Mary Hays Quotes

Cada día tenemos 24 horas más; cada día puede pasar cualquier cosa. Hay que vivir en el momento, porque para morir solo hace fala un instante. Hay que vivir día a día. Y hay que tratar de caminar en la luz

Red onions are especially divine. I hold a slice up to the sunlight pouring in through the kitchen window, and it glows like a fine piece of antique glass. Cool watery-white with layers delicately edged with imperial purple...strong, humble, peaceful...with that fiery nub of spring green in the center...

No hay hada que te haga sentir más sola que pasar el resto de tu vida con alguien con quien no se pueda hablar, o peor, con alguien con quien no se pueda estar en silencio.

Don't fuck with me. I don't like it and I know your mother." --Jory to a Handsy-Hayes Fischer

Quizás hay en los libros algún tipo de instinto secreto que les lleva a sus lectores perfectos. ¡Sería maravilloso que fuera verdad!

Hay que vivir en el momento, porque para morir solo hace falta un instante.

Hay muchos hombres que no guardan recuerdos. No quiere recuerdos. Eso no quiere decir nada.

«Pero ¿qué es el noveno reino?», le pregunta a una mujer de ojos azules y piel arrugada. «Es el reino de la negación, de la voluntad congelada -responde-. No hay retorno posible.»

No es fácil hacer encajar a las mujeres en una estructura que, de entrada, está codificada como masculina: lo que hay que hacer es cambiar la estructura.

Drown'd, all drown'd, "In that great sea which nothing disembogues.

I put in no claims either for happiness, for gratification, or even for the common comforts of life: yet, surely, I had a right to exist!

The point is,” DuBois said, “you are, somehow, special to Ms. Stratt. I had assumed you two were engaged in sexual congress.” My mouth fell agape. “Wha—what?! Are you out of your mind?! No! No way!” “Huh,” said Ilyukhina. “Perhaps you should be? She is uptight. She could use a good roll in hay.

No quiero estar casada sólo por estar casada. No hay nada que te haga sentir más sola que pasa el resto de la vida con alguien con quien no se pueda hablar, o peor, con alguien con quien no se pueda estar en silencio.

Focus,” Mary muttered, chastising herself and her wandering mind. From her stereo came the soothing sounds of monks, vocalizing an ancient hymn meant to bring one closer to enlightenment. Credit where it was due, they were pretty good. Mary couldn’t remember ever hearing a bad singing monk, though. Was it just a byproduct of monkhood that one gained a great singing voice? Or maybe they had auditions before one got in. “Great, great, you want enlightenment, but I’ll need to hear you belt out some show tunes before we let you in.” Were there scouts out there scouring the vocal talents of a new generation and recruiting them to top-notch monasteries?

—Ni me dejaron preparar el entierro. Cogieron a mi hijo y montaron con él un numerito patriótico. Les vino de perlas que se moriría. Para usarlo con intenciones políticas, ¿sabes? Como los usan a todos. Unos borregos, eso es lo que son. Unos ingenuos. Y Joxe Mari lo mismo. Les calientan la cabeza, les dan un arma y, hala, a matar. En casa nunca hemos hablado de política. A mí la política no me interesa. ¿Te interesa a ti? —Ni pizca. —Les meten malas ideas y, como son jóvenes, caen en la trampa. Luego se creen unos héroes porque llevan pistola. Y no se dan cuenta de que, a cambio de nada, porque al final no hay más premio que la cárcel o la tumba, han dejado el trabajo, la familia, los amigos. Lo han dejado todo para hacer lo que les mandan cuatro aprovechados. Y para romperles la vida a otras personas, dejando viudas y huérfanos por todas las esquinas.

What to wear on a Minnesota farm? The older farmers I know wear brown polyester jumpsuits, like factory workers. The younger ones wear jeans, but the forecast was for ninety-five degrees with heavy humidity. The wardrobe of Quaker ladies in their middle years runs to denim skirts and hiking boots. This outfit had worked fine for me in England. But one of my jobs in Minnesota will be to climb onto the industrial cuisinart in the hay barn and mix fifty-pound bags of nutritional supplement and corn into blades as big as my body. Getting a skirt caught in that thing would be bad news for Betty Crocker.

Solo hay un sobresalto peor que el totalmente inesperado, el esperado para el cual uno se ha negado a prepararse.

...pues no hay nada mejor para tranquilizar la mente que un propósito constante, un punto donde el alma pueda fijar la mirada de su intelecto.

Hay una diferencia entre tú y yo. Si yo muero, tú sobrevivirás. Si tú mueres, eso acabará conmigo.

No hay ningún estado que podamos alcanzar y mantener eternamente. Por desgracia

Any language with a literary tradition and extensive literacy will be affected by that literature.

I feel, that i am neither a philosopher, nor a heroine – but a woman, to whom education has given a sexual character.

Nada hay más doloroso para el espíritu humano, tras la excitación que provoca la rápida sucesión de los acontecimientos, como esa calma mortal de apatía y certidumbre que la sigue, y priva al alma de toda esperanza y temor.

La confianza es un camino de dos direcciones... Todas las fortunas tienen sus límites. Hay cosas más importantes en la vida que un trozo de cristal. Las palabras, por dulces que fueran, no suavizaban la pérdida. El pasado es como un mal sueño. No se llega a olvidar del todo, pero con el tiempo pierde intensidad. las cosas no te consuelan cuando tienes miedo, ni te escuchan cuando necesitas hablar con alguien. Las cosas nunca me han hecho feliz.

Todavía no era lo suficientemente analítico para darse cuenta de que hay ciertos amores, y ciertas fases del amor, que solo producen la felicidad perfecta en sus pausas e intervalos, igual que el agua se vuelve cristalina cuando el avance de uno deja de removerla.

Nadie salvo los que lo han experimentado, puede concebir lo fascinante de la ciencia. En otros terrenos, se puede avanzar hasta donde han llegado otros antes, y no pasar de ahí; pero en la investigación científica siempre hay materia por descubrir y de la cual asombrarse.

Clever, Marie thinks. Any bad thing that will inevitably befall the abbey will be made Sprota’s proof: the hay struck ablaze by lightning, a lamb swallowed down by a bog, a hole in the roof to let the rain in. And bad things happen constantly; it is the reality of such a vast estate.

orgullo –observó Mary, que se preciaba mucho de la solidez de sus reflexiones–, es un defecto muy común. Por todo lo que he leído, estoy convencida de que en realidad es muy frecuente que la naturaleza humana sea especialmente propensa a él, hay muy pocos que no abriguen un sentimiento de autosuficiencia por una u otra razón, ya sea real o imaginaria. La vanidad y el orgullo son cosas distintas, aunque muchas veces se usen como sinónimos. El orgullo está relacionado con la opinión que tenemos de nosotros mismos; la vanidad, con lo que quisiéramos que los demás pensaran de nosotros.

―"Nunca te he preguntado por tu apodo. ¿Por qué Day?" ―"Porque cada día tenemos por delante veinticuatro horas más, cada día pueda pasar cualquier cosa. Hay que vivir en el momento, porque para morir solo hace falta un instante. Hay que vivir día a día... Y hay que tratar se caminar en la luz.

Caminante, son tus huellas el camino y nada más; Caminante, no hay camino, se hace camino al andar. Al andar se hace el camino, y al volver la vista atrás se ve la senda que nunca se ha de volver a pisar. Caminante, no hay camino sino estelas en la mar.” Traveler, your footprints are the only road, nothing else. Traveler, there is no road; you make your own path as you walk. As you walk, you make your own road, and when you look back you see the path you will never travel again. Traveler, there is no road; only a ship's wake on the sea. Translated by Mary G. Berg and Dennis Maloney

La muerte siega la vida de muchos niños, única promesa de sus amantes padres. ¿Cuántas novias hay y cuántos jóvenes enamorados que, radiantes un día de salud y esperanzas, son al día siguiente pasto de los gusanos? ¿De qué material estaría hecho yo para poder resistir tantos golpes que, como el girar de una rueda, renovaban continuamente mi tortura?

He scans the field. Trees, sky, hay. Darkness falling like velvet. Already a few pale stars. Marie-Laure breathes the measured breath of sleep. Everyone should behave as if he carries the real thing. The locksmith reties the stone inside the bag and slips it back into his rucksack. He can feel its tiny weight there, as though he has slipped it inside his own mind: a knot.

-Me vuelves loco, June- murmura contra mi pelo-. Eres la persona más temible, inteligente y valiente que conozco, y a veces pierdo el aliento intentando mantener tu ritmo. Nunca habrá nadie como tú. Lo sabes, ¿verdad? -echo atrás la cabeza para mirarle a los ojos, que reflejan las luces tenues de las pantallas-. Hay millones de personas que vienen y van por este mundo...Pero nunca habrá ninguna como tú.

―«Máquina» es un término periodístico. Los términos inexactos como ese forman parte de la psicosis de la guerra. Las personas no son máquinas, aunque quieran serlo. Hay que empezar en alguna parte. ―Pero mientras tanto muchas personas inocentes van a sufrir. ―Lo sé, y eso es precisamente el quid de la cuestión. Podría decirse, y es cierto, que la guerra es como un bumerang y resulta imposible garantizar la seguridad de nadie a la larga.

Mary, la hija, pasó la infancia viendo su nombre escrito sobre ua tumba. Una madre desconocida - que llevaba su mismo nombre- había muerto al darla a luz, y eso la llevó a cavilar la vida entera sobre los misterios del naiemiento, y sobre la asombrosa proximidad que hay entre la vida y la muerte. Se sentía parida por la tumba, una tumba ella misma, y su nombre y su epitafio tallados sobre una piedra gris la persiguieron en la luz y en la sombra.

«Déjese de tonterías. Schnier. ¿Qué mosca le ha picado?». «Los católicos me ponen nervioso», dije, «porque juegan sucio». «¿Y los protestantes?», preguntó riendo. «Me irritan con su manoseo de las conciencias». «¿Y los ateos?». Seguía riéndose. «Me aburren porque siempre hablan de Dios». «¿Y qué es usted, pues?». «Soy un payaso», dije, «de momento, superior a mi fama. Y hay un ser católico al que necesito con urgencia: Marie y precisamente vosotros me la habéis quitado».

People come to me and say, ‘My wine stinks. What happened?’” Langstaff can read the stink. Off-flavors—or “defects,” in the professional’s parlance—are clues to what went wrong. An olive oil with a flavor of straw or hay suggests a problem with desiccated olives. A beer with a “hospital” smell is an indication that the brewer may have used chlorinated water, even just to rinse the equipment. The wine flavors “leather” and “horse sweat” are tells for the spoilage yeast Brettanomyces

Tis my Mary, my Mary herself! She promised that my boy, every morning, should be carried to the hill to catch the first glimpse of his father's sail! Yes, yes! no more! it is done! we head for Nantucket! Come, my Captain, study out the course, and let us away! See, see! the boy's face from the window! the boy's hand on the hill!" But Ahab's glance was averted; like a blighted fruit tree he shook, and cast his last, cindered apple to the soil. "What is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it; what cozzening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is as an errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that thinking, does that living, and not I. By heaven, man, we are turned round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the handspike. And all the time, lo! that smiling sky, and this unsounded sea! Look! see yon Albicore! who put it into him to chase and fang that flying-fish? Where do murderers go, man! Who's to doom, when the judge himself is dragged to the bar? But it is a mild, mild wind, and a mild looking sky; and the air smells now, as if it blew from a far-away meadow; they have been making hay somewhere under the slopes of the Andes, Starbuck, and the mowers are sleeping among the new- mown hay. Sleeping? Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness; as last year's scythes flung down, and left in the half-cut swaths - Starbuck!" But blanched to a corpse's hue with despair, the Mate had stolen away.

Hace mucho tiempo que ha sufrido lo más duro: nada puede ser peor que su vida en estos últimos meses. Ahora viene lo más fácil: la muerte. Casi se precipita a su encuentro. Con tal rapidez sale de esta torre de espantosos recuerdos que -acaso empañados sus ojos por el llanto- se olvida de inclinarse en la baja puertecilla de salida y se golpea violentamente la frente contra la dura viga. Los acompañantes corren solícitos junto a ella y le preguntan si se ha hecho daño. «No -responde serenamente-, ya no hay ahora cosa alguna que pueda hacérmelo.»

In one corner of the square is a manger scene with two live sheep, a bed of hay, a couple of cows. The baby Jesus is a brown-faced doll lying in his crib, but Mary and Joseph are real and dressed in period garb. Joseph hoists a staff, Mary sports her virginal blue robes. As I walked by the other day, Joseph balanced on the crib, light bulb in hand, reaching toward an electrical socket. Mary, I guess, was taking a break. She sat on the edge of the crib. Her blue robes were hiked high enough to reveal Doc Marten boots beneath. She sipped a can of Coke and smoked.

Who's the Devil?" Frances crouches down as if she were talking to Trixie. "That's something I'll never tell you, Lily, no matter how old you get to be, because the Devil is shy. It makes him angry when someone recognizes him, so once they do the Devil gets after them. And I don't want the Devil to get after you." "Is the Devil after you?" "Yes." "Jesus can beat the Devil." "If God wants." "God is against the Devil." "God made the Devil." "Why?" "For fun." "No, to test us." "If you know, why are you asking me?" "Daddy says there's no such thing as the Devil, it's just an idea." "The Devil lives with us." "No he doesn't." "You see the Devil every day. The Devil hugs you and eats right next to you." "Daddy's not the Devil." "I never said he was. ..." Frances has got a dry look, tinder in the eye; her voice is a stack of hay heating up at the center, her mouth a stitched line. "I'm the Devil." This is the moment Lily stops being afraid of anything Frances could ever say or do again. Stops being afraid of anything at all. She reaches out and takes Frances's hand. The white hand that always smells of small wildflowers, lily of the valley. The hand that has always done up Lily's buttons and laces, and produced wondrous objects. She holds Frances's hand and tells her, "It's okay, Frances.

There was something very poetic about lying on the hay, beneath the polythene roof. This was how we had spent our first night, on the hay next to the bull in Harry Mann’s barn. During the 18 days in-between we had slept in a posh hotel, a canal boat, a student house, a pub, a tent in a car park, a hitman’s sitting room, an elderly lady’s spare bedroom, a hostel, a bunk house, a farm house, our own self-contained flat, our own house, and now we were back on the hay. We had gone full circle. Out of all of the different types of accommodation, our two nights on the hay were undoubtedly our most comfortable. Next time you hear the nativity story, don’t feel sorry for Mary and Joseph; they had it very lucky indeed.

¿Qué somos nosotros, habitantes de esta esfera, los insignificantes entre los muchos que pueblan el espacio ilimitado? Nuestras mentes abrazan el infinito, pero el mecanismo visible de nuestro ser está sujeto al más pequeño accidente (no hay más remedio que corroborarlo día a día). Aquel a quien un rasguño afecta, aquel que desaparece de la vida visible bajo el influjo de los agentes hostiles que operan a nuestro alrededor, ostentaba los mismos poderes que yo... Yo también existo sujeto a las mismas leyes. Y a pesar de todo ello nos llamamos a nosotros mismos señores dominadores de de la creación, los elementos, maestros de la vida y de la muerte, yalegamos, como excusa a esta arrogancia, que aunque el individuo se destruye, el hombre perdura siempre.

latinos conservados. El verdadero éxito de la palabra llegó cuando la rescataron varios humanistas a partir de 1496 y cuando más tarde se extendió por todas las lenguas romances. Durante siglos, ha seguido viva y su uso se ha extrapolado a otros ámbitos. Ya no se aplica solo a la literatura; ni siquiera solo a la creación; para mucha gente, un clásico no es más que vocabulario futbolístico. Es cierto que hablar de «clásicos» implica utilizar una terminología de origen clasista, como su propio nombre indica. El concepto nos llega desde una época que lanzaba una mirada jerárquica sobre el mundo, imbuida por arrogantes nociones de privilegio, como casi todas las épocas, por otra parte. Sin embargo, hay algo conmovedor en el hecho de considerar las palabras una forma —aunque sea metafórica— de riqueza, frente a la siempre avasalladora soberanía de la propiedad inmobiliaria y del dinero. De la misma manera que las estirpes de los ricos, los clásicos no son libros aislados, sino mapas y constelaciones. Italo Calvino escribió que un clásico es un libro que está antes que otros clásicos; pero quien haya leído primero los otros y después lea aquel reconoce enseguida su lugar en la genealogía. Gracias a ellos descubrimos orígenes, relaciones, dependencias. Se esconden unos en los pliegues de otros: Homero forma parte de la genética de Joyce y Eugenides; el mito platónico de la caverna regresa en Alicia en el País de las Maravillas y Matrix; el doctor Frankenstein de Mary Shelley fue imaginado como un moderno Prometeo; el viejo Edipo se reencarna en el desgraciado rey Lear; el cuento de Eros y Psique, en La Bella y la Bestia; Heráclito en Borges; Safo en Leopardi; Gilgamesh en Supermán; Luciano en Cervantes y en La guerra de las galaxias; Séneca en Montaigne; las Metamorfosis de Ovidio en el Orlando, de Virginia Woolf; Lucrecio en Giordano Bruno y Marx; y Heródoto en La ciudad de cristal, de Paul Auster. Píndaro canta: «Sueño de una sombra es el ser humano». Shakespeare lo reformula: «Somos de la misma materia de la que están hechos los sueños, y nuestra breve vida está circundada por el sueño». Calderón escribe La vida es sueño. Schopenhauer entra en el diálogo: «La vida y los sueños son páginas del mismo libro». El hilo de las palabras y las metáforas atraviesa el tiempo, ovillando las épocas. El problema, para algunos, es la llegada a los clásicos. Incrustados en los programas escolares y universitarios, se han convertido en lecturas obligatorias. Corremos el riesgo de percibirlos como imposiciones que nos ahuyentan. En La desaparición de la literatura, Mark Twain proponía una definición irónica: «Clásico es un libro que todo el mundo quiere haber leído pero nadie quiere leer». Pierre Bayard toma prestada esa veta de humor para su ensayo Cómo hablar de los libros que no se han leído. Allí analiza los resortes que nos impulsan a la hipocresía lectora. Por el miedo infantil a defraudar, para no quedar excluidos de una conversación, jugando de farol en un examen, decimos que sí, casi sin

Tocaba despacio, casi con majestuosidad. Mucha gente cree que la velocidad es lo que distingue a un buen músico. Es comprensible. Lo que Marie había hecho en el Eolio era asombroso. Pero la velocidad a la que puedas marcar la digitación de las notas no es lo más importante de la música. La verdadera clave es el ritmo. Es como contar un chiste. Cualquiera puede recordar las palabras. Cualquiera puede repetirlo. Pero para hacer reír necesitas algo más. Contar un chiste más deprisa no lo hace más gracioso. Como ocurre con muchas cosas, es mejor vacilar que precipitarse. Por eso hay tan pocos músicos buenos de verdad. Mucha gente sabe cantar o arrancarle una canción a un violín. Una caja de música puede tocar una canción impecablemente, una y otra vez. Pero no basta con saber las notas. Tienes que saber cómo tocarlas. La velocidad se adquiere con el tiempo y la práctica, pero el ritmo es algo con lo que se nace. Lo tienes o no lo tienes. Denna lo tenía. Hacía avanzar la canción despacio, pero no pesadamente. La tocaba con la lentitud de un beso lujurioso. Y no es que en esa época de mi vida yo supiera mucho de besos. Pero viéndola allí de pie, con los brazos alrededor del arpa, concentrada, con los ojos entrecerrados y los labios ligeramente fruncidos, supe que quería que algún día me besaran con ese cuidado lento y deliberado. Además, Denna era hermosa. Supongo que a nadie le extrañará que sienta debilidad por las mujeres por cuyas venas corre la música. Pero mientras Denna tocaba, la vi por primera vez ese día. Hasta entonces me habían distraído su peinado, diferente, y el corte de su vestido. Pero viéndola tocar, todo eso desapareció de mi vista. Me estoy yendo por las ramas. Baste decir que Denna tocaba de forma admirable, aunque era evidente que todavía tenía mucho que aprender. Le fallaron algunas notas, pero no las rechazó ni se estremeció. Como dicen, un joyero sabe reconocer la gema en bruto. Y yo lo soy. Y ella lo era. Bueno.

Like children, we have dreamt, that what gratifies our desires, or contributes to our convenience to-day, will prove equally useful and satisfactory to-morrow, without reflecting on the growth of the body, the change of humours, the new objects, and the new situations, which every succeeding hour brings in its train.

I tugged at the bottom hem of his tank. “Why do you heart roosters?” His brow quirked. “Really, Mags? If I need to explain this to you, you’re worse off than I thought.” It took me another twenty seconds. “Oh. Cock. Got it.

It was like Jerry McGuire. I was poor, starstruck Dorothy—minus the kid and the vagina—and Ben was Show Me the Money Jerry and he never gave me a chance to have him at hello.” “I have no clue what you just said.” He waved me off. “I’m well aware, but it was a perfect comparison that shouldn’t go to waste.

The good news is my almost-boyfriend was ready to pound Eric’s face for you.” “Almost-boyfriend? Don’t you gays usually move a lot faster than this? I thought you were supposed to shack up together on the second date and adopt a cat so you had something to dress up in a tutu.

What are you gonna do? Fill their shampoo bottles with Nair?” “I’d do that shit in a heartbeat.

The removal of Nicola de la Haye might also affect the outcome of the siege.’ In the dark days when most women went unnoticed and were barred from education or public office, Nicola de la Haye shone like a star. Inheriting the position of Constable of Lincoln Castle from her father, she so impressed King John that he made her Sheriff of Lincolnshire in 1216. It would be very fair to say that without her leadership, Lincoln Castle would have fallen. And England, too.

So it is with the disciples of God. When they are wise, they perceive the state of each. They are not misled by outward appearances; they consider the disposition of each soul and attune their words accordingly. There are many animals in the world who appear in human form; the wise one gives acorns to pigs, barley, hay, and grass to livestock, bones to dogs, to servants he gives basic lessons; and to his children, the teaching in its entirety.

No hay memoria de lo que precedió, ni tampoco de lo que sucederá habrá memoria en los que serán después. Salvo en el dolor.

los recuerdos actúan como imanes del pasado. Tan solo hay que detenerse en uno de ellos, cerrar los ojos un segundo y dejarse llevar.

A rhyming Nativity narrative. "The donkey who carried Mary to the Nativity calmly focuses on feelings of wonderment surrounding the child’s birth. With huge eyes...the little donkey is utterly adorable. Lines like “a bit of tingle-my-toes. / That’s how the evergreen / smelled to me, / a bit of fresh pine to my nose” offer opportunities for caregivers to extend the reading to sensory activities, though the scent of pine doesn’t seem historically accurate. An uncluttered stable features friendly, curious barn animals that greet baby Jesus along with the three Wise Men. Told in verse, the tale evokes a tender, pleasant mood. ...“I lifted my head / above His hay bed // …and sang of this morning of grace.” Jesus, referred to as “the Baby” and “the Babe,” is tan-skinned, as are his parents. Two of the Wise Men are light-skinned, while one is darker-skinned. A gentle, spare tale, part bedtime story, part Christmas fare. (Picture book. 2-5)" Kirkus Reviews

Publishers Weekly, September 9, 2022 The Donkey’s Song: A Christmas Nativity Story "The humble donkey that transported Mary to the Bethlehem stable describes the sights, smells, and sounds it experiences in this peaceful imagining of Jesus’s birth. Using short rhyming stanzas and reiterative phrasing (“A bit of a manger,/ a bit of snug hay,/ a bit of a soft, silent night”), debut author Kellum creates an understated tone matched by Hanson’s pastoral scenes, which are gently washed in light. Friendly-faced farm animals—including the large-headed donkey and a kind, sprightly mouse—fill most of the spreads, leading in closing pages to the donkey’s moving song: “I lifted my head/ above His hay bed...// ...and sang of this morning of grace.” A sweet and gentle introduction to the nativity story". Ages 3–7. (Oct.) - Publishers Weekly

# 1. Mặc dù tôi dành cả cuốn sách này để nói về việc dọn dẹp, nhưng không nhất thiết là phải dọn dẹp. Bạn sẽ không chết nếu nhà cửa không được dọn dẹp và có nhiều người trên thế giới này không thực sự quan tâm tới việc khiến nhà mình được gọn gàng, ngăn nắp. Tuy nhiên, những người như thế sẽ không bao giờ cầm cuốn sách này lên. Mặt khác, số phận đã dẫn dắt bạn đọc cuốn sách này thì điều đó có nghĩa là bạn chắc chắn có nỗi mong muốn mãnh liệt để thay đổi hoàn cảnh hiện thời, tổ chức lại cuộc sống, cải thiện lối sống, giành lấy hạnh phúc và tỏa sáng. Chính vì vậy, tôi có thể đảm bảo rằng bạn sẽ có thể khiến ngôi nhà của mình trở nên gọn gàng, ngăn nắp. Giây phút bạn cầm cuốn sách này lên với ý định dọn dẹp nhà cửa, thì lúc đó bạn đã thực hiện bước đầu tiên. Nếu bạn tiếp tục đọc, bạn sẽ biết mình cần làm điều gì tiếp theo. 2. Chúng ta tích lũy mọi thứ vật chất với cùng một lí do như khi chúng ta ăn - nhằm thỏa mãn cơn đói. Mua sắm quá mức và ăn uống quá nhiều đều là những nỗ lực để làm dịu căng thẳng. Thông qua việc quan sát các khách hàng, tôi nhận thấy rằng khi họ từ bỏ những trang phục dư thừa, bụng của họ có xu hướng nhỏ lại; khi họ bỏ bớt sách và tài liệu, trí óc của họ có xu hướng trở nên thông thoáng hơn; khi họ giảm bớt số lượng mỹ phẩm và dọn dẹp khu vực quanh bồn rửa bát và bồn tắm, làn da của họ có xu hướng trở nên sáng hơn và da dẻ mịn màng. Mặc dù tôi không có cơ sở khoa học nào để chứng minh cho lí thuyết này nhưng thật là thú vị khi thấy một bộ phận của cơ thể đáp lại tương ứng với khu vực được dọn dẹp. Không phải là kì diệu hay sao khi việc dọn dẹp nhà cửa cũng có thể tôn thêm nhan sắc của bạn và góp phần làm cho cơ thể trở nên mạnh khỏe, thon thả hơn? 3. Tôi cam kết với bạn: bất cứ thứ gì bạn cho đi sẽ quay trở về với đúng số lượng như trước, nhưng chỉ khi nó cảm thấy nỗi khao khát muốn trở về với bạn. Vì lí do này, khi bạn từ bỏ thứ gì đó, đừng ra hiệu và bảo “Ồ, tôi không bao giờ sử dụng thứ này” hoặc “Tiếc là tao chưa bao giờ có dịp dùng đến mày.” Thay vào đó, hãy vui vẻ bỏ nó đi với những lời lẽ như “Cảm ơn bạn đã tìm đến tôi” hoặc “Lên đường vui vẻ nhé. Hẹn sớm gặp lại!” 4. Một trong những lí do khiến sự lộn xộn giày vò chúng ta là vì chúng ta phải tìm kiếm thứ gì đó và rồi phát hiện ra là nó vẫn ở đó, và đã có nhiều lần dù trong ta cố công đến cỡ nào thì cũng không thể tìm thấy thứ mà chúng ta đang tìm kiếm. Khi giảm bớt số lượng tài liệu mà chúng ta sở hữu và cất giữ chúng ở cùng một chỗ, chỉ nhìn thoáng qua là chúng ta có thể nói mình có tài liệu đó hay không. Nếu nó không còn, chúng ta có thể ngay lập tức chuyển sang phương hướng khác và bắt đầu suy nghĩ về việc cần làm gì. Chúng ta có thể hỏi ai đó mà chúng ta biết họ có tài liệu đó, gọi điện thoại đến công ty hoặc tự tìm kiếm thông tin. Ngay khi đã có giải pháp, chúng ta không lựa chọn nữa mà hành động. Và khi hành động, chúng ta ngạc nhiên khi thấy rằng vấn đề thường được giải quyết dễ dàng. 5. Khi mô thức suy nghĩ này hay mô thức suy nghĩ khác khiến việc từ bỏ thứ gì đó trở nên khó khăn, chúng ta sẽ không thể nhận ra được điều mà chúng ta cần ngay lúc này là gì. Chúng ta không dám chắc rằng nó có khiến cho chúng ta thỏa mãn hay không hoặc không chắc chắn về điều mà chúng ta đang tìm kiếm. Kết quả là, chúng ta gia tăng số lượng những vật sở hữu không cần thiết, khiến bản thân đắm chìm cả thể chất lẫn tinh thần vào những thứ vô dụng. Cách tốt nhất để tìm ra thứ mà chúng ta thực sự cần đó là từ bỏ những thứ mà chúng ta không cần. Việc tìm kiếm ở những nơi xa xôi hoặc những cuộc mua sắm tưng bừng không còn cần thiết nữa. Tất cả những gì bạn phải làm là loại bỏ những thứ bạn không cần bằng cách đối mặt với từng vật mà bạn sở hữu.

Hay un álbum dentro de mí. Lo sé. Una obra que se muere por salir sentí eso

Las calaveras y los huesos no me impresionan —dijo Marie—. No tienen nada de humano. No me asustan. Son como cosas de insectos. Si un niño creciera sin saber que tiene un esqueleto, los huesos no significarían nada para él, ¿no es así? A mí me pasa lo mismo. Esto ha perdido todo lo humano. No se los reconoce y por eso mismo no son horribles. Para que algo sea horrible tiene que haber sufrido un cambio que uno pueda reconocer. No hay cambios aquí. Son todavía esqueletos, lo que fueron siempre. La parte que cambió ha desaparecido y no queda ninguna señal. ¿No es interesante?

Dr. Caddel tells me you were working with Jake on Monday.” She nods. “I was.” “Can you tell me anything about that day? Was it a typical day?” She thinks back. “Yes, for the most part. Dr. Hayes worked Monday morning as scheduled. But then around, I don’t know, maybe two or two thirty, he said that he needed to run out for a while and that he’d be back.

But then,” she says, “the next thing I knew, it was four o’clock. Dr. Hayes’s patient was here, but Dr. Hayes wasn’t.

I can imagine they’re not. Was Jake upset about it?” I ask, looking to Tricia, but again it’s Dr. Caddel who speaks. “With every surgery comes risk, which is why patients are required to give informed consent before we operate on them. Sometimes a surgeon can do everything right, the surgery can be incredibly routine, and still a patient dies. Despite his efforts, Dr. Hayes could not stop that particular patient from bleeding out. From what I’ve heard, the family was devastated and they took it out on Jake.

I just hope that, wherever he is, he’s fine. Let me see if I can get Tricia, Dr. Hayes’s nurse, for you. I wasn’t working on Monday, but she can tell you more about what happened that day. The last I saw, she was in with a patient, but maybe she’s through.

—Soy de los que opinan que hay que aspirar a las estrellas para poder tener el cielo

Lúc đó tôi kể với cô lời đề nghị của ông chủ và Marie nói cô thích biết Paris. Tôi cho cô hay tôi đã từng sống ở đấy một thời gian và cô hỏi tôi Paris như thế nào. Tôi nói: “Bẩn. Có chim bồ câu và những cái sân đen ngòm. Dân ở đấy có nước da trắng bệch.

What is it we desire? pleasure, happiness. What! the pleasure of an instant, only; or that which is more solid and permanent?

I hope I’m not intruding on his work. I’m happy to pitch in if I can.” “No worries,” Hannah said, then smiled at her inadvertent use of his Australian colloquialism. “And you’re on vacation so we aren’t going to make you pitch hay.” Calder smiled. “Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind a bit of hard labor. Feels odd not to be putting in the hours.” “Your body is probably thanking you.” Cooper looked down at his booted toes at that, not wanting Kerry’s sister to spy even a hint of just how spent his body had felt when he’d woken up that morning, much less why. “Big Jack--my dad--would tell you that taking so much as a day off makes a man soft.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he realized the double entendre, then realized she wouldn’t get that it was a double entendre and decided maybe he’d just stare at his booted feet all day long. Then he thought he caught just a hint of a knowing smile on Hannah’s lovely face before she too decided to check out her footwear for an extended moment. Cheeky, like her sister, he thought. And sharp, like a defense attorney. The afternoon had barely gotten underway, too. Sweet Mary. Another few minutes of this and he wouldn’t be surprised to see Logan pulling up with the paddy wagon, ready to haul him off for putting his hands--and a whole lot more--on his baby sister.

Those who craved power had to belong to, or get into, the top of the upper class, because that was where power resided. The upper-upper class controlled the big corporations, the banks, the law, and the brokerage firms. Although few upper-class members took an active role in politics - some exceptions were the two Roosevelts, John Hay, Nicholas Longworth, the Hamilton Fish family, and the Tafts - there was a great deal of behind-the-scenes influencing. In order to share in that power, it was necessary not only to be rich but also to be one of the people-we-know.

Pero algunas lecciones hay que aprenderlas con el corazón también para entenderlas de verdad. Es muy fácil ser madre o padre antes de tener hijos.

Los adioses, por dolorosos que sean, deben decirse. Al final de cada historia hay que escribir la palabra «Fin»

En ocasiones sucede algo tan catastrófico que durante un tiempo, a veces durante mucho tiempo, resulta imposible ver algo en la oscuridad, incluso parece imposible creer que haya algo más allá. Pero siempre lo hay. Incluso, tal vez, en el momento de la muerte. Sobre todo en ese momento.

Porque cada dia tenemos por delante veinticuatro horas más; cada día puede pasar cualquier cosa. Hay que vivir en el momento, porque para morir solo hace falta un instante. Hay que vivir día a día —su mirada se pierde en la puerta entreabierta del vagón. La lluvia oscura cubre el mundo como una manta —. Y hay que tratar de caminar en la luz. •June, pág. 360

Has nacido para cambiar la República. June, no hay nadie mejor que tú. •June, pág. 375

Hay lugares que son un imán en la vida de las personas. Van sumando razones de atracción que los convierten en lugares necesarios. De chica, Mary siempre iba a Saint Pancras. Aparecerá en sus recuerdos como un lugar de paseo, como un refugio, como un recurso. Se sentaba en la tumba de su madre y leia los libros de su madre y su padre.

If I switch metaphors... it’s like if you make a meal and your audience is waiting to eat it, but when you put it on the table, they have to watch you eat it. That would be the Ashbery kind of poetry. It’s a great meal, and maybe you’re a terrific eater, so they watch and wow, those noodles look delicious. But Mary’s attitude is that, if you never get to eat it, you’re like the cafeteria worker, which is why she does not like that kind of poetry. ...Baraka would say your obligation is to feed black people. If other people are eating it, that’s fine, but this is your job. But does that mean I’m only making black-eyed peas and collard greens? What does it mean to say only certain people? I like a little sea bass, too, or a little halibut. So for someone to say this is your audience and you have to give people the thing they’ll really eat, I’m saying you don’t know what people’s capacity is. Maybe they’ll like caviar, maybe you’ll like octopus. Or maybe they won’t. But I’m still trying to get people to the table. Who those people are, I don’t really think too much about that. I don’t think about everybody that looks the same; I don’t know who those people are, but I’m going to feed them.

I own hundreds of self-help and spiritual books and lately I’m only drawn to a few of them. I am still awakening to what Life is truly all about, but even though there are spiritual authors and teachers like Louise Hay or Wayne Dyer or the Dalai Lama whom I still admire—I believe that all the answers I seek, everything I need to know is right here inside of me. So I meditate—which is about listening—and then I find the answers.

Vio (la revelación se abrió paso entre el miedo) que la muerte no era la única forma de perderla. La perdería si no lograba transigir eso. No confiaba en ella. Esa era la verdad. Pero comprendió que hay ciertas cosas que uno siente y otras que uno elige sentir, y que elegirlo no hace que el sentimiento sea menos válido. - ¿Confías en mí? -le preguntó ella. Arin eligió. -Sí.

Hay Una diferencia entre renunciar a algo a ver que te lo arrebatan , la diferencia esta en que podemos tomar la decisión .

A modo de ejemplo, Katz explica la deriva de una frase como «John agredió a Mary», que se convierte en «Mary ha sido agredida por John» y luego en «Mary ha sido agredida» para acabar en «Mary es una mujer maltratada». John ha desaparecido por completo del relato. Katz sostiene que, a partir de ese momento, «nos centramos exclusivamente en Mary –¿por qué vivía con John, por qué no lo abandonó, etcétera, etcétera?–, cuando a nadie se le escapa que la gran pregunta es POR QUÉ pegó JOHN a Mary». Eso no significa, claro está, que debamos olvidarnos de las víctimas, pero si no nos centramos en comprender por qué hay tantos hombres que pegan, violan y matan a las mujeres, nunca llegaremos a desentrañar las causas de la violencia machista.

It is not right, I suppose, to wish to be anything but what we are,' said Jane, rather puzzled by the appeal; 'and perhaps that poor beggar-boy would only like to have a nice room, and kind mother and sister, like you, Alfred.' 'I don't say anything against them!' cried the boy vehemently; 'but--but--I'd give anything--anything in the world--to be able to run about again in the hay-field! No, don't talk to me, Ellen, I say--I hate them all when I see them there, and I forced to lie here! I wish the sun would never shine!' He hid his eyes and ears in the pillow, as if he never wished to see the light again, and would hear nothing.

Creen que pueden impedir entrar, pero no importa cuántos candados cuelguen en la entrada. Siempre hay otra puerta. -Tristan Chrisley.

«No hay nada nuevo, excepto lo que ha sido olvidado» — Marie Antoinette

The stable stinks like all stables do. The stench of urine, dung, and sheep reeks pungently in the air. The ground is hard, the hay scarce. Cobwebs cling to the ceiling and a mouse scurries across the dirt floor. A more lowly place of birth could not exist. Off to one side sit a group of shepherds. They sit silently on the floor; perhaps perplexed, perhaps in awe, no doubt in amazement. Their night watch had been interrupted by an explosion of light from heaven and a symphony of angels. God goes to those who have time to hear him—so on this cloudless night he went to simple shepherds. Near the young mother sits the weary father. If anyone is dozing, he is. He can’t remember the last time he sat down. And now that the excitement has subsided a bit, now that Mary and the baby are comfortable, he leans against the wall of the stable and feels his eyes grow heavy. He still hasn’t figured it all out. The mystery of the event puzzles him. But he hasn’t the energy to wrestle with the questions. What’s important is that the baby is fine and that Mary is safe.

Hay millones de personas que que vienen y van por este mundo... Pero nunca habrá ninguna como tú. •June, pág. 229

No hay lugar para las emociones en la política--«Sin emociones, ¿para que sirve ser humano?» •June, pág. 194

For a man to surrender the option of divorce (a startling renunciation of rights within Matthew’s patriarchal cultural context), to enter marriage with the expectation of living it as a binding covenant, is to commit his life without reservation to one other particular human being. (For an interesting narrative example, see the story of Joseph and Mary in Matt. 1:18–25.) Thus, Matthew places the renunciation of divorce alongside renunciation of anger, alongside turning the other cheek—even alongside love of enemy—as a sign of the character of God’s kingdom.

Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of the Plants, Milkweed Editions, 2015 Marie Kondo, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, Vermilion, 2014 Clare Cooper Marcus, House as a Mirror of Self: Exploring the Deeper Meaning of Home, Hays, 2007 Tisha Morris, Mind, Body, Home: Transform Your Life One Room at a Time, Llewellyn, 2014 Mandy Paradise, Witches, Pagans, and Cultural Appropriation: Considerations & Applications for a Magical Practice, Anchor and Star, 2017 Kristin Petrovich, Elemental Energy: Crystal and Gemstone Rituals for a Beautiful Life, HarperElixir, 2016 Robert Simmons, The Pocket Book of Stones: Who They Are and What They Teach, North Atlantic Books, 2015 Jan Spiller and Karen McCoy, Spiritual Astrology: A Path to Divine Awakening, Touchstone, 2010 Esther M. Sternberg, MD, Healing Spaces: The Science of Place and Well-Being, Harvard University Press, 2010

I would have thanked you for being ingenuous, even though, like Hamlet, you had spoke daggers.

Farewell! Dearest and most beloved of men_whatever may be my fate_be happiness yours! Once more, my lingering, foreboding heart, repeats farewell!

I had not only to contend against my own sensibility, but against yours also._The fire which is pent up burns the fiercest!

se la ha relatado. No hay más. —Álvaro Fort, mi padre —dijo Andreu—. Era Adrien Dubois, el hijo de Pascal y Lola. Guillem levantó las manos para pedir