Kamikaze Quotes

I planted a kamikaze kiss on Jamie’s cheek. “FUCK,” he shouted, wiping it off. “What if you killed me!” He threw a Skittle at my face. It hit my forehead. “Ow!” “Taste the rainbow bitch.

When you believe that you are not worthwhile in and of yourself, in the back of your mind you also begin to believe that life is not worthwhile in and of itself. It is only worthwhile insofar as it relates to your crusade. It is a kamikaze mission.

Tsuyokini,honki Mutekini,suteki Genki,yuuki! --Kusakabe Maron

Snatching happiness takes a lot more courage than enduring unhappiness.

When you find something precious, you have to hold on to it with all your might and never let it go, whatever else you may lose. After all, there are lots of people who die without ever finding something that's really precious to them.

I am a Lolita. I do not believe in growing up. No matter how old I get, I shall remain devoted to ruffles and frills.

Just be careful. Passion is a bridge that connects love and hate. When you're standing in the middle of that bridge, don't let yourself get turned around. You've got to make sure you know which direction you're heading. Watch yourself.

God, I'm a girl with a cursed fate. I've fallen in love with a boy and I want to be happy.

Then I’ll do some digging. (Fury) You just can’t help this kamikaze streak you have, can you? (Sasha)

My captain on the snowy horse He's coming back to take me home (He's coming back to take me home) He'll find me fighting back the terrible thwarts 'Cause I'm not afraid to die alone!

Ladies and gentlemen.” He [Jabba] sighed. “Meet the kamikaze of computer invaders...the worm.

I can't even dial one phone number right away. But you strained your own body to go and see them. I was surprised. The frightened little me had always wondered how to swim through the vast ocean, but you didn't even want a ship. You wanted wings. I thought you were amazing.

All over America, people are making kamikaze choices about what to wear. They are misrepresenting the goods. They are letting their clothes write checks that their personalities cannot cash.

There's times a woman's just got to fight, even if she knows it's a losing battle.

See, I will always have this penchant for what I call kamikaze women. I call them kamikazes because they, you know they crash their plane, they're self-destructive. But they crash into you, and you die along with them.

El alcohol no aclara las ideas…, anula la cautela y la prudencia. No te hace más valiente, solo un kamikaze.

Lolitas do not recognize any authority. They follow only the values they have chosen for themselves, regardless of what anybody might say.

Some people, from what I've seen, boo, when they lie, they become very still and centered and their gaze very concentrated and intense. They try to dominate the person they lie to. The person to whom they're lying. Another type becomes fluttery and insubstantial and punctuates his lie with little self-deprecating motions and sounds, as if credulity were the same as pity. Some bury the lie in so many digressions and asides that they like try to slip the lie in there through all the extraneous data like a tiny bug through a windowscreen ... Then there are what I might call your Kamikaze-style liars. These'll tell you a surreal and fundamentally incredible lie, and then pretend a crisis of conscience and retract the original lie, and then offer you the like they really want you to buy instead, so the real lie'll appear a some kind of concession, a settlement with through. That type's mercifully easy to see through ... Or then the type who sort of overelaborates on the lie, buttresses it with rococo formations of detail and amendment, and that's how you can always tell ... So Now I've established a subtype of the over-elaborator type. This is the liar who used to be an over-elaborator and but has somehow snapped to the fact that rococo elaborations give him away every time, so he changes and now lies tersely, sparely, seeming somehow bored, like what he's saying is too obviously true to waste time on.

Post-adolescent Expert Syndrome The tendency of young people around the age of eighteen, males especially, to become altruistic experts on everything, a state of mind required by nature to ensure warriors who are willing to die with pleasure on the battlefield. Also the reason why religions recruit kamikaze pilots and suicide bombers almost exclusively from the 18-21 range. "Kyle, I never would have guessed that when you were up in your bedroom playing World of Warcraft all through your teens, you were, in fact, becoming an expert on the films of Jean-Luc Godard.

I could go on like this forever, but would I ever find a place that was meant for me? Like, for example, where? After lengthy considerations, the only place I could think of was the cockpit of a two-seater Kamikaze torpedo-plane. Of all the dumb ideas. In the first place, all the torpedo-planes were scrapped thirty years ago

Are you the stuff that hero's are made of? Or are you a jellyfish in a skirt?

You know what you like. You know what you want. So all you have to do is find some work related to that stuff.

Every November of my boyhood, we put on red poppies and attended highly patriotic services in remembrance of those who had 'given' their lives. But on what assurance did we know that these gifts had really been made? Only the survivors—the living—could attest to it. In order to know that a person had truly laid down his life for his friends, or comrades, one would have to hear it from his own lips, or at least have heard it promised in advance. And that presented another difficulty. Many brave and now dead soldiers had nonetheless been conscripts. The known martyrs—those who actually, voluntarily sought death and rejoiced in the fact—had been the kamikaze pilots, immolating themselves to propitiate a 'divine' emperor who looked (as Orwell once phrased it) like a monkey on a stick. Their Christian predecessors had endured torture and death (as well as inflicted it) in order to set up a theocracy. Their modern equivalents would be the suicide murderers, who mostly have the same aim in mind. About people who set out to lose their lives, then, there seems to hang an air of fanaticism: a gigantic sense of self-importance unattractively fused with a masochistic tendency to self-abnegation. Not wholesome. The better and more realistic test would therefore seem to be: In what cause, or on what principle, would you risk your life?

Let's all get along while following our own paths and doing whatever the hell we want!

When great happiness unexpectedly swoops down on people, they suddenly turn into cowards.

I used to sit in front of my father's Jag, watching the raindrops run their kamikaze suicide missions from one edge of the windshield to the wiper blade.

13. “The only mystery in life is why the kamikaze pilots wore helmets

Roses are like kamikaze love pilots. Roses are like suicide love bombers.

It was bad enough to be swallowed up by the intrinsic anger of New York City traffic and its seemingly mad competition between cars, cabs, the ubiquitous delivery trucks, the kamikaze bike messengers and the always-in-a-damn hurry pedestrians.

When the gap between the world of the city and the world my grandfather had presented to me as right and good became too wide and depressing to tolerate, I'd turn to my other great love, which was pulp adventure fiction. Despite the fact that [he] would have had nothing but scorn and loathing for all of those violent and garish magazines, there was a sort of prevailing morality in them that I'm sure he would have responded to. The world of Doc Savage and The Shadow was one of absolute values, where what was good was never in the slightest doubt and where what was evil inevitably suffered some fitting punishment. The notion of good and justice espoused by Lamont Cranston with his slouch hat and blazing automatics seemed a long way from that of the fierce and taciturn old man I remembered sitting up alone into the Montana night with no company save his bible, but I can't help feeling that if the two had ever met they'd have found something to talk about. For my part, all those brilliant and resourceful sleuths and heroes offered a glimpse of a perfect world where morality worked the way it was meant to. Nobody in Doc Savage's world ever killed themselves except thwarted kamikaze assassins or enemy spies with cyanide capsules. Which world would you rather live in, if you had the choice?

Forbearance is a maiden's worst enemy. If you're happy, that's all that counts.

malade malade c’est sûr, je déteste ceux qui ne le sont pas

Following our " own" we marched on towards our own holocaust , our own extinction. For we forgot that entrapped in our own mind are the seeds of a clueless "kamikaze " which will bring this nation to its doom !

Often we may even smile or laugh at adversity, but all people share the same passions. They are merely manifest differently according to one's culture and conditioning.

A small insect, clearly suffering from acute depression, decided that my open mouth was the ideal route for a suicide mission. With kamikaze-like determination, it rocketed down my throat and splattered against my tonsils. - Calma Harrison

Lolitas value independence and beauty above all else.

It began the night we died on the Kamikaze.

The kamikaze thus relied on combining state-of-the-art technology with state-of-the-art religious indoctrination.

...Sunday has a calming influence on the French motorist.... Tomorrow he will take up the mantle of the kamikaze pilot once again, but today it is Sunday in Provence, and life it to be enjoyed.

Selflessness involves giving up your self. You become a martyr. Like the Hindu kamikaze warriors. These Japanese Hindus chose to give up their lives, and they were killed if they didn't. Imagine what their families felt. One day you have a father, and next, you're watching him fly a plane into a ship on Pearl Harbor on television. Those kids didn't do anything wrong. They just lived in an evil country. The axis of evil. That sort of evil is beyond anything you or I will experience in our lifetimes. So be glad. Be glad we live in the US of A. Be glad we get to choose, with our freedoms. Now get out there and fight!

Jake, our fearless leader. On a crazed kamikaze mission. I’d never seen him like this. Even in our lowest moments, he’d always been steady. Resolute. He weighed the costs, made a decision, forged ahead. And I’d always wondered how he did it. How he kept it straight in his mind. Yeerks. Visser One. Aliens conquering humans, conquering the planet. Fighting the enemy without becoming like them. How did he sort through all that? The emotions, the ethical dilemmas, the moral crises? How did he wrap his brain around it all so he could make logical decisions? Smart decisions. The kind that saved the lives of his team. The kind that set the enemy back a small step or two. But now I knew. Jake didn’t understand any of it better than the rest of us did. If he defeated the Yeerks, freed humanity, rescued Earth, that was good. But that was just a bonus. His main goal was much simpler. To save his family. That goal was what had given him strength. That goal was what had kept him sane. Allowed him to retain a center of calm focus amid the awful chaos. His family.

Oh, Ichigo. My darling Ichigo. There's so much that I owe you, too. But I'm never paying any of it back—not a smidgen. You're also the one who showed me that growing up might not be such a bad thing after all. Thank you, Ichigo. This is much too embarrassing for me to ever say out loud, but you're the best friend I could ever have.

He doesn't so much fall in love as dive-bomb it like a kamikaze pilot, fearless and at full throttle. He used to look at this propensity as a gift, then a curse, and now understands it to be just another way in which he is broken.

Don't launch it," said Bean into his microphone, head down. "Set it off inside your ship. God be with you.

People were clueless. All they ever went by was appearance and rumor.

When a man comes up to a woman he doesn’t know, he’s supposed to say lovely things. Could there ever be a male kamikaze who’d stop a woman and fling at her, “How can you be wearing those shoes? Your toes look like they’re in a gulag. It’s shameful, you’re Stalin when it comes to your feet!” Who would say such a thing? Certainly not François, who’d wisely settled on the complimentary approach.

Gibt es ihn, diesen Kamikaze-Mann, der eine Frau aufhalten würde, um ihr an den Kopf zu werfen: »Wie können Sie nur solche Schuhe tragen? Sie pferchen Ihre Zehen wie in einem Gulag zusammen. Sie sind der Stalin Ihrer Füße, eine Schande ist das!« Wer wäre zu so etwas fähig?

Be resolved that honor is heavier than the mountains and death lighter than the feather.

People born in Amagasaki grow up, get married, have children, and die wearing tracksuits.

because if punching hasn’t worked yet it just means you needed to punch more.

But 'tis a fine line between silliness and supreme beauty, no more than a hair's breadth wide.

Men are bad cyclists, hunters of wild animals, kamikazes, samurai and Christian martyrs.

His mental disorder was not beautiful. It was not an attention-driven kamikaze mission. It was not a plea for sympathy.

One of the great mysteries of life is why kamikaze pilots wore helmets.

Prizing elegance, sweet emotions, and fantasy more than morals and truth; wallowing in fleeting romance rather than trying to give meaning to life, when who knows what's going to happen to you anyway; ignoring virtue and conventions to cherish only the pleasures you are definitely experiencing now: this is the Cocoro of Rococo. No matter how much deep thought, hard work, and agonizing effort went into coaxing out some insight, if that insight is boring, or not beautiful, it doesn't matter. And even if something is made just for laughs, if you find it pleasing, it has value. Other people's opinions and labor do not figure into your assessment; choosing things with your own personal sense of "I like this, I don't like that" is the ultimate individualism that sustains the very foundation of Rococo. Rococo, therefore, embodies the spirit of punk rock and anarchism more than any philosophy. Only in Rococo—elegant yet in bad taste, extravagant yet defiant and lawless—can I discover the meaning of life.

I love you, David. I always will. Always.” He said it with such intensity that David knew they felt the same. The world could split in the middle, all the way down to Hell, and if Connor was trapped on the other side, David would pull the globe together again just to get back to him. Nothing was going to get in their way, and if anything tried, they would destroy those walls together.

He’s a decent guy, but he’s not North. He doesn’t send a swarm of kamikaze butterflies hurtling around my insides, he doesn’t make my balls tighten with longing, and he doesn’t make my heart beat faster. Only North does that, and I loathe him for it. Naturally

In the presence of Esch, values have hidden their faces. Order, loyalty, sacrifice—he cherishes all these words, but exactly what do they represent? Sacrifice for what? Demand what sort of order? He doesn't know. If a value has lost its concrete content, what is left of it? A mere empty form; an imperative that goes unheeded and, all the more furious, demands to be heard and obeyed. The less Esch knows what he wants, the more furiously he wants it. Esch: the fanaticism of the era with no God. Because all values have hidden their faces, anything can be considered a value. Justice, order—Esch seeks them now in the trade union struggle, then in religion; today in police power, tomorrow in the mirage of America, where he dreams of emigrating. He could be a terrorist or a repentant terrorist turning in his comrades, or a party militant or a cult member a kamikaze prepared to sacrifice his life. All the passions rampaging through the bloody history of our time are taken up, unmasked, and terrifyingly displayed in Esch's modest adventure.

Quien no arriesga no gana. Como un kamikaze, hay ocasiones que no queda más remedio que renunciar a la vida que conoces por un fin más noble. Porque lo que le reconforta a uno, en definitiva, es tener la certeza de que hay cosas por las que merece la pena hacer un sacrificio

The world could split in the middle, all the way down to Hell, and if Connor was trapped on the other side, David would pull the globe together again just to get back to him. Nothing was going to get in their way, and if anything tried, they would destroy those walls together.

Kamikaze behaviour and other forms of altruism and cooperation by workers are not astonishing once we accept the fact that they are sterile. The body of a normal animal is manipulated to ensure the survival of its genes both through bearing offspring and through caring for other individuals containing the same genes.

the winning blows were struck by a typhoon on 15 August 1281. This typhoon has come to be known as the divine wind, or kamikaze, a name revived during the closing stages of the war in the Pacific (1941-45) for suicide pilots who used their planes to ram enemy shipping. The original kamikaze effectively thwarted the Mongols,

Q: I admit it: I’m scared. I can’t afford to quit my current job. Is this a sign that I don’t have what it takes to succeed? A: It doesn’t mean anything. You should be scared. If you aren’t scared, something is wrong with you, and your fears are not a sign that you don’t have the right stuff. In the beginning, every entrepreneur is scared. It’s just that some deceive themselves about it, and others don’t. You can overcome these fears in two ways. First, the kamikaze method is to dive into the business and try to make a little progress every day. One day you’ll wake up and you won’t be afraid anymore—or at least you’ll have a whole new set of fears.

It was Buddhist and Shinto priests who were recruiting and training the suicide bombers, or Kamikaze ("Divine Wind"), fanatics, assuring them the emperor was a "Golden Wheel-Turning Sacred King," one indeed of the four manifestations of the ideal Buddhist monarch and a Tathagata, or "fully enlightened being," of the material world.

Mickey had turned into Daisy, and Goofy had turned into Einstein—we were talking about a transmutation that would even have had Paracelsus foaming at the mouth.

Oxygen wasn’t something anyone should ever be forced to realize they were taking for granted.

that most pernicious of enemies: boredom.

Seek only to preserve life -- your own and those of others. Life alone is sacred.

David started rattling off the names of the bands he liked, and in that moment Connor decided to get a tattoo on his forehead that read “I love my kid brother.

It might be difficult to gain the strength I need right now... but I need to try. I have to overcome my limitations.

This time, I won't lose my way. I'm going to believe in myself.

... choosing things with your own personal sense of 'I like this, I don't like that" is the ultimate individualism that sustains the very foundation of Rococo. Rococo, therefore, embodies the spirit of punk rock and anarchism more than any philosophy. Only in Rococo--elegant yet in bad taste, extravagant yet defiant and lawless--can I discover the meaning of life.

Ci dicono che se adesso ci impegniamo, il nostro futuro sarà felice... ma non esiste una garanzia del genere. Quindi vivi come più ti piace, senza pretendere di essere ciò che non puoi

They think giving people longer prison sentences is going to teach people a lesson. Well that is just fantasy, as we just take our drugs and violence in to the prison. Our brothers and sisters, pals or rivals outside plug the gap that has been left by the dealer that was selling the crack or smack in the first place. Just like kamikazes, when one is dead, fifty queue up to take their place.

Gordon had been the first person David came out to. He had paused the game they were playing and blurted: “I’m gay.” Gordon had scrunched up his face and replied, “Well, I’m not.” And that had been that.

N"ayez pas peur du kamikaze. Ce qui l'intéresse dans le risque de mort, ce n'est pas le risque, c'est la mort. Ce qu'il aime dans la guerre, ce n'est pas "vaincre ou mourir" mais mourir et ne surtout pas vaincre. Sa grande affaire, ce n'est pas, comme dit Clausewitz, proportionner des efforts à la force de résistance de l'ennemi, le renverser, le réduire - mais mourir. (ch. 16 Debray, Kojève et le prix du sang)

Diventare kamikaze significava divenire noi stessi una divinità. Pur essendo uomini pregavamo noi stessi, e in noi stessi riponevamo la nostra fede. Questa realizzazione era la nostra morte. Ma affinché anche noi potessimo essere mistici, e l'incarnazione del Dio, era necessario che l'Imperatore rifulgesse sul gradino più alto della divinità. Era quella la sorgente della nostra immortalità, la fonte che avrebbe reso gloriosa la nostra morte, l'unico filo che ci legava al mondo.

We American's are the example of insanity. Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. We vote Republican; again buying the line that they are deficit hawks and, when in power, they both feast on our blood and treasure and stuff their coffers with sweat literally from our brows. Again, fed up, we elect Democrats and they repair what the Republicans purposely and yet strategically managed to do. Then, like a Phoenix rising from the ashes with renewed youth, the Republican deficit hawks emerge; spoon feeding us the same old bullshit until we bend to their will. We, in turn, vote them to power and, yet again, the ravenous lot feeds. This year...this era, however, they're governing like Kamikaze pilots, not giving one bit of damn about either public opinion nor their place in government. I believe that they see the writing on the wall and, with much fervor, are seeking to grab everything they can get their greedy little hands on. Will we ever get off this hamster wheel, my fellow Americans?

Or, as the united Buddhist leadership phrased it at the time: In order to establish eternal peace in East Asia, arousing the great benevolence and compassion of Buddhism, we are sometimes accepting and sometimes forceful. We now have no choice but to exercise the benevolent forcefulness of “killing one in order that many may live” (issatsu tasho). This is something which Mahayana Buddhism approves of only with the greatest of seriousness. No “holy war” or “Crusade” advocate could have put it better. The “eternal peace” bit is particularly excellent. By the end of the dreadful conflict that Japan had started, it was Buddhist and Shinto priests who were recruiting and training the suicide bombers, or Kamikaze (“Divine Wind”), fanatics, assuring them that the emperor was a “Golden Wheel-Turning Sacred King,” one indeed of the four manifestations of the ideal Buddhist monarch and a Tathagata, or “fully enlightened being,” of the material world. And since “Zen treats life and death indifferently,” why not abandon the cares of this world and adopt a policy of prostration at the feet of a homicidal dictator? This

The best-known sign of the success of state Shinto is the fact that Japan was the first power to develop and use precision-guided missiles. Decades before the United States fielded the smart bomb, and at a time when Nazi Germany was only beginning to deploy dumb V-2 rockets, Japan sank dozens of allied ships with precision-guided missiles—better known as kamikaze. Whereas in present-day precision-guided munitions the guidance is provided by computers, the kamikaze were ordinary airplanes loaded with explosives and guided by human pilots willing to go on one-way missions.

AT THIS POINT, I INTEND TO BEGIN WHAT I LIKE TO THINK OF AS MY KAMIKAZE RUN. THIS WILL QUICKLY DRAIN MY BATTERIES. BUT I THINK THE TIME FOR CONSERVATION HAS PASSED, DON'T YOU? WHEN I STRIKE THE TRANSTEEL PIERS AT THE END OF THE TRACK, I SHOULD BE TRAVELLING AT BETTER THAN NINE HUNDRED MILES AN HOUR--FIVE HUNDRED AND THIRTY IN WHEELS, THAT IS. SEE YOU LATER, ALLIGATOR, AFTER AWHILE CROCODILE, DON'T FORGET TO WRITE. I TELL YOU THIS IN THE SPIRIT OF FAIR PLAY, MY INTERESTING NEW FRIENDS. IF YOU HAVE BEEN SAVING YOUR BEST RIDDLES FOR LAST, YOU MIGHT DO WELL TO POSE THEM TO ME NOW.

Lolita is defined as a type of street fashion known only in Japan. But for me, Lolita goes far beyond fashion and serves as my unwavering, absolute personal policy. Wearing a frilly blouse, a skirt over a huge ruffly petticoat with my waist squeezed into a corset, and a totally outlandish headdress, is my way of pledging that I have devoted myself to Rococo. If I didn't dress in this totally conspicuous and bizarre way, I'd make friends and be popular with boys... is what people tell me, and the more they say that, the more it fans the flames of my Lolita passion and stiffens my resolve to be a Lolita through and through.

Keisha was a twenty-seven-year-old occupational therapist who strutted into the Murray Hill bar where they were meeting, ordered two Kamikazes, despite him saying, “Actually, no, I’m not really into—” and so drank both herself, then yelped a “Whoo!” and later, after four more drinks, wrapped her arm around his neck and a leg around his waist and told him to take her home. He couldn’t. “Come on, what’s wrong with this?” The this, she made clear, looking down, was her body on his, and he ached so badly for her but how could he? How could he take advantage of this young girl who was positively soaked in alcohol? He went home and masturbated, but he couldn’t come.

Because the scientific understanding of manic-depressive illness is so ultimately beholden to the field of molecular biology, it is a world in which I have spent an increasing amount of time. It is an exotic world, one developed around an odd assortment of plants and animals—maize, fruit flies, yeast, worms, mice, humans, puffer fish—and it contains a somewhat strange, rapidly evolving, and occasionally quite poetic language system filled with marvelous terms like “orphan clones,” “plasmids,” and “high-density cosmids”; “triple helices,” “untethered DNA,” and “kamikaze reagents”; “chromosome walking,” “gene hunters,” and “gene mappers.” It is a field clearly in pursuit of the most fundamental of understandings, a search for the biological equivalent of quarks and leptons.

You’re a grown-up, these days. You don’t wear a kamikaze pilot’s rising sun headband and a tee-shirt that screams DEBUG THIS! and you don’t spend your weekends competing in extreme programming slams at a windy campsite near Frankfurt, but it’s generally difficult for you to use any machine that doesn’t have at least one compiler installed: In fact, you had to stick Python on your phone before you even opened its address book because not being able to brainwash it left you feeling handicapped, like you were a passenger instead of a pilot. In another age you would have been a railway mechanic or a grease monkey crawling over the spark plugs of a DC-3. This is what you are, and the sad fact is, they can put the code monkey in a suit but they can’t take the code out of the monkey.

Il governo dell'Imperatore fu tinto di due colori: rosso sangue fino al termine della guerra, e dopo iniziò l'epoca del languido grigio cenere. L'Impero fu inonandato di sangue dal giorno in cui Sua Maestà abbandonò alla loro sorte i nostri fratelli maggiori, e si ricoprì di vana cenere il giorno in cui dichiarò la sua umanità, il giorno in cui definì tutto ciò che era accaduto "una concezione immaginaria

On September 11th 2001, bin Laden, al Qaeda, and his co-conspirators attacked the United States. During these attacks, suicide bombers struck the famous Twin Towers of the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, killing nearly three thousand people on American soil.1 It was hailed as a second Pearl Harbor, except the kamikaze pilots came at the start of the war rather than the end. America would react much like it did after Pearl Harbor. War hysteria reared its ugly head as freedom vanilla replaced French vanilla in cafeterias in the style of Wilsonesque-nomenclature propaganda.2 Civil rights and natural rights would be openly assaulted by a government sworn to protect them in one of the longest wars in American history. Randolph Bourne’s decried jingoism would return to the sounds of trumpets blaring and the sight of flags waving. The familiar phrase “Remember the Lusitania,” which became “Remember Pearl Harbor,” became “Remember 9/11.” Anti-Muslim and anti-Arab sentiment filled the country as America waxed hysterical, crying for “us” to “get those towelheads.

As I became older, I was given many masks to wear. I could be a laborer laying railroad tracks across the continent, with long hair in a queue to be pulled by pranksters; a gardener trimming the shrubs while secretly planting a bomb; a saboteur before the day of infamy at Pearl Harbor, signaling the Imperial Fleet; a kamikaze pilot donning his headband somberly, screaming 'Banzai' on my way to my death; a peasant with a broad-brimmed straw hat in a rice paddy on the other side of the world, stooped over to toil in the water; an obedient servant in the parlor, a houseboy too dignified for my own good; a washerman in the basement laundry, removing stains using an ancient secret; a tyrant intent on imposing my despotism on the democratic world, opposed by the free and the brave; a party cadre alongside many others, all of us clad in coordinated Mao jackets; a sniper camouflaged in the trees of the jungle, training my gunsights on G.I. Joe; a child running with a body burning from napalm, captured in an unforgettable photo; an enemy shot in the head or slaughtered by the villageful; one of the grooms in a mass wedding of couples, having met my mate the day before through our cult leader; an orphan in the last airlift out of a collapsed capital, ready to be adopted into the good life; a black belt martial artist breaking cinderblocks with his head, in an advertisement for Ginsu brand knives with the slogan 'but wait--there's more' as the commercial segued to show another free gift; a chef serving up dog stew, a trick on the unsuspecting diner; a bad driver swerving into the next lane, exactly as could be expected; a horny exchange student here for a year, eager to date the blonde cheerleader; a tourist visiting, clicking away with his camera, posing my family in front of the monuments and statues; a ping pong champion, wearing white tube socks pulled up too high and batting the ball with a wicked spin; a violin prodigy impressing the audience at Carnegie Hall, before taking a polite bow; a teen computer scientist, ready to make millions on an initial public offering before the company stock crashes; a gangster in sunglasses and a tight suit, embroiled in a turf war with the Sicilian mob; an urban greengrocer selling lunch by the pound, rudely returning change over the counter to the black patrons; a businessman with a briefcase of cash bribing a congressman, a corrupting influence on the electoral process; a salaryman on my way to work, crammed into the commuter train and loyal to the company; a shady doctor, trained in a foreign tradition with anatomical diagrams of the human body mapping the flow of life energy through a multitude of colored points; a calculus graduate student with thick glasses and a bad haircut, serving as a teaching assistant with an incomprehensible accent, scribbling on the chalkboard; an automobile enthusiast who customizes an imported car with a supercharged engine and Japanese decals in the rear window, cruising the boulevard looking for a drag race; a illegal alien crowded into the cargo hold of a smuggler's ship, defying death only to crowd into a New York City tenement and work as a slave in a sweatshop. My mother and my girl cousins were Madame Butterfly from the mail order bride catalog, dying in their service to the masculinity of the West, and the dragon lady in a kimono, taking vengeance for her sisters. They became the television newscaster, look-alikes with their flawlessly permed hair. Through these indelible images, I grew up. But when I looked in the mirror, I could not believe my own reflection because it was not like what I saw around me. Over the years, the world opened up. It has become a dizzying kaleidoscope of cultural fragments, arranged and rearranged without plan or order.

get the giggles and let them loose like kamikaze fighters to die a glorious death against Bailey’s reprimanding glare.

No, that's not all," Andy blurted, sitting up straight and wondering if she'd been a kamikaze pilot in a former life.

When she arrived in Castine the USS Comfort was a tired, World War II vintage Hospital Ship. Her keel had been laid as a Maritime Commission C1-B hull, which was most frequently used in the construction of troop ships. Built by the Consolidated Steel Corporation in Wilmington, California, she was launched on March 18, 1943. As the USS Comfort (AH-6), a naval hospital ship, she served in the South Pacific during World War II, having a U.S. Navy crew and an Army medical staff. In 1945, the USS Comfort took part in the battle of Okinawa, and was struck by a kamikaze pilot, killing 28 of the ship’s personnel, including six nurses, and wounding 48 additional people. When she was decommissioned and struck from the Naval Vessel Register, her title was retained by the U.S. Army. Not being needed, she was taken up to the Hudson River Reserve Fleet near Bear Mountain in New York. In 1949 her title was returned to the Maritime Commission, who on August 24, 1953, assigned her to Maine Maritime Academy for use as a training ship.

A la fin du XIIIème siècle, Kubilai Khan souhaitant asujétir le Japon missionna des émissaires pour réclamer des témoignages de respect. Se voyant refusé en 1274, il dépêcha une armée de persuasion qui débarqua sur l'île de Kyushu. En face d'eux, les samouraiS assemblés lancèrent à leurs ennemis des flèches, mais, un à un, ils tombèrent sous l'attaque des unités de Mongols. Ces derniers étaient avantagés par le fait qu'ils combattaient en bataillons et étaient armées de grenades explosives en terre cuite ou en fer, remplies de poudre et de sharpnel. Durant la nuit, un orage violent détruisit la flotte mongole, noyant l'essentiel des troupes. C'est ainsi que le peuple japonais fut sauvé et que la légende du Vent divin ou kamikaze naquit. Une autre tentative, en 1281, devait se solder de la même manière.

În niciun caz Hristos nu ne vrea niște kamikaze evanghelici, niște piloți sportivi ai Bisericii, care neapărat să facă looping-uri și tot felul de scheme cerești, ci să ne împlinim lucrurile pe care le putem împlini. Să înțelegem că în Împărăția lui Dumnezeu este de preț și tehnicianul de la sol, și electromecanicul de la bordul avionului, și pilotul, ca și stewardesa, toți laolaltă constituind un echipaj prin care Biserica își pune în funcțiune capacitatea de a cuceri Cerul. Asta este importanța acestui ”milă voiesc, iar nu jertfă”. Ne îndeamnă însă la încă ceva în plus. Mila înseamnă mai mult decât jertfă, este o jertfă încărcată de dragoste. Hristos n-are nevoie de gesturile noastre putrede, de voința de a ne dovedi cine suntem noi. În milă se ascunde Hristos, în jertfă ne ascundem noi. Mie mi s-a relevat această imagine când i-am văzut pe unii venind cu bidoane de untdelemn la Maslu. ”Am venit ca să aducem și să dăm și la ceilalți”, spuneau ei. Hristos nu vrea opulența jertfei, cât vrea multa dragoste din jertfa puțin adusă. (...) Este momentul să înțelegem că nu cantitatea este cea care dă măsura milosteniei, ci milostenia este cea care dă măsura jertfei. (...) Nu-i suficient doar să - știu eu - dăm săracului bani, cât trebuie să-l învățăm pe sărac de cât preț este sărăcia lui pentru noi, cât de onorați suntem că ne-a ales pe noi să-i sponsorizăm sărăcia cu puținul nostru, pentru că oricât de mult am avea, tot puțin rămâne raportat la Evanghelia lui Hristos.

I like her in my shirt and think she could wear a potato sack and still look dead sexy. But I keep that detail to myself because sometimes the truth is a kamikaze mission: there's no coming back from it.

Translated as “God Wind,” “Divine Wind” and “God Spirit,” kamikazes would sink 47 Allied vessels and damage over 300 by the end of the war, but the rise in the use of kamikaze attacks correlated the loss of the Empire’s air superiority and its waning industrial might. This method of fighting would become more common by the time Iwo Jima was fought over, and it was especially prevalent during the invasion of Okinawa. The “privilege” of being selected as a kamikaze pilot played directly into the deep-seated Japanese mindset of “death before defeat.” The pilot training manual assured each kamikaze candidate that when they eliminated all thoughts of life and death, fear of losing the earthly life can be easily overcome. Still,

E in un processo logico, quindi estraneo ai richiami dell'ira o del dolore, mi identificavo con la ferocia del kamikaze in borghese: dirigevo la mia barca verso il comodo porto del cinismo. O della coerenza. Conosco la tua tesi. Sei un intellettuale, e un intellettuale non può permettersi le partigianerie della fede o della passione o della morale. Un intellettuale deve identificarsi con tutti, capire tutto e tutti. D'accordo. Ma chi capisce tutto e tutti finisce con l'assolvere tutto e tutti. Chi assolve tutto e tutti finisce col perdonare tutto e tutti. Chi perdona tutto e tutti non crede a nulla. E chi non crede a nulla, mia cara, è un cinico. Tout court.

Cocktail là toàn cầu cực kỳ đa dạng mẫu mã, sinh động cùng rất rất một số loại thức uống đầy Màu sắc, từ cách pha chế cho đến tên gọi phần nhiều dẫn đến sự yêu thích đối cùng rất tất cả. Nhắc mang đến cocktail bên cạnh các cái tên “nổi đình nổi đám” cũng như Sexy Girl, Pina Colada, Margarita, Martini, blue Hawaii, I Love U, Kamikaze,… thì giới sành cocktail cạnh tranh Rất có thể bỏ lỡ loại cocktail “bom tấn” B52. chúng ta nghe B52 xuất hiện quen không? Đây chính là tên của một một số loại máy bay ném bom tầm xa của Mỹ, thể hiện khí công của loại cocktail này “không nên dạn vừa” đâu. B52 hay Bifi phần nhiều là tên gọi chỉ một số loại cocktail phân tầng đẹp mắt bao gồm một phần rượu hương cà phê, 1 phần rượu Baileys Irish Cream với một phần rượu hương cam Grand Marnier. B52 là nhiều loại cocktail lời yêu cầu công nghệ cùng tay nghề của Bartender yêu cầu cứng để Rất có thể tạo ra 1 cốc cocktail đẹp mắt, cùng rất hương vì chưng bùng nổ. cơ mà chúng ta sẽ Rất có thể làm cho tại nơi bạn ở nhà bạn cùng với các chia sẻ trong bài xích sau đây. Chỉ cần chuyên chú một ít, chúng ta có thể pha chế ra 1 cốc cocktail B52 với thừa nhận ấn cá nhân rõ rệt. Hãy cùng tham khảo và chơi ngay nhé, đảm bảo ban đang vô cũng thích thú với ly cocktail thành phẩm đấy. Nguyên liệu: 10ml rượu hương cafe (Tia Maria hoặc Kahlúa. Cơ mà chuyên sử dụng rượu Kahlúa). 10ml rượu Baileys Irish Cream. 10ml rượu hương cam Le Grand Marnier. cốc Shooter hoặc cốc Sherry. Thìa (đã được có tác dụng lạnh). công thức B52: Bước 1: ban đầu chúng ta rót phần rượu hương cà phê Kahlúa vào dưới đáy ly, thành lập tầng bước đầu. Bước 2: Tiếp cho là rót thật lờ đờ rượu Baileys Irish Cream vào ẩn dưới 1 chiếc thìa nhỏ dại và được làm cho lạnh, chuyển thìa này lại gần ly, tránh làm lẫn lộn với loại rượu rót trước. Cách 3: phương pháp rót Grand Marnier cũng tương tự. Khi rót bạn nên nghiêng cốc một góc chặng 45o. Nếu cũng như thành phẩm là một ly cocktail B52 phân làm 3 tầng nâu, trắng, kim cương thì xem cũng như chúng ta đã thành tích. Về phần chiêm ngưỡng một số loại cocktail này Rất có thể chia thành 2 “trường phái”, nếu như phương Tây chỉ là uống khan đã từng lớp, khuấy lên rồi uống cùng với đá, thì người Á Lục biết cách thưởng thức lâu công hơn, chúng ta đốt lửa trên bề mặt của cocktail mang đến nóng, dừng ống hút để uống hết trong 1 hơi. nhưng lại, để đối B52 bạn phải cụ Grand Marnier bởi các loại rượu có độ rượu cồn cao hơn. Bài toán đốt rượu này cũng tiềm ẩn các bất trắc cho nên lời khuyên là nếu cũng như các bạn còn thiếu gan hay new làm lần đầu không nên thử để tránh cháy và nổ bên cạnh mong nhé. cũng tương tự như nhiều loại cocktail khác, sau thời gian đều chung sự biến dạng để thêm sinh rượu cồn, phong phú. Bạn có thể đột phá hương vì bằng phương pháp cộng thêm nhiều loại rượu nhưng người thân đắm đuối như Vodka – B53, thêm Amaretto – B54, bổ sung Absinthe có ngay B55.

This girl must really have your pecker in a pretzel if you’re playing kamikaze with your career for her.

Our regiment was all women…We flew to the front in May 1942… The planes they gave us were Po-2s. Small, slow. They flew only at a low level. Hedge-hopping. Just over the ground! Before the war young people in flying clubs learned to fly in them, but no one could have imagined they would have any military use. The plane was constructed entirely of plywood, covered with aircraft fabric. In fact, with cheesecloth. One direct hit and it caught fire and burned up completely in the air, before reaching the ground. Like a match. The only solid metal part was the M-11 motor. Later on, toward the end of the war, we were issued parachutes, and a machine gun was installed in the pilot’s cabin, but before there had been no weapon, except for four bomb racks under the wings—that’s all. Nowadays they’d call us kamikazes, and maybe we were kamikazes. Yes! We were! But victory was valued more than our lives. “Before I retired, I became ill from the very thought of how I could possibly not work. Why then had I completed a second degree in my fifties? I became a historian. I had been a geologist all my life. But a good geologist is always in the field, and I no longer had the strength for it. A doctor came, took a cardiogram, and asked, “When did you have a heart attack?” “What heart attack?” “Your heart is scarred all over.” I must have acquired those scars during the war. You approach a target, and you’re shaking all over. Your whole body is shaking, because below it’s all gunfire: fighter planes are shooting, antiaircraft guns are shooting…Several girls had to leave the regiment; they couldn’t stand it. We flew mostly during the night. For a while they tried sending us on day missions, but gave it up at once. A rifle shot could bring down a Po-2… We did up to twelve flights a night. (...) You come back and you can’t even get out of the cabin; they used to pull us out. We couldn’t carry the chart case; we dragged it on the ground. And the work our girl armorers did! They had to attach four bombs to the aircraft by hand—that meant eight hundred pounds. They did it all night: one plane takes off, another lands. The body reorganized itself so much during the war that we weren’t women…We didn’t have those women’s things…Periods…You know…And after the war not all of us could have children.

when a sheep launched a Kamikaze run.