that of falling down. And even so, man has no fear other than death. Think of a house built sturdily with strong pillars. Even that, in course of time, becomes weak and ancient. Men too become old, lose their power of thinking and death claims them. The night which passes will never come back and the waters of the Yamuna which flow fast, when in flood, towards the sea, will never return. In this world, Bharata, just as the waters on the surface of the earth get less and less, dried constantly by the rays of the sun, man’s life also gets lessened day by day. Your life and mine are fast ebbing away. Think on the Lord, my child. Do not spend your time in the contemplation of another’s life. Death walks with us: and he accompanies us on the longest journey we undertake. The skin gets wrinkled. Hair grows white. Old age makes man weak and helpless. Man delights at the sight of the sun rising and again, the setting sun is pleasing to the eye. But man forgets that every sunrise and every sunset has lessened one’s life on earth by another day. The seasons come and go and each season has a charm of its own. But they come and when they go, they take with them large slices of our lives every time. On the large expanse of the sea two pieces of wood come together. They float together for a while and then they are parted. Even so it is with man and his relationship with life, child, kinsmen, wealth and other possessions. Meetings end only in separation. It is the law of nature. No one is capable of altering the course of Fate. Weeping for one who is dead will not bring him back to life.

If you’re an immigrant getting deported, does it matter to you that the deporter-in-chief is the first African American president? If you’re in jail for marijuana possession or because your kids were truant at school, does it make a difference that it’s Kamala Harris who gleefully prosecuted you? Aren’t you delighted that Kellyanne Conway was the first woman to run a successful presidential campaign?

In June 2017 US Senator Kamala Harris was asking an evasive Attorney General Jeff Sessions some tough questions. When he prevaricated once too often, she interrupted him and pressed him to answer. She was then in turn (on two separate occasions) interrupted and admonished by Senator John McCain for her questioning style.76 He did not do the same to her colleague Senator Rob Wyden, who subjected Sessions to similarly dogged questioning, and it was only Harris who was later dubbed ‘hysterical’.

For me, to be a progressive prosecutor is to understand—and act on—this dichotomy. It is to understand that when a person takes another’s life, or a child is molested, or a woman raped, the perpetrators deserve severe consequences. That is one imperative of justice. But it is also to understand that fairness is in short supply in a justice system that is supposed to guarantee it. The job of a progressive prosecutor is to look out for the overlooked, to speak up for those whose voices aren’t being heard, to see and address the causes of crime, not just their consequences, and to shine a light on the inequality and unfairness that lead to injustice. It is to recognize that not everyone needs punishment, that what many need, quite plainly, is help.

Kamala Harris is the female representation that we've all been waiting for. She is a good example in showing that women, black women, can lead key countries too.

He had also —in a masterstroke of marketing—recently given his cows English names, since his best customers were an American family deployed to the local embassy. So Kamala had become Coffee, Gomu had become Gaby, and Shanti had become Tiger

Black folks, it's ok to celebrate an end to the Trump Presidency while questioning the future of our nation. It's ok to celebrate Kamala Harris and still denounce white supremacy. It's ok to celebrate the work we contributed to this election while understanding that the fight is not over. It's ok to have a celebratory moment despite scattered emotions. We've always given ourselves permission to express hope & joy even during dark times.

No one really knew what to say or do. Each of us was trying to cope in our own way. I sat down on the couch with Doug and ate an entire family-size bag of classic Doritos. Didn’t share a single chip.

Putting a label on things can help you cope with them, I've learned. It doesn't make you stop feeling your emotion, but you can put it somewhere if you can name it.

About ten seconds later, my assistant popped her head into my office. “Mr. Dimon is on the line.” I took off my earrings (the Oakland in me) and picked up the receiver. “You’re trying to steal from my shareholders!” he yelled, almost as soon as he heard my voice. I gave it right back. “Your shareholders? Your shareholders? My shareholders are the homeowners of California! You come and see them. Talk to them about who got robbed.” It stayed at that level for a while. We were like dogs in a fight. A member of my senior team later recalled thinking, “This was either a really good or a colossally bad idea.” I shared with Dimon the way his lawyers were presenting his position, and why it was unacceptable to me. As temperatures cooled, I got into the details of my demands so that he would understand exactly what I needed—not through the filter of his general counsel, but directly from me. At the end of the conversation, he said he would talk to his board and see what they could do. I’ll never know what happened on Dimon’s side. But I do know that two weeks later, the banks gave in. When all was said and done, instead of the $2 billion to $4 billion that was originally on the table, we secured an $18 billion deal, which ultimately grew to $20 billion in relief to homeowners.

I had been asked to fly to Washington to be part of the larger announcement, a major press conference and celebration that would take place at the Department of Justice and the White House. But I wanted to be at home with my team. It was our victory to share together. And we needed to gear up for the next battle ahead.

According to research done by United Way, 43 percent of households can’t afford basic expenses: a roof over their head, food on the table, child care, health care, transportation, and a cell phone.

Between 2003 and 2012, S&P 500 companies spent 91 percent of their earnings on buybacks and dividends for shareholders. That leaves 9 percent to invest across the entire company, in everything from research and development to worker wages.

Because that's what it was to love another person, I thought. To incorporate them into you. I didn't want to own Whitney. There wasn't anything I had to have from her, I just wanted permission to carry her wherever I went, and for her to do the same with me.

Politics is a realm where the grand pronouncement often takes the place of the painstaking and detail-oriented work of getting meaningful things done.

I've always said that political capital doesn't gain interest. You have to spend it, and be willing to take the hit. You have to be willing to test your hypothesis and find out if your solution works, based on metrics and data. Blind adherence to tradition should not be the measure of success.

Kamala lo corrige: «el amor se puede mendigar, comprar, recibir como regalo o recoger en la calle, ¡pero robarlo es imposible! Has elegido un camino equivocado».

bemoan