Kudos Quotes

I see that you are working this vampire angle with some success. And kudos. Lots of girls love that sensitive-undead thing. But I'd drop the whole musician angle if I were you. Vampire rock stars are played out, and besides, you can't possible be very good.

Some things you must always be unable to bear. Some things you must never stop refusing to bear. Injustice and outrage and dishonor and shame. No matter how young you are or how old you have got. Not for kudos and not for cash: your picture in the paper nor money in the bank either. Just refuse to bear them.

A detective who uses his deductive powers to corner a suspect and then does nothing to stop them from committing suicide is no better than a murderer himself. - Kudo Shinichi

I told you, my dad made sure I knew self-defense.” “Well, kudos to your dad for making sure you could protect yourself. Followed by a fuck you to your dad for turning you into a deadly weapon.

I just wanted to say that it's okay if you dislike me. If you make Clary happy, I'm fine with you." He stuck his hand out, and Jace took his own hand out of Clary's and shook Simon's, a bemused look on his face. "I don't dislike you," he said. "In fact, because I actually do like you, I'm going to offer you some advice." "Advice?" Simon looked wary. "I see that you are working this vampire angle with some success," Jace said, indicating Isabelle and Maia with a nod of his head. "And kudos. Lots of girls love that sensitive-undead thing. But I'd drop the whole musician angle if I were you. Vampire rock stars are played out, and besides, you can't possibly be very good." Simon sighed. "I don't suppose there's any change you could reconsider the part where you didn't like me?" "Enough, both of you," Clary said. "You can't be complete jerks to each other forever, you know." "Technically," said Simon, "I can." Jace made an inelegant noise; after a moment Clary realized that he was trying not to laugh, and only semi-succeeding. Simon grinned. "Got you." "Well," Clary said. "This is a beautiful moment.

Bones smiled, unperturbed by all the weapons aimed in his direction. I had just as many pointed at me. Kudos to the guards for not being sexist.

A secret makes you you " -Shinichi Kudo

Well, kudos to your dad for making sure you could protect yourself. Followed by a fuck you to your dad for turning you into a deadly weapon.

My, my," he said, looking the note over. "If only students would write this much in their essays. One of you has considerably worse writing than the other, so forgive me if I get anything wrong here." He cleared his throat."'So, I saw J last night,' begins the person with bad handwriting, to which the response is,'What happened,' followed by no fewer than five question marks. Understandable, since sometimes one—let alone four—just won't get the point across, eh?" The class laughed, and I noticed Mia throwing me a particularly mean smile. "The first speaker responds:'What do you think happened? We hooked up in one of the empty lounges.'“ Mr. Nagy glanced up after hearing some more giggles in the room. His British accent only added to the hilarity. "May I assume by this reaction that the use of 'hook up' pertains to the more recent, shall we say,carnal application of the term than the tamer one I grew up with?” More snickers ensued. Straightening up, I said boldly, "Yes, sir, Mr. Nagy. That would be correct, sir." A number of people in the class laughed outright. "Thank you for that confirmation, Miss Hathaway. Now, where was I? Ah yes, the other speaker then asks,'How was it?' The response is,'Good,' punctuated with a smiley face to confirm said adjective. Well. I suppose kudos are in order for the mysterious J, hmmm?'So, like, how far did you guys go?' Uh, ladies," said Mr. Nagy, "I do hope this doesn't surpass a PG rating.'Not very.We got caught.'And again, we are shown the severity of the situation, this time through the use of a not-smiling face.'What happened?' 'Dimitri showed up. He threw Jesse out and then bitched me out.'“ The class lost it, both from hearing Mr. Nagy say "bitched" and from finally getting some participants named. "Why, Mr.Zeklos, are you the aforementioned J? The one who earned a smiley face from the sloppy writer?

Grandma, please. It’s okay. Dad’s doing a great job. I give him kudos for at least being calm and rational, and not losing his temper with everyone around him who isn’t in childbirth. And he has yet to start shooting lighting bolts at people. Poor Damien still has a burn scar.” – Kat

Yesterday I was clever, so I took the glory for me. Today He makes me wise, so I give the glory to Thee

You just told me you didn't intend to love me. You didn't want to love me. You got yourself arrested to keep yourself away from me. That's not love. That's a compulsion. And, by the way, kudos on coming up with the worst pickup line of all time.

When Your Hungry That's When Your Brain Starts Working

A degree of self-deception, she said, was an essential part of the talent for living.

To Bettina, she’d written: The old Vrekener king was a vicious fiend who got what he deserved. Kudos to your new vamp husband for a well-played assassination and tournament victory.

Let go of a need for personal recognition. Heap kudos on others and they’ll perform even better next time. Leaders are only as good as those who follow them and followers are at their best when leaders are quick to give credit for successes.

You can't tell your story to everybody, I said. Maybe you can only tell it to one person.

But if she is a good woman, a strong woman, she won’t tolerate your childish needs for a pat on the head, collecting bigger toys, and being king of the mountain. A good woman will love the childlike part of you, but she wants your life to be guided by your deepest truths, not your untended childhood wounds. She wants to feel that at your core you have grown beyond the need for kudos and million-dollar toys. She wants to feel your self-generated strength of truth.

A detective risk its life to save others doesn't mean they are nice it means that's there job

The one thing you can say about people for sure, is that they'll only free themselves if freedom is in their own interest.

The strong one doesn’t win. The one that wins is strong.

She never said anything unless she had something important to express, which made you realise how much of what people generally said – and he included himself in this statement – was unimportant.

Podría ser que solo cuando ya es demasiado tarde para escapar nos demos cuenta de que siempre hemos sido libres.

Dixie Flynn may be the most kick-ass heroine ever created. Kudos to M.C. Grant for giving us the ultimate 'girl power' thriller." —TESS GERRITSEN, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE SILENT GIRL

So Wolf, what did you do?” – Sundown “You mean before or after I soiled my jeans? Which, by the way, I want kudos for coming back in the cab when I could have gone home. The foot valve was stuck. It doesn’t happen often. But it can happen as you just saw. If you’re lucky you can pop it back out from the cab. Obviously, given the horrors of this night, I wasn’t lucky so I had to crawl under the damn thing at ninety miles an hour and pound it out from underneath. I don’t ever want to hang like that under a speeding vehicle again. I swear I just lost eight of my nine lives.” – Sasha “What is it with you the cat analogies?” – Sundown

Nen flamujt e melankolise Ne vendin tone kudo valojne flamujt e nje melankolie te trishtueshme... ...dhe askush s'mund te thote se ketu rron nje popull qe nderton dicka te re. Aty ketu ne hijet e flamujve mund te shifet nje mund, nje perpjekje e madhe permbi vdekje per te pjelle dicka te madhe, per te qite ne drite nje xhind! Por,(o ironi) nga ajo perpjekje lind vetem nje mi. Dhe keshtu kjo komedi na plas diellin e gazit, nsa prej marazit pelcasim. Ne prakun e cdo banese ku ka ndonj shenj jetese valon nga nje flamur melankolie te trishtueshme.

There are parts of me that are broken. Thank you, they don't need fixing. There are places and people that I don't 'fit in' with. Thank you, I don't belong. There are words that have a comletely different meaning to me than for others. Thank you, I appreciate my own unique values. There are moments that I feel all alone in the world. Thank you, I rather enjoy and appreciate my solitude. There are people who judge me because they find me to be too shallow or too deep. Thank you, I love exploring the entirety of the ocean. There are people who truly love and value me just as I am. Thank you, you enrich my life profoundly. There is always room for expansion to grow, grace for every mistake, strength made perfect in every weakness and highest kudos for the courage to continue this adventurous soul mission called Life. Thank you, I am truly happy to be here.

Khi tôi cảm thấy rất buồn, tôi thường tỏ ra bản thân mình đang vui lắm. Nhưng thực ra trong tâm tôi đang đợi, một người thôi, nhỏ nhẹ hỏi tôi một tiếng "Có sao không?". Sau đó, tôi có lý do để nói ra. Sau đó, tôi có thể an tâm oà khóc... Người trưởng thành chính là vậy đấy, ngay cả khi yếu đuối cũng phải kiếm cho bản thân một lý do. Đủ lí trí, đủ an toàn để không bị chạm sâu vào lòng kiêu hãnh

It was an interesting idea, I said, that the narrative impulse might spring from the desire to avoid guilt, rather than from the need – as was generally assumed – to connect things together in a meaningful way; that it was a strategy calculated, in other words, to disburden ourselves of responsibility.

I realised,’ she said, ‘that she was happy for the first time in her life, and I realised too that she would never have known this happiness had she not gone through the unhappiness that preceded it, in precisely the way that she did.

Whatever we have in the glory of man is "away". Those are just not enough before we go "home" to the glory of God.

That tribe was one to which nearly all the men in this country belonged, and it defined itself through a fear of women combined with an utter dependence on them.

because it reminds them of the possibility that it is patience and endurance and loyalty – rather than ambition and desire – that bring the ultimate rewards

Kudos to the Imperial Guard for having stupid amounts of courage.

Aku juga punya banyak hal yang ingin kukatakan padamu. Karena itu tunggulah aku disini

If you were a woman you would certainly find your mother’s life hanging over your head like a sword and you would be asking yourself what progress you had made, other than to double for yourself the work she had been expected to do and receive three times the blame for it.

She had to admit this journalist was one of her trickier customers, and his interviews nearly always ended with the same argument, since he seemed to take such a long time to get round to asking a question and when he did, discovered that he himself had the best answer for it.

Suffering had always appeared to me as an opportunity, I said, and I wasn’t sure I would ever discover whether this was true and if so why it was, because so far I had failed to understand what it might be an opportunity for. All I knew was that it carried a kind of honour, if you survived it, and left you in a relationship to the truth that seemed closer, but that in fact might have been identical to the truthfulness of staying in one place.

Someone I know writes fanfic, and he— they want me to help proofread and give feedback on their stories. But I can’t give useful feedback unless I know what a good story looks like, so I’ve been reading fics about Cupid. The ones with the most kudos.

That quality, I said, could almost be called suspense, and it seemed to me to be generated by the belief that our lives were governed by mystery, when in fact that mystery was merely the extent of our self-deception over the fact of our own mortality.

The public has an exalted view of authors, and rightly so. Great writers impact deeply on our imagination. And yet, behind the kudos, there sometimes lurks a person at odds with the nobility of the author photo or the 'sheer humanity' of the prose style.

I just invented an Applause Machine. You turn it on by clapping. I figure I'll have no trouble securing Venture Capital funding, because VCs love congratulating themselves, and this time when they do, my machine will respond by adding to their self-kudos.

He had many friends – smart, aspirational people of good taste – who had planted a jacaranda tree in their new garden as though this law of nature somehow didn’t apply to them and they could make it grow by the force of their will. After a year or two they would become frustrated and complain that it had barely increased even an inch. But it would take twenty, thirty, forty years for one of these trees to grow and yield its beautiful display, he said smiling: when you tell them this fact they are horrified, perhaps because they can’t imagine remaining in the same house or indeed the same marriage for so long, and they almost come to hate their jacaranda tree, he said, sometimes even digging it up and replacing it with something else, because it reminds them of the possibility that it is patience and endurance and loyalty – rather than ambition and desire – that bring the ultimate rewards. It is almost a tragedy, he said, that the same people who are capable of wanting the jacaranda tree and understanding its beauty are incapable of nurturing one themselves.

O-kay,” Noah said, dragging everyone’s attention away from Avi and Felix. “That was both uncomfortable and highly disturbing, so kudos for that, but how about we get rid of the soon-to-be rotting corpse and figure out what we’re going to do about Dr. McCreepypants and his little shop of hospital horrors? Sound good? Great.

But I quickly came to see, she said, that in fact there was nothing worse than to be an average white male of average talents and intelligence: even the most oppressed housewife, she said, is closer to the drama and poetry of life than he is, because as Louise Bourgeois shows us she is capable at least of holding more than one perspective.

Some things you must always be unable to bear. Some things you must never stop refusing to bear. Injustice and outrage and dishonor and shame. No matter how young you are or how old you have got. Not for kudos and not for cash: your picture in the paper nor money in the back either. Just refuse to bear them. —William Faulkner, Intruder in the Dust

There is no deduction that is superior or inferior…because there is only one truth.

Zero is where everything starts! Nothing would ever be born if we didn't depart from there...and nothing would ever be achieved!

You know what it’s like,’ he said. ‘You earn just enough to get by but at the end of the day there’s nothing left mentally, and so you cling to the job even harder.

The one thing you can say about people for sure,’ Ryan said, ‘is that they’ll only free themselves if freedom is in their own interest.

Benim açımdan, kadınlarla erkeklerin öyküsü, son tahlilde bir savaş öyküsüdür.

It may be the case, she said, that it is only when it is too late to escape that we see we were free all along.

a saddening thought, she said, that when a group of women get together, far from advancing the cause of femininity, they end up pathologising it.

It was her own capacity for story telling that made her see her own hand in what happened around her.

History goes over the top like a steamroller, she said, crushing everything in its path, whereas childhood kills the roots. And that is the poison, she said, that seeps into the soil.

Minden kiadó azt keresi, folytatta, mondhatnánk, ez a modern irodalom világának Szent Grálja, hogy kik azok az írók, akiknek a művei megállják a helyüket a piacon, mégsem veszítik el a kapcsolatot az irodalmi értékekkel; más szóval, akik olyan könyveket írnak, amelyeket az olvasók élvezetesnek találnak, de nem kell szégyenkezniük, ha rajtakapják őket az olvasásukon.

Tudomása szerint egy problémát nem lehet megldani egyszerűen azzal, hogy újra meg újra megfogalmazzák a végtelenségig, hacsak nem bízunk abban, hogy maga a végtelenség megsemmisít bizonyos tényezőket.

...he observed that in the current situation the possibility of destruction seemed genuinely to be upon us, to the extent that he couldn't see what move on the chess board would get us out of this corner.

I said that while her story suggested that human lives could be governed by the laws of narrative, and all the notions of retribution and justice that narrative lays claim to, it was in fact merely her interpretation of events that created that illusion.

You asked me earlier,' she said to me, 'whether I believed that justice was merely a personal illusion. I don't have the answer to that,' she said, 'but I know that it is to be feared, feared in every part of you, even as it fells your enemies and crowns you the winner.

Tüm yazarlar ilgi meraklısıdır. Aslında biz çocukken kimse bizi yeterince önemsememiş, biz de şimdi onlara bunun bedelini ödetiyoruz. Yaptığı işlerdeki çocuksu intikam unsurunu reddeden yazar ona göre yalancıydı. Yazı yazmak yalnızca adaleti kendi ellerinize almanın bir yoluydu.

In fact, he went on, you could see the whole history of capitalism as a history of combustion, not just the burning of substances that have lain in the earth for millions of years but also of knowledge, ideas, culture and indeed beauty – anything, in other words, that has taken time to develop and accrue.

I said I wasn’t sure it mattered where people lived or how, since their individual nature would create its own circumstances: it was a risky kind of presumption, I said, to rewrite your own fate by changing its setting; when it happened to people against their will, the loss of the known world---whatever its features---was catastrophic.

Sometimes I don’t know how any of us go on. Sometimes I fear there’s no way our species will survive our own self-destructive choices. Sometimes I feel so gut punched by the backward deal of the universe—that if you’re really lucky, you get people in your life to love, and then, over time, they will all either leave you or die—that I am angry at life. Actually, not sometimes. Always. I always feel that way. I don’t always actively think about it, but it’s in there. At the same time, I am always looking for some gratitude, warmth, or hope. I often have to really search for it, but when I see something that makes me feel joy—even just a tiny odd hardly anything—you’re damn right I applaud it. Way to go, adorable cat on a leash! Thank you, server who brought my hot pizza! Kudos, writers of a TV show that made me laugh! Hallelujah, sunshine after a week of storms! Yay for a good hair day, yippee for hot coffee, huzzah for an outfit that puts bounce in my step. If I can scrape up some evidence of a thing made beautifully or a gesture made kindly, then I can believe, for a few seconds, that this world is careful and kind. And if I can believe that, I can believe it is safe to let the people I love walk around out there. It’s my own attempt at foresparkling, seeking out hints of good, even planting them myself, so I can believe there’s more good to come. It might all be superstition, just mental magic, but why not try?

Vallja e Yjeve Yjtë-e ndezur si fingjill, Që vërtiten palë-palë, Prej mosgjëje zunë fill Plot me jetë-e mall të valë. Zunë fill me dashuri Që kur bota zu të ngjizet, Pa sikush për shok të ti Përvëlohet edhe ndizet. Ndizet ças edhe për ças, E si kurrë s'ka të shuar, Pa pushim i vete pas Me një sulm të llaftaruar. E si kurrë nuku mund Ylli yllin që t'a kapë Rrotull qiejve pa fund Venë-e-vinë-e-venë prapë... ....................................... ....................................... ....................................... ....................................... Do të venë fluturim Kudo janë-e kudo s'janë, Nëpër qjell që s'ka mbarim, As fillim, as fund, as anë. Kur mi të, kur nënë të, Kur me hire-e kur pa hire, Do përëajnë gjithënjë Hapësirë...shkretëtire... Ata ikin varg-e-varg Me një etje të pashuar: Sesà fellë-e sesà larg Shoq me shoq u pat larguar!... Kùsh j-u fali-aq dëshërim, Dh'aqë zjarr e aqë flakë, Dh'i gatoj me aq durim Yjtë-e lum e varfanjakë? Se do një, si për çudi, Ku prej syresh rreh të ftohet, Shoq i vet, nga mall'i ti, Më me zjarr zë përvëlohet... Dh'i vjen qark më me vërtik E me dhembje më të nxehtë, E si ik...si gjithë ik... E pushton me zjarr të vetë: Sa më pak e shmbëllen: Aq më shumë-e ndjek dëshira... Pa nga malli që s'e gjen, Dridhet gjithë hapësira. ...Kur po ja! Se që përtej Ndriten erërat nga pakë: Yll-i çdukur nëpër qiej Vetëtiu e mori flakë: J-a pat shtënë me një ças, Mun në mes në kraharuar, Shoq' i vet q'i sillej pàs Me një sulm të llaftaruar; Q'e kish flakën mun në gji, Q'e zhuritte dashurija, që çkëlqente me zili Rrotull rrezeve të tija. Yll i mjerë e yll i lum! Yll i lum e yll i mjerë! Sapo drita t'u përgjum, Sheh një shoq nëpër skëterë; Ay vin... e gjith vin..., Gjith më pranë... -e gjith më pranë...- Sesà ndrin e vetëtin!... Sesà ndjen një gas pa anë!... Sesa ndritesh përsëri! Sesì ndizesh përsëpari! Sesì djek me dashuri Posi yll margaritari!... Dashuri! Heu! Mall i ri! Dashuri! këng' e durimit! Ti liri! Ti robëri! Ti valim i shkrepëtimit!

finally there was only one corpse left. A large man, weighing well over two hundred pounds, lay tightly wedged between two boulders deeply imbedded in the earth. His shirtless torso had a sickly greenish sheen. The only way to dislodge the man was to wrap arms around him in a bear hug and pull him from the rocks—not a pleasant prospect. We huddled in a silent group and looked at the dead man, building our resolve. Finally, SSgt. Ken Bollinger spoke, “I’ll do it.” The rest of us sighed in relief. Ken had a body builder’s muscular physique. He would need his great strength to free the wedged corpse. Sergeant Bolliger positioned a vinyl body bag next to the man-in-the-rocks. Then he lay on top of the corpse and worked his arms under and around the dead man’s chest. He intertwined his fingers, locked his grip and squirmed to his knees, struggling for leverage. As Ken heaved upwards we watched in awe as his muscles bunched and his face reddened with herculean exertion. And suddenly, the man-in-the-rocks came apart in the middle, his entrails spilling onto the ground. Some of us groaned and turned away, but Sergeant Bollinger was unfazed. He methodically filled the body bag with the largest parts of the corpse, then scooped the remaining organs and pieces into the bag. When he was finished not a speck of the person remained on the ground. We gave him kudos as he slowly stood. His uniform was slick with gore and stank of death, but he appeared totally unfazed. We all praised him, “That was hardcore Ken.” he looked at us quizzically, genuinely taken aback. “No big deal.” he said.

Tyler studied him over his coffee. "From what I've seen so far you're not much of a time-waster. And you're not so bad, for a suit." With a half-laugh, David lifted his own coffee. Steam from it rose and merged with the mist. "Coming from you, that's a hell of a kudo." "Damn right.

League of Legends has become well known for at least two things: proving the power of the free-to-play model in the West and a vicious player community.”[lxxix] To combat the trolls, the game creators designed a reward system leveraging Bandura’s social learning theory, which they called Honor Points (figure 23). The system gave players the ability to award points for particularly sportsmanlike conduct worthy of recognition. These virtual kudos encouraged positive behavior and helped the best and most cooperative players to stand out in the community. The number of points earned was highly variable and could only be conferred by other players. Honor Points soon became a coveted marker of tribe-conferred status and helped weed out trolls by signaling to others which players should be avoided.

But no underwear. Did they just disappear? Dissolve right off my body? In that case, kudos to the guy.

At Tolimundarni, on the fringe of the war zone itself, they’d been thrown off the train by military police who weren’t falling for Y’sul’s pre-emptively outrage-fuelled arguments regarding the summit-like priority and blatant extreme officiality of an expedition - nay, a quest! - he was undertaking with these - yes, these, two - famous, well-connected, honoured alien guests of immeasurably high intrinsic pan-systemic cross-species reputation, concerning a matter of the utmost import the exact details of which he was sadly not at liberty to divulge even to such patently important and obviously discreet members of the armed forces as themselves, but who would, nevertheless, he was sure, entirely understand the significance of their mission and thus their clear right to be accorded unhindered passage due to simple good taste and a fine appreciation of natural justice and would in no way be swayed by the fact that their cooperation would be repaid in levels of subsequent kudos almost beyond crediting…

Given that we all agree, in principle, that postmortems are good for us, I’m always struck by how much people dread them. Most feel that they’ve learned what they could during the execution of the project, so they’d just as soon move on. Problems that arose are frequently personal, so most are eager to avoid revisiting them. Who looks forward to a forum for being second-guessed? People, in general, would rather talk about what went right than what went wrong, using the occasion to give additional kudos to their most deserving team members. Left to our own devices, we avoid unpleasantness. It isn’t just postmortems, though: In general, people are resistant to self-assessment. Companies are bad at it, too. Looking inward, to them, often boils down to this: “We are successful, so what we are doing must be correct.” Or the converse: “We failed, so what we did was wrong.” This is shallow. Do not be cowed into missing this opportunity.

We are only righteous in Christ and in him alone. But that’s a hard pill to swallow, especially if you give yourself kudos for good choices.

She sipped the hot coffee as she gazed at her many bookshelves, her mind wandering. Even while she loved being there, Morgan knew that the issue with the University of Oxford was its age and the instant kudos the name evoked. It trapped scholars and all who worshipped at their feet into ancient thought patterns with no room for change or progress.  She

Through the Fire by Raj Lowenstein Trafford Publishing reviewed by Anita Lock "Beware the Abomination." After initially treating Michael Braun for wounds resulting from a brutal attack, David and Kelly Hartman—a physician and nurse respectively, as well as a gay, married couple—feel that the best place for her (yes, a she despite the masculine name) to recover is at the condo of David's twin brother, Dan. Dan, an overworked detective, ignores David's frantic texts and is shocked when he wakes to find a stunningly beautiful but battered woman sleeping upstairs. Michael is also a mute who communicates through American Sign Language (ASL), a language in which Dan happens to be an expert. Although the two eventually fall in love, there is more to Michael's past that Dan is aware of until he receives information from none other than Michael's abuser. Raj Lowenstein presents a romantic thriller that appears more disturbingly real than fiction. Set largely in Texas, Lowenstein's plot has a bit of a Law and Order feel to it—minus the court and prison scenes. Laced with gender-related issues and replete with a tight cast, Lowenstein's storyline zeroes in on Dan and his unexpected romance with Michael amid peculiar situations. Lowenstein punctuates her thought-provoking, third-person narrative with the sinister and hideous presence of Catfish, whose persona is a paradox to say the least. Key to Lowenstein's writing style is the use of engaging dialogue to generate dynamic characters who are developing their relationships and facing life's challenges. Lowenstein aptly fashions her well-developed cast within cliff-hanging chapters that alternate between unanticipated character scenes. Scenes are filled with back stories, steamy romantic episodes, investigations, the evil machinations of Catfish, and are all used in the deliberate build-up to the novel's intense and unnerving apogee. Kudos to Lowenstein for creating an edgy and eye-opening debut! RECOMMENDED by the US Review

Some things you must always be unable to bear. Some things you must never stop refusing to bear. Injustice and outrage and dishonor and shame. No matter how young you are or how old you have got. Not for kudos and not for cash: your picture in the paper nor money in the back either. Just refuse to bear them.” ― William Faulkner, Intruder in the Dust I

Largohu sysh, të bindem menjëherë Largohu zemre, e zemra të bindet Largohu kujtimit, ah jo këtë herë Kujtimi im e yti nuk na binden E ditën qoftë a natën në ç'do vend Kudo ku kemi qarë a kemi pasë gëzime Me ty do të jem unë ne ç'do kënd Kudo ku shpirti im ka lënë thërrime

In short, if you want innovation in your company, you need to reward people for taking intelligent action, not just for talking about the virtues of failure, experimentation, or risk taking. It might not even be enough to give equal rewards for success and intelligent failures. The excessive value that our culture places on success means that people who succeed may still get more kudos than they deserve from peers and outsiders, and those who fail may get more blame than they deserve. To offset this bias, perhaps this weird idea should be “Reward failure even more than success, and punish inaction.

In Dickinson terms, he epitomised the absurd ‘Somebody’, the anti-type to a ‘Nobody’ like the poet herself. Ironic that a creature so incapable of effacement should contrive to link his name to hers. Above all, Montague was bent on the glory of the grand public gesture. He wanted the kudos he was bound to have as sole donor of a collection remarkable for the fact that a poet of her stature had been unpublished in her lifetime. Her manuscripts had never been seen; her reclusive life tantalised the public; and many mysteries waited to be uncovered.

Through the windows you could hear the sounds of footsteps on the cobbles below and the hiss and whir of bicycles passing in their shoals and drifts; and most of all you could hear the bells that rang unendingly from the town’s many churches, striking not just the hours, but the quarter and half hours, so that each segment of time became a seed of silence that then blossomed, filling the air with what almost seemed a kind of self-description.

CONTENT MARKETING: FOR NONBELIEVERS Your customers don’t care about you, your products, or your services. They care about themselves, their wants, and their needs. Content marketing is about creating interesting information your customers are passionate about so they actually pay attention to you. This last definition is my favorite (with kudos to bestselling author David Meerman Scott for helping to popularize this), and the hardest for marketers and business owners to deal with. So often we marketers believe that our products and services are so special—so amazing—and we think that if more people knew about them, all of our sales problems would be solved.

...his whole life, as far as she could see, consisted of writerly sinecures and engagements, like a whole life of eating only desserts. She wasn't sure it was healthy.

Around her throat and wrist she wore several pieces of jewelry and her face was carefully made up, especially around the eyes, which she had outlined dramatically so that they appeared continually startled, as though they were observing things whose intensity and extremity only she could see. After a while I could recognize behind this disguise the timid woman I remembered, and I understood her outfit to be something designed to prevent her from being forgotten or ignored, yet it also had the effect of making her femininity seem a kind of question other people were required to answer or a problem they were expected to solve.

But any reading of bubble-gum wrappers from above 200 miles is marvelous, of course, and a definite kudo for science and technology.

might even be their forgotten suffering at the hands of literary texts that had left behind this residue of respect for books; if, that is, psychoanalysts are to be believed when they say we are unconsciously drawn to the repetition of painful experiences.

More than anything,’ he said, ‘people dislike being made to feel stupid, and if you arouse those feelings, you do so at your own cost.

But why should they rescue you?’ he said. ‘There you are, sitting in a castle in the beautiful Italian countryside, with your own room and nobody bothering you and complete freedom to do your work. For most people that is a fantasy!’ ‘I don’t know,’ Linda said dully. ‘I guess it must mean there’s something wrong with me.

He had got into this habit, which more or less dispensed with the necessity for remembering anything, not because he tended to be forgetful but because his capacity for holding on to information, however useless or trivial, would otherwise have kept him in a state of constant distraction.

because it reminds them of the possibility that it is patience and endurance and loyalty – rather than ambition and desire – that bring the ultimate rewards. It is almost a tragedy, he said, that the same people who are capable of wanting the jacaranda tree and understanding its beauty are incapable of nurturing one themselves.

I made sure to work hard, she said, and to achieve the highest results, but no matter how hard I worked there was always a boy there, level with me, who appeared to be less out of breath and to be taking things in his stride; and so I cultivated the art, she said, of nonchalance, and gave every impression of being less well-prepared than I was, until one day I found that this impression had become a reality, and that I achieved even more by leaving a few things to chance and by taking a leap of faith, such as the child takes when the training wheels come off the bicycle and it finds itself cycling unsupported for the first time.

We live with an almost superstitious belief in our own differences, she said, and Luís has shown that those differences are not the result of some divine mystery but are merely the consequence of our lack of empathy, which if we had it would enable us to see that in fact we are all the same.

This feeling was perhaps what had once driven his people to roam the world, seeking the home that would cure them of it. It may be the case that to find that home is to end one’s quest, I said, but it is with the feeling of displacement itself that the true intimacy develops and that constitutes, as it were, the story.

Në stinën e verës algjeriane, mësoj se vetëm diçka ështe më tragjike se vuajtja dhe kjo është jeta e një njeriu të lumtur . Kudo ku krijesa njerëzore është e bukur, toka që e mban atë është e ashpër .

There were often terrible arguments,’ she said, ‘between my sister and my parents, and I profited from them simply by not being the cause of them, so that when it came to these interviews I found I was in a familiar position. I seemed to profit,’ she said, ‘from the mere fact of not being these public women, while they were in a sense fighting my cause, just as my sister had fought my cause by demanding certain freedoms that I was then easily granted when I reached the same age.

realised too that she would never have known this happiness had she not gone through the unhappiness that preceded it, in precisely the way that she did.

Now and again,’ she continued presently, ‘I have met people who have freed themselves from their family relationships. Yet there often seems to be a kind of emptiness in that freedom, as though in order to dispense with their relatives they have had to dispense with a part of themselves. Like the man trapped in the glacier who cut off his own arm,’ she said, with a faint smile.

It was human nature, his mother said, for people to wish cruelty on one another simply because they had been shown cruelty themselves: the repetition of behavioural forms was the curious panacea with which most people sought to relieve the suffering caused by precisely those same forms.

He had come to the conclusion that most questions were nothing more than an attempt to ascertain conformity, like rudimentary maths problems. Two and two did indeed usually equal four: it was when you gave a different answer, he had discovered, that people got upset.

It was dark by now, and electric light rained down in crossing lance-shapes through the glass ceiling from the buildings outside while the black body of the river undulated just beyond the windows, with the human figures inside interposed in reflection on its churning surfaces.

I am one of those who believes that without suffering there can be no art,

What is history other than memory without pain?’ he said, smiling pleasantly and folding his small white hands together on the table in front of him. ‘If people want to recapture some of those hardships, these days they go to the gym.