Nettie Quotes

You got to fight them, Celie, she say. I can't do it for you. You got to fight them for yourself. I don't say nothing. I think bout Nettie, dead. She fight, she run away. What good it do? I don't fight, I stay where I'm told. But I'm alive.

And I don't believe you dead. How can you be dead if I still feel you? Maybe, like God, you changed into something different that I'll have to speak to in a different way, but you not dead to me Nettie. And never will you be.

Today, Mr. Darcy is a vampire.

Lucy: I don't understand men. Nettie: What is there to understand? If you feed 'em regular-like and give 'em a bit of 'sugar' now and then, they're easy enough. And if they don't behave, you just toss 'em out on their arses. That's what I always say.

I feel a little peculiar around the children. For one thing, they grown. And I see they think me and Nettie and Shug and Albert and Samuel and Harpo and Sofia and Jack and Odessa real old and don't know much what going on. But I don't think us feel old at all. And us so happy. Matter of fact, I think this the youngest us ever felt.

We were all indulging ourselves. Nettie wanted to seduce, Mama wanted to suffer, I wanted to read. None of us knew how to discipline herself to the successful pursuit of an ideal, normal woman's life. And indeed, none of us ever achieved it.

Dear Nettie, I don't write to God no more, I write to you.

Nettie, it quickly developed, had no gift for mothering. Many women have no gift for it. They mimic the recalled gestures and mannerisms of the women they’ve been trained to become and hope for the best.

Mary was bigger than Laura, and she had a rag doll named Nettie. Laura had only a corncob wrapped in a handkerchief, but it was a good doll. It was named Susan. It wasn't Susan's fault that she was only a corncob. Sometimes Mary let Laura hold Nettie, but she did it only when Susan couldn't see.

It’s the truth. Ollie and Nettie would never help me. I’m their mother, which means in our relationship they will always be children, and will only see things from their own perspectives.

But what was good tween us must have been nothing but bodies, she say. Cause I don't know the Albert that don't dance, can't hardly laugh, never talk bout nothing, beat you and hid your sister Nettie's letters. Who he?

It seems that she knew and loved women as deeply as she did music. Can we leave that matter there? As Gertrude Stein says: 'She ought to be a very happy woman. Now we are able to recognize a photograph. We are able to get what we want.' -Marry Nettie, Gertrude Stein Writings (1903-1932)

Nettie set out a loaf of sourdough bread from Baker's Way Bakers, a wodge of runny Camembert, and a container of leftover lamb, rich with garlic and rosemary, nestled on a bed of spicy arugula from the home garden. She'd plucked two sharp green apples from one of the trees in their tiny orchard, and she placed a waxed bag of caramel shortbread beside them.

Kullandıkları sözcükler ne olursa olsun, mesaj açık ve netti: Bakın, çocuklarınızı alıp kurban ediyoruz. Yapabileceğiniz hiçbir şey yok.

But the day had one thing in common with the lives of Nettie and Wilma: it was over.

Don’t let them run over you, Nettie say. You got to let them know who got the upper hand.

You’re gonna be a star, Nettie. I just know it. You’re gonna be a star.

Because a shadow was a thing that defined itself, and Nettie didn't have to fit anyone else's shape.

Oh, from what Nettie say, them Africans is a mess.

Dear Nettie, I don't write to God no more. I write to you. What happen to God? ast Shug. Who that? I say.

Mamma Nettie, he said, sitting on the bed next to me, how do you know when you really love someone? Sometimes you don't know, I said.

Nettie, I am making some pants for you to beat the heat in Africa. Soft, white, thin. Drawstring waist. You won't ever have to feel too hot and overdress again. I plan to make them by hand. Every stitch I sew will be a kiss.

Y no creo que tú hayas muerto. ¿Cómo vas a estar muerta, si aún te siento? Puede que, lo mismo que Dios, ahora seas algo distinto y tenga que hablar contigo de otro modo, pero, para mí, no has muerto, Nettie. Y nunca morirás.

The world is changing, I said. It is no longer a world just for boys and men. Our women are respected here, said the father. We would never let them tramp the world as American women do. There is always someone to look after the Olinka woman. A father. An uncle. A brother or nephew. Do not be offended, Sister Nettie, but our people pity women such as you who are cast out, we know not from where, into a world unknown to you, where you must struggle all alone, for yourself. So I am an object of pity and contempt, I thought, to men and women alike. Furthermore, said Tashi’s father, we are not simpletons. We understand that there are places in the world where women live differently from the way our women do, but we do not approve of this different way for our children. But life is changing, even in Olinka, I said. We are here. He spat on the ground. What are you? Three grownups and two children. In the rainy season some of you will probably die. You people do not last long in our climate. If you do not die, you will be weakened by illness. Oh, yes. We have seen it all before. You Christians come here, try hard to change us, get sick and go back to England, or wherever you come from. Only the trader on the coast remains, and even he is not the same white man, year in and year out. We know because we send him women. Tashi is very intelligent, I said. She could be a teacher. A nurse. She could help the people in the village. There is no place here for a woman to do those things, he said. Then we should leave, I said. Sister Corrine and I. No, no, he said. Teach only the boys? I asked. Yes, he said, as if my question was agreement. There is a way that the men speak to women that reminds me too much of Pa. They listen just long enough to issue instructions. They don’t even look at women when women are speaking. They look at the ground and bend their heads toward the ground. The women also do not “look in a man’s face” as they say. To “look in a man’s face” is a brazen thing to do. They look instead at his feet or his knees.

På stasjonen sto det også en samling innfødte og beundret båtene. Særlig spekulerte de på hva det betydde at det sto "Nettie" i baugen på skipperens kano. Idet vi skulle gå, hadde en språkkyndig mann oversatt ordet til norsk og var begynt å bøye det som et uregelmessig verbum.

If it wasn't for the elderly we wouldn't be were we are today.

Jangan memendam rasa benci dalam hatimu, hidup akan terasa menjadi lebih berat. Kebencian itu sepertii beban semakin lama kamu simpan semakin berat beban yang kamu rasakan. "BITTERSWEET LOVE

Our women are respected here said the father. We would never let them tramp the world as American women do. There is always someone to look after the Olinka woman. A father. An uncle. A brother or nephew. Do not be offended, sister Nettie, but our people pity women such as you who are cast out, we know not from where, into a world unknown to you, where you must the struggle all alone, for yourself.

God is inside you and inside everybody else. You come into the world with God. But only them that search for it inside find it. And sometimes it just manifest itself even if you not looking, or don't know what you looking for.

There's something in all of us that wants a medal for what we have done. That wants to be appreciated. And Africans certainly don't deal in medals. They hardly seem to care whether missionaries exist. Don't be bitter, I said. How can I not? he said. The Africans never asked us to come, you know. There's no use blaming them if we feel unwelcome. It's worse than unwelcome, said Samuel. The Africans don't even see us. They don't even recognize us as the brothers and sisters they sold. Oh, Samuel, I said. Don't. But you know, he had started to cry. Oh Nettie, he said. That's the heart of it, don't you see. We love them. we try every way we can to show that love. But they reject us. They never even listen to how we've suffered. And if they listen they say stupid things. Why don't you speak our language? they ask. Why can't you remember the old ways? Why aren't you happy in America, if everyone there drives motorcars?

Is Celie actually ugly? Asks the charismatic star playing her on Broadway. How many times over the years I have explained this. Celie and her “prettier” sister Nettie are practically identical. They might be twins. But Life has forced on Celie all the hardships Nettie mostly avoids.... Endless labor that would demean and soon obliterate the observable loveliness of the most queenly slave. I wanted us to think about how superficial is our understanding of beauty; but, also, how beauty is destroyed.

Actually, her unexpected widowhood made Nettie safely pathetic and safely other. It was as though she had been trying, long before her husband died, to let my mother know that she was disenfranchised in a way Mama could never be, perched only temporarily on a landscape Mama was entrenched in, and when Rick obligingly got himself killed this deeper truth became apparent. My mother could now sustain Nettie’s beauty without becoming unbalanced, and Nettie could help herself to Mama’s respectability without being humbled.

Non guardare troppo dentro il fuoco, uomo! Non sognare mai con la mano alla barra! Non voltare le spalle alla bussola; accetta il primo avvertimento del timone che sussulta, e non credere al fuoco artificiale, quando la sua vampata fa apparire spettrale ogni cosa. Domani, alla luce del sole, i cieli saranno limpidi. Quelli che luccicavano come demoni tra le fiamme forcute, il mattino li farà apparire assai più netti, più docili, almeno; il sole glorioso, aureo e felice, l'unica vera luce: tutte le altre non sono che menzogne

Non guardare troppo dentro il fuoco, uomo! Non sognare mai con la mano alla barra! Non voltare le spalle alla bussola; accetta il primo avvertimento del timone che sussulta, e non credere al fuoco artificiale, quando la sua vampata fa apparire spettrale ogni cosa. Domani, alla luce del sole, i cieli saranno limpidi. Quelli che luccicavano come demoni tra le fiamme forcute, il mattino li farà apparire assai più netti, più docili, almeno; il sole glorioso, aureo e felice, l'unica vera luce: tutte le altre non sono che menzogne

[...] e io sfrego, con il guanto, con il sapone, ogni volta stupito dalla densità di quei piccoli corpi, come se maneggiassi energia allo stato puro, tutta l’energia di due esistenze a venire fantasticamente racchiusa in quella carne infantile così compatta, sotto quella pelle così delicata. Non saranno mai più così densi, né i lineamenti dei visi saranno mai più così netti, né così bianco il bianco dei loro occhi, né le orecchie così perfettamente disegnate, né così compatta la grana della pelle. L’uomo nasce nell’iperrealismo per dilatarsi pian piano fino a un puntinismo alquanto approssimativo per poi disperdersi in una polvere di astrattismo.

—Hoy he aprendido cosas, Reshi —protestó Bast. El posadero levantó la cabeza. —¿En serio? —preguntó, y no consiguió borrar el escepticismo de su voz. —¡Sí! —asintió Bast con impaciencia y entusiasmo—. ¡Montones de cosas! ¡Cosas importantes! Entonces el posadero arqueó una ceja y su mirada se volvió más penetrante. —A ver, impresióname. Bast pensó un momento; luego se inclinó hacia delante en la silla. —Bien —dijo con la intensidad de quien se dispone a conspirar—. En primer lugar, y lo más importante. Sé de muy buena fuente que hoy Nettie Williams ha descubierto una colmena de abejas silvestres. —Sonrió con entusiasmo—. Es más, me han dicho que ha atrapado a la reina…

Il signor Palomar, continuando a osservare le giraffe in corsa, si rende conto d'una complicata armonia che comanda quel trepestio disarmonico, d'una proporzione interna che lega tra loro le più vistose sproporzioni anatomiche, d'una grazia naturale che vien fuori da quelle movenze sgraziate. L'elemento unificatore è dato dalle macchie del pelo, disposte in figure irregolari ma omogenee, dai contorni netti e angolosi; esse si accordano come un esatto equivalente grafico ai movimenti segmentati dell'animale. Più che di macchie si dovrebbe parlare d'un manto nero la cui uniformità è spezzata da nervature chiare che s'aprono seguendo un disegno a losanghe: una discontinuità di pigmentazione che già annuncia la discontinuità dei movimenti. A questa punto la bambina del signor Palomar, che si è stancata da un pezzo di guardare le giraffe, lo trascina verso la grotta dei pinguini. Il signor Palomar, cui i pinguini dànno angoscia, la segue a malincuore...

Nettie turned her eyes toward me. "Bookworm, are you?" The way she said that word absolutely made my skin crawl. She made me sound like I was some spineless, mindless creature living on mold underground. I do love books, but there is nothing wormy about it. I would much prefer to be called a bat than a worm any day of the week. Just that afternoon at the library storytime, Nancy had read a beautiful poem about a baby bat being born. It described the bats' "sharp ears, their sharp teeth, their quick sharp faces." It told how they soared and looped through the night, how they listened by sending out what the poet called "shining needlepoints of sound." Bats live by hearing. I realized, standing in front of Nettie right then, that when I read I am like a bat soaring and swooping through the night, skimming across the treetops to find my way through the densest forest in the darkest night. I listen to the shining needlepoints of sound in every book I read. I am no bookworm. I am the bookbat.

The girls seemed unconcerned and went about their days, each as lovely in their own way as the flowers they tended. Sorrel's black hair became streaked with premature white, which gave her an exotic air, although the elegance was somewhat ruined by the muddy jeans and shorts she practically lived in. Nettie, on the other hand, had a head of baby-fine blonde hair that she wore short, thinking, wrongly, that it would look less childlike. Nettie wouldn't dream of being caught in dirty jeans and was always crisply turned out in khaki capris or a skirt and a white shirt. She considered her legs to be her finest feature. She was not wrong. Patience was the sole Sparrow redhead, although her hair had deepened from its childhood ginger and was now closer to the color of a chestnut. It was heavy and glossy as a horse's mane, and she paid absolutely no attention to it or to much else about her appearance, nor did she have to. In the summer her wide-legged linen trousers and cut-off shorts were speckled with dirt and greenery, her camisoles tatty and damp. The broad-brimmed hat she wore to pick was most often dangling from a cord down her back. As a result, the freckles that feathered across her shoulders and chest were the color of caramel and resistant to her own buttermilk lotion (Nettie smoothed it on Patience whenever she could make her stand still). When it was terribly hot, Patience wore the sundresses she'd found packed away in the attic. She knew they were her mother's, and she liked to imagine how happy Honor had been in them.

Tarts and chocolate cake.” Nettie started for the door. Vicky frowned. “What?” “Some folks like tarts. Others like chocolate cake. They’ll argue which one is best until the cows come home. Same with religion. Some folks like it served up one way, others like it another, but when it’s all said and done, it’s just dessert.

Seri is the woman who lives with me.  Netti is the woman who only appears when the situation is too intense for Seri to handle, and Iris…Iris is the woman who fucks me.

Nettie's one-eyed glare was flat, her patience gone. "I'm the feller that's going to kill you." "You're not a feller." "That's not yours to decide.

Well hello, Miss Josie!” Don Yates stepped stiffly out of the pickup, approaching me with a slightly bow-legged gait. He’d been tall once but had become stooped and shrunken in his later years. He’d been a bull-rider in his younger days, and he’d been beaten up and put back together a time or two. Nettie said he’d broken every bone in his hands by the time his career was over. His fingers were as big around as sausages, his palms thick and muscular. Combine that with his built up forearms, and he looked a little like Popeye - all arms, no butt, and bowed legs.

Divination is a mirror, reflecting what is here and here,” Kezia would tell her, pointing to Nettie’s heart and head. Nettie nodded like a solemn student. “Whatever the cards show you, always trust the words that well inside you. The truth is waiting to be heard. Never doubt it.

But do you know what the most important verb in the English language is? It is the verb to be. I am, you are, she is...Can you think of anything more important than those words? I am Ida. You are Ailis. She is Nettie. This is Quinn. There is great power in those words. How else can we use the to be verb? Let's try I am happy, you are strong, she is going to be found. Now you try. You show me how you understand the power of that verb. Isn't it interesting how a single verb can change your vision? Choose to conjugate your life with positivity" -Ida

You shouldn't hate anything. Sister Baldwin says hate kills your heart as fast as a wink" -Nettie

This is where, in a cheap novel, the couple, confronted by imminent oblivion, would suddenly make passionate love." It was a pity Nettie was now as old as she was.

Nettie, is that short for Annette?" Dr. Carlyle asked. "It's short for Nettle." Nettie hated the way her voice quavered as she shivered in the office gown. "Stinging nettle was the only thing that soothed my mother's hives when she was carrying me.

Just as Patience read the people in Granite Point, searching for the troubled bits in their bodies or hearts, and Nettie collected the harvest and composed meals that sustained the very same parts, Sorrel wove her plants and flowers into a tapestry of her own, first in her imagination, then on paper using watercolors and ink to bring a garden to life. Then, when everything was ready, each bulb accounted for, each tender sapling and fragile seedling, Sorrel poured that knowledge, and her body and heart, into the fertile soil.

wonder Nettie hadn’t told her to get out there

Nggak ada orang usaha jalannya luruuuuus, lempeng terus selamanya. Pasti ada belok-belok, naik-turun, kadang kesandung, atau nyungsep sampai babak bundhas juga. Ya, begitulah jalannya.

Live your Days in Love, Miss Nettie. Yes?

If a man values something, he'd best leave his mark on it." Nettie thought of the scars on her back and down her arms and legs. For something she'd been long told had no value, she carried a lot of brands

got it all backwards kid,” Nettie grumbled. “Money only works if everyone believes in it. Magic’s real no matter what.

In the end, the brown dragon was brought to heel by the cunning and persistence of a “small brown girl” of six-and-ten, who delivered him a freshly slaughtered sheep every morning, until Sheepstealer learned to accept and expect her. Munkun sets down the name of this unlikely dragonrider as Nettles. Mushroom tells us the girl was a bastard of uncertain birth called Netty, born to a dockside whore. By any name, she was black-haired, brown-eyed, brown-skinned, skinny, foul-mouthed, fearless…and the first and last rider of the dragon Sheepstealer.

Nettie Scott wandered through boyfriends like vagrants fishing through trash cans--occasionally find a meal, but mostly picking through scraps.

Remember what I said about worlds," Nettie said, "and time.  You have said it yourself – I heard it like a whisper on the wind.  It is all dreams within dreams.  That is the real secret.  Time is not made up of one long string, but of layers.

Dopo che V. pronunciò le ultime parole, la percezione del mondo di B. ruotò su se stessa. Le loro ombre si tramutarono in due corpi di carne viva che si affrontavano in due dimensioni sulle piastrelle livide della terrazza. L'immagine di lei che aveva davanti si trasformò invece in un'ombra dai contorni netti, anzi piuttosto una falla, un buco a forma di donna nello spazio-tempo che lasciava trapelare il nulla assoluto che stava al di là. La mano di B. si alzò come se possedesse una volontà propria e indipendente, nera si confondeva con l'assenza di lei, così fece anche l'altra mano, si portò lentamente all'altezza dove prima stavano gli occhi e sentì, senza vederlo, che le punte delle dita si stavano sfiorando nel buio. La scintilla della coscienza di B. ardeva di una fiamma nera, incontrollabile, silenziosa, che bruciava lo sbocciare di un fiore ai limiti dell'alba, il palpitare di un cuore caldo sotto la mano, il bacio umido di una notte d'estasi, senza fumo e cenere, lasciando solo un vuoto privo di alcun ricordo. La morte scese, dolce come la primavera dell'infanzia, un lieve accenno di sorriso a un angolo della bocca, timida, pietosa come mai era stata una madre, lo strinse a sé calda come zucchero, gli sussurrò parole inudibili dietro l'orecchio che lo fecero rabbrividire come mai un'amante aveva mai fatto. Lo strinse così forte che diventò lui stesso, B. ricambiò la stretta così disperatamente che divenne lei stessa, il due diventò uno, l'amore impossibile diventò vero, ed amaro come il frutto delizioso della conoscenza. Le mani che non poteva vedere, le sue mani, si avvicinarono in una lenta danza, si strinsero una contro l'altra sempre più forte, per afferrare l'ineffabile, stringere l'amore prima che scappasse via, cogliere quell'attimo che non sarebbe mai più ritornato, la verità nella sua inconcepibile bellezza che palpitava viva tra le dita come carne viva, urlo, sudore, liscia pelle, calore bruciante, ruotare della terra nel nero assoluto del cosmo. Fu un attimo, e la percezione del mondo ruotò nuovamente su se stessa, ritornando là dove doveva stare. B. guardò le sue mani che tremavano sospese nell'aria e poi abbassò lo sguardo verso terra e lì, la vide, abbandonata sulla superficie fredda, un corpo gelido ed immobile che non respirava più, il torace che non si alzava né si abbassava, gli occhi fissi ed immobili che non lo vedevano più, una bambola di una bellezza indescrivibile abbandonata da lui stesso e dal mondo.

Lynette "Nettie" Curry found her husband out by the barn, talking to his crows. The crows, a long line of them, teetered on the phone line, cawing down occasionally as if conversing. "Am I interrupting, Frank?" she asked.... The crows cawed down at her as if in greeting. Ask Frank and he'd report that's exactly what they were saying. He'd always been fascinated with the birds and clearly loved them. But even as skeptical as she'd been when she'd first moved in, Nettie now believed that they were equally as fond of him.

against the wall when the bullet struck him. I turned around and saw Nettie on the ground holding her stomach. Her dress was soaked

me. The force of the bullet knocked me backwards to the floor next to Nettie. John Sr. entered the room. “You fool,” he said striking

So, you run as fast and as hard as you want, Nettie Gilbert. But when you're done running, come back to me.

I stopped, torn between my concern for Samuel and my wish to vacate the kitchen before I dissolved into a howling puddle. “If you talk to Samuel soon.....will you tell him I came by and asked about him? Please remind him about his umbilical cord.” Nettie and Don stared at me like I’d lost my marbles. “Just tell him, okay? He’ll understand.” I fled through the house and out into the frigid February evening.

People fear monsters. Monsters fear the Cannibal Owl.” Nettie

So…this Samuel guy…why’s he back in town?” Tara interrupted her mom’s giddy monologue. “Well, Nettie told me he’s come back to help her and Don get things in order.” Louise responded. “They don’t really have anybody else, ya know, and they’re gettin’ on in years. Tabrina and her husband are no help - those two together are about as smart as a box of rocks.” “Louise!” I scolded “Oh okay, Josie. I am bein’ kinda harsh.” She amended with “Tabrina and her husband are about as smart as a box of frogs.” She smirked at me over her right shoulder before she continued

When I got home, I told my dad the truth about Yazzie; I told him that he had belonged to Don and Nettie’s grandson who was going into the Marine Corps, and he had given him to me because he couldn’t keep him. Truth without embellishment, although one could argue that it was slightly abbreviated. My dad didn’t seem to care where I’d gotten him. “I’ve been thinking about getting a dog around here.” My dad cooed as well as a gravely cowboy can. “He’s a good boy, oh yes he is! He’s a little beauty!” What was it about babies and puppies that made everyone talk with their lips pushed out in that kissy-faced way? I left Yazzie in my dad’s enthusiastic care and climbed up to my room

NIO. 2 may seem, it�s only supported in Java 7, and if your application runs on Java 6, you may not be able to use it.Also, at the time of writing, there is no NIO. 2 API for datagram channels (for UDP applications), so its usage is limited to TCP applications only. Netty addresses this problem by providing a unified API, which allows the same semantics to work seamlessly on either Java 6 or 7. You don�t have to worry about the underlying version, and you benefit from a simple and consistent API. 1.4.2 Extending ByteBuffer

Nettie scanned the shed for anything useful, but all she saw were big, clumsy things, like hoes and plows and men.

The sisters were all gifted gardeners so Sorrel wasn't terribly worried about her beloved flowers. Patience's herbs were in fine form, Nettie's fruits and vegetables were well on their way, and now Sorrel's blooms would have the best start they could without her capable hands to see them into June.

Sorrel always thought herself happy in the little village by the sea. She was content among her flowers and specimen trees, the extraordinary roses and lilacs, sweet peas and hydrangeas that bloomed- somehow simultaneously and for months beyond reason- in the Nursery. She found great pleasure in picking the pears, cherries, and apples for Nettie's tarts, the tender young peas and beans, the lettuce so green it glowed, and the nasturtiums and violas that her sister used in her salads. She was grateful for Patience's remedies on the rare occasion when she felt ill. But Sorrel's hands were happiest deep in the soil and curled around the stems of the flowers she grew and arranged.

Perhaps their unhappiness is merely a continuance of the endless, ancient stories of sadness, the same kind that has preyed upon centuries of minds - lost fortunes, failures, unrequited love, disconnection, undeserved illness, nameless pain of any kind. There is nothing new about wanting to hang a veil between sadness and sober conscience.

...she didn't realize until she was an old woman what she would have been better off realizing in her youth - that if she set her heart on being content, she could achieve it quite easily.

It’s a peculiar thing...that the true origin of one’s desire to create, the initial kindling of inspiration, that first generative seed, is always more or less unknown. The source of one’s creativity seems to evade a clear-cut understanding. No clear analysis can be made. It’s too subjective, too multifaceted. An artist can recount their reasons for what might have given them the idea to paint, sing, or write about this thing or that, but it remains a mystery how one person can experience the strange, inexplicable wave that leads to an idea, and then is pushed further by an impulse to pick up a tool and give birth to that idea, while another person, simply, cannot.

All human loneliness can be filtered down in one way or another to the singular, tragic element of silence...

That gadgie’ll be geet radgie if he gets a spelk while he’s on the netty—easy-peasy.

[...]e questa speranza faceva parte di una ben più grande speranza, quella in un mondo diritto e giusto, miracolosamente ristabilito sulle sue naturali fondamenta dopo una eternità di stravolgimenti, di errori e di stragi, dopo il tempo della nostra lunga pazienza. Era una speranza ingenua, come tutte quelle che riposano su tagli troppo netti fra il male e il bene, fra il passato e il futuro: ma noi ne vivevamo.

Jangan pernah membuat janji saat hati sedang sangat gembira atau sedang terpuruk dalam kesedihan. Padmi

I am sure if I ever succeed in getting good-natured outside I shall not trouble about my heart.” “But I don’t believe you ever will get good-natured outside unless it begins inside,” said Nettie. “Don’t you remember Miss Schuyler’s allegory at that last mission band we had here? How the little girl had a poison plant in her heart, and tried to make it blossom roses?

It required the most thoughtful management and the most sacrificing care to keep them from debt. Oh, Nettie understood. Sometimes when she sat there in her big chair all alone it made the tears come into her great blue eyes and roll sorrowfully down her pale cheeks, to think how much money she cost them. Didn’t she know that the very chair in which she sat cost forty dollars

And Nettie smiled and looked pleased over it all. She did not tell anyone, not even Sarah, to whom she told most things, how many tears had been dropped all over that bright rug, because of the thought that she could never step her own feet on it.

What are you going to be, Nettie? Oh! I forgot. What a mean, careless question for me to ask you. I was thinking for the moment that you were Anna Potter.” “Never mind,” said Nettie gently. “Of course you cannot always remember; besides I am going to try to be something myself. I have thought more about it since I have been making this motto than I ever did before, and I am truly going to try to be pure in heart.

Peter elimi kalbine koydu. "Birlikte kalalım," diye şarkıya eşlik etti. Sesi berrak ve netti; onunla ilgili sevdiğim her şeydi.

Her name was Zenophir, and she was a mother who lost her daughter, and now her mothers and fathers have lost her,” Netty-P said, then raised the auto gun she’d scavenged on the surface and put three rounds into the head of the synth on the right. She did not miss.

According to Julian Ramirez, his youngest son was in El Paso for the communion party of Ruth’s daughter Gloria during the time he was supposed to have attacked Mrs. Bell, Nettie Lang, and Carol Kyle. Julian told Daniel over the phone he would be willing to come up to Los Angeles, take the stand, and swear on a stack of Bibles it was true. Julian insisted he had a picture with Richard, himself, Mercedes, and his granddaughter in her communion dress standing in the front yard of the Hacienda Heights house. When Daniel and Ray Clark went to the jail to tell Richard of his father’s willingness to help, and about the photographs, Richard threw a fit, saying he didn’t want to put his father through that. He yelled and screamed in a temper tantrum. Ruth came up to Los Angeles with Joseph and they tried to convince Richard to put up a fight, but Richard yelled and screamed at them, too. Ruth begged him, but he stayed adamant and unmoving. “There will be no defense!” he said. Monday morning Ray Clark, with large circles from stress under his eyes, asked Judge Tynan for an ex parte meeting in the judge’s chambers with defense counsel and the defendant. Halpin objected, saying at this juncture the prosecution had the right to be privy to all proceedings. Tynan disagreed and moved the proceedings to his chambers, minus the prosecutor.

She would keep nothing to herself now. Her heart had opened with Beulah's eyes, and gladness had flooded in. She could feel it rising, threatening to overspill its banks. [Nettie Mae - italics] Let joy run out of me. Let it soak the barren ground of this house--my home--and let something new and bright grow up from the field of my past bitterness.

I felt a draft and shivered. Then, like a whisper on a breeze, I sensed something—Someone—inviting me, yet again, to take a step closer. Only this time, my heart fell to its knees. O Lord of Heaven’s Armies, draw me closer to you. I want that with everything in me. I’m so prone to wander. Cling to me, Jesus, as you did to Charlotte and Nettie, and I will cling to you.

Don’t like that room,” Netty said, “Ain’t never learn to swim.

Das war das Schlimmste am Krieg, dass man sich daran gewöhnt hatte, wie schrecklich Menschen sein konnten. Wie gewissenlos. Abgrundtief böse. Aber Netti hatte sich dafür entschieden, weiter an das Gute zu glauben, denn trotz all der furchtbaren Erlebnisse hatte sie sich stets die Hoffnung bewahrt. Das höchste Gut von allen.

Selalu itu alasannya. Kodrat, kodrat, kodrat yang membuat para laki-laki merasa punya hak untuk menyakiti istrinya. Apa dalam kodrat para lelaki tidak diwajibkan untuk mencintai dan menyayangi, juga menghargai wanita yang sudah dinikahinya dengan mengucap janji di hadapan Tuhan?

I wouldn’t hurt you, honey. I just want to make you feel good.” Nettie bared her teeth. “Bullshit,” she hissed. “No man who ever said that was thinking of anything but himself.

That’s when I realized. Some people jumped in and tried to save someone who was in trouble; others did anything they could to save themselves. Ollie hadn’t meant to drown Nettie, he was simply following his instincts, just as she was following hers. My children had just shown me who they were.

Thank you for saving me from my self Your compassion became its own hell Unequally beautiful inside and out Without a doubt

I love you Marla, I really do, but I can’t go to prison.” “Celie and Nettie, shut the fuck up,” Lance yelled

Dear Nettie, I don’t write to God no more. I write to you. What happen to God? ast Shug. Who that? I say. She look at me serious. Big a devil as you is, I say, you not worried bout no God, surely. She say, Wait a minute. Hold on just a minute here. Just because I don’t harass it like some peoples us know don’t mean I ain’t got religion. What God do for me? I ast. She say, Celie! Like she shock. He gave you life, good health, and a good woman that love you to death. Yeah, I say, and he give me a lunched daddy, a crazy mama, a lowdown dog of a step pa and a sister I probably won’t ever see again. Anyhow, I ay, the God I been praying and writing to is a man. And act just like all the other mens I know. Trifling, forgetful and lowdown. She say, Miss Celie, You better hush. God might hear you. Let ‘im hear me, I say. If he ever listened to poor colored women the world would be a different place, I can tell you.