Lorenzo Quotes

If these things are alchemical," said Sofia, "I'd better be the one to have a look at them." "If it could be dangerous, I'm going as well," said Lorenzo. "And me," said Conte "Great! We can all go! It'll be fun!" Locke waved his tied hands at the door. "But hurry it up, for fucks sake.

I will go," said Lorenzo. And Lorenzo stayed, where he was.

Beware the ignorant, Lorenzo. They’re the most dangerous enemy of all, because they are everywhere.

Lorenzo gently places his hands on either side of my face, lowering his head to stare directly into my eyes. His voice is barely above a whisper as he says, "Patience D'Angeli-Cat-you are my dream now.

What I have dreamed in an hour is worth more than what you have done in four.

This day of torment, of craziness, of foolishness—only love can make it end in happiness and joy. —W. A. Mozart and Lorenzo Da Ponte, Le Nozze di Figaro (1786)

Careful, Sofia,” said Don Lorenzo. “Don’t teach a sailor to shit in the ocean,” she muttered.

The night and the streets were ours and the future lay sparkling ahead. And we thought we would know each other forever.

We do many things we shouldn’t in the course of a life. It doesn’t make them right or wrong, just a part of who we are.

A new doctor had been sent for, Lazzaro of Pavia, who had administered to Lorenzo a pulverized mixture of diamonds and pearls. This hitherto infallible medicine had failed to help.

Don Lorenzo and 'Master Eccari' fenced pleasantries for a few moments thereafter; Galdo eventually let himself be skewered with the politest possible version of 'Thanks, but piss off.

And you think things will be better in San Lorenzo?" "I know damn well they will be. The people down there are poor enough and scared enough and ignorant enough to have some common sense!

The kingdom of god... or nothing!!!

I told your daughter that she is like a rose." " True enough," said Lorenzo Daza "but one with too many thorns.

Cuando un hombre tiene que abusar de la mentira para cumplir con su deber puede estar seguro de que anda equivocado de verdad o de deber.

Swinging the spatula, he smacks Leo in the head, the loud thwack echoing though the kitchen. "Shit!" Leo winces, "What the hell was that for?" "The table isn't set," Lorenzo says. "What are we, animals?"?

That is the lightest coffin I have ever carried," observed one of Romeo's companions. "Your [bell]ringer must have been a very slender man, Friar Lorenzo. Make sure to choose a fat one next time that he may stand more firmly in that windy bell tower.

Live then, beloved children of my heart, and never forget that, until the day God deigns to reveal the future to man, the sum of all human wisdom will be contained in these two words; Wait and Hope.

Great wine works wonders and is itself one

I wish that death had spared me until your library had been complete.

We trace the hand of the Almighty in framing the Constitution of our land

I've seen love bring a monster back to life before, but most of the time, the monster just loves you to death.

Too much knowing is misery.

If you would dance, my pretty Count, I'll play the tune on my little guitar..

What’s life without a little risk? Sometimes you have to gamble to achieve greatness, and it’s stupid to let fear of the unknown stop you from achieving your maximum potential.

...non devi mai sentirti in colpa per la tua felicità, non ti devi mai vergognare di stare bene, non devi mai chiedere scusa per una scelta che hai fatto con il cuore." ~Lorenzo

La suerte estaba echada y no había otra que salir arreando: ARREA jacta est." · Los asquerosos - Santiago Lorenzo

There is nothing more alarming to a boy than seeing a mother, or a father, buckling. It says to him that all will not be well. The boy does not know this, but he senses it, as a dog senses it, as a dog sense his master's true state of mind. (Lorenzo Dee)

Go to hell." A flicker of madness crept into his eyes. "Already there.

In life you only get what you put in, the same is true for reading.

I swear to God, if you throw yourself off this roof, I’m jumping after you, and I’m going to catch you.” Whoa. I don’t know what to make of those words. My eyes widen, my heart racing. “I’ll catch you,” he says again, his face so close to mine I can feel his breath on my skin, “because in those few seconds before you hit the ground, I’m going to fucking choke the life out of you for doing that shit. You got me?” “I got you,” I whisper, surprised I can even speak.

Patience has never been my strong suit. I’m not exactly keen on waiting for anything. Nor am I good at planning, for that matter. I’m the shoot first, ask questions never type... you know, the kind to toss a grenade in a packed room to solve a personal problem?

You know, it’s tragic how blind we can be to the really good guys because they don’t fit this ideal image of what we think we want, and when we do figure it out, it’s pretty much too late.

Lorenzo il Magnifico, the Plato Four, the humanists had taught him that man was the center of the universe; and this was never more demonstrable that when he stood looking upward and found himself, a lone individual, serving as the central pole holding up the tarpaulin of sun and clouds, moon and stars, knowing that, lone or abandoned as he might feel, without his support the heavens would fall.

And I propose to you that if we are to pay our sincere respects to the hundred lost children of San Lorenzo, that we might best spend the day despising what killed them; which is to say, the stupidity and viciousness of all mankind. "Perhaps, when we remember wars, we should take off our clothes and paint ourselves blue and go on all fours all day long and grunt like pigs. That would surely be more appropriate than noble oratory and shows of flags and well-oiled guns.

I’m not in the mood.” “When are you ever in the mood?” he asks. “every other Friday and twice on Saturday.” “it’s Saturday,” he points out. “Yeah, well, try again later,” I say. “I’m not in the mood right now.

Quant'é bella giovinezza Che si fugge tuttavia Chi vuol esser lieto, sia; Di doman non c'é certezza

Love is a terrible excuse. It’s dangerous to lose yourself in someone else.

Mind your own business and you’ll live hundred years. Problem is, you know, a hundred years is a long time. Do I really want to live that long?

A true gangster can smell out a person's strenghts and weaknesses in a matter of minutes, but what they can sense most of all, what their bodies are most attuned to, is the scent of fear.

We should try to learn the nature of [the spirit of revelation]. . . . This is the grand means that the Lord has provided for us, that we may know the light, and not be groveling continually in the dark.

I never deliberately learned to read, but somehow I had been wallowing illicitly in the daily papers. In the long hours of church--was it then I learned? I could not remember not being able to read hymns. Now that I was compelled to think about it, reading was something that just came to me, as learning to fasten the seat of my union suit without looking around, or achieving two bows from a snarl of shoelaces. I could not remember when the lines above Atticus's moving finger separated into words. But I had stared at them all the evenings in my memory, listening to the news of the day, Bills to Be Enacted into Laws, the diaries of Lorenzo Dow--anything Atticus happened to be reading when I crawled into his lap every night. Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.

I'm starting to understand what everyone says about you." "And what, pray tell, do they say? Don't leave me in suspense here." "That there's something seriously wrong with you." "Oh, well, I could've told you that. There's a lot wrong with me.

Morgan,” he says, his voice quiet as he whispers my name. My name. “Open your eyes, baby.

Revenge. Sweet lasting revenge. And now it was time for all of us to get a taste.

There is in the garden a plant which one ought to leave dry, although most people water it. It is the weed called Envy.

No gangster is ever happy when he's at peace. The main reason he's in the business is to eliminate his enemies.

Where are you going?" "To get my wife back." "How do you know where to look?" I hold my phone up. "I've got a map." "A map?" He laughs. Laughs. "You ever feel like Admiral Ackbar with the Death Star plans?" I look at him, brow furrowed. "You know... Return of the Jedi? It's a trap!" I shake my head. "Really? Nothing?" He scrunches up his face as if I disgust him. "How are we even friends?" "We're not.

In fact, I shall drink several, and perchance the wine will send me straight to Paradise that I may meet her in person and …” Friar Lorenzo sprung forward and hissed, for no apparent reason, “Before it throws you from grace, Messer Romeo, bridle your tongue!” The young man grinned, “… pay my respects.

We have come here for revenge,” Giulietta corrected him “and to gut that monster, Salimbeni, and string him up by his own entrails …” “Ahem,” said Friar Lorenzo, “we will, of course, exercise Christian forgiveness—” Giulietta nodded eagerly, hearing nothing. “… While we feed him to his dogs, piece by piece!

Mortality is a school of suffering and trials. We are here that we may be educated in a school of suffering and of fiery trials, which school was necessary for Jesus, our Elder Brother, who, the scriptures tell us, ‘was made perfect through suffering.’ It is necessary that we suffer in all things, that we may be qualified and worthy to rule, and govern all things, even as our Father in Heaven and His eldest son, Jesus.

Glancing up, I meet her gaze. “You can work on that mouth of yours.” “What’s wrong with it?” “It’s running a little rough. Nothing a face-fucking can’t fix, though.” Her eyes widen. “Big words for a guy who drinks Capri Sun.” I try to keep a straight face, but I crack at that, letting out a laugh. “Got me there.

Manila is a city of extremes. The poor are very poor and the rich very rich. They live side by side. The rich live in sprawling houses in residential subdivisions with fancy names like Green Meadows, White Plains, Corinthian Plaza, Bel Air, San Lorenzo, Magallanes and the very exclusive Forbes Park, a leafy enclave that was home to the famous Manila Polo Club. The poor are not far from sight. They live in little pockets on the periphery of these affluent subdivisions. A constant reminder to the rich that there is another side to life.

You know, they do say that you find love when you're least looking for it.

Maybe love made you kiss all messy. Maybe love made you hungry for faces.

I happen to like my balls. They accentuate my cock quite nicely, you know. I’d show you, but well... you’ve got to earn that first. So pay attention, okay? There’s work to do here.

Are you done crying now?” he asks. I laugh again. “You’re such an asshole.” “I was going to talk to you,” he says, “but you might blow snot on me with all that blubbering.

You can and you can't — You shall and you shan't — You will and you won't — And you will be damned if you do — And you will be damned if you don't.

To stay here and risk never being loved that way in return makes my heart ache. As much as I love him, I would rather live alone with hope than live a hopeless life with him.

If you knew how hard it is to obtain perfection in any wart, you would overlook shortcomings.

You have to be careful who you give pieces of yourself to, because even a little bit here and there adds up to a hell of a lot eventually, and It’s not worth it, losing yourself to them, giving yourself to people who don’t give a fuck about you. You keep pouring yourself into other people and you’ll just wind up empty.

When you find yourselves a little gloomy, look around you and find somebody that is in a worse plight than yourself; go to him and find out what the trouble is, then try to remove it with the wisdom which the Lord bestows upon you; and the first thing you know, your gloom is gone, you feel light, the Spirit of the Lord is upon you, and everything seems illuminated.

Lorenzo saved my ass. Again. “I got you,” Lorenzo says. “How many times do I have to tell you that before you believe it?” “Probably a few more times.” “And I thought I told you to stay out of trouble,” he says, scolding me. “I even asked nicely.” “Yeah, well, the trouble with trouble is that it doesn’t always look like trouble, Lorenzo.” “This was very obviously trouble, woman.

In such a night stood Dido with a willow in her hand upon the wild sea-banks, and waft her love to come again to Carthage Jessica: In such a night Medea gathered the enchanted herbs that did renew old Aeson. Lorenzo: In such a night did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew, and with an unthrift love did run from Venice, as far as Belmont. Jessica: In such a night did young Lorenzo swear he lov'd her well, stealing her soul with many vows of faith, and ne'er a true one. Lorenzo: In such a night did pretty Jessica (like a little shrow) slander her love, and he forgave it her. Jessica: I would out-night you, did nobody come; but hark, I hear the footing of a man.

You think something’s wrong?” “I know something’s wrong,” I say. “Were you aware Five here hasn’t watched Star Wars?” “What?” “Seriously, I can’t wrap my head around it, so I’m going to need a few minutes.

I got you. It’s okay.” I blink rapidly, my eyes burning, a lump in my throat that I’m struggling to swallow back. “I got you,” he says for the third time, “but I’m telling you, if you start fucking crying on me right now, if you start boo-hoo’ing, there’s a chance I’ll just throw you over the side myself, so don’t do it.

Tocqueville was correct in his rendition of how the Constitution was formed, but he likely never dreamed that an American president would ever send an invading army to kill some 300,000 of his own citizens in order to destroy the right of secession, a right that all of America's founding fathers held as sacrosanct and that was at the very heart of the American system of government.

It's always better to like a gangster from a distance anyway. Like a tiger cub in a cage. They always look soft and cute and warm behind those iron bars. Everybody's happy, smilimg, waving, taking pictures. But you take away those bars and all that goes away. All that's left is the fear.

Sometimes you have to look real hard to find it. But it’s always there, even if it’s just the tiniest speck of light. And when you do find it, well, then it’s your job to nurture it until it grows bigger and the light begins to outshine the darkness. Eventually, light will be all that’s left.

Every test in our life makes us bitter or better, every problem comes to break us or makes us. The choice is ours whether we become victim or victor. Everyone goes through problems, but never let the Devil win a battle where he wants to divide and conquer. Which are you? A victim or a victor?

You keep being so charming and I might start catching feelings.” “I wouldn’t blame you,” I say. “Just, you know, keep them to yourself, in case they’re contagious.” “Don’t worry,” she says. “I practice safe sentiment. I’ll be sure to wrap it before I yap it.” I laugh at that. This goddamn woman. She’s got a mouth on her, without a doubt, the kind of mouth that’s destined to get her in a lot of trouble in life.

You exert a certain degree of influence, and be it ever so small, it affects some person or persons, and for the results of the influence you exert you are held accountable. You, therefore, whether you acknowledge it or not, have assumed an importance before God and man that cannot be overlooked.

The idea is not to do good because of the praise of men; but to do good because in doing good we develop godliness within us, and this being the case we shall become allied to godliness, which will in time become part and portion of our being.

We trace the hand of the Almighty in framing the constitution of our land, and believe that the Lord raised up men purposely for the accomplishment of this object, raised them up and inspired them to frame the Constitution of the United States

Mr. Blake idly turned over the books on his bedroom table. I had taken the precaution of looking at them, when we first entered the room. THE GUARDIAN; THE TATLER; Richardson's PAMELA; Mackenzie's MAN OF FEELING; Roscoe's LORENZO DE MEDICI; and Robertson's CHARLES THE FIFTH—all classical works; all (of course) immeasurably superior to anything produced in later times; and all (from my present point of view) possessing the one great merit of enchaining nobody's interest, and exciting nobody's brain. I left Mr. Blake to the composing influence of Standard Literature, and occupied myself in making this entry in my journal.

You want me to let you go?” I ask, leaning down, pausing just shy of her lips. “Yes.” “Ask nicely,” I tell her. “Say ‘Lorenzo Gambini, I beg of you, please, let me go and I’ll suck your dick.’” She laughs again, harder. “You wish.” “I do,” I say. “No doubt about it.” “Lorenzo Gambini,” she whispers between kisses, “I beg of you, please... fuck me.” I kiss her once more before pulling back, shifting position, smirking. “Well, since you asked so nicely...” I thrust hard, sliding right in first goddamn try. BAM.

The older you get, the deadlier you have to be and you use age to your advantage. You make it a strenght. Most of us are more dangerous the longer we live. If we didn't care about dying when we were young, we're not going to be too concerned about it when we have two feet in our grave.

As soon I stop moving, Scarlet lays down on top of me, nuzzling into my neck, her breasts pressing against my chest. I wrap my arms around her, stroking her back, still balls deep inside her pussy. It’s a strange sensation. Cuddling. We’re fucking cuddling. What the hell happened to my life?

X AGOSTO San Lorenzo , io lo so perché tanto di stelle per l'aria tranquilla arde e cade, perché si gran pianto nel concavo cielo sfavilla. Ritornava una rondine al tetto: l'uccisero: cadde tra i spini; ella aveva nel becco un insetto: la cena dei suoi rondinini. Ora è là, come in croce, che tende quel verme a quel cielo lontano; e il suo nido è nell'ombra, che attende, che pigola sempre più piano. Anche un uomo tornava al suo nido: l'uccisero: disse: Perdono; e restò negli aperti occhi un grido: portava due bambole in dono. Ora là, nella casa romita, lo aspettano, aspettano in vano: egli immobile, attonito, addita le bambole al cielo lontano. E tu, Cielo, dall'alto dei mondi sereni, infinito, immortale, oh! d'un pianto di stelle lo inondi quest'atomo opaco del Male!

Do you at least like The Force Awakens?” He stares at me. “I haven’t seen it.” “Wait, what? How can you call yourself a fan if you haven’t even seen the new movie?” “I’ve been a bit busy lately,” he says. “Dealing with you has taken up a lot of my free time.” “Oh, whatever. That’s bullshit. You had enough free time to put together a gazillion piece puzzle. You’ve got time to watch a movie, and you know it. I’m just... I’m ashamed of you. Legitimately ashamed.” “I’m guessing it’s good, then?” “Oh, I don’t know.” I shrug. “I haven’t watched it. Been too busy.” Lorenzo pulls my hand away from his face and laughs. Genuinely laughs.

So I’ll leave you with this—grief is the price we pay for love. Would you trade any of your pain if it meant we lost even a second of our time together? I know you well enough to know your answer. You would endure a thousand years of torment for one more kiss, one more dance, one more anything. Do not let fear of loss stop you from living,

Every trial a man goes through, if he is faithful in that trial and does honor to God and his religion he has espoused, at the end of that trial or affliction that individual is nearer to God, nearer in regard to the increase of faith, wisdom, knowledge and power, and hence is more confident in calling upon the Lord for those things he desires.

The most important idea he gleaned from the swift, learned talk was that religion and knowledge could exist side by side, enriching each other. Greece and Rome, before the dawn of Christianity, had built gloriously in the arts, humanities, sciences, philosophy. Then for a thousand years all such wisdom and beauty had been crushed, declared anathema, buried in darkness. Now this little group of men, the sensual Poliziano, the lined Landino, the tiny Ficino, the golden-haired Pico della Mirandola, these few fragile men, led and aided by Lorenzo de' Medici, were attempting to create a new intellect under the banner of a word Michelangelo had never heard before: Humanism. What did it mean?

And what, you think you can fix me?” she asks, turning in her stool to face me, shifting her body closer, so close I can smell the liquor on her warm breath as she whispers, “Think you can make me whole again? Save me from the world? Save me from myself? Fill me up, maybe fuck the feeling back into me, like the big, strong, man you are? Make me a real woman, instead of a broken little girl?” There’s a sickening sweetness to her voice that sends a chill down my spine. If I never heard a thinly veiled ‘fuck you’ before, that was certainly one for the books. I move closer to her, uncomfortably so, cocking my head slightly as I lean in, watching as her body tenses. She thinks I’m about to kiss her, my mouth just inches from hers, before I stop, my voice gritty as I say, “On the contrary, Scarlet, I don’t think you need to be fixed at all.” “No?” “No,” I say. “I think you’re perfect the way you are.

Fuck,” I groan, my voice gritty, my eyes closing as I tilt my head back. Her hand is warm, her skin velvety soft, but her touch is firm as she strokes, hitting just the right places to set me off. Her thumb massages the sweet spot on the underside of my cock, the sensitive outer ridges of the head, right where those nerve endings are bundled. Jesus, this woman knows her anatomy. A+ Top marks. Summa cum laude. Valedictorian of her motherfucking class.

Got a job for you, Seven.” “Yeah?” “I need you to find someone.” “Who?” “A woman,” I say. “About five and a half feet tall. Brown hair. Brown eyes.” “That describes half the women in New York.” “Yeah, well, the one I’m looking for is twenty-one or so,” I say. “She’s good-looking, kind of curvy for being so petite... got a red ‘S’ tattooed on her wrist...” He stares at me, like he expects more information. “What else?” I shrug, glancing at the high heels, flipping them over to look at the red soles. “She wears a size thirty-nine shoe.” “That’s it?” “That’s it.” “Shouldn’t be too hard,” he says, blinking a few times as he looks at the ground. “Only a couple million people in the city.” “That’s the spirit,” I say, slapping him on the back.

They knew where they were headed but they didn’t know where they were going. Retina shrugged the thought. Roma complained about the possibility they were walking into a trap. After all, he was one of the scientists that decided Solstice’s fate. Retina was adamant no one knew him. Lorenzo didn’t care about anything much but reaching Zharfar after Retina surgically removed his Unicell Groper. They were headed to Africa in what seemed a semi commercial private plane. Eight people including the pilots travelled. They weren’t supposed to know any more particulars. But Lorenzo’s watch placed the coordinates in both numbers and words. They were in West Africa, country Nigeria, state Osun, and township Isura. None of them had ever heard of it, the town, but they were there. And they had travelled for miles, over highly forested nonresidential areas and mountain peaks before they stopped. Wherever they were going was greatly isolated, Roma thought.

I was now well prepared to be a career criminal. I had the proper training and a natural feel for the business. I had a respect for the old-liners like Angelo and Don Frederico. I had been a witness to both murder and betrayal and had my appetite whetted for acts of revenge. I just didn't have the stomach for any of it. I didn't want my life to be a lonely and sinister on, where even the closest of friends could overnight turn into an enemy who needed to be eliminated. If I went the way Angelo had paved, I would earn millions, but would never be allowed to taste the happiness and enjoyment such wealth often brings. I would rule over a dark world, a place where treachery and deceit would be at my side and never know the simple pleasures of an ordinary life. p368.

Fight, therefore, with great determination. Do not let the weakness of your nature be an excuse. If your strength fails you, ask more from God. He will not refuse your request. Consider this—if the fury of your enemies is great, and their numbers overwhelming, the love which God holds for you is infinitely greater. The Angel who protects you and the Saints who intercede for you are more numerous.

He’s got a heart in his chest. I see it when I look him in the eyes. I see the agony he feels. He’s tortured, twisted, all tied up in knots. He’s busy beating himself up inside. But most people don’t see that, because they don’t look at him. They turn away from the surface, terrified, because what he shows the world can be downright fucking scary. But if they just took a second to really see him, they’d know what I know. They’d believe what I believe. And what I believe is this man is far from being a monster.

I believe that it was really due to Lorenzo that I am alive today; and not so much for his material aid, as for his having constantly reminded me by his presence, by his natural and plain manner of being good, that there still existed a just world outside our own, something and someone still pure and whole, not corrupt, not savage, extraneous to hatred and terror; something difficult to define, a remote possibility of good, but for which it was worth saving. The personages in these pages are not men. Their humanity is buried, or they themselves have buried it, under an offense received or inflicted on someone else. The evil and insane SS men, the Kapos, the politicals, the criminals, the prominents, great and small, down to the indifferent slave Häftlinge, all the grades of the mad hierarchy created by the Germans paradoxically fraternized in a uniform internal desolation. But Lorenzo was a man; his humanity was pure and uncontaminated, he was outside this world of negation. Thanks to Lorenzo, I managed not to forget that I myself was a man.

Why would you be my friend? What do you get out of it?” I consider that question as I sip from the bottle of rum, sitting back down in my chair. “The truth?” “Please.” “I’m bored,” I admit. “I came to the city because of a movie, too. The Godfather. But reality? It’s nothing like it is in the movies. Most days we just sit around, waiting for something to happen. It’s monotonous. The world, it’s all in black and white, but you? You’re so many shades of red, woman, and color me curious, but I find myself not so bored with your bullshit around.

A gangster must always be prepared to kill a friend. It is one of the many open secrets of the business, since it is the truest test of his ability to rule and command the respect of his crew. To eliminate a sworn enemy requires little more than opportunity, luck and the willingness to pull a trigger. But to end the life of someone once considered close, regardless of any previous betrayal, requires a determination that few men possess.

Welcome to the madhouse. Feel free to stay as long as you’d like, but as long as you’re here, there are rules to be followed.” “Like?” “Like betray me and I kill you. Lie to me and I kill you. Ignore an order and I kill you. Otherwise, do whatever the hell you want. You think you can handle that?” “As long as you don’t talk down to me because I’m a woman. You pull some misogynistic shit and I’ll kill you. We got a deal?” Those words, they do something to me, hearing that threat come from her lips, so at odds with that low, sultry voice. It makes me hard in an instant.

You speak Italian?” I ask. “Some,” he says, leaning down like he’s going to kiss me, but instead he runs his nose along my jawline. “Why? You want me to talk dirty to you?” “I, uh...” He’s got me flustered as he grabs my hip, pulling me even closer. I shiver, feeling his warm breath on my skin. It’s like he’s breathing me in. “Well, I didn’t, but I kind of do now.” He laughs. “Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll teach you all the dirty words you want.” I hum, tilting my head as his lips trace along my cheek. “All of them?” His breath is against my ear as he whispers, “Every single one.

Portia we can admire because, having seen her leave her Earthly Paradise to do a good deed in this world (one notices, incidentally, that in this world she appears in disguise), we know that she is aware of her wealth as a moral responsibility, but the other inhabitants of Belmont, Bassanio, Gratiano, Lorenzo and Jessica, for all their beauty and charm, appear as frivolous members of a leisure class, whose carefree life is parasitic upon the labors of others, including usurers. When we learn that Jessica has spent fourscore ducats of her father’s money in an evening and bought a monkey with her mother’s ring, we cannot take this as a comic punishment for Shylock’s sin of avarice; her behavior seems rather an example of the opposite sin of conspicuous waste. Then, with the example in our minds of self-sacrificing love as displayed by Antonio, while we can enjoy the verbal felicity of the love duet between Lorenzo and Jessica, we cannot help noticing that the pairs of lovers they recall, Troilus and Cressida, Aeneas and Dido, Jason and Medea, are none of them examples of self-sacrifice or fidelity. […] Belmont would like to believe that men and women are either good or bad by nature, but Antonio and Shylock remind us that this is an illusion; in the real world, no hatred is totally without justification, no love totally innocent.

I’ve been told a time or two that I spiral. Zero to sixty in the blink of an eye. One second, I’m perfectly fine, laughing, smiling. The next, I’ve got my hands around someone’s throat, choking the life out of them. There’s probably a name for whatever’s wrong with me, but I’ve got no interest in a diagnosis. I don’t need treatment. Until people stop being ignorant, I’m going to keep on getting pissed. No little mood-stabilizing pill can stop that from happening. But still, sometimes, I can feel it. I feel myself spiraling hard, and falling far, making mountains out of molehills that even I struggle to climb. And today? I’m feeling it. My hands shake. I can hardly see straight.

We are gathered here, friends,” he said, “to honor lo Hoon-yera Mora-toorz tut Zamoo-cratz-ya, children dead, all dead, all murdered in war. It is customary on days like this to call such lost children men. I am unable to call them men for this simple reason: that in the same war in which lo Hoon-yera Mora-toorz tut Zamoo-cratz-ya died, my own son died. “My soul insists that I mourn not a man but a child. “I do not say that children at war do not die like men, if they have to die. To their everlasting honor and our everlasting shame, they do die like men, thus making possible the manly jubilation of patriotic holidays. “But they are murdered children all the same. “And I propose to you that if we are to pay our sincere respects to the hundred lost children of San Lorenzo, that we might best spend the day despising what killed them; which is to say, the stupidity and viciousness of all mankind. “Perhaps, when we remember wars, we should take off our clothes and paint ourselves blue and go on all fours all day long and grunt like pigs. That would surely be more appropriate than noble oratory and shows of flags and well-oiled guns. “I do not mean to be ungrateful for the fine, martial show we are about to see—and a thrilling show it really will be . . .” He looked each of us in the eye, and then he commented very softly, throwing it away, “And hooray say I for thrilling shows.” We had to strain our ears to hear what Minton said next. “But if today is really in honor of a hundred children murdered in war,” he said, “is today a day for a thrilling show? “The answer is yes, on one condition: that we, the celebrants, are working consciously and tirelessly to reduce the stupidity and viciousness of ourselves and of all mankind.

I want you gone,” he says. “I want you out of my life. Out of my system. I don’t want to spend another goddamn second thinking about you, wondering about you, worrying about you. I don’t want to look at you, don’t want to see you or smell you or taste you or hear you. I don’t want this. Do you get that? I don’t want any of this. It’s driving me fucking insane. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I can’t think. I hate this, whatever this is... whatever this bullshit is that I’m feeling because of you. Make it go away.” I just stare at him, because I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t know much of anything right now except what I’m feeling, and even that is hard to comprehend. “You want the fairy tale,” he continues. “You want the happy ending. You want the little boy to be a fucking bird so he can fly away and make everything okay, but I can’t do it. I’ve told you that. It’s not me.” “I know.” “So why the fuck are you here?” “Because I love you anyway.

Many, Lorenzo, have held and still hold the opinion, that there is nothing which has less in common with another, and that is so dissimilar, as civilian life is from the military. Whence it is often observed, if anyone designs to avail himself of an enlistment in the army, that he soon changes, not only his clothes, but also his customs, his habits, his voice, and in the presence of any civilian custom, he goes to pieces; for I do not believe that any man can dress in civilian clothes who wants to be quick and ready for any violence; nor can that man have civilian customs and habits, who judges those customs to be effeminate and those habits not conducive to his actions; nor does it seem right to him to maintain his ordinary appearance and voice who, with his beard and cursing, wants to make other men afraid: which makes such an opinion in these times to be very true. But if they should consider the ancient institutions, they would not find matter more united, more in conformity, and which, of necessity, should be like to each other as much as these (civilian and military); for in all the arts that are established in a society for the sake of the common good of men, all those institutions created to (make people) live in fear of the laws and of God would be in vain, if their defense had not been provided for and which, if well arranged, will maintain not only these, but also those that are not well established. And so (on the contrary), good institutions without the help of the military are not much differently disordered than the habitation of a superb and regal palace, which, even though adorned with jewels and gold, if it is not roofed over will not have anything to protect it from the rain. And, if in any other institutions of a City and of a Republic every diligence is employed in keeping men loyal, peaceful, and full of the fear of God, it is doubled in the military; for in what man ought the country look for greater loyalty than in that man who has to promise to die for her? In whom ought there to be a greater love of peace, than in him who can only be injured by war? In whom ought there to be a greater fear of God than in him who, undergoing infinite dangers every day, has more need for His aid? If these necessities in forming the life of the soldier are well considered, they are found to be praised by those who gave the laws to the Commanders and by those who were put in charge of military training, and followed and imitated with all diligence by others.