Massey Quotes

They must find it difficult, those who have taken authority as truth, rather than truth as authority.

Were you born this infuriating?" "It's taken me years of practice.

I often have the fantasy that curly girls are mermaids who have had to adapt to life on dry land. We come from the sea. The ocean is in our blood. It sings through our heart and lungs, our skin and hair. Our curls require the nourishment only a watery environment can provide. Both ocean waves and curly hair are forces of nature that can't be tamed. We can only accept and admire their power and beauty.

Remember this! It is never an entire people who is cruel; it is merely individuals who exert their will on others.

Christianity was neither original nor unique, but that the roots of much of the Judeo/ Christian tradition lay in the prevailing Kamite (ancient Egyptian) culture of the region. We are faced with the inescapable realisation that if Jesus had been able to read the documents of old Egypt, he would have been amazed to find his own biography already substantially written some four or five thousand years previously.

Crockery broke and fabric frayed. The delicate things I cared about perished, while the hard things like swords survived.

I decided that being called “crazy” by a man was not an insult but a challenge. It gives the woman an opportunity to say, “Crazy? Oh, I’ll show you fucking crazy.

Once I put it down I couldn't pick it back up.

Curly Girl: It's more than just hair, it's an attitude.

Sometimes he felt as if he'd been born in the wrong century. The people of this time were all wrong for him, and he was all wrong for them. But he refused to become something he wasn't just for society's approval.

I’ve come to see “Bitches be crazy” as less a statement by men that women are crazy or even a reappropriated statement by women defending their own madness. Instead, I see the phrase and imagine a colon after “bitches,” rendering it a command to other women, a battle cry. It is a way of saying, “We took back ‘bitch’ already. And now we have come for ‘crazy.

This document outlines our plan to perpetrate insurance fraud, insider trading, and character assassination. ...hopefully tripling our paycheck on this job. Okay, see? Those words I understand just fine. Use them more often. -Lieutenant Massey Reynstein & Captain Tagon

Going to open a quaint little bookshop and have a niche section called "Men's Interests" where we shelve the Western Cannon.

We worship differently, but we are not so far apart in our hearts,

The problem is he thinks he and Eli could be good for each other. Really good. Under different circumstances. In a different life. Or maybe, if he was just a little braver, in this one.

She had been meant to die, yet she’d cut her way out of that fate and back to the world she loved.

It is, in the words of Alana Massey’s essay “Against Chill,” a “laid-back attitude, an absence of neurosis.” It “presides over the funeral of reasonable expectations.” It “takes and never gives.

Sylvia was an early literary manifestation of a young woman who takes endless selfies and posts them with vicious captions calling herself fat and ugly. She is at once her own documentarian and the reflexive voice that says she is unworthy of documentation. She sends her image into the world to be seen, discussed, and devoured, proclaiming that the ordinariness or ugliness of her existence does not remove her right to have it.

Boys often have permission to become men without the forfeiture of their desirability. And so these men write stories that grasp at girls who are ghosts twice over: first by being dead and second by being shallow shadows of actual girls, the assorted fragments of men's aging imaginations rather than the deep and dimensioned creatures that real girls are.

They must find it hard to take Truth for authority who have so long mistaken Authority for Truth.

They know too well the violent hypnosis of those who hope to possess them-- men who can smell the blood on the places where a woman is breaking.

The boundaries communities drew around themselves seemed to narrow their lives—whether it was women and men, Hindus and Muslims, or Parsis and everyone else.

This misery of a gig called life is just a dream from which we all eventually awaken, he said. Nobody gets left behind. Even the most horrible dreams end.

Calculus is homophobic,” Eli mutters. “What?” Alex says. “How?” “I’m gay, and it inconveniences me.

I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart.” I struggle to think of any line of thinking more linked to being a socialized female than to consider the declaration of simply existing to feel like a form of bragging. But that, of course, is the plight of the feeling girl: to be told again and again that her very existence is something not worth declaring.

Why didn't I ask him for his number, address, e-mail — anything? Why? Because I'm in a sodding war zone, that's why. And I'm a soldier. And this wasn't supposed to happen.

Whence did the wond'rous mystic art arise, Of painting speech, and speaking to the eyes? That we by tracing magic lines are taught How to embody, and to colour thought?

Even mercy can be cruel.

Apparently, Alex doesn't know how to handle emotions, and he's a dumpster fire of a human being.

Is this idea of yours to help the Cuttingmasters, or is it really to advance your career?” With a knowing smile, she said, “Is there any reason I can’t do both? That is what you have been doing all your life. Ambition is not a dirty word for men.

She turned her attention from Maharani Putlabai to Mirabai. Why was the younger queen on a chair and not a cushion? Perhaps it was a statement of her middling position—that she was not high enough for the zenana throne, but she was respected enough not to be somewhat elevated.

In fact, is the idea of a serious comparison of American musicals and opera really so outrageous?

Next time you face a Fomorian, don’t offer parley. We don’t negotiate for surrender.

It was an odd habit, I thought, this insistence on driving a car in cities with public transportation.

He made a sound that was halfway between a fart and giving me strawberries.

She was taking her own liberties with him. Was this liberation?

You are not a monster! You are a prince. My prince.

I was deeply embedded in a fat cake of lies

Do you think two exclamation marks are excessive?” he asks. “Oh, yeah,” Jeff says. “He’ll for sure know you’re in love with him now.

Because there’s definitely something there, he thinks. Something between them.

he’s pretty sure he’s in love, and it’s terrible.

She’d started out the morning hating all young men. Then she’d become so angry with her law professor that she’d quit school. Finally, she’d gone to eat rice with a man she didn’t know.

off. Next I moved on to scrutinize the aged plaster walls near the desk. Beside a museum calendar featuring old woodblock prints was a taped-up paper that looked like a printed reproduction of an

Briggs was living in Toronto at the time and had started a studio called Thunder Sound. He recorded the Massey Hall show. He thought this live show should have come out right away and was disappointed and disagreed with my decision to instead put out Harvest-he thought it was not as good as the Massey Hall recording. "It's great, Neil," Briggs said. "Put it out there." But that was not to be. When I heard the show thirty-four years later while reviewing tapes for my archive performance series, I was a little shocked-I agreed with David. After listening, I felt his frustration. This was better than Harvest. It meant more. He was right. I had missed it. He understood it. David was usually right, and when I disagreed with him, I was usually wrong. Every time I go into the studio or onstage, he is missed.

Most moving of all was Raymond Massey’s voice, the voice that portrayed Lincoln in Bob Sherwood’s Abe Lincoln in Illinois, reading Stephen Vincent Benét’s Prayer for United Nations,2 which the President himself had once recited on Flag Day: “God of the Free, we pledge our lives and hearts today to the cause of all free mankind…. Grant us brotherhood in hope and union, not only for the space of this bitter war, but for the days to come which shall and must unite all the children of earth.

Though the boys never admit it as much, it is crucial the Lisbon sisters are all thin and beautiful within reason. There are a handful of imperfect features among them but nothing that would make the sum of each one's parts less than desirable. In the safety of being attractive, their eccentricities are as precious as their bodies. Their bodies protect all eccentricity from becoming "strange" or "gross" in the way similar predilections are characterized when possessed by heavier or uglier girls.

No. I am retired from the post office for the last ten years. Most afternoons, it is my daily routine to arrive at three and leave at six.” “Your routine seems very pleasant.” Perveen imagined what her life might be like when she was alone and in her seventies.

Lincoln Highway offered the kind of dramatic stories usually reserved for prime time, and thus began a trend toward quality programming on Saturday mornings. The stories were of people scattered along the 3,000–mile length of U.S. Route 30, which stretched from Philadelphia to Portland and was popularly known as the Lincoln Highway. Most surprising, even to radio insiders, was the long line of top performers willing to appear at that time of day. Listeners could rise on days off and hear Burgess Meredith portraying a young man who flees the city for farm life, or Raymond Massey as the owner of a trailer camp somewhere in middle America.

There was a rhythm to the process. First, a pot of equal parts water and milk was put on the hob. To this, Camellia added a few spoons of Assamese tea, two slices of ginger, and a fistful of fresh lemongrass leaves and mint. After arriving at a gentle boil, a tablespoon of sugar went in, and the brew cooked for five minutes.

But before the friends settled on a wrought-iron bench with distance from others, they stopped to buy their kulfi. Alice took pistachio, and Perveen had plain cardamom. There was a brief squabble about paying the vendor, which Perveen won. The cold, sweet ice cream was a most comforting taste after all the tension of the day.

You know, your story is not all that unique in the supernatural world. Many a were-creature has had a similar experience the first time they turned. And, similar to your predicament, many therianthropes have tried to commit suicide in the midst of their grief and self-loathing, only to wake up the next day with one less round in their gun.

After a few months, I decided to do one more leg of the Le Noise tour and film the last show with Jonathan Demme in Toronto's Massey Hall/ It turned out to be a great night. Everyone was very happy because we had captured it. During a review of the digital files, we realized that the resolution was not full, it was a stepped down quality, not the best it could be. My own team's excuses were not adequate, because I was not informed of the decision to go to a lesser quality. Lesser quality is so accepted as normal now that even I had used it unknowingly. I went back to Massey Hall and set up a PA system like the one I used at the show, played back the mixes through the PA, and rerecorded the house sound at the highest resolution. I did the best I could with a bad situation. It does sound great now. Thankfully, the PA mix was only one step down from the highest resolution, so when it resonated in the hall and was rerecorded at the highest level, a high resolution hall sound was captured.

Those who accuse these women of fraud in their image craft seem not to have heard of David Bowie's successful alter ego Ziggy Stardust or even Bob Dylan, the folksy creation of a genius named Robert Allen Zimmerman. There is a tradition of male artists taking on personae that are understood to be part of their art. It is as though there is so much genius within them that it must be split between these mortal men and the characters they create. Women who venture to do the same are ridiculed as fakers and try-hards.

In the lower-brow selection of tabloids that report on the weight of celebrities, one statement that follows women struggling with their weight around more than any other is "She got her body back." Here you'll find near-constant Britney coverage. But barring any transcendent out-of-body experiences, these women were never separated from their bodies. They've occupied them across various weights. This phrase is not about a woman getting back something she lost as much as it as about our approval that she has returned to something we want her to be. What is meant by this phrase is "We got her body back." We got the body we felt entitled to.

The ordinary woman had perhaps been so busy that the veiled newspaper warnings of famine had not penetrated to her; but perhaps that was natural when the authorities kept repeating, “There is plenty of rice. Plenty of rice.” Perhaps there was plenty of rice, but in that case, who, women were beginning to ask, who were these people flocking into the towns and the city? Men and women and unclothed children, all with scarecrow legs and arms and ribs, and strange sunk eyes and swollen stomachs? Why did they settle in swarms on the pavements, round the rubbish bins, sleeping there through the nights, covering the streets with filth and cess? Why did no one come to move away? Why, rather did more and more come every day?

One day Lot went into Sodom, took office, tried to reform the evil city, succeeded in vexing his righteous, but unspiritual soul with the filthy conversation of the wicked, got down to the level of the natural man, lost his testimony and seemed to his friends and intimates like a madman or the most excuselessly inconsistent trifler when he attempted to take up once more his damaged testimony. Then there was a night when God’s angels came and snatched him out of the doomed city. The next morning the fire of God fell and Lot “saved so as by fire” looked on at the blaze and the burning of all his works of righteousness as wood hay and stubble, big in bulk but rejected of God. Looking forward to His Second Coming and backward for an illustration the Son of God declared as it was in the days of Lot so should it be when the Son of man should come again. There are good and righteous Christians—righteous enough but wholly unspiritual who are seeking to make spotless town of a world God has judged and doomed, failing to see the cross is not only the judgment of the individual, but equally the judgment of the world; that not only does the cross reveal the end of all flesh but the end in God’s sight of that system of things which men call the world; that on the cross the world is crucified to the Christian and the Christian to the world; and failing to see this, failing to get the mind of God are daily descending to the plane of the natural man, are losing and in many cases deliberately setting aside the testimony once for all delivered to the saints. Without warning, they will be snatched away to meet a descending Lord (if they be real and regenerated Christians) and this alone because their faith be it never so small holds them securely in the bonds of the covenant. After that the Lord will be revealed in flaming fire to execute judgment on the world and all the works of misguided social reformers because these works are built, not upon the righteousness of God, but the righteousness of man.

The Jardin Massey looked dismal today, rain lashed and deserted. She watched a bedraggled pigeon, feathers puffed out, sheltering beneath a branch.She'd never made a will, never considered whether she'd rather her body was buried or burnt to grey powder. And where would she want to be buried - in a French graveyard, gaudy with plastic flowers? If she made a will, could she state an aversion to plastic?

He was a beneficent man. Multitudes of men are benevolent, but not beneficent. Benevolence is well wishing. Beneficence is well doing.

Love is patient and kind, it doesn’t boast, it isn’t proud, it isn’t easily pissed off, it always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always keeps on doing the damn thing, love never lets you down.

Rei Shimura Books in Order The Salaryman’s Wife Zen Attitude The Flower Master The Floating Girl The Bride’s Kimono The Samurai’s Daughter The Pearl Diver The Typhoon Lover Girl In A Box Shimura Trouble The Convenience Boy And Other Stories Of Japan The Kizuna Coast

Uneasily, I looked on the desk for a note or other evidence of her last time in the shop. But there was nothing, and the store telephone had no blinking lights promising messages, because the power was off.

Massey, D. (1978), ‘Regionalism: some current issues’, Capital and Class, vol. 6,106-25.

There are three laws that govern our universe - laws of physics, laws of nature, and spiritual laws. Like the laws of physics and nature, spiritual laws are just as precise as any mathematics equation.

mats perfectly picks up the color of the chairs?” “Honey, it’s my restaurant. I’m the one who

Ghar wapsi, conversion tools of politicians for political purposes’ Lalmani Verma | 318 words Eminent educationists on Saturday concluded that issues like “ghar wapsi” and “religious conversion or reconversion” are “tools beings used by politicians to gain political mileage”. At a seminar organised by Centre for Advanced Studies of Allahabad University, Department of Philosophy, professors from several state varsities unanimously spoke against such programmes, saying that religious conversion was a rare practice that could not be performed by inducing fear or allurement. Among the attendees were Professors Lalji Bajwa, Shabnam Hameed, Aziz-ur-rehman Siddiqui, M Massey, S P Pandey and Kripa Shankar. Prof Massey is the principal of Christian College in Allahabad while Prof Pandey and Prof Kripa Shankar are with Banaras Hindu University.

For a consultative site, you cannot talk only about your company and its products. You must talk about how your visitors can solve their problems and the problems of the stakeholders they report to.

But then some asshat got voted into office who thought it’d be a good idea to let countries like North Korea and Iran develop nuclear arsenals.

Vlad the Impaler–style on an old speed-limit sign,

You can't light up someone else's path without brightening your own.

This Massey, at a Communion this last Easter, having consecrated the bread after his manner, laid one hand upon the Chalice, and smiting his breast with the other, said to the parishioners— 'As I am a faithful sinner, Neighbours, this is my morning draught;' and turning himself round to them, said, 'Neighbours, here's to ye all!' and so drank off the whole cup full, which is none of the least.

No legal brief could be more important than a letter from you.

All that it would take to sink a new WPA program would be some skillfully packaged footage of black men leaning on shovels smoking cigarettes,” the sociologist Douglas S. Massey writes. “Papering over the issue of race makes for bad social theory, bad research, and bad public policy.” To ignore the fact that one of the oldest republics in the world was erected on a foundation of white supremacy, to pretend that the problems of a dual society are the same as the problems of unregulated capitalism, is to cover the sin of national plunder with the sin of national lying. The lie ignores the fact that reducing American poverty and ending white supremacy are not the same.

Lawyers are the vilest creatures on earth—less than human,

In Denhorah's eighth grade geography right now, six days before Thanksgiving turkey, Mr Massey is saying that all of the details aren't in. That it might have been Highway Patrol that shot that Native American man just off the reservation. That it doesn't have to have been vigilantes or militia, even though this state is stacked deep with the second, all of them hoping to be the first.

Pianist Clifford Curzon tells about his celebrated teacher Artur Schnabel cautioning his piano students: " 'Play nothing before you hear it'—or, 'First hear, then play.' He knew that only certainty of conception could produce clarity of presentation." And it is so in mining a text for its meaning and message.

As I reviewed the social terrain of the right-leaning people I had come to know—the companies, the state government, the church, Fox News—I reflected on my keyhole issue. Everyone I was talking to was enduring a great deal of pollution and despite the silence from companies, politicians, and state officials, nearly everyone clearly knew it. To some, such as Lee Sherman and Harold and Annette Areno, exposure had become the defining experience of their lives. To others, it was a passing matter. While many, like Madonna Massey, spoke of their love of capitalism, the dominant industry in their economy presented a decidedly mixed story. Oil was highly automated and accounted for some 15 percent of jobs—and even some of those were going to foreign workers at lower pay. The state had made huge cuts to local jobs and social services in order to bring in companies and, instead of money trickling down, a third of it was leaking out. To some degree, the community had become the site of local production without being the site of local producers. They were victims without a language of victimhood.

All my life, I have run after false gold. You were the only treasure I ever had—and then I lost you.

Perveen was dismayed. "Is it necessary to burn buildings to control epidemics?

Parsis say to always give the first bite of food to the dog!

Perveen knew the secret anger that came from being on the receiving end of an older woman's scorn.

This was why women weren't supposed to travel without their husbands or fathers; whomever they met would regard them as available.

I don't think much of such plants as medicine." Dr. Andrews's face was disapproving. "Every plant grows differently. One cannot control for strength of dosage.

no plan survives first contact with the enemy.

Samson likes you, so this should go well so long as you’re respectful and listen to what he has to say. But as for the girl, well—you touch that hot stove enough, and eventually you’ll learn how to stop when you’re ahead.

One of the great things about Austin was the fact that we had a lot of hippies who voted, and they loved their green spaces.

I hated reading her the riot act, but Sabine was half-glaistig, so her powers were mostly related to glamour and causing excessive lactation in cows and goats.

Monday morning, I was at the post office right as it opened, desperate for two months’ worth of mail. Once I had it, my life could properly restart.

I had heard of Virginia before only in passing, a "crazy ex" with whom things had not ended well. I was accustomed to this lazy shorthand for men who dislike the emotions of women.

If the Church shall be faithful and like Noah in the building of his ark condemn the world; if the Church will take up earnestly the solemn truth of God and warn men that no matter how good a government may be established by human means, no matter what culture and morality may fill the earth, no matter to what extent advance may be made in art, in science, nor no matter how safe a place the world may be made to live in, no matter to what heights of natural morality and righteousness man as man may attain, the judgment of God against this system of man called the world is certain, and that He will arise in His majesty to shake terribly the earth, and that only the things that are built on God can remain, the Church will suffer and be rejected even as was her Lord.

In the whole history of theological exegesis and interpretation I know of nothing so utterly faulty, illogical and wholly unscriptural as that exegesis which teaches the angel song at Bethlehem to be the announcement of the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ as the Prince of Peace and that as such He should establish it among the nations after His ascension to heaven and during His absence from the world. The angels sang glory to God in the highest and on earth, peace to “men of good will.” The angel who spoke to the shepherds keeping the temple sheep for the morning and the evening sacrifice was testifying to them that there was no longer need to keep the sheep for such a purpose. The day of animal sacrifices had passed, the living God had provided the true sacrifice, He who was born beneath the chaplet of heaven’s music, the Lamb of God ordained before the foundation of the world. He had been born into the world that He might make peace by the blood of His cross, not between man and man, not between nation and nation, but between man and God. He had been born to die and by His death reconcile a rebel world to God; on the basis of this sacrifice yet to be and when He should have risen from the dead as witness of the efficacy of His death He would bring peace to every soul that should be of good will—every soul that should surrender to the will of God by believing on Him, offering Him by faith as a sacrifice and claiming Him as a substitute. Every such soul should be at peace with, and have the peace of, God. This was the meaning of that natal hour at Bethlehem. The angels were not singing over Him as the Prince of Peace who had come to abolish war among the nations, but as the ordained sacrifice who should bring peace between the individual man and his God. And yet—He is to be the Prince of Peace and reign and rule as such over the earth, putting an end to war and establishing perfect peace among the nations. The promise of His reign and rule as the Prince of Peace is clearly set forth in Scripture; as it is written in the book of the prophet Isaiah: “Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given. His name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his peace and government there shall be no end.” But when? Where? Listen: “Upon the throne of David, and upon his kingdom to order it.” And hear what Gabriel says to Mary when he comes to announce to her that she has been chosen of Almighty God to give birth to the Messiah of Israel. The angel says: “Thou shalt call his name Jesus . . . He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David: And he shall reign over the house of Jacob forever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.” He is to be the Prince of Peace when He sits upon the throne of united Israel in their own land and not before.

I think often of this song in contrast to “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” and how Beyoncé was right, as she often is, even when she doesn’t always mean to be. Girls run the world in the sense that they perform the invisible and unappreciated labors that keep the world on its axis. That is different from doing what everyone wants to do, which is rule the world. We don’t speak of world leaders who run countries but of world leaders who rule countries. Running a thing is to toil in tedious and uncredited roles; ruling a thing is to hold dominion over it enough that little toil is required.

That was when you knew for sure that you had rocked a man’s world: when he rose the next morning and cooked for you.

The number of hands that have been wrung and fingers that have been wagged at girls who dare give voice name to their interior lives suggests that the written history of the world is absolutely awash with the stuff. But the female voice, and the girl’s voice especially, is characterized mostly by the deafening silence it emits from the canon... As brightly as these girls shine, there remain wet blankets around every corner attempting to extinguish the flames in their hearts. They are dismissed as excessively feminine and juvenile, two words that mean the same thing in the hearts and minds of critics who would sooner praise a six-volume gaze at a Norwegian man’s navel than consider the possibility that there are treasures in the hearts of girls.

And they know they are not drawn to the bulb at the back of the oven, but by the flare signals sent out by their fellow travelers. They are flashes of light and recognition, momentary reflections of the sun onto a shred of glitter. But they are something vital nonetheless.

I was already going to have nightmares for months over seeing those nasty, poisonous grandma tits flapping in the wind.

It’s a trap!” I yelled, right next to Belladonna’s ear. “No shit, Ackbar?

I was more like a bard, while she was like a dual-classed ninja paladin.

Póg mo thóin, bitch.

If I don’t die before I get over there, I swear I’m going to punch you right in the baby maker.” Fallyn chuckled.

So what you’re saying is, embrace the