Nan Quotes

You couldn't relive your life, skipping the awful parts, without losing what made it worthwhile. You had to accept it as a whole--like the world, or the person you loved.

Oh, my sweet summer child," Old Nan said quietly, "what do you know of fear? Fear is for the winter, my little lord, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the ice wind comes howling out of the north. Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children are born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt and hungry, and the white walkers move through the woods

Nan always said that as long as there is life, there is hope.

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

I used to think that I could never lose anyone if I photographed them enough. In fact, my pictures show me how much I’ve lost.

Maka di negeri ini, para pemimpi adalah pemberani. Mereka Kesatria di tanah nan tak peduli. Medali harus dikalungkan di leher mereka.

It's just a stupid sword," she said, aloud this time... ... but it wasn't. Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile.

Remember Old Nan's stories, Bran. Remember the way she told them, the sound of her voice. So long as you do that, part of her will always be alive in you.

Akan ada satu saat kamu bertanya: pergi ke mana inspirasiku? Tiba-tiba kamu merasa ditinggal pergi. Hanya bisa diam, tidak lagi berkarya. Kering. Tetapi tidak selalu itu berarti kamu harus mencari objek atau sumber inspirasi baru. Sama seperti jodoh, Nan. Kalau punya masalah,tidak berarti harus cari pacar baru kan? Tapi rasa cinta kamu yang harus diperbarui.Cinta bisa tumbuh sendiri,tetapi bukan jaminan bakal langgeng selamanya,apalagi kalau tidak dipelihara. Mengerti kamu?" -Nasihat Poyan pada Keenan suatu hari

I was pretty damn sure there was a Twitter hashtag that said #NanHater.

Don’t assume I’m bluffing Nan. Because this time you’ve fucked with something I care about. This affects me, so listen and shut the hell up

I know you love her. I’ve never seen you act this crazed in your life. I get that. But Nan hates her. If you love Blaire then protect her from the venom that is dripping from your sister’s fangs. Or I will.

She wouldn't come back. She hated me. She hated Nan. She hated my mom. She hated her father. She wouldn't come back here... but God, I wanted her to.

Can't you just keep your big mouth shut?" Brian said furiously to Nan. He pointed to Chrestomanci. "How do we know he's safe? For all we know, he could be the devil that you summoned up!" "Oh, you flatter me, Brian," Chrestomanci said.

The two hardest things about writing are starting and not stopping.

There’s an opening at Mom’s campaign,” I say. “She needs all the help she can get now that she’s totally distracted by Clay Tucker.” “Who the hell’s Clay Tucker?” “The…” Nan lowers her voice, even though all she says is: “…younger man Samantha’s mother’s dating.” “Your ma’s dating?” Tim looks shocked. “I thought she pretty much confined herself to a vibrator and the shower nozzle since your dad screwed her over.

Yet often the mountain gives itself most completely when I have no destination, when I reach nowhere in particular, but have gone out merely to be with the mountain as one visits a friend with no intention but to be with him.

Where there is life, Nan used to say, there is hope.

The happiest she'd ever been was with him, and the saddest. Was that the true test of love?

It’s not rocket science, Nan. You show someone they matter to you—do whatever it takes to show that.

I don't like coming home. It keeps me from being nostalgic, which by nature I am. Even before the plane begins its descent, I find myself dreading the questions left unanswered by my childhood.

She’s back to find out where she fits and what to do next. She was doing that before but when the truth came out it sent her world crumbling so she ran. It’s a fucking miracle she’s back here. I want her back here, Nan. You may not want to hear this but I love her. I will stop at nothing to make sure she’s safe. She is secure and no one and I do mean no one, not even my sister, makes her feel unwanted.

Kita ada Tuhan. Dalam banyak keadaan yang luar biasa dan mustahil pun, Tuhan pasti menolong.

I'm sorry that you are hurting. It’s because of me that you are even here in the first place. I offered to get those passes so I could get to know you. There is something about you that feels so comforting and familiar, and I’m not sure why.

When you tell her you slept with Nan after taking Harlow’s virginity then I’d duck, because the gun will come out, and this time I’m pretty damn sure she’ll pull the trigger,

Walking thus, hour after hour, the senses keyed, one walks the flesh transparent. But no metaphor, transparent, or light as air, is adequate. The body is not made negligible, but paramount. Flesh is not annihilated but fulfilled. One is not bodiless, but essential body.

In forgiving him, a strange thing happened: Rune found forgiveness for herself, too. For what she’d done to Nan. The thing she’d needed all this time was right there inside her.

You clean up nice,” Mina said, trying to ease the tension in the air. “This is a good look for you.” “Thanks,” he muttered. “You look…fantastic.” Mina smirked. “Why, Jared, that may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” “I cannot tell a lie,” he replied, shrugging before helping Nan into the car.

What a privilege, Nan thought, to believe oneself completely independent, to feel unshackled by social conventions and the worry of what other people might think. What a blessing, to be lonely in that particular way.

The sins of the Midwest: flatness, emptiness, a necessary acceptance of the familiar. Where is the romance in being buried alive? In growing old?

To aim for the highest point is not the only way to climb a mountain.

Knowing another is endless. The thing to be known grows with the knowing.

It’s a grand thing, to get leave to live

Who are you?” he would ask her every day. “No one,” she would answer, she who had been Arya of House Stark, Arya Underfoot, Arya Horseface. She had been Arry and Weasel too, and Squab and Salty, Nan the cupbearer, a grey mouse, a sheep, the ghost of Harrenhal…but not for true, not in her heart of hearts. In there she was Arya of Winterfell, the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn, who had once had brothers named Robb and Bran and Rickon, a sister named Sansa, a direwolf called Nymeria, a half brother named Jon Snow. In there she was someone…but that was not the answer he wanted.

No,” said Bran. “I haven’t. And if I have it doesn’t matter. Sometimes Old Nan would tell the same story she’d told before, but we never minded, if it was a good story. Old stories are like old friends, she used to say. You have to visit them from time to time.

1. A Cup of Tea Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), recieved a university professor who came to inqure about Zen. Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor's cup full, and then kept on pouring. The professor watched the overflow until he could no longer restrain himself. "It is overfull. No more will go in!" "Like this cup," Nan-in said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your up?

Nan was shocked. "What a jerk! Mina, you must feel awful. He didn't try to take advantage of you, did he? I'm so mad- I want to go searching for him and give him a piece of my mind, and a kick in the rear. And Brody, why did you bring such a loser for Mina to date?

If you can’t communicate it, you can’t file a proper application. If you can’t file properly, you can’t secure a patent.

Nan, I’m cursed.” “Yeah, I know. We all are.” Nan kicked her legs back and forth and grabbed a magazine from Mina’s nightstand. “It’s called being a teenager.

She lay for a long time listening to the mysterious sounds given forth by old houses at night, the undefinable creakings, rustlings, and sighings, which would have frightened Virginia had she remained awake, but which sounded to Nan like the long murmur of the past breaking on the shores of a sleeping world.

Eger ji nav helbestên min Gul bavêjin der Ji çar werzan Werzekî min dimire. Eger yar bavêjin der Dudu dimirin. Eger nan bavêjin der Sisê dimirin. Eger azadî bavêjin der Sala min dimire Û Ez bi xwe jî dimirim…

Nobody sounds like that! Mom, Aunt Nan, it won’t work. No way is he ever, ever, ever going to blend in. And his...you know....his shoulders are all wide and he’s all tan and looks Superman strong...and...” “Anything else? Should I turn around?

In a world of twelve-years-olds in sexy boots and nans in sparkly mini-dresses, the surest way to tell the prostitute walking into a hotel at Heathrow is to look for the lady in the designer suit.

To be lost and forgotten-to be abandoned-is a shared and terrible fear, just as our fondest hope, as we grow older, is that we might leave some parts of us behind in the hearts of those we love and in that way live on.

IP is not just an idea; it’s an intangible asset that does a specific job for you. Each one is different—patents, trademarks, copyrights. The specific way you get that job done is what you’re protecting, and the way you do it affects the asset value.

Forty-six point two billion dollars, I thought, my heart attacking my rib cage and my mouth sandpaper-dry. Tobias Hawthorne was worth forty-six point two billion dollars, and he left his grandsons a million dollars, combined. A hundred thousand total to his daughters. Another half million to his servants, an annuity for Nan... The math in this equation did not add up. It couldn't add up. One by one, the other occupants of the room of the room turned to stare at me. 'The remainder of my estate,' Mr. Ortega read, 'including all properties, monetary assets, and worldly possessions not otherwise specified, I leave to Avery Kylie Grambs.

IP filing is a race. The first person to file and get accepted wins and can shut you down, even if the idea was yours in the first place. Waiting too long means you don’t get a patent. Too many companies do just that.

Old Nan nodded. ‘In that darkness, the Others came for the first time,’ she said as her needles went click, click, click. ‘They were cold things, dead things, that hated iron and fire and the touch of the sun, and every creature with hot blood in its veins. They swept over holdfasts and cities and kingdoms, felled heroes and armies by the score, riding their pale dead horses and leading hosts of the slain. All the swords of men could not stay their advance, and even maidens and suckling babes found no pity in them. They hunted the maids through frozen forests, and fed their dead servants on the flesh of human children.’ (p240)

So simply to look on anything, such as a mountain, with the love that penetrates to its essence, is to widen the domain of being in the vastness of non-being. Man has no other reason for his existence.

It’s essential for patent applications. Showing the roads you traveled and the work you put into testing, experimentation, and trials to realize your final product is part of your narrative—your patent story.

My chest tightens: seeing him so upset breaks my own heart. 'Don't you ever wish you could make that bit go away?" I say, feeling angry at the past. 'That you could erase those painful memories, forget they every happened, just remember the happy times you had together?' 'You must never say that,' he reprimands sternly. 'But why not?' I look at him in surprise. 'Because it's the bad memories that makes you appreciate the good ones. Don't ever wish them away. it's like your nan always used to say, "You need both the sun and the rain to make a rainbow".

Nan had known, as a child, that God did not answer prayers for more candy or new shoes. Those were worldly things, not sacred. God answered prayers about being a better friend, or being able to get a good grade on a test. God gave wisdom and the ability to work hard. God did not change the circumstances of your life, God changed you. 

There were days that I really wished Evie had been there so that I could discuss my undying love for Lucien Knight, my hatred for girls named Bekah and Nan, and my secret desire to have Remington Tate’s babies, but instead I wrote down my thoughts about the books in letters to her.

Poor little girl. Poor little girl," Nan says, and at first I think she is speaking of the baby, perhaps it is a girl after all. But then I realize she is speaking of me, a girl of thirteen years, whose own mother has said that they can let her die as long as a son and heir is born.

The other day Nan said, 'Nothing can ever be quite the same for any of us again.' It made me feel rebellious. Why shouldn't things be the same again - when everything is over and Jem and Jerry are back? We'll all be happy and jolly again and these days will seem just like a bad dream.

If you feel how I felt, I have been taught a few techniques that might help you. Here’s one for a kick-off: You have to forgive everyone for everything. You can’t cling on to any blame that you may be using to make sense of the story of your life. Even me with my story of one nan that I love and another that I don’t—that story is being used to maintain a certain perspective of mine, a perspective that justifies the way I am, and by justifying the way I am I ensure that I stay the same. I’m no longer interested in staying the same; I’m interested in Revolution, that means I have to go back and change the story of my childhood.

This is the river. Water, that strong white stuff, one of the four elemental mysteries, can here be seen at its origins. Like all profound mysteries, it is so simple that it frightens me. It wells from the rock, and flows away. For unnumbered years it has welled from the rock, and flowed away. It does nothing, absolutely nothing, but be itself.

What he values is a task that, demanding of him all he has and is, absorbs and so releases him entirely.

There’s a man I love." Jing Lin strained to say to himself.  "In the clouds. In the sea. In my heart.

Bran knew. "She's a child. A child of the forest." He shivered, as much from wonderment as cold. They had fallen into one of Old Nan's tales. "The First Men named us children," the little woman said. "The giants called us wok dak nag gran, the squirrel people, because we were small and quick and fond of trees, but we are no squirrels, no children. Our name in the True Tongue means those who sing the song of the earth. Before your Old Tongue was ever spoken, we had sun our songs ten thousand years." Meera said, "You speak the Common Tongue now." "For him. The Bran boy. I was born in the time of the dragon, and for two hundred years I walked the world of men, to watch and listen and learn. I might be walking still, but my legs were sore and my heart was weary, so I turned my feet for home." "Two hundred years?" said Meera. The child smiled. "Men, they are the children.

It’s better to have one huge filing with lots of detail, data, and use cases than a dozen failed filings of five to ten pages each. Minimum filing requirements are not minimum requirements to secure a patent. Who does your patent keep out, and how? Your goal in creating IP is for it to be valuable, to be connected to the company, to be linked to your products or service, and to keep out competitors.

She had a vision of the two of them trapped on a tiny raft surrounded by miles of open water. It would be a kind of test, like surviving on a desert island--but that's what a marriage was, wasn't it? They would have to help each other or die.

He said.” Jojen frowned. “This . . . Coldhands?” “That wasn’t his true name,” said Gilly, rocking. “We only called him that, Sam and me. His hands were cold as ice, but he saved us from the dead men, him and his ravens, and he brought us here on his elk.” “His elk?” said Bran, wonderstruck. “His elk?” said Meera, startled. “His ravens?” said Jojen. “Hodor?” said Hodor. “Was he green?” Bran wanted to know. “Did he have antlers?” The fat man was confused. “The elk?” “Coldhands,” said Bran impatiently. “The green men ride on elks, Old Nan used to say. Sometimes they have antlers too.

The more one learns of this intricate interplay of soil, altitude, weather, and the living tissues of plant and insect (an intricacy that has its astonishing moments, as when sundew and butterwort eat the insects), the more the mystery deepens. Knowledge does not dispel mystery.

In September dawns I hardly breathe - I am an image in a ball of glass. The world is suspended there, and I in it.

Walking in mist tests not only individual self-discipline, but the best sort of interplay between persons.

There’s a man I love...I expected him to be my tribulation, but then I fell under his spell. I yearn to see him in the day, and I yearn to see him at night.

So I heard on the news that the Tard died and your house burnt down. I bet secretly you're relieved you don't have to live with him anymore in that dump." The whole commotion in the hallway immediately stopped, as if her words had been spoken over the intercom. It became so quiet that you could hear Mina's and Nan's sharp intakes of breath. Mina wasn't prone to violence and was about to think of something mean to say back to Savannah, but she didn't have the chance to, because Nan Taylor, perky, happy-go-lucky Nan Taylor, pulled back her fist and punched Savannah in the face. Savannah wasn't prepared, and fell to the floor. Nan stood over her shocked face and yelled, "No way was he handicapped, or different. He was the most special, coolest and smartest kid ever. And the world is a much sadder place because he's not here. And don't you ever, EVER, insult him again!" Nan shook with anger. The hall was full of students and teachers, and one by one they started to clap.

When the aromatic savour of the pine goes searching into the deepest recesses of my lungs, I know it is life that is entering. I draw life in through the delicate hairs of my nostrils.

At first, you were just a problem that would hurt Nan. I thought you’d cause her more pain. The trouble was that you fascinated me. I’ll admit I was immediately drawn to you because you’re gorgeous. Breathtaking. I hated you because of it. I didn’t want to be attracted to you. But I was. I wanted you badly that very first night. Just to be near you, God, I made up reasons to find you. Then . . . then I got to know you. I was hypnotized by your laugh. It was the most amazing sound I’d ever heard. You were so honest and determined. You didn’t whine or complain. You took what life handed you and worked with it. I wasn’t used to that. Every time I watched you, every time I was near you, I fell a little more.

IP is an intangible asset—an idea converted into transferable personal property rights through patents, trademarks, copyrights, service marks, and trade secrets. IP covers every famous animated character you’ve ever heard of, the logos on your clothing. IP covers products and services you use every day—from flashlights to mobile phones, packaging to cars, food and beverage products, to smart thermostats. IP is not only for big businesses. Most start-ups and event microbusinesses have IP of some kind. 

Am I such a slave as that? Dependent on a man to complete me! I thought I couldn't be anything without him- I can be my own creator!

Hiring is hard. Letting go is harder. It’s far easier to hire the right person from the start than to hire the wrong person, realize they’re a bad fit for your company, and then figure out how to let them go. When you know what you want in a new hire, the hard part gets easier. And when you know how to protect your IP, you don’t have to learn the hard lesson.

She remembered a tale she had heard from Old Nan, about how sometimes during a long winter men who'd lived beyond their years would announce that they were going hunting. And their daughters would weep and their sons would turn their faces to the fire, she could hear Old Nan saying, but no one would stop them, or ask what game they meant to hunt, with the snows so deep and the cold wind howling. She wondered what the old Braavosi told their sons and daughters, before they set off.

I AM ROWING (a hex poem) i have cursed your forehead, your belly, your life i have cursed the streets your steps plod through the things your hands touch i have cursed the inside of your dreams i have placed a puddle in your eye so that you cant see anymore an insect in your ear so that you cant hear anymore a sponge in your brain so that you cant understand anymore i have frozen you in the soul of your body iced you in the depths of your life the air you breathe suffocates you the air you breathe has the air of a cellar is an air that has already been exhaled been puffed out by hyenas the dung of this air is something no one can breathe your skin is damp all over your skin sweats out waters of great fear your armpits reak far and wide of the crypt animals drop dead as you pass dogs howl at night their heads raised toward your house you cant run away you cant muster the strength of an ant to the tip of your feet your fatigue makes a lead stump in your body your fatigue is a long caravan your fatigue stretches out to the country of nan your fatigue is inexpressible your mouth bites you your nails scratch you no longer yours, your wife no longer yours, your brother the sole of his foot bitten by an angry snake someone has slobbered on your descendents someone has drooled in the mouth of your laughing little girl someone has walked by slobbering all over the face of your domain the world moves away from you i am rowing i am rowing i am rowing against your life i am rowing i split into countless rowers to row more strongly against you you fall into blurriness you are out of breath you get tired before the slightest effort i row i row i row you go off drunk tied to the tail of a mule drunkenness like a huge umbrella that darkens the sky and assembles the flies dizzy drunkenness of the semicircular canals unnoticed beginnings of hemiplegia drunkeness no longer leaves you lays you out to the left lays you out to the right lays you out on the stony ground of the path i row i row i am rowing against your days you enter the house of suffering i row i row on a black blinfold your life is unfolding on the great white eye of a one eyed horse your future is unrolling I AM ROWING

I take a breath. Words seem suddenly trite and useless, so I step forward and grab Elias’s hands, remembering Pop. Touch heals, Laia. I hold fast to him, trying to put everything I feel into that touch. I hope your Tribe is all right. I hope they survive the Martials. I’m truly, truly sorry. It’s not enough. But it’s all I have. After a moment, Elias lets out a breath and leans his forehead against mine. “Tell me what you told me that night in my room at Blackcliff,” he murmurs. “What your Nan used to say to you.” “As long as there is life”—I can hear Nan’s warm voice as I say it—“there is hope.” Elias lifts his head and looks down at me, the coolness in his eyes replaced by that raw, unquenchable fire. I forget to breathe. “Don’t you forget it,” he says. “Ever.” I nod. The minutes pass, and neither of us pull away, instead finding solace in the coolness of the night and the quiet company of the stars.

I’ve got a surprise.” Jase opens the door of the van for me a couple days later. I haven’t seen Tim or Nan since the incident at the B&T, and I’m secretly glad for a break from the drama. I slide into the van, my sneakers crunching into a crumpled pile of magazines, an empty Dunkin’ Donuts coffee cup, various Poland Spring and Gatorade bottles, and lots of unidentifiable snack wrappers. Alice and her Bug are evidently still at work. “A surprise, for me?” I ask, intrigued. “Well, it’s for me, but you too, kind of. I mean, it’s something I want you to see.” This sounds a little unnerving. “Is it a body part?” I ask. Jase rolls his eyes. “No. Jeez. I hope I’d be smoother than that.” I laugh. “Okay. Just checking.

Yalnızca bir günah vardır, tek bir günah. O da hırsızlıktır. Onun dışındaki bütün günahlar hırsızlığın çeşitlemesidir... Bir insanı öldürdüğün zaman, bir yaşamı çalmış olursun. Karısının elinden bir kocayı, çocuklarından bir babayı almış olursun. Yalan söylediğinde, birinin gerçeğe ulaşma hakkını çalarsın. Hile yaptığın, birini aldattığın zaman doğruluğu, haklılığı çalmış olursun. Kendisine ait olmayan bir şeyi alan insan, bu ister bir can olsun isterse bir dilim nan(ekmek) adiliktir. Çalmaktan daha kötü bir suç yoktur...

Ago era Robb, Bran, Rickon, sua madre, suo padre e anche Sansa. Ago erano le pareti grigie di Grande Inverno e le risate della sua gente. Ago erano le nevicate estive, le storie della vecchia Nan, era l'albero-cuore con le sue foglie rosse e il terribile volto scolpito nel legno, era l'odore caldo di terra dei giardini coperti, il vento del Nord che faceva sbattere le imposte della sua stanza. Ago era il sorriso di Jon Snow. "Mi spettinava e mi chiamava sorellina" ricordò, e d'un tratto le si riempirono gli occhi di lacrime.

If you’re not filing patents, but your competitors are, all you have is risk. You’re taking a huge chance that no one else will enter your space and kick you out. That’s the benefit of patents; you don’t have to let everybody in. You can let just a few major players in because you want what they have, or you don’t want to worry about them. Remember, you’re not at the big boys’ lunch table. But if you partner with their competitor, they’ll be worried. Then they’ll want to see if your patent protection is strong or if they can exploit a weakness.

In a small company, the CTO, R&D, the COO, and even the CEO or cofounders or owners can be responsible for reviewing documentation. Don’t rely on your memory; write it down. Ideas become reality when we speak them and write them. So document them in an idea journal (digital or traditional) without judgment at the time. Inventors (and especially software developers) tend to edit or judge ideas and conclude they are not patentable because they were simple—even though they solve important problems and do not exist elsewhere.

You feel ownership over your creation, your invention, and your ideas. But if you don’t legally claim them, you’re donating them to the public—or to competitors. Say you’ve come up with a solution to a problem. Protecting that potentially valuable IP creates a limited monopoly to keep people out. It’s like zone defense in basketball. IP rights help you own your zone—your competitive space where no one else can score. If the best offense is a great defense, then no offense is the worst.

For the most appalling quality of water is its strength. I love its flash and gleam, its music, its pliancy and grace, its slap against my body; but I fear its strength. I fear it as my ancestors must have feared the natural forces that they worshipped. All the mysteries are in its movement. It slips out of holes in the earth like the ancient snake. I have seen its birth; and the more I gaze at that sure and inremitting surge of water at the very top of the mountain, the more I am baffled. We make it all so easy, any child in school can understand it – water rises in the hills, it flows and finds its own level, and man can't live without it. Bud I don't understand it. I cannot fathom its power.

He reaches for a few strands of my hair, twining them around his finger. “You busy later?” “I was supposed to go to a meet-and-greet in Fairport with Mom, but I told her I needed to study for SATs.” “She believed this? It’s summer, Sam.” “Nan’s got me signed up for this crazy prep simulation. And . . . I might have told Mom when she was a little distracted.” “But not intentionally, of course.” “Of course not,” I say. “So if I were to come see you after eight, you’d be studying.” “Absolutely. But I might want a . . . study buddy. Because I might be grappling with some really tough problems.” “Grappling, huh?” “Tussling with,” I say. “Wrestling. Handling.” “Gotcha. Sounds like I should bring protective gear to study with you.” Jase grins at me. “You’re pretty tough. You’ll be fine.

Separation by death must finally be choked down, but separation in life is a long anguish, Chiang-nan is a pestilential land; no word from you there in exile. You have been in my dreams, old friend, as if knowing how much I miss you. Caught in a net, how is it you still have wings? I fear you are no longer mortal; the distance to here is enormous. When your spirit came, the maples were green; when it went, the passes were black. The setting moon spills light on the rafters; for a moment I think it's your face. The waters are deep, the waves wide; don't let the river gods take you.

She stood on the end of the dock, pale and goosefleshed and shivering in the fog. In her hand, Needle seemed to whisper to her. Stick them with the pointy end, it said, and, don’t tell Sansa! Mikken’s mark was on the blade. It’s just a sword. If she needed a sword, there were a hundred under the temple. Needle was too small to be a proper sword, it was hardly more than a toy. She’d been a stupid little girl when Jon had it made for her. “It’s just a sword,” she said, aloud this time . . . . . . but it wasn’t. Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell’s grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan’s stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow’s smile. He used to mess my hair and call me “little sister,” she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

They should." "Should be like a wood bee," she said. It was a private joke, a mocking appreciation of the slipperiness of even the simplest hope, a nonce catchphrase like so many others lifted from favorite movies or TV shows that served as a rote substitute for conversation and bound them like shut-in twins, each other's best and, most often, only audience.

There was a lot about Kim and J.P. he didn't get.... he was confused by their lack of romance. As a father, he was at times grateful for that missing intensity, but as a man who liked to surprise his wife with flowers, it baffled him. Maybe he was old-fashioned, but to him a couple meant a strong bond, with positive and negative charges constantly arcing between them. He'd never seen Kim and J.P. kiss, let alone argue.

If someone contacts you and asserts that you’re infringing on their patent, you’ll need a lawyer to shield you from the accusation that you are willfully infringing. Never, ever respond yourself. At the same time, you’re not left with whatever your lawyer tells you to do. If you have patents of your own (which you should), disputes don’t have to come to litigation, damages, and bankruptcy. In my experience, the best way to settle IP infringement suits out of the courtroom is through cross-licensing—an agreement between all parties to give each other a license to use their patents.

How can I number the worlds to which the eye gives me entry? - the world of light, of colour, of shape, of shadow: of mathematical precision in the snowflake, the ice formation, the quartz crystal, the patterns of stamen and petal: of rhythm in the fluid curve and plunging line of the mountain faces. Why some blocks of stone, hacked into violent and tortured shapes, should so profoundly tranquillise the mind I do not know. Perhaps the eye imposes its own rhythm on what is only a confusion: one has to look creatively to see this mass of rock as more than jag and pinnacle - as beauty. Else why did men for so many centuries think mountains repulsive? A certain kind of consciousness interacts with the mountain-forms to create this sense of beauty. Yet the forms must be there for the eye to see. And forms of a certain distinction: mere dollops won't do it. It is, as with all creation, matter impregnated with mind: but the resultant issue is a living spirit, a glow in the consciousness, that perishes when the glow is dead. It is something snatched from non-being, that shadow which creeps in on us continuously and can be held off by continuous creative act. So, simply to look on anything, such as a mountain, with the love that penetrates to its essence, is to widen the domain of being in the vastness of non-being. Man has no other reason for his existence.

When Maharajji came out you never knew what to expect. He could do the same thing a week in a row until you’d think, “Well, he’ll come out at 8:00.” Then he might not come out all day, or he might just go into another room and close the door and be in there for two days. You had to learn to expect the unexpected. One day he came out and all he said all day long was “Thul-Thul, Nan-Nan,” repeating these words to himself like a mantra. Days went by like this and somebody finally said, “Maharajji, what are you saying?” And it turned out to be an old Behari dialect, and all it meant was “Too big, too big, too little, too little.” When he was finally asked why he was saying this, he said, “Oh, all you people, you all live in Thul-Thul, Nan-Nan; you live in the world of judgement. It’s always too big or too little.

Often, as she leafed through the sticky, plastic-coated pages, spotting herself with a frizzy perm or wearing a loud, printed blouse, she was struck by how long life was, and how much time had passed, and she wished she could go back and apologize to those closest to her, explain that she understood now. Impossible, and yet the urge to return and be a different person never lessened, grew only more acute.

Ada luka sumbing serupa gempil bibir poci di hati semua orang. Cacat yang berusaha keras mereka sembunyikan dari dunia. Tapi tak semestinya kita mengenakan topeng hanya demi menutup secebis luka. Tak semua hal mesti kita cerna dengan tatapan mata curiga serupa itu. Maka dari itu, coba dengarkan apa kata Bundamu ini, Nak. Manusia tak perlu harus jadi sempurna agar ia dihargai. Sebagaimana keindahan bisa muncul dari hal kecil dan sederhana. Termasuk apa yang tampak pada selembar kain batik yang lusuh atau cangkir teh yang somplak ujungnya. Kita bisa belajar dari kintsugi, menjadi bijak tanpa harus bergegas menjadi tua; bagaimana menorehkan pernis emas pada sebuah cawan tembikar yang terlanjur retak. Betapa sesungguhnya, sebuah guci porselen yang jatuh, pecah dan bahkan rusak tak berarti kehilangan semua nilai yang dimilikinya. Ketidaksempurnaan tidak akan mengecilkan arti dirimu. Sebab hanya ketangguhanmu melewati bukit penderitaanlah yang akan membuatmu menemukan cahaya kebahagiaan yang sesungguhnya. Bagaimana kamu bisa belajar menghargai kekurangan pada diri sendiri. Bagaimana kamu bisa menerima kesalahan dan bahkan kegagalan. Sebagaimana alam memaknai wabi sabi, ketidak sempurnaan bukan sesuatu yang harus ditolak atau disangkal. Ia mesti disambut sebagai air telaga yang jernih, kesegaran embun di pagi hari, atau aroma petrichor di musim penghujan. Setiap kali engkau jatuh dan menjadi rapuh, engkau bisa merangkaikan kembali serpihan serpihan hatimu. Tak akan pernah kehilangan tujuan yang engkau perjuangkan. Sebab setiap bekas luka seperti juga keringat dan airmata, adalah permata yang lahir dari segenap jerih payahmu. Ia terlalu berharga untuk kamu sia siakan. Manik manik gemerlap yang dapat engkau rangkai menjadi perhiasan unik nan cantik yang akan selamanya jadi milikmu. Jangan pernah takut terantuk batu. Jangan sekalinya jeri dicerca burung. Jangan merasa ngeri terempas badai. Sebab saat nanti engkau sampai ke puncak, kau akan bisa melihat dunia sebagai miniatur lanskap yang permai dan elok untuk dikenang. Karena demikianlah semestinya hidup, ia adalah keindahan yang tercipta dari kekurangan dan ketidaksempurnaan diri kita.

Come then, come with us, out into the night. Come now, America the lovesick, America the timid, the blessed, the educated, come stalk the dark backroads and stand outside the bright houses, calm as murderers in the yard, quiet as deer. Come, you slumberers, you lumps, arise from your legion of sleep and fly. Come, all you dreamers, all you zombies, all you monsters. What are you doing anyway, paying the bills, washing the dishes, waiting for the doorbell? Come on, take your keys, leave the bowl of candy on the porch, put on the suffocating mask of someone else and breathe. Be someone you don't love so much, for once. Listen: like the children, we only have one night.

Summer on the high plateau can be delectable as honey; it can also be a roaring scourge. To those who love the place, both are good, since both are part of its essential nature. And it is to know its essential nature that I am seeking here. To know, that is, with the knowledge that is a process of living. This is not done easily nor in an hour. It is a tale too slow for the impatience of our age, not of immediate enough import for its desperate problems. Yet it has its own rare value. It is, for one thing, a corrective of glib assessment: one never quite knows the mountain, nor oneself in relation to it. However often I walk on them, these hills hold astonishment for me. There is no getting accustomed to them.

I am so glad Todd and I eloped,” she said sincerely. “There was no way to salvage the wreckage. But I think that you deserved this, and I'm very happy for you.” She leaned forward and kissed my cheek. Then she whispered, “He is really, really a hottie. How did you mange that?” “Brat,” I told her, and gave her a hug. “Todd’s not exactly chopped liver.” She smiled smugly and took another sip. “No he’s not.” “He could be,” said Ben from behind me, his British accent giving him a civilized air that he didn’t deserve. “Do you want him to be chopped liver, darling?” I turned, making sure I was between Ben and Nan, “My sisters are off-limits,” I reminded him. A flash of hurt came and went on his face. With Ben, it was even odds whether the emotion was genuine or not -but my instincts told me they had been. So I continued in a mock-chiding tone, “Ruthie is too young for you, and Nan is married to a very nice man. So be good.” Nan had caught the flash of hurt, too, I thought. She was softer than our mother, more like her father in temperament as well as looks. She couldn’t stand to have anyone hurting and not do anything about it. She sighed dramatically. “All the pretty men, and I’m tied to just one.” Ben smiled at her. “Anytime you want to change that…” I poked him in the side-he could have slipped out of the way, but he didn’t bother. “Okay,” he said, backing away with exaggerated fear. “Ill be good, I promise. Just don’t hurt me again.” He was loud enough that all the people around us looked at us. Adam pushed his way through the pack and ruffled Ben’s hair as he went by him. “Behave Ben.” The Ben I’d first met would have snarled and pulled away from the affectionate scold. This one grinned at me, and said, “Not if I can help it, I wont,” to Adam.

Nay, 'twill be this hour ere I have done weeping. All the kind of the Launces have this very fault. I have received my proportion, like the prodigious son, and am going with Sir Proteus to the Imperial's court. I think Crab, my dog, be the sourest-natured dog that lives. My mother weeping, my father wailing, my sister crying, our maid howling, our cat wringing her hands, and all our house in a great perplexity, yet did not this cruel-hearted cur shed one tear. He is a stone, a very pebble stone, and has no more pity in him than a dog. A Jew would have wept to have seen our parting. Why, my grandam, having no eyes, look you, wept herself blind at my parting. Nay, I'll show you the manner of it. This shoe is my father. No, this left shoe is my father. No, no, this left shoe is my mother. Nay, that cannot be so neither. Yes, it is so, it is so -- it hath the worser sole. This shoe with the hole in it is my mother, and this my father. A vengeance on't! There 'tis. Now, sir, this staff is my sister, for, look you, she is as white as a lily and as small as a wand. This hat is Nan, our maid. I am the dog. No, the dog is himself, and I am the dog -- O, the dog is me, and I am myself. Ay, so, so. Now come I to my father: 'Father, your blessing.' Now should not the shoe speak a word for weeping. Now should I kiss my father -- well, he weeps on. Now come I to my mother. O, that she could speak now like a wood woman! Well, I kiss her -- why, there 'tis: here's my mother's breath up and down. Now come I to my sister; mark the moan she makes. Now the dog all this while sheds not a tear nor speaks a word!

Tak semua kebaikan menunggu kehadiranmu di balik pintu kamar yang terbuka. Semoga saja, ia hadir serupa sepiring nasi goreng dengan telur ceplok di atasnya. Mungkin ia akan mengingatkanmu pada rumah kecil kita. Pada beranda yang penuh dengan tanaman aglaonema, atau ruang tamu yang penuh dengan rak buku yang memuat ribuan cerita dari masa kanak kanakmu. Tapi tak semua akan selalu berjalan seperti itu, Nak. Tak semua cerita dimulai dengan kalimat yang ceria dan lalu berakhir bahagia. Ada kisah kisah murung nan sedih. Ada banyak roman yang bahkan berakhir tragis. Ada yang serupa misteri tak terselami. Seperti kilau mata pisau dan kisah kisah seram lainnya. Ada Bunda baca sebuah kutipan, "Ketika engkau melihat masalah seperti sebatang paku, maka kau akan berpikir seperti palu." Demikian kutipan itu  Bunda baca, namun lupa entah di mana. Sebab engkau tak harus melihat segalanya lewat matamu sendiri, Nak. Engkau boleh melihatnya dari kaca mata orang lain. Percayalah, itulah cara untuk belajar menjadi bijak. Tidak semua orang bisa mengerti kenapa hujan turun di tengah hari. Tak juga orang paham kenapa kemarau bisa datang sepanjang tahun. Jadi berikanlah kebaikan agar engkau beroleh kebaikan. Walau terkadang terasa pahit dan menyakitkan. Tapi jangan pula simpan sakitmu sebagai duri. Bebaskan dirimu dari prasangka supaya orang juga berbaik sangka pada dirimu. Bila sebuah senyum yang kauberi kembali kepadamu sebagai tawa, maka engkau akan menghargai apa artinya pertemanan. Apapun kesulitanmu, jadikanlah waktu sebagai sahabatmu. Sebab ia akan mengajarimu arti kata bersabar. Ia akan memberi tahumu bagaimana caranya menjadi pemenang. Sebab ia teladan bagi ketekunan dan kegigihan. Sebab ia tidak mengenal kata menyerah. Dalam situasi apapun ia senantiasa fokus mengejar apa yang ia tuju. Ia guru yang keras dan penuh disiplin. Tapi ia juga teman yang baik dan penuh perhatian. Selama kamu mau belajar, ia tak akan pernah mengecewakanmu. Ia mungkin akan membiarkanmu terjatuh, tetapi ia tak akan pernah meninggalkanmu. Dan jadilah terberkati seperti tanah yang subur. Di mana engkau menanam benih dan ia tumbuh menjadi sebuah pohon yang rindang. Tempat di mana orang dapat berteduh di tengah panas yang terik.

She never used to compare her appearance to Nan, but now that Brody was so near both of them again, she couldn’t help but let the comparisons ride out. She was definitely the ugly duckling. “Mina,” Nan interrupted her thoughts, “you look so cute today. Tell me, is it because of a guy? It is, isn’t it? Who is it?” Brody’s head snapped in Mina’s direction; he was obviously interested in hearing her answer, but he carefully pretended indifference as he took a swig of cola. “NO, there’s no guy. There’s no one.” “Well, there should be a guy. There should be a hundred boys lined up to date my best friend. Right, Brody?” Nan cornered him with a look. Brody almost choked on his drink, and after wiping his mouth on his jacket, he gave Nan a sheepish look. “Um, yeah, hundreds.” He swallowed and stared directly into Mina’s eyes. “Well, you should set her up on a date with one of your friends, then,” Nan said. “NO!” Mina and Brody cried out in unison, while Ever pumped her fist and yelled, “YES!” Nan started laughing, and picked up her water bottle and twisted the lid. “It’s official, Bro. Tonight…double date.” “Make that a triple,” Ever interrupted, looking at Jared across the table hopefully. Jared’s head snapped up, and he stared at the four of them in horror…once he realized what they were saying. Brody groaned. Mina turned beet red, Nan laughed, and Ever glared at Jared, who finally quit playing with his food and buried his head in his hands.

KẾT LUẬN Người học thức, tức là người thà biết ít mà thật biết những gì mình biết, còn những gì mình không biết, thì cũng biết rõ là mình không biết. “Không có sự dốt nát nhục nhã bằng tin tưởng rằng mình đã biết trong khi mình chưa biết”. Văn hóa là một vấn đề thuộc phẩm chứ không phải thuộc lượng. Tuy nhiên, càng biết rộng càng hay, càng biết sâu càng quý. Một cái học về bề rộng mà kém về bề sâu, là một cái học nông nổi phù phiếm. Một cái học về bề sâu nhưng kém về bề rộng, là một cái học câu chấp hẹp hòi. Cả hai đều là thiếu sót cả. Có được một cái học rộng rãi thì tránh được nạn thiên kiến chấp nhất. Có được một cái học chuyên môn thì cái học của mình mới biến thành thực dụng. Điều hòa được cả hai lối học ấy là thực hiện được mức cao nhất của công trình văn hóa của mình. Đọc sách và biết đọc sách rất cần, nhưng chính mắt thấy tai nghe, biết nhìn xem và quan sát, biết suy nghĩ và phê bình những sự việc chung quanh ta hằng ngày lại càng cần hơn. Cái lợi của sách là giúp cho mình suy nghĩ, chứ không phải suy nghĩ thế cho mình. Học khoa học và triết học rất cần, nhưng đào tạo cho mình một tinh thần khoa học và triết học lại càng cần hơn. Mỗi người, tùy khả năng, tùy phương tiện, tùy tính khí, tùy khuynh hướng… phải biết tự mình tìm thấy một phương pháp thích ứng cho riêng mình. Thật vậy, sở dĩ “không ai giúp ai được là vì không ai giống ai cả” như Jules Payot đã nói. Và cũng vì tin tưởng như thế nên tôi chỉ nêu lên những nguyên tắc mà không dám đưa ra những thí nghiệm của bản thân. Tôi lại còn muốn nói thêm: “Không ai bắt chước ai được, vì không ai giống ai cả”. Socrate nói rất chí lí : “Tôi không dạy ai được cả, tôi chỉ khêu gợi mà thôi”. Học cũng như ăn. Tuy là cần thiết cho tất cả mọi người, nhưng không phải món ăn nào cũng hợp cho tất cả mọi người. Có kẻ ăn mau tiêu, có người ăn lâu tiêu: sức tiêu hóa của mỗi người mỗi khác. Lớn ăn khác, nhỏ ăn khác; mạnh ăn khác, đau ăn khác; ở xứ nóng ăn khác, ở xứ lạnh ăn khác. Có phương pháp học, lợi cho người này, nhưng không lợi cho người kia. Ai đã từng đi dạy học đều biết rằng phương pháp dạy phải tùy từng cá nhân mà áp dụng. Nhà giáo dục phải như người trồng cây. Cho nên người Tây phương đã dùng chữ “culture" (*có nghĩa đen là trồng trọt*) để chỉ về văn hóa. Mỗi loại cây đều có những nhu cầu khác nhau, cần sự chăm nom săn sóc khác nhau. * * Nói thì dễ… nhưng làm được bấy nhiêu thôi, đâu phải là dễ. “Tri dị, hành nan” hay “tri nan, hành dị”? Theo tôi, cả hai đều khó cả. Học đâu phải là công việc của một thời kì cắp sách và trường, “thập niên đăng hỏa” mà thực ra, phải là công phu thực hiện của suốt một đời người. “Học là một vấn đề không biết lúc nào là cùng. Còn sống giờ nào, còn phải học giờ nấy”. Nhưng, học mà không hóa có hại cho tinh thần, cũng như ăn mà không tiêu, có hại cho sức khỏe. Người có học thức là người đã “thần hóa” cái học của mình. Bởi vậy, học mà đến mức gần như quên hết cả sách vở của mình đã học ấy mới gọi được là cái học “tinh nghĩa nhập thần”. Văn hóa không là quyền sở hữu của bất cứ một dân tộc nào : những quyển Bible, Koran, Bhagavad Gita, Đạo Đức Kinh, Dịch Kinh, Hoa Nghiêm Kinh không phải là của riêng của một màu da, một dân tộc, một thế hệ nào cả. Nó là kho tàng chung của nhân loại. Và người văn hóa cao cũng không phải là người riêng của một màu da, của một dân tộc hay của một thế hệ nào cả, mà là một người đã hoàn thành sứ mạng con người của mình, trong nhân loại.