Marriott Quotes

People trust their eyes above all else - but most people see what they wish to see, or what they believe they should see; not what is really there

To ugly ducklings everywhere, Don't worry about those fluffy yellow morons: They'll never get to be swans

I truly believe that if you have more friends than books, you have too many friends. Or not enough books. Probably both.

It's a swell theory," I said. "Marriott socked me, took the money, then he got sorry and beat his brains out, after first burying the money under a bush.

Better naked and alive than decent and dead, I thought.

Here’s to the security guards who maybe had a degree in another land. Here’s to the manicurist who had to leave her family to come here, painting the nails, scrubbing the feet of strangers. Here’s to the janitors who don’t understand English yet work hard despite it all. Here’s to the fast food workers who work hard to see their family smile. Here’s to the laundry man at the Marriott who told me with the sparkle in his eyes how he was an engineer in Peru. Here’s to the bus driver, the Turkish Sufi who almost danced when I quoted Rumi. Here’s to the harvesters who live in fear of being deported for coming here to open the road for their future generation. Here’s to the taxi drivers from Nigeria, Ghana, Egypt and India who gossip amongst themselves. Here is to them waking up at 4am, calling home to hear the voices of their loved ones. Here is to their children, to the children who despite it all become artists, writers, teachers, doctors, lawyers, activists and rebels. Here’s to international money transfer. For never forgetting home. Here’s to their children who carry the heartbeats of their motherland and even in sleep, speak with pride about their fathers. Keep on.

Andrew this is where you take all your dates…” “And?” My heart sank. “Do you not see why bringing me here would hurt my feelings?” “Would you prefer the Marriott?

You see, that is why it is so easy to fool people with our illusions, Yue. In this world, illusions are usually much kinder than the truth.

Is this your first time staying with us?" a woman at a reception desk for the third or fourth hotel said to her, and Olive wasn't sure how to answer, because if you've stayed in one Marriott, haven't you stayed in all of them?

Love comes like storm clouds Fleeing from the wind, and casts Shadows on the moon.

I would listen to her soft voice and wonder if, somewhere deep inside, she was screaming, too.

No one knows me. Not anymore

I’ve learned a lot about love over these last months. And part of what I’ve learned is that you have to want someone for who they are, not who you want them to be. You have to love a real person, not some dream in your head.

I am so angry all the time, and so sad, and it screams inside me and never stops. Cutting is the only thing that eases me.

Our greatest warriors,' Terayama-san said, 'believe that they are already dead. They live as if their lives are over, and so fighting holds no terror for them.' A Suda-san looked gravely at him. 'That, Terayama-san, is one of the saddest things I have ever heard.

On my fourteenth birthday when the sakura was in full bloom, the men came to kill us.

I thought then that you were the bravest girl I’d ever met, and nothing that’s happened since has changed my mind.

Your heart is beating so fast,” he said softly, the words barely more than a whisper. “I can feel your blood humming under my hand. Are you frightened of me?

It's as if people -- normal people -- are made of silver. Shiny to start with, but tarnished by time, by ill-treatment. Luca... Luca is gold. Nothing in the world could ever make him shine less brightly.

Trusting anyone can get you killed.

All humans are made, in essence, of starstuff, and I sometimes wonder if the starstuff still calls out to us.

A general rule is drawn which never or rarely fails: that he who is the cause of another becoming powerful is ruined; because that pre-dominancy has been brought about either by astuteness or else by force, and both are distrusted by him who has been raised to power.

out in the wide readership,his younger brother was kicking an ice bucket in the woods behind the Marriott, his younger brother who was missing that part of the brain that allows you to make out with your pillow. Poor kid.

I don't want you because I expect you to swoop in and rescue me and make everything all right.I don't want you because you're beautiful. None of that matters. you could never be a bad bargain to me, because...you're you. And I love you.

Why does it hurt so much? Why does it have to hurt?

Those who by valorous ways become princes...acquire a principality with difficulty, but they keep it with ease.

Don’t listen to what they say. Go see. — Chinese proverb

I never knew my mother's name.

What would you do if you could not fail?

Life is the improbable thing. It is so fragile that it can be taken away at any second, without reason or logic or warning.

I know what evil looks like under the surface. No matter how beautiful the exterior, how good the lies, I don’t fool myself, not any more. You carry a terrible burden that no one – not even me – can really understand. But that doesn’t change who you are, Frost. You’re a good person. And I love you.” “I wish…” My voice cracked. “I wish I could believe in that.” Luca brushed the dishevelled strands of hair away from my face again and looked into my eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll keep saying it until you do.

I lit a Camel, blew smoke through my nose and looked at a piece of black shiny metal on a stand. It showed a full, smooth curve with a shallow fold in it and two protuberances on the curve. I stared at it. Marriott saw me staring at it. “An interesting bit,” he said negligently. “I picked it up just the other day. Asta Dial’s Spirit of Dawn.” “I thought it was Klopstein’s Two Warts on a Fanny,” I said. Mr. Lindsay Marriott’s face looked as if he had swallowed a bee. He smoothed it out with an effort.

My first memory is of the smell of sunwarmed earth.

I was a fan of guys with a higher range like Steve Marriott in the Small Faces and Humble Pie. (Humble Pie’s Performance: Rockin’ the Fillmore would be a hugely influential

The global economy and all of its markets are constantly changing. In order to survive and thrive as an individual in business these days, you've got to be always updating your mental models. You've got to be always updating the software of your mind and spirit so that you remain capable of seeing the new ways value is being measured and exchanged; and so that you remain capable to plugging in to and profiting from the new ways that value is being exchanged.

A wise man ought always to follow the paths beaten by great men, and to imitate those who have been supreme, so that if his ability does not equal theirs, at least it will savour of it.

The wish to acquire is in truth very natural and common, and men always do so when they can, and for this they will be praised not blamed; but when they cannot do so, yet wish to do so by any means, then there is folly and blame.

I may have a potty mouth, but I do not get caught in illicit sexual encounters in Marriotts, for fuck’s sake. I guess I could be open to a Ritz-Carlton or a Four Seasons, but a Marriott, no fucking way! Yet here I am. And there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. What spell has this boy cast on me? I

Aside from wanting to write cracking good books that turn children into lifelong readers, I really want to create stories that enable kids to LOOK at the world around them. To see it for what it is, with wide open, wondering eyes. Our mass media is so horribly skewed. It presents this idea of 'normalcy' which excludes and marginalises so many for an idea of commercial viability which is really nothing but blinkered prejudice. People who are black and Asian and Middle Eastern and Hispanic, people who are gay or transgendered or genderqueer, people who have disabilities, disfigurements or illnesses - all have this vision of a world which does not include them shoved down their throats almost 24-7, and they're told 'No one wants to see stories about people like you. Films and TV shows about people like you won't make money. Stories about straight, white, cisgendered, able-bodied people are universal and everyone likes them. You are small and useless and unattractive and you don't matter.' My worry is that this warped version of 'normal' eventually forms those very same blinkers on children's eyes, depriving them of their ability to see anyone who isn't the same as them, preventing them from developing the ability to empathise with and appreciate and take joy in the lives and experiences of people who are different from them. If Shadows on the Moon - or anything I write - causes a young person to look at their own life, or the life of another, and think, 'Maybe being different is cool' I will die a happy writer. -Guest blog - what diversity means to me

I've been in darkness nearly all my life, and you brought light into my existance for the first time. And maybe that's why I started to... have feeling for you. You seemed like a dream. [...] But that's just infatuation. Hero worship. It's not real. I've learned a lot about love in these last months. Abd part of what I've learned is you have to want someone for who they are, not who you want them to be. You have to love a real person, not some dream in your head. Neither of us could have lived that way.

Zoe had dressed up for their meeting with Dr. Marriott in a long Indian skirt stitched with beads and tiny mirrors, a T-shirt embossed with CAT WOMAN STRIKES AGAIN! and a short-sleeved pink hoodie. To top it off, she wore a bracelet made from typewriter keys. She was sure Dr. Marriott would love it, seeing as typewriters were right up his alley.

All the kids with fancy shoes or clothes, do you know what I got with a family of nine? When ever we said let's play poker, we had a full team of adults right there.

Unless you're honest, you won't know that the love is true. It's easy to say I love you, much harder to say I'd never lie to you.

Real love is hard because it requires one to know and accept another person with all their faults.

I just take dictation for the voices in my head.

Men will not look at things as they really are, but as they wish them to be--and are ruined.

And he will kiss me again, I thought, almost dizzy at the wonder of it. He will kiss me a thousand times more, and in a thousand ways.

I'm not an aspiring writer; I'm a writer aspiring to be read.

What we know will pass, we can endure

Laughing, the man replied, “I’ve been following you, you’ve been following the pilgrims in front of you, and they’ve been following in the footsteps of a million more pilgrims before them.

It is in reference to Pope Julius that Machiavelli moralizes on the resemblance between Fortune and women, and concludes that it is the bold rather than the cautious man that will win and hold them both.

...if one is on the spot, disorders are seen as they spring up, and one can quickly remedy them; but if one is not at hand, they are heard of only when they are great, and then one can no longer remedy them.

We must help young women immerse themselves in a selfless work, perhaps receiving little public praise or attention. Instead, they must feel the Lord’s great love for them and their efforts through the influence of the Holy Ghost.

I thought of the words of an old song, a sad song, that I had sung for him once: Oh, my love, I would shatter my own heart a thousand times before I hurt yours. But I had already shattered my own heart, and it had made no difference.

From this a general rule is drawn which never or rarely fails: that he who is the cause of another becoming powerful is ruined; because that predominancy has been brought about either by astuteness or else by force, and both are are distrusted by him who has been raised to power.

Every great corporation does one thing well, and in Marriott’s case it’s to help guests disappear. The indistinct architecture, the average service, the room-temperature, everything. You’re gone, blended away by the stain-disguising carpet patterns, the art that soothes you even when your back’s turned. And you don’t even miss yourself, that’s Marriott’s great discovery. Invisibility, the ideal vacation. No more anxiety about your role, your place. Rest here, under our cloak. Don’t fidget, it's just your face that we’re removing. You won’t be needing it until you leave, and here’s a claim check. Don’t worry if you lose it.

It is the mystery of Kano Yue that intrigues and enchants them. You reveal nothing; they imagine everything. Real love is hard because it requires one to know and accept another person with all their faults. This kind of infatuation is easy because, as far as they are concerned, Kano Yue has no faults. They love everything about you because they know nothing about you.

Listening is the single most important on–the–job skill that a good manager can cultivate. A leader who doesn’t listen well risks missing critical information, losing (or never winning) the confidence of staff and peers and forfeiting the opportunity to be a proactive, hands–on manager. Listening is also how you empower people to grow in their jobs and gain confidence as decision makers.

It may seem strange to you, but there are no such creatures in Athazie. There is an animal-a very large animal-that lives on the plains and is much the same shape. We call it gadahama. The golden hunter. He does not say meep, meep as these tiny ones do. His voice is like this.' He drew in a deep breath, then let out a deafening roar. The cats fled in all directions at once as they scrambled away.

When Akira had recited the haiku to me the first time, I had been confused, thinking it compared love to storm clouds because they were capricious and fleeting. Perhaps love was capricious and fleeting, but that was not the true meaning of the poem. The true meaning was this: that love, when it came, was powerful enough to transform everything. Anything. Even the unchanging, ever-changing face of the Moon herself.

Code of Civil Procedure §1161(2) prevents the landlord from claiming rent due more than a year before the service of the 3-day notice. See Fifth & Broadway Partnership v Kimny, Inc. (1980) 102 CA3d 195, 202. An argument could also be made on the ground of laches that it is inequitable for a landlord to wait a full year before demanding overdue rent. That argument was successfully made in Maxwell v Simons (Civ Ct 1973) 353 NYS2d 589, which held that it was unconscionable for a landlord to permit the tenant to fall more than 3 months behind in rent before bringing an unlawful detainer action based on the total arrearage. New York law required the tenant to pay the arrearage within 5 days or return possession. The court held that the landlord could base his eviction action only on the last 3 months' nonpayment of rent and would have to recover the balance in an ordinary action for rent. See also Marriott v Shaw (Civ Ct 1991) 574 NYS2d 477 and Dedvukaj v Mandonado (Civ Ct 1982) 453 NYS2d 965. In California, this reasoning, along with the cases cited above on "equitable" defenses, might be used to attack a 3-day notice to pay or quit demanding more than three months' back rent.

Although I have suggested that American culture tends to favor the side of independence over the side of inclusion (and I would extend that to Western culture in general), it is not a generalization that seems to apply uniformly to men and women in our culture. Indeed, although I have no idea why it may be, it seems to me that men tend to have more difficulty acknowledging their need for inclusion, tend to me more oriented toward differentiation, and that women tend to have more difficulty acknowledging their need for distinctness, tend to be more oriented toward inclusion. Whether this is a function of social experience throughout the lifespan, the effects of parenting anatomical (even genital) density, or some combination, I do not know. Whatever the source of this distinction between men and women, I believe it is also the case that this very distinction is to be found within any one person as well. Whatever the source of this distinction between men and women, I believe it is also the case that this very distinction is to be found within any one person as well. In this respect constructive-developmental theory revives the Jungian notion that there is a man in every woman and a woman in every man; saying so is both a consequence of considering that all of life is animated by a fundamental evolutionary ambivalence, and that 'maleness'/'femaleness' is but one of its expressions. Similarly, I believe that while Western and Eastern cultures reflect one side or the other of this ambivalence, they project the other. Western cultures tend to value independence, self-assertion, aggrandizement, personal achievement, increasing independence from the family of origin; Eastern cultures (including the American Indian) value the other pole. Cheyenne Indians asked to talk about themselves typically begin, 'My grandfather...' (Strauss, 1981); many Eastern cultures use the word 'I' to refer to a collectivity of people of which one is a part (Marriott, 1981); the Hopi do not say, 'It's a nice day,' as if one could separate oneself from the day, but say something that would have to be translated more like, 'I am in a nice day,' or 'It's nice in front, and behind, and above" (Whorf, 1956). At the same time one cannot escape the enormous hunger for community, mystical merging, or intergenerational connection that continually reappears in American culture through communalism, quasi-Eastern religions, cult phenomena, drug experience, the search for one's 'roots,' the idealization of the child, or the romantic appeal of extended families. Similarly, it seems too glib to dismiss as 'mere Westernization' the repeated expression in Eastern cultures of individualism, intergenerational autonomy, or entrepreneurialism as if these were completely imposed from without and not in any way the expression of some side of Eastern culture itself.

Copper fish, dance, dance Leaves falling on silver pool Autumn rain, fall, fall Autumn leaves, dance, dance Float in the pool of copper fish Silver rain, fall, fall

Uma aliança da França com o Congresso Continental,** em 1778, mudou a natureza

I definitely got that. I’d been just where she was, and only a few hours ago. Which made it easy to get the fact that however freaked out I’d been about what I’d seen Rachel do, Rachel was freaked out squared. With a cherry on top.

What are you doing?” I demanded. “Why did you go running off like that? Are you an idiot?”   “Let go!” She struggled, apparently not worried about the curious looks we were getting. “Leave me alone!”   “What do you mean leave you alone?” I hissed, hanging onto her arm doggedly. “What if another Foul Woman turns up, like the one that got Jack?”   She winced. Before I could apologize for my trademark sensitivity, she recovered and poked her finger at my face. “It’s none of your business what I do! I don’t answer to you, Mio Yamato. I’m an adult, for God’s sake! I’m nearly twenty-one years old.”   “Then start acting like it! We’re on the same side here. We are trying to help you.”   “How?” Her voice hit a pitch so shrill that it echoed even in the middle of all the deadening sounds of the city. We got a slew of horrified stares. Rachel didn’t seem to notice. “How? You have no idea what happened to me! You have no idea what’s still happening to me…”   All the fight seemed to drain right out of her. Her tense shoulders sagged and, to my horror, big, fat tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks.   Well, crap.   Jack and me … we didn’t do this. We didn’t cry in front of each other. We didn’t do that Reality TV Big Emotional Moment stuff. It wasn’t us. If this ha d been Rachel’s sister in front of me, I’d have known just how to handle it – let her turn away, let her get herself back together without trying to help. Jack would already have been sucking it up.   But this wasn’t Jack. And Rachel wasn’t sucking it up. She was just standing in front of me in the middle of a crowded London train station courtyard, with one arm wrapped around her middle like she was about to fall apart, crying silent, pathetic tears.   Shinobu’s face filled with a mixture of sadness and understanding. He made an abortive move to touch Rachel, then stopped and stepped back, as if realizing contact from him probably wouldn’t be welcome. “Then you must tell us, Rachel-san,” he said gently. “Trust us with your fears. Trust that we will listen and understand.”   He gave me an urgent look and mimed a hugging movement.   Thanks. Thanks a bunch.   Feeling stiff and uncomfortable, I put my arms around Rachel and patted her on the back. “Shush. It’s all right now. It’s all right.”   To my surprise she flopped against me, burying her head in my shoulder as she cried. It was like … like she’d just been waiting for someone to lean on all along. For the first time it really dawned on me that Rachel and Jack were different. Yeah, they had something of the same attitude, a lot of the same mannerisms, even looked alike if you ignored Jack’s goth thing – but they weren’t the same person. I needed to start seeing Rachel for who she was, not just Jack’s Big Sister.   I hugged her a bit tighter, and patted her back with a bit more enthusiasm. “I’m not going to pretend that I understand exactly how you’re feeling, because … you’re you, and only you can know that. But I can sympathize. Maybe I can even help. Please tell me what’s going on.

I just wanted to be quiet and alone – get my head around everything. Make sure I was really back to normal. I drank hot chocolate and … waited. I even slept for a bit. When I was sure nothing bad was going to happen, I came home. And, you know, found Mio nearly being eaten by a giant spider.”   “What? I didn’t see that!” Jack yelped.   “You were too busy grabbing the firebombs,” Hikaru put in. “I saw it, though. Rachel clocked it in the side and knocked it right off. It went flying.”   I gave Rachel a questioning look.   She shrugged again and put down her mug on the coffee table. Picking up an empty metal serving plate with her right hand, she poked it sharply with the index finger of her left. There was a rending noise, and Rachel’s finger popped out of the bottom of the plate.   “I’m pretty strong,” she said, with what I thought was epic understatement. “But I can control it now.”   Seeing the alarmed expressions on Hikaru and my dad’s faces, I quickly said, “The king – your king, Hikaru – told me this could happen. If people recover from the Nekomata’s bite, they have gifts. Seeing in the dark. Speed. Strength.”   “Let me get this straight,” Jack said slowly. “My sister is Catwoman now?”   “I suppose that makes you the Joker, then.” Rachel reached out to mess up Jack’s spiky hair.   Jack squeaked, trying to bat Rachel’s hands away. “Not the hair!”   “Oh, please. Try that on me when you don’t have an inch of roots.”   Hikaru leaned out of their way, looking confused and not sure if he should try to intervene. I could sympathize. Siblings were odd.

We’d all started for the front hall when my father’s throat-clearing stopped us. “Where do you think you’re going?”   Jack and I exchanged wary looks. Parents pretending to be stupid was usually a sign that they were about to try to be – eugh – funny.   “Out, Mr Yamato,” Rachel said patiently, falling for it. “We’re going to walk to this nexus place. Aren’t you coming?”   Dad got out of the armchair and stretched fluidly. “Yes, but I’m not walking it. I assume you’re up for a ride in the Dad Taxi?”   I might be a barely functioning, emotionally shattered control freak, but I wasn’t an idiot. The next word out of my mouth was “Shotgun!”   The others groaned.

Come here; let me look at you.” Mum gestured imperiously, and after a moment’s hesitation, Shinobu bent down so that she could cup his face in her small, delicate fingers. She stared up at him, dark gaze piercing. He stayed still, but behind his back I saw his hands find each other and his fingers lace together, as if it was an effort not to fidget. I didn’t blame him.   “Rachel also says that you helped save her and did a lot of other heroic things. I think you must have a great deal of character to have survived everything that’s happened to you, Shinobu, and I’m very grateful for all that you’ve done for my family. But I’m fully aware that you’ve been hanging out in my house with my underage daughter completely unsupervised the whole time I’ve been gone. I will be keeping my eye on you from now on.”   Shinobu nodded respectfully, not moving out of my mother’s grasp. I couldn’t stand it.   “Mum! Shinobu’s been a − a perfect gentleman!”   “And I was there at least some of the time,” my father put in.   “There is no such thing as a perfect gentleman, Mio. And you don’t count, Takashi. You can never tell when Mio’s lying about anything.” She fixed her eyes back on Shinobu. “I’m not saying that I don't approve. But if you’re the sort of young man that I want for my daughter – and I think you are – you won’t have a problem with me looking out for her. When this mess is sorted out, we can get to know each other properly.”   Shinobu nodded again. Mum smiled at him and slid her hands down to pat his shoulders, and he smiled back, his expression a little dazed. Damn. Dazzled by Mum Power.   “‘This mess’ being … the imminent apocalypse?” my dad asked, apparently unable to leave well enough alone.   Mum ignored his tone magnificently. “Yes, that. Now, could anyone else murder a sandwich and a cup of tea? Because I’ve had a heck of a day.”   Jack and Hikaru, who’d retreated to the till area with Ebisu during the family drama, crept out. Jack raised her hand. “I’m starving.”   “Me too,” Hikaru said.   “Ah, the appetites of the young,” Ebisu said, smiling serenely as he limped towards my mother and offered her his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Yamato. You are almost exactly as I had imagined. Let’s go upstairs to my flat and see what we can find to eat, yes?”   “You might want to put me in charge of that,” my dad said, hurrying after them. “She’s a terrible cook.”   “Stuff it,” my mum retorted as Ebisu led her away. “I’m still not talking to you.”   And just like that, our motley crew had another member. My mum.   Sweet baby Jebus, how did this happen?

We’ve been watching you in my water mirror. Just watching, mind you. There’s no sound.”   My face must have betrayed complete horror. Watching us? The whole time? What if they’d read our lips, what if they’d worked out what Silver Fangs had said? They’d never let us go!   “Don’t worry,” my father said dryly. He gathered me into one of his trademark awkward dad-hugs. I could feel him shaking a little bit, and he, too, looked drawn and tired. “I looked away during all the personal moments. Frankly, it was that or lose my breakfast.”   “And I made Hikaru look away,” Jack said. “Although, seriously, at one point I was starting to wonder if you two were just going to stay in the dream realm and mack forever.”   I saw Shinobu’s lips twitch at that. I was so relieved they hadn’t rumbled us that I managed a sort of feeble giggle. Dad gave me a pat on the shoulder, then stood and held his hand out to Shinobu, who took it and let Dad pull him upright. 

Where you go…”   He raised my hands and pressed them to his heart, then kissed each palm. “I will follow, always.

Do you remember,” I said, slowly, “when we were little and Hitomi the kitchen maid told us the story of the red thread? How some people are born tied together by a long scarlet string that no one can see? The red thread is fate. People joined in this way would always be searching for each other, always moving towards each other, even if they never realized it until the moment they met. Remember she said that the red thread may stretch, or tangle, but never, ever break?”   A pained half-smile twitched at one corner of his mouth. “You stole the red silk from your mother’s embroidery box and tied our little fingers together.”   “Which only lasted until bath time, when Father very firmly cut us apart again.” I stroked his left little finger with mine. “I still believe in that thread, Shinobu. I know it’s there. I can feel it, even if I can’t see it. We were always meant to be together. But maybe … maybe we weren’t meant to be together forever.”   “Mio-dono…”   “Shin-chan.” I forced myself to smile into his anguished eyes through the welling tears. “If none of this had ever happened, if Izanagi and the Nekomata had never come to the village, if we had grown old together in my family’s home the way we dreamed, we would have chosen this, wouldn’t we? To be together as long as we could. And, when it was time, to die together. After all these years, we finally get our wish.”   He whispered, “You have already made up your mind, my love.”   “Haven’t you? Where you go…”   He raised my hands and pressed them to his heart, then kissed each palm. “I will follow, always.

Just as big a coward as ever,” I taunted. I circled the sword forward and backward in my grip as I moved towards him, warming up my wrist. “What a shame you never had a mother. You’d have made a perfect mummy’s boy.”   He frowned in confusion, apparently realizing he’d been insulted, but not how.

Have you fought about this?”   “No.” I pause. “Not really. You know how he is. He just goes all stubborn and refuses to talk. Like a rock. A big stupid rock.”   “Such sweet words for your beloved.

Have you ever been hit in the face? Really hit? So your head snapped back and you landed on your rear end wondering what the hell happened? You don’t actually feel it at first. The harder the blow is, the more numb you go. I mean, your face just seems to disappear, and for a minute you think your eyes are going to drop right out of their sockets because they’re the only thing that still seems to be working.   I suppose that explains why I didn’t feel the car hit me. There was no pain. Just a sort of … nudge. I flew up, and the world did a gentle roll around me, everything coming apart, lights and trees and cars scattering before my eyes like colourful pieces of broken glass.   Then I hit the ground. I landed on my front and skidded for a few feet before I came to a halt. I still couldn’t feel anything, and it was quiet. I’d say “dead quiet”, except that’s too accurate to be funny. I never realized how loud my heartbeat was until it stopped.

Don’t worry, Maverick. I got your back.”   “Oh my God. Jack, Top Gun quotes are not cool, OK?”   “Sez you,” Jack shot back as we reached the top of the stairs. “You’re the one who’s going out dressed as an anime character.”   “Touché.

Good. Light on your feet, controlled, graceful… Better than your father was at your age.”   I wrinkled my nose. I was pretty sure Winnie-the-Pooh would be better at kendo than my dad. Ojiichan saw my expression and his laughter spilled over, rich and golden and sweet

Don’t even think about it, Mimi. You are not coming out with me if you have garlic breath.”   “But I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. I could brush my teeth twice,” I offered.   “No. We don’t have time. You haven’t even finished your costume yet. We’re in and out, OK? Maybe Rachel’ll put some in the fridge for you.”   “You’re heartless.”   “Like that’s news to anyone. Stop whining.”   Rachel poked her head out of the kitchen, a baguette in her hand. She pointed it at Jack. Pointing is a Luci-family thing. Beatrice does it too, only she’s usually holding a sharp dental instrument, so it’s considerably scarier.   “Are you bullying Mio again?” Rachel demanded. The warm light from the kitchen made her pale brown skin glow, and her long, toffee-coloured hair – the same colour as Jack’s before she bleached it – gleam. Jack and Rachel’s grandmother was from Barbados, which means they both have an amazing all-year-round golden tan. Unlike me. According to the manga I read, if I lived in Japan, my naturally pale skin would be totally sexy. Shame it only counts as pasty in the UK.   “No,” Jack said.   “Yes.” I did my pitiful expression. “She won’t let me have any dinner.”   Behind trendy square glasses, Rachel narrowed her eyes at her sister. “If you’re thinking of developing an eating disorder, you’d better know right now that I will intervention your ass off, Jacqueline.” Rachel is a graduate psychology student. She likes to work that into the conversation as often as she can.   “Oh, save it,” Jack said, yawning for effect. “We’re just in a rush, that’s all. We’ve got a party to go to.

Laughter is the balm of life.

No matter how many hotels were added to the Marriott stable, and no matter how old he was, Bill was determined to go to most of the full-service hotel openings and continue his inspection visits of 100 to 200 hotels each year.

it explains how they were brilliant at home, the Jackson 5, the Temptations, and “Tizita” on their lips, a perfect Afro on their heads, bell-bottoms swishing above Double-O-Seven boots, and then the first foothold in America—behind the counter of a 7-Eleven, or breathing carbon monoxide fumes in a Kinney underground parking lot, or behind the counter of an airport newsstand or Marriott gift shop—has turned out to be a cement foot plant, a haven that they are fearful of leaving lest they suffer a fate worse than invisibility, namely extinction.

Non mi sembra troppo inverosimile che, tra cinque anni, i Marriott e gli Hilton del mondo inizieranno a costruire meta-versioni dei loro hotel in Horizon, consentendo agli avatar/ospiti di incontrarsi con i loro amici nella hall, o fare brainstorming nelle sale riunioni virtuali, ovviamente a pagamento.

I fell for someone new but she's just another girl that looks like you. What's love if it's not true, it's just another girl that looks like you.' -James Marriott, Grapes

When I was separated from the lab, attending some seminar or conference, it was the series of twisted e-mails from Bill that held me fast to what I loved about my job, even while trapped with pasty middle-aged men who regarded me as they would a mangy stray that had slipped in through an open basement window. There’s a place somewhere where I am part of the in-group, I would remind myself as I stood alone with my buffet dish in some Marriott ballroom, apparently radiating cooties and so excluded from the back-slapping stories of building mass spectrometers during the good old days.

USS Franklin D Roosevelt (CV43).

The road become shorter when you know yourself, but you've got to travel down that long road first.

the Marriott manager who oversaw the regime change, draws a conclusion that should be pinned up in boardrooms and factories everywhere: “One of the most important things we learned … was that people could be just as productive—and sometimes even more so—when they worked fewer hours.

People trust their eyes above all else- but most people see what they wish to see, or what they believe they should see; not what is really there.

I sold a Multimixer to a guy named Willard Marriott, who had just opened a drive-in called A & W Root Beer. His method of operation fascinated me. I considered myself a connoisseur of kitchens; after all, selling Multimixers took me into thousands of them. I prided myself on being able to tell which operations would appeal to the public and which would fail. Willard Marriott looked like a winner to me from the start. I had no more idea than he did back then, though, of what a giant his Marriott Corporation would become in hotels and restaurants.

So where are they going?” “Well, I heard that Noel got a job at some hospital in Ohio. Columbus or Canton or maybe Cleveland. All those Cs in Ohio, it’s confusing. Come to think of it, I think it’s Cincinnati. Another C. A soft C they call it, right?” “Right. Have the Wheelers moved out there already?” “No, I don’t think so. Okay, Talia told me—do you know Talia Norwich? Nice woman? Daughter’s name is Allie? A little overweight? Anyway, Talia said that she heard that they were staying at a Marriott Courtyard until they could relocate.” Bingo. Wendy

In 1863, as Havana continued to grow, the need for expansion prompted the removal of the city walls. The Ten Years’ War ended with a cease fire from Spain. However, it was followed by the Cuban War of Independence, which lasted from 1895 until 1898 and prompted intervention by the United States. The American occupation of Cuba lasted until 1902. After Cuban Independence came into being, another period of expansion in Havana followed, leading to the construction of beautiful apartment buildings for the new middle class and mansions for the wealthy. During the 1920’s, Cuba developed the largest middle class per total population in all of Latin America, necessitating additional accommodations and amenities in the capital city. As ships and airplanes provided reliable transportation, visitors saw Havana as a refuge from the colder cities in the North. To accommodate the tourists, luxury hotels, including the Hotel Nacional and the Habana Riviera, were built. In the 1950’s gambling and prostitution became widespread and the city became the new playground of the Americas, bringing in more income than Las Vegas. Now that Cuba senses an end to the embargo and hopes to cultivate a new relationship with the United States, construction in Havana has taken on a new sense of urgency. Expecting that Havana will once again become a tourist destination, the French construction group “Bouygues” is busy building Havana's newest luxury hotel. This past June Starwood’s mid-market Four Points Havana, became the first U.S. hotel, owned by Marriott, to open in Cuba. The historic Manzana de Gómez building which was once Cuba's first European-style shopping arcade has now been transformed into the Swiss based Manzana Kempinski, Gran Hotel, La Habana. It has now become Cuba's first new 5-Star Hotel! Spanish resort hotels dot the beaches east of Havana and China is expected to build 108,000 new hotel rooms for the largest tourist facility in the Caribbean. On the other end of the spectrum is the 14 room Hotel Terral whch has a prime spot on the Malecón.

¿Por qué no creó Rupert Murdoch The Huffington Post? ¿Por qué no lanzó AT&T Skype, ni Visa creó PayPal? La CNN podría haber creado Twitter, visto que de frases cortas e impactantes como titulares se trata, ¿no? General Motors o Hertz podrían haber lanzado Uber, y Marriott, Airbnb. Gannett podría haber creado Craigslist o Kijiji. Yellow Pages podría haber fundado perfectamente eBay. Microsoft tenía la posibilidad de crear Google o cualquier modelo de negocio basado en internet más que en el ordenador personal. ¿Por qué no inventó la NBC YouTube? Sony podría haberse adelantado al iTunes de Apple. ¿Dónde estaba Kodak cuando se inventaron Instagram o Pinterest? ¿Y si People o Newsweek hubieran creado BuzzFeed o Mashable?

And together we disappeared into the darkness swift and silent as shadows on the moon.

Farley turned and took a selfie using Snapchat as Evan and Bobby smiled and looked out at the crowd. Evan’s fiancée, supermodel Miranda Kerr, stood on the floor of the stock exchange, as did early Snapchat employees Dena Gallucci and Nick Bell and Snap chief strategy officer Imran Khan. Bobby and Evan pressed a button together and a bell rang out loudly, signaling the opening of the day’s trading. The assembled throng of Snap employees, friends, and reporters cheered. Farley encouraged the crowd to cheer louder. Evan, in a white shirt and gold tie, and Bobby, with a blue shirt and darker blue tie, smiled at the crowd, then turned and shared a moment. Bobby patted Evan on the back in celebration as Farley turned and shook hands with them each in turn. This was actually happening. $ SNAP was priced at $ 17 a share, but it opened at a much loftier $ 24. Snapchat CFO Drew Vollero watched the stock jump and exclaimed, “That’s crazy!” After Snap began trading, Evan, Bobby, Kerr, and Khan headed over to the fourth-floor equities trading desk at Goldman Sachs on 200 West Street. When Snap’s stock jumped up to $ 24 right out of the gate, the Goldman trading floor broke out in jubilant cheers. The stock closed at $ 24.48, up 44 percent, with a closing market cap of $ 34 billion, on par with Marriott and Target. By the end of the day, Evan and Bobby were worth more than $ 6 and $ 5 billion, respectively. Never before had so much economic value been created by a consumer product, used by millions of people daily, that was still so misunderstood.

The mayor spread his arms. “What do you think of the place? Beautiful, am I right?” It looked to Adam like a conference room at a Courtyard Marriott, which was to say neat, generic, and impersonal. Adam gave a noncommittal head nod. “Walk

The dim grass stirs with your footstep, The blue dusk throbs with your smile; I and the world of glory Are one for a little while. * * * * * The spring sun shows me your shadow, The spring wind bears me your breath, You are mine for a passing moment, But I am yours to the death.

Once Guerra’s audiences learn about the brands that inspired Walnut Hill, they are more likely to understand the reason behind strategies like the “15–5” rule: At 15 feet from a patient or a visitor, an employee should make eye contact. At 5 feet the employee should greet and say hello to the patient or, if the patient looks confused, ask if he or she needs help. Guerra explains that the hospital adopted the strategy from studying hospitality techniques at hotel chains like the JW Marriott.

Miramar’s plush Goa Marriott Resort

But as Airbnb became huge, with lots of hosts and travelers, it became increasingly common to have to make multiple attempts to nail down a reservation. Meanwhile, Airbnb’s main competitors were no longer other small Internet businesses, but giant hotel corporations such as Hilton, Marriott, and Best Western. And one huge advantage these huge hotel chains offer to travelers is speedy confirmation. Their transactions are fast: by phone or on the Web, you can quickly find out whether rooms are still available and book one for the night you want. That’s because all the rooms in, say, a Hilton are managed by a central computer system, so one call lets you check all the rooms at the same time. Imagine instead if you had to call Hilton to inquire about each room individually. On any given call, the only thing the reservation clerk could tell you was whether, say, room 1226 at the San Francisco Hilton was available for the night you wanted. If not, you had to make another call to find out about room 1227, then another for room 1228. Booking a room with an Airbnb host was a little like that. So Airbnb had to figure out how a market with many hosts offering one room at a time could compete more effectively with hotels. Price was obviously important. But it was the spread of smartphones that helped Airbnb close the speed gap, and that may have mattered even more than price. Today, as hosts manage their reservations on their smartphones, they don’t have to wait until they return home to confirm a booking—they just check their phones. They can also, as soon as the room is booked, immediately update their Airbnb listing to remove its availability. That in turn makes it easier for a traveler searching for a room to find one that’s available, even though he or she still has to query one room at a time. Thus smartphones make the home hosting market work better not just because hosts can respond faster but also because they can update their bookings, which makes them more informative. This, too, reduces congestion (fewer rooms appear to be available, and a room that looks available is more likely to actually be so), and as a result helps travelers search more efficiently, with fewer time-wasting false leads.

10 years is nature's 9 months for business babies.