Nosy Quotes

Yes, you are nosy. You're a dreadfully nosy, horribly bossy, appallingly clean old woman. Control yourself. You're victimizing us all.

Witches are naturally nosy,” said Miss Tick, standing up. “Well, I must go. I hope we shall meet again. I will give you some free advice, though.” “Will it cost me anything?” “What? I just said it was free!” said Miss Tick. “Yes, but my father said that free advice often turns out to be expensive,” said Tiffany. Miss Tick sniffed. “You could say this advice is priceless,” she said, “Are you listening?” “Yes,” said Tiffany. “Good. Now...if you trust in yourself...” “Yes?” “...and believe in your dreams...” “Yes?” “...and follow your star...” Miss Tick went on. “Yes?” “...you’ll still be beaten by people who spent their time working hard and learning things and weren’t so lazy. Goodbye.

Whenever I would get too nosy as a child, my grandmother would say, "When you learn someone else's secret, your own secrets aren't safe. Dig up one, release them all.

Women's curiosity was given a negative connotation, whereas men were called investigative. Women were called nosy, whereas men were called inquiring. In reality, the trivialization of women's curiosity so that it seems like nothing more than irksome snooping denies women's insight, hunches, and intuitions. It denies all her senses. It attempts to attack her fundamental power.

Sometimes, having friends who were like family was a good thing, and sometimes, it was like having an endless supply of very nosy, very irritating siblings.

Then I said, “Matt’s got a big mouth.” “They all got big mouths, girl, learn that quick. These boys talk more than a pack of women. I lost fifty bucks on you.” I was stunned speechless again, this time it didn’t last as long. “What?” “See, Lee nailed Indy the first night they were together. Not nailed her nailed her but she was in his bed. Eddie, with Jet, it took a few days. Hank and Roxie, like, a day. Vance, like three, but Jules was a virgin and he had to interrupt the festivities once to go out and shoot someone.” I was blinking rapidly and feeling kind of faint at the amount and sensitivity of information Shirleen was imparting, not to mention what it might mean to me. “So we had a pool. Everyone threw down money on when they thought Luke would nail you. Mace won five hundred dollars.” Ho-ly crap. “So,” she went on. “Did he nail you nail you or did you two just sleep?” For some reason, I answered her unbelievably nosy question. “We just slept.” “New pool!” she shouted.

I know it’s a bit nosy– (Susan) A reporter being nosy? Damn, there’s something you never see. (Ravyn)

So here's the thing: Simon means "the one who hears" and Spier means "the one who watches." Which means I was basically destined to be nosy.

I’m not being nosy!” Sophie protested. “That room—!” “Yes, you are nosy,” said Howl. “You’re a dreadfully nosy, horribly bossy, appallingly clean old woman. Control yourself. You’re victimizing us all.

I replied with an Avenian accent. "Is the priest of this church still here?" "No." He squinted at me. "Never seen you before. You from out of town?" "I've never seen you before either," I said. "So maybe you're the one from out of town." That amused him. "My name is Fink. Well, that's not really m name, but it's what everyone calls me." "What's your name, then." "Dunno. Everyone just calls me Fink." "Don't you have anywhere else to go?" "Not really. Why d'you want the priest?" "A doctrinal question. What punishment does the Book of Faith recommend for a kid who's being too nosy?

Ovih dana mi, doduše, svi govore da im djelujem nekako umorno, ali ti znaš da je to kod mene pobrkano kao instalacije u ruskom soliteru, i da retko pokazujem ono što stvarno osećam, vrag da me nosi...

Five minutes later she had rearranged them into several words, none of which made any sense. "Nosy tennis?" she said. "No, wait. Sticky cabin? Shitty chicken?" Driggs frowned. "Wait-" "Shitty chicken? Really, Driggs?" "No, no. Cabin.

Kai angelas atsisveikina su naujai gimusiuoju, jis paliečia pirštu jo veidą, kad atvykėlis į žemę neprisimintų dangaus. Štai kodėl tarp nosies ir viršutinės lūpos įspaustas griovelis.

Perhaps if the year was 1447 instead of 1947 I might have hoodwinked my gentle nature by administering her some classical poison from a hollow agate, some tender philter of death. But in our middle-class nosy era it would not have come off the way it used to in the brocaded palaces of the past. Nowadays you have to be a scientist if you want to be a killer.

I’m a nosy old woman, it’s a perk of getting old. You can be annoying and people just call you eccentric.

How did you find it?” “Well, it took me a while,” he said. “But luckily I know lots of people who know lots of things. And I’m nosy by nature, aren’t I?

And you notice things and listen to things, but not in a nosy way. In a real way.

Let me through. I'm a nosy person.' she said, employing both elbows. It worked, as this sort of approach generally does.

Of course, it was impossible, in this company, not to think about balances of power. Raffin and Bann glanced at each other now and then, sharing silent agreement, teasing each other, or just resting their eyes on each other, as if each man was a comfortable resting place for the other. Prince Raffin, heir to the Middluns throne; Bann, who had no title, no fortune. How she longed to ask them questions that were too nosy for asking, even by her standards. How did they balance money matters? How did they make decisions? How did Bann cope with the expectation that Raffin marry and produce heirs? If Randa knew the truth about his son, would Bann be in danger? Did Bann ever resent Raffin’s wealth and importance? What was the balance of power in their bed?

It was through eavesdropping that I learned that you could buy fresh peanut butter at Whole Foods from a machine that grinds it in front of you. I had wasted so much of my life eating stupid old, already-ground peanut butter. So, yeah, I highly recommend a little nosiness once in a while.

Who’s avoiding you?” said Ron, sitting down next to them. “Wish you would,” said Fred, looking irritated at the interruption. “What’s a bummer?” Ron asked George. “Having a nosy git like you for a brother,” said George.

I have a tendency to want to understand everything people say and everything I hear, both at work and outside, even at a distance, even if it’s one of the innumerable languages I don’t know, even if it’s in an indistinguishable murmur or imperceptible whisper, even if it would be better that I didn’t understand and what’s said is not intended for my ears or is said precisely so I won’t understand it.

I'm heading for a clean-named place like Wisconsin, and mad as a jack-o'-lantern, will get there without help and nosy proclivities.

Rule number seven,” he says. “Don’t be nosy.

Samie was one of those nosy kind of cats. He would lie up on the red oak limbs and watch every move I made.

Since I've moved here, you have shown up at my door eight times. I obey the laws, I pay my taxes, and I haven't even gotten a parking ticket in my entire time as a driver. Yet if anything at all happens in the neighborhood, you appear at my door. I bet if a meteorite fell somewhere in the subdivision, you would be here asking me if I personally launched it out of my doomsday cannon.

You create silent enemies by revealing how much God had blessed you. There are people who are unhappy about your success and your big dreams are just too heavy for them to bear, so they will try to break you into pieces. Extinguishers of dreams are everywhere, and you can decode them by their nosy attitude towards your affairs. That is why its pertinent to keep few friends, talk less about yourself, and focus on other things pretending as if you don't exist. It doesn't make you faded or out of life, but the chances of getting your prospects destroyed will be very slim.

Translation: She was perishing with nosiness.

If you have trouble withholding personal information from nosy questioners, you need to get over this. This is how abusers take advantage of you in relationships and in life.

Nije svatko kovac svog zivota. Nije nitko. Na neke stvari mozes utjecati, na neke ne. Nesto kujes, a nesto nosis kako ti je skovano. No, i jedno i drugo, i to sto kujes i to sto ti je skovano, zapravo su okovi. Sanduk iz kojeg ces kad tad morati izvuci ruku ili ces biti uhvacen.

Prawdziwie elegancka dama dłubie w nosie tylko gdy jest całkiem sama.

It was the winter after Mother died, and Mrs. Corbett and some of the Brother's wives came to call. They kept bleating on about how sorry they were and my poor dear mother. It was infuriating. They didn't know Mother at all; she never liked any of them. They were just nosy, noisy sheep.

There’s a time in life when you are glad for having somebody watching out for you. Nobody cares what happens to you in the city, but here in Franklin folks are interested in everything you do. You can fault people for being nosy, sweetie, but if you fall off your tractor in Franklin, you won’t lay in your field hurting for very long.

Same first name as a president and an obscure comic book character. Half-Jewish. Excellent grammar. Easily nauseated. Likes Reese's and Oreos (i.e. not an idiot). Divorced parents. Big brother to a fetus. Dad lives in Savannah. Dad's an English teacher. Mom's an epidemiologist. The problem is, I'm beginning to realize I hardly know anything about anyone. I mean I generally know who's a virgin. But I don't have a clue whether most people's parents are divorced, or what their parents do for a living. I mean, Nick's parents are doctors. But I don't know what Leah's mom does, and I don't even know what the deal is with her dad, because Leah never talks about him. I have no idea why Abby's dad and brother still live in DC. And these are my best friends. I've always thought of myself as nosy, but I guess I'm just nosy about stupid stuff. It's actually really terrible, now that I think about it.

I know why she stormed out of here." Decebel's and Jacque's heads both whipped around. "You do?" they both asked at the same time. Fane raised an eyebrow at Sally's words. Sally in turn eyeballed Decebel. "Jen never really learned how to use an inside voice. So, Decebel, why don't you share how she asked you if you were involved with Crina, and how you never really gave her an answer but instead taunted her, and then nearly made her hyperventilate with desire." Decebel's head cocked to the side, his eyebrows drawn together. "How -" "I would say it's a gift, but really I'm just nosy as hell. And damn, boy, the look you were giving her nearly had me in a puddle." "Shut up!" Jacque squealed. "Are you telling me Jen stormed out of here because he got her all hot and bothered?" Sally was grinning from ear to ear. Decebel looked like he would be perfectly happy if the universe would just swallow him whole. "She was angry when she left," Decebel defended. "She left because she was mad." "Yeah, mad because she's got it bad for you, Sherlock," Sally told him, rolling her eyes. "Really? She likes me?" Jacque laughed at Decebel's cocky smile. "Um, if you aren't her mate that's not a good thing, Casanova," Jacque reminded him. Sally nodded in agreement, scrutinizing Decebel. "Let's just hope that she finds her mate at Mate Fest so she can get over you." Decebel took a step towards Sally. Fane stepped around Jacque and laid a hand on Decebel's chest, stopping him. "Easy, Beta." Decebel closed his eyes taking slow breaths, leashing his wolf. Then Sally's words worked past the jealous fog. "Mate Fest?" he questioned. Sally grinned. "Jen deemed it." "Naturally," Decebel muttered with a slight smile.

Maybe it had something to do with that extra X chromosome. Something about having a uterus and a set of ovaries just made a person intrinsically more curious and infinitely more nosy.

You and Roarke have a different couple dynamic.” “What the hell does that mean?” “Well.” Peabody slid her eyes over to Eve’s profile. “That was a nice way of saying neither one of you would let the other get away with holding back. Something’s going on with one of you, the other sniffs it out and hammers away until it’s all out there. You’re both nosy, and just mean enough not to let the other one slide by.

I exhale and set aside my book. It’s about a nosy elderly Were lady who solves murder mysteries in the Northeast pack. I absolutely loathe her, but somehow I’m already at number seven in the series.

For most of her life, Cricket’s best friends were books. Books accepted you the way you were and shared all their secrets with you. Books never told you to stop asking questions or accused you of being nosy and annoying. Books never said, “Cricket, you don’t need to know that, mind your own business.

Moja čast, moje poštenje nije ono što vide ljudi, moja je čast i moje poštenje ono što nosi obraz moje unutrašnjosti, a ono bičuje moju dušu mukama za svaku nečistu sjenu i nagrađuje zadovoljstvom ćistoću misli i srca.

SHUT UP!” I yelled all the way down the hall. “FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, JUST SHUT YOUR STUPID NOSY MOUTH!

A paparazzi is merely an extremely nosy nobody with a camera—and bills to pay.

And if one tendril has turned a nosy, racist white woman into a conduit for disembodied existential evil, he doesn’t want to see what infected NYPD will become.

the sun was a nosy stranger, and it found its way inside.

You’re a nosy sleuth like me because you can’t help it,” Alma said.

As Richard has pointed out on several occasions, I subscribe to the irregular verb theory of life: I am a trained investigator, you have a healthy curiosity, she/he is a nosy parker.

I wouldn’t mind giving the feds their cut if they weren’t so damn nosy, if any of them actually read the constitution and if they didn’t spend every penny on some harebrained scheme.

Cats are unpredictable as they don't know what they're going to do next until they make it happen through nosiness, invention, acrobatics, and sheer force of will.

So, how is it that you don’t have a girlfriend?” I asked boldly. Joel shrugged. “Have you ever had a girlfriend?” There was no way that he’d never had a girlfriend. He shrugged again. “You’re not serious.” “You’re surprised?” “I’m sorry, do you own a mirror?” Joel laughed in that I’ll-never-understand-women kind of way. “I’ve never wanted one,” he admitted, though it seemed that there was more to it. “What? A mirror? Or a girlfriend?” He laughed again, even harder this time. “A girlfriend.” “Are you gay?” He smiled. “No, I’m not gay.” “Oh.” I blushed. Why was I being so nosy all of a sudden?

ljubav je bozhansko osecanje i svaka nova zaljubljenost obavezno u sebi nosi i senku zhalosti zbog delica sopstvenog ja koje se daruje objektu strasti.

You bite your lip when you're lying, Henry." "And yours move when you're being a nosy fuckmuppet.

Q: What do you call a nosy pepper? A: Jalapeño business.

Everyone had forgotten her. But that's the way Penny was-- so quiet and unimportant that you could look right at her and never see her. Esther had no idea why Penny always showed up at Grandma's house on Sunday afternoons when they came to visit. She was just one of those nosy neighbors with no life of her own, who watched other people's lives as if watching a movie.

Sjetio sam se priče, nena mi je pričala, davno, o karanđolozu, crnom demonu, koji o Božiću sačekuje ljude na mračnim raskršćima, i popne im se na leđa, smrdljiv i težak. Čovjek ga nosi i posrće pod težinom, zagušen smradom, obamro od straha, a karanđoloz ga pita: jesam li težak? Čovjek stenje i kaže ono što misli: težak si. Karanđoloz postane još teži. Ujutru nađu čovjeka mrtva. Ali ko odgovori: nisi težak, spašće se, jer karanđoloza odmah nestane, i čovjek je slobodan. Zbog te riječi hrabrosti, zbog riječi prkosa. Docnije sam mislio da je to priča o životu: ako se tužimo kako nam je teško, klonućemo; ako kažemo životu: izdržaću, nećeš me slomiti, muka postaje lakša.

That day, I started taking an interest in the bar's television. We always kept it on. As the hours slid by in a cacophony of talk I kept watch, throwing in the occasional comment about politicians, bankers, show biz personalities as they appeared on screen. I wasn't being nosy, you understand. Just human.

Ako je lutao, bilo je to zato, što za neke ljude uopšte nema pravog puta. Kad bi ga pitali, šta zapravo kani postati, davao bi različite odgovore, jer je običavao reći ( a bio je to već i napisao), da nosi u sebi mogućnosti za hiljadu načina života, zajedno s potajnom svesti, da su to zapravo same nemogućnosti.

Paradoxically, the more Michael kept me at a distance, the more I trusted him - perhaps because he was always willing to help me with tips and introductions even though he wanted absolutely nothing from me (and never reciprocated my nosiness with personal questions of his own with me).

Onaj ko uvek nosi samo konfekcijske haljine, uvek je spreman da počne da sumnja u postojanje krojača.

Ponekad kondomi stvarno ali stvarno sprečavaju začeće. Ukoliko ste lik koji ih uvek nosi sa sobom onda niko neće hteti sa vama da spava.

... čovjek nikada tako glasno ne govori, niti se tako usiljeno smije, kao kad nosi u grudima ranjeno srce.

Pomozi onome koji nosi teret a ne onome koji ga spušta pored tebe.

Clusters of nosiness form at lockers; eyes, eyes, eyes on my face.

Po tom višku koji nosi svako umetničko delo kao neki trag tajanstvene saradnje između prirode i umetnika, vidi se demonsko poreklo umetnosti. Postoji legenda da će Antihrist, kada se bude pojavio na zemlji, stvarati sve što je i Bog stvorio, samo sa većom veštinom i sa više savršenstva [...] Možda je umetnik preteča Antihrista. Možda se hiljade i hiljade nas "igramo Antihrista", kao što se deca, usred mira, igraju rata.

Terrific! Have you done Step Three?" He waggled his brows as he opened up the top left drawer of my dresser. "No. Hey! Do you mind, Nosy Newton?" "Are these panties?" he asked, holding up two of my thongs. "Because they look like dental floss to me." Oh my God. My almost father-in-law was digging around in my lingerie. Embarrassment bloomed in my face. "Ruadan, get out of my underwear!" "Fine," he said, closing the left drawer and opening the right one. "Oh! Lookie here!" "If you touch that box," I said menacingly, "I will cut off your head with your own swords. And I'm not talking about the one on your shoulders." He laughed, shutting the drawer. "You won't need a vibrator anymore. You've got Patrick." His gaze slid toward the dresser. "Unless you have different toys in there. Nipple clamps?" "I… what… oh God." I fell onto the bed, curled into the fetal position, and covered my face.

Ponekad mi se ucini da mi beze pod nogama putevi i daljine. I kadgod mi se dogodi da dospem u daleko, i stanem nasred njega i mislim: konacno, evo me; ako podignem oci, vidim da svako najdalje ima svoje jos dalje. Mozda je to i sreca. Mozda imam u sebi nesto duze od krajeva. Mozda imam u sebi toliko mnogo sveta, da se nikada, nigde, nec...e moci zavrsiti. Nije rec o zivotu, nego o njegovom dejstvu. Jer neke stvari se ne mogu saznati samo ocima. Postoje u meni mnoga, neverovatna cula. Cula vode i vazduha, metala, ikre, semenja,... Oni koji me srecu, misle da ja to putujem. A ne putujem ja. To beskraj po meni hoda. Od koje sam ja vrste? Znam jednu novu igru. Zaustavim se naprasno i ne micem se satima. Pravim se kao da razmisljam i da u sebi rastem. Cinim to dosta uverljivo. Dok imitiram drvece, neko sa strane, neupucen, stvarno bi pomislio da sam pustio korenje. Razlistavam se sluhom. Zagrljajima. Disanjem. Cak se i ptice prevare, pa mi slete u kosu i gnezde mi se na ramenu. Pravim se da sam trom sanjar. Nespretan penjac. Spor saputnik. Pravim se da mi je tesko da se savijam preko belih ostrica realnog. Pravim se da mi nedostaje hitrina iznenadnog skracivanja u tacku i produzetka u nedogled... Ja ne upoznajem svet, vec ga samo prepoznajem. Ne idem da ga otkrivam, nego da ga se prisetim, kao nekakve svoje daleke uspomene. Jer mnogo puta sam bio gde nisam jos koracao. I mnogo puta sam ziveo u onom sto jos ne poznajem. I mnogo puta sam grlio to sto ce tek biti oblici. Zato izgledam izgubljen i neprestano se osvrcem. A u sebi se smeskam. Jer, ako niste znali, svet je cudesna igracka. Moze li se izgubiti neko u nekakvom vremenu i nekakvom prostoru, ako u sebi nosi sva vremena i prostore?... Smeta mi krov da sanjam. Smeta mi nebo da verujem...

Ali što ćemo s Dvorcem u oblacima? Možda je on ipak važan." (...) "Neka ga vjetar nosi", odgovorila je Smisla. "I sretan mu put", dodala je Mjera, "jer bez obzira koliko bio lijep, on je ipak samo zatvor.

I'll go on being nosy. Are you going to come clean with me about Taylor?" Trevor grimaced faintly. He stared at nothing in particular for a moment, then sighed. "What can I say about a woman who tells me—scant minutes after we meet—that she's the woman I'm going to marry?

The forests had put on their sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet. Streaming files of wild ducks began to make their appearance high in the air; the back of the squirrel might be heard from the groves of beech and hickory-nuts, and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from the neighboring stubble field. The small birds were taking their farewell banquets. In the fullness of their revelry, they fluttered, chirping and frolicking from bush to bush, and tree to tree, capricious from the very profusion and variety around them. There was the honest cock robin, the favorite game of stripling sportsmen, with its loud querulous note; and the twittering blackbirds flying in sable clouds; and the golden-winged woodpecker with his crimson crest, his broad black gorget, and splendid plumage; and the cedar bird, with its red-tipt wings and yellow-tipt tail and its little monteiro cap of feathers; and the blue jay, that nosy coxcomb, in his gay light blue coat and white underclothes, screaming and chattering, nodding and bobbing and bowing, and pretending to be on good terms with every songster of the grove.

Jeste li ikada vidjeli klinca koji subotom ujutro razmišlja o tome da u ponedjeljak mora krenuti ranije u vrtić jer će zbog najavljene kiše sigurno na cestama biti gužva, a on jednostavno mora stići na jutarnje čitanje slikovnice? Ja nisam. Ali zato znam puno odraslih koji se u subotu zamaraju situacijama koje nosi ponedjeljak. Djeca žive u trenutku.

Da li znaš da čitaš poljupce? Poljupci su kao ljubavna pisma. Mogu se pročitati, a mogu se baciti nepročitani. Poljubac može da znači zdravo! Ili laku noć, zbogom, ili dobro jutro! On znači doviđenja, nosi izdaju i smrt, ili bolest, govori dobro došli, seti me se, ili srećan put! Poljubac je zalog sreće, sećanje, laž, obećanje, ili dug sa kamatom. Vesnik radosti ili nesreće. Kroz poljubac jedno naše telo odlazi u naše drugo telo...

...Rule three, never underestimate nosy neighbors. Mrs. Rupp called and wanted to know why you were standing in the alley, looking into her windows, and she was wondering if she should call the police. I explained it was most likely *my* windows you were looking in and reminded her that *I* was the police, so she needn't bother with another phone call.

Kad te biju sa svih strana, onda misliš da i onaj nosi pod plastom bodež koji je trgnuo mač da te brani.

Intense nosiness about everybody had always existed in the area. Gossip washed in, washed out, came, went, moved on to next target.

Lucky for you, I am not very curious. A famous criminal, assisted by a protection egregore, and a flying octopus have a knock-down drag-out ruckus in my lobby over a girl hiding behind a false name, who has arrived at my hotel in the company of a Pacifica express agent. Most people would be very curious. But I am not nosy by nature. All I care about is who is going to pay for the damages.

B-but, Mr Jimson, I w-want to be an artist.' 'Of course you do,' I said, 'everybody does once. But they get over it, thank God, like the measles and the chickenpox. Go home and go to bed and take some hot lemonade and put on three blankets and sweat it out.' 'But Mr J-Jimson, there must be artists.' 'Yes, and lunatics and lepers, but why go and live in an asylum before you're sent for? If you find life a bit dull at home,' I said, 'and want to amuse yourself, put a stick of dynamite in the kitchen fire, or shoot a policeman. Volunteer for a test pilot, or dive off Tower Bridge with five bob's worth of roman candles in each pocket. You'd get twice the fun at about one-tenth of the risk.

I hope each of us owns the facts of her or his own life," Hughes wrote in a letter to the Independent in April, 1989, when he had been goaded by a particularly intrusive article. But, of course, as everyone knows who has ever heard a piece of gossip, we do not "own" the facts of our lives at all. This ownership passes out of our hands at birth, at the moment we are first observed. The organs of publicity that have proliferated in our time are only an extension and a magnification of society's fundamental and incorrigible nosiness. Our business is everybody's business, should anybody wish to make it so. The concept of privacy is a sort of screen to hide the fact that almost none is possible in a social universe. In any struggle between the public's inviolable right to be diverted and an individual's wish to be left alone, the public almost always prevails. After we are dead, the pretense that we may somehow be protected against the world's careless malice is abandoned. The branch of the law that putatively protects our good name against libel and slander withdraws from us indifferently. The dead cannot be libelled or slandered. They are without legal recourse.

It's been kind of a rough few days because the whole town's on my back for...I guess snapping at a nosy PTA mom. They all think I'm pregnant and on meth now." "Really? That's kind of a random assumption." "Not in Merit. You do one thing out of the ordinary and suddenly the whole town knows it and wants to figure out why. Except they don't really want to figure it out, they just want to make up a story that'll fulfil their own boring lives.

Duga popodnevna sjenka, tmurna duša brda, puzila je poljem, zatamnjujući ga, prešla je i preko mene, opkolila me odasvud, a sunčana strana je bježala od nje, uzmičući prema drugom brdu. Daleko je noć, to je samo njen rani predznak, nešto zloslutno je u tim mrkim prethodnicama. Nikoga nema na polju prepolovljenom sjenkom, puste su obje strane, jedini ja stojim na toj zavađenoj širini što se zamračuje, sitan u prostoru što se zatvara, obuzet mutnim tjeskobama koje nosi moja prastara duša, tuđa a moja. Sam u polju, sam u svijetu, nemoćan pred tajnama zemlje i širinama neba. A onda se odnekle od brda, od kuća u pristranku, začula nečija pjesma, probijala se kroz sunčani prostor polja do moje sjenke, kao da mi je išla u pomoć, i zaista me oslobodila kratke i bezrazložne začaranosti.

Ako je more život, a valovi problemi i belaji koje on sobom nosi, nemojte bježati i kukati. Jednostavno, naučite surfati !!! Tako će vam svaki val, ma koliko velik bio, predstavljati samo novi izazov i priliku za usavršavanje.

Some psychological thinkers, including Freud and Bettelheim, have interpreted episodes such as those found in the Bluebeard tale as psychological punishments for women’s sexual curiosity.4 Early in the formulation of classical psychology women’s curiosity was given quite a negative connotation, whereas men with the same attribute were called investigative. Women were called nosy, whereas men were called inquiring. In reality, the trivialization of women’s curiosity so that it seems like nothing more than irksome snooping denies women’s insight, hunches, intuitions. It denies all her senses. It attempts to attack her most fundamental powers: differentiation and determination.

In fiction, I exercise my nosiness. I am as curious as my cats, and indeed that has led to trouble often enough and used up several of my nine lives. I am an avid listener. I am fascinated by other people's lives, the choices they make and how that works out through time, what they have done and left undone, what they tell me and what they keep secret and silent, what they lie about and what they confess, what they are proud of and what shames them, what they hope for and what they fear. The source of my fiction is the desire to understand people and their choices through time.

Kad sam je drugi put video rekao sam: "Eno Moje Poezije kako prelazi ulicu." Obećala je da će doći ako bude lepo vreme. Brinuo sam o vremenu, pisao svim meteorološkim stanicama. Svim poštarima svim pesnicima a naročito sebi. Da se kiše zadrže u zabačenim krajevima. Bojao sam se da preko noći ne izbije rat, Jer na svašta su spremni oni koji hoće da ometu naš sastanak Sastanak na koji već kasni čitavu moju mladost. Te noći sam nekoliko vekova strepeo za tu ženu Tu ženu sa dve senke, Od kojih je jedna mračnija i nosi moje ime. Sad se čitav grad okreće za Mojom Poezijom Koju sam davno sreo na ulici i pitao: "Gospodjice osećam se kao stvar koju ste izgubili Da nisam možda ispao iz vaše tašne?" Ja sam njen lični pesnik kao što ona ima i lične ljubavnike. Volim je više no što mogu da izdržim, Više od mojih raširenih ruku, Mojih ljubavnih ruku punih žara punih magneta i ludila. Moj snu, kao asfalt izbušen njenim štiklama, Noći, za mene sve duža bačena izmedju nas, Ona mi celu krv nesrećnom ljubavlju zamenjuje. Moje su uši pune njenog karmina, Te providne te hladne uši to slatko u njima Kad se kao prozori zamagle od njenog daha. Kako je ona putovala pomerao se i centar sveta. Pomerala se njena soba koja ne izlazi iz moje glave Sumo vremena, sumo ničega, ljubavna sumo, Još ne prestaje da me boli uvo Koje mi je pre rodjenja otkinuo Van Gog To uvo što krvari putujući u ljubavnim kovertama. U staklenu zoru palu u prašinu, Plivao sam što dalje ka pustim mestima da bih slobodno jaukao. Ptico nataložena u grudima što ti ponestaje vazduha, Radnice popodne na tudjem balkonu, Već dvadeset godina moj pokojni otac ne popravlja telefon, Već dvadeset godina on je mrtav bez ikakvih isprava. O koliko ćemo užasno biti razdvojeni i paralelni, O koliko ćemo biti sami u svojim grobovima. Još oko nje oblećem kao noćni leptir oko sveće I visoke prozore spuštam pred njene noge. Moje srce me drži u zatvoru i vodi pred njenu kuću Gde su spuštene zavese nad mojom ljubavlju. Ta žena puna malih časovnika sa očima u mojoj glavi, Taj andjeo, isprljan suncem list vode, list vazduha, Ljubomorne zveri oru zemlju i same se zakopavaju. O sunce nadjeno medju otpacima... Zuje uporednici kao telegrafske žice, Prevrću se golubovi kao beli plakati u vazduhu, I mrtve ih krila godinama zadržavaju u visinama Kao što mene njena obećanja održavaju u životu. O siroče u srcu što ti brišem suze Moja nesrećna ljubavi razmeno djubreta Stidim se dok je ljubim kao da sam sve to izmislio. Kuća, ništavilo na svim prozorima, Sve je dignuto u vazduh. Samo se još nesrećni pesnici kurvinski bave nadom.

Ako ti Indijanac želi nešto pokloniti, on će to učiniti bez velike buke, jednostavno će dar ostaviti negdje gdje zna da ćeš ga pronaći. Indijanac, objasnio mi je djed, digne ruku i pokaže dlan tako da njegov sugovornik vidi kako on ne nosi oružje. Ta gesta znači „mir“. Djed je to smatrao logičnim, ali bijelim ljudima je to bilo jako smiješno. Djed mi je rekao da bijeli čovjek svoje miroljubive namjere pokazuje rukovanjem - vjerojatno stoga što se riječima bijelog čovjeka ne smije vjerovati pa prilikom rukovanja jedan drugom protresu ruku da vide je li onaj drugi zaista prijatelj kao što tvrdi ili u rukavu ima skriven nož. Djed se nije rado rukovao. Rekao je da mu se ne sviđa kada mu čovjek pokušava istresti nož iz rukava nakon što se predstavio kao prijatelj. Djed je rukovanje smatrao znakom nepovjerenja i uvredljivim. Što je logično. Kad bijelci u Americi vide Indijanca, kažu „how!“ i onda se smiju. Djed je rekao da je „how“ tek prije nekoliko stotina godina postala indijanska riječ. „How“ je engleska riječ i znači kako. U ono vrijeme kada su prvi bijelci došli u Ameriku, svaki put kad bi sreli Indijance pitali su: kako si, kako je tvoja obitelj, kako ide, kako ovo, kako ono... Djed je rekao da su Indijanci zato povjerovali da je „how“ omiljena riječ bijelog čovjeka, a Indijanci su uljudan narod, svaki put kad bi sreli bijelog čovjeka rekli bi odmah na početku „how“, a onda bi pustili bijelca da govori. Kad se ljudi sad tome smiju, rekao je djed, smiju se Indijancu koji pokušava biti uljudan i obziran.

Svakog dušmanina lakše se riješiti i bolje s njime voditi borbu nego s domaćom izdajicom. Uvijek je bilo tako i ostat će. Lakše je baciti preko praga nasilnika koji ti provali u kuću nego onoga koji sjedi u toplom zapećku, a u srcu nosi izdajstvo i smišlja kako bi prodao razbojniku i vlastitu krv.

When Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old manservant— a combined gardener and cook— had seen in at least ten years.

Žmogaus psichika „pagal liniją“ niekuomet nesiformuoja, kol ji tebėra žmogaus psichika! Rašytojas rašo taip, kaip jis jaučia, kaip jis mato pasaulį, — kiekvienas kitaip, savaip, — kaip ir visi menininkai kūrėjai. O paskui jam sako: ne taip, ne pagal liniją! Tavo tokiam personažui reikia viena koja prikirpti, nosis — pridurti. Prasideda rašytojui Golgotos kančios.

Zašto bi to bilo tako smešno, da ja mislim na ugašene vulkane, a da sam i Vezuv zavoleo, kao vulkan. Išao sam čak do ostrva Jan Majen, koje sad ljudi ne znaju, ni da izgovaraju, jer nosi ime holandskog mornara, koji je bio prost čovek, ali je to ostrvo, do smrti, tražio, ponova, u magli. Zbog tog dalekog ostrva u arktičkom moru, volim i Vezuv. Zato sam došao u Herkulanum. Čini mi se da sam u Kordobi. Tišina po ulicama je još veća, nego u Pompeji, a ja sam došao da vidim samo jednu kuću, iskopanu, i samo jednu zidnu sliku u toj kući. Samo to. To je slika Vezuva, stara dve hiljade godina. A sveža, kao da je tih dana slikana. Nije ni velika. Neugledna je, ali vanredno nežnih boja, i , Vezuv je na njoj naslikan, kao neki Fudžijama. Otkud ta veza ? Ta nežnost, prema prirodi, ta ljubav prema vulkanu, ta slika rađena sa tolikom ljubavlju – kao da je Vezuv neko dete, ili brdo Mimoro, koje je iz Azije preneto u Italiju. Ta mala slika u Herkulanumu bila je moja najmilija stvar. Nju sam dolazio da vidim. Tu vezu među kontinentima. Tu vezu među ljudima. Tu vezu Azije sa mnom, za koju niko ne zna i koju ne mogu da protumačim.

Treba se cuvati sanjarije koja se namece. Sanjarija nosi u sebi tajanstvenost i opojnost mirisa.Ona je katkada kao otrovna ideja koja se siri i prodire kao dim. Covek moze da otruje snovima isto onako kao i sa cvecem. Opojno divno i kobno samoubistvo. Rdjave misli su samoubistvo duse.U tome se i sastoji trovanje. Masta privlaci, pridobija lepim,mami,veze,a potom postajete njen saucesnik. Ona vas uortaci da zajednicki obmanjujete svest. Opcini vas,a potom vas pokvari. O mastanju se moze reci ono isto sto i o igri. Najpre bivas prevaren,a zatim i sam postajes varalica.

Jedna od najobičnijih i najraširenijih praznovjerica je ta da svaki čovjek ima jedino svoja određena svojstva, da je čovjek dobar, zao, glup, energičan, apatičan itd. Ljudi nisu takvi. Možemo kazati o čovjeku da je češće dobar nego zao, češće pametan nego glup, češće energičan nego apatičan, i obratno; ali će biti neistina ako reknemo o kojem čovjeku da je dobar ili pametan, a o drugom da je zao ili glup. A mi uvijek tako dijelimo ljude. I to nije istina. Ljudi su kao rijeke: voda je u svima jednaka i svuda ista, ali svaka je rijeka sad uska, sad brza, sad široka, sad tiha, sad čista, sad hladna, sad mutna, sad topla. Tako i ljudi. Svaki čovjek nosi u sebi začetke svih ljudskih svojstava te ponekad ispoljava jedne, ponekad druge, i često nije nikako nalik na sebe, a ipak ostaje vazda onaj koji jest.

Život bez ljubavi je kao da ptici podrežeš krila i ne dopustiš joj mogućnost da leti. Bol nam zna potkresati krila i prizemljiti nas, a ako takvo stanje ostane nerješeno dulje vrijeme, možeš i zaboraviti kako si stvoren da bi letio.'' ... ''Pticu ne definira to što je na zemlji, nego njezina sposobnost da leti. Upamti, ljude ne definiraju njihova ograničenja, nego mogućnosti koje sam u njih ugradio. Nisu obilježeni onim kakvim se čine, nego svime što nosi to da su stvoreni na moju sliku.'' Bog

You’d think someone as resourceful as Rachel would know whether or not Toraf was the identical twin of a known terrorist. But nooooo. So we wait by our guard in the corridor of the security office of LAX airport while about a dozen people work to verify our identity. My identity comes back fine and clean and boring. Toraf’s identity doesn’t come back for a few hours. Which is not cool, because he’s been puking in the trash can next to our bench seats and it’s got to be almost full by now. Because of the regional storms in Jersey, we’d had a rough takeoff. Coupled with the reaction Toraf had to the Dramamine-excitability, no less-it was all I could do to coax him out of the tiny bathroom to get him to sit still and not puke while doing so. His fingerprints could not be matched and his violet eyes were throwing them for a loop, since they physically verified that they aren’t contacts. A lady security officer asked us several times in several different ways why our tickets would be one-way to Hawaii if we lived in Jersey and only had a carry-on bag full of miscellaneous crap that you don’t really need. Where were we going? What were we doing? I’d told them we were going to Honolulu to pick a place to get married and weren’t in a hurry to come back, so we only purchased one-way tickets and blah blah blah. It’s a BS story and they know it, but sometimes BS stories can’t be proven false. Finally, I asked for an attorney, and since they hadn’t charged us with anything, and couldn’t charge us with anything, they decided to let us go. For crying out loud. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or nervous that Toraf’s seat is a couple of rows back on our flight to Honolulu. On the plus side, I don’t have to be bothered every time he goes to the bathroom to upchuck. Then again, I can’t keep my eye on him, either, in case he doesn’t know how to act or respond to nosy strangers who can’t mind their own business. I peek around my seat and roll my eyes. He’s seated next to two girls, about my age and obviously traveling together, and they’re trying nonstop to start a conversation with him. Poor, poor Toraf. It must be a hard-knock life to have inherited the exquisite Syrena features. It’s all he can do not to puke in their laps. A small part of me wishes that he would, so they’d shut up and leave him alone and I could maybe close my eyes for two seconds. From here I can hear him squirm in his seat, which is about four times too small for a built Syrena male. His shoulder and biceps protrude into the aisle, so he’s constantly getting bumped. Oy.

In the beginning, adults operating somewhere between concern and nosiness had asked questions about the war, and I spoke truthfully about the things I'd seen. But my descriptions were often met with an uncomfortable shining of eyes, as if they were waiting for me to take things back, to say that war or genocide was actually no big deal. They'd offer their condolences, as they'd been taught, then wade through a polite amount of time before presenting an excuse to end the conversation. Their musings about how and why people stayed in a country under such terrible conditions were what I hated most. I knew it was ignorance, not insight that prompted these questions. They asked because they hadn't smelled the air raid smoke or the scent of signed flesh on their own balconies; they couldn't fathom that such a dangerous place could still harbor all the feelings of home.

This is a love story, Michael Deane says. But, really, what isn’t? Doesn’t the detective love the mystery, or the chase, or the nosy female reporter, who is even now being held against her wishes at an empty warehouse on the waterfront? Surely the serial murderer loves his victims, and the spy loves his gadgets or his country or the exotic counterspy. The ice trucker is torn between his love for ice and truck, and the competing chefs go crazy for scallops, and the pawnshop guys adore their junk just as the Housewives live for catching glimpses of their own Botoxed brows in gilded hall mirrors, and the rocked-out dude on ‘roids totally wants to shred the ass of the tramp-tatted girl on Hookbook, and because this is reality, they are all in love—madly, truly—with the body mic clipped to their back buckle, and the producer casually suggesting just one more angle, one more Jell-O shot. And the robot loves his master, alien loves his saucer, Superman loves Lois, Lex, and Lana, Luke love Leia (till he finds out she’s his sister), and the exorcist loves the demon even as he leaps out the window with it, in full soulful embrace, as Leo loves Kate and they both love the sinking ship, and the shark—God, the shark loves to eat, which is what the Mafioso loves, too—eating and money and Paulie and omerta` --the way the cowboy loves his horse, loves the corseted girl behind the piano bar, and sometimes loves the other cowboy, as the vampire loves night and neck, and the zombie—don’t even start with the zombie, sentimental fool; has anyone ever been more lovesick than a zombie, that pale, dull metaphor for love, all animal craving and lurching, outstretched arms, his very existence a sonnet about how much he wants those brains? This, too, is a love story.

On je taj uz čiju pomoć nalaze snagu kad misle da su sve izgubili. Koji im šapne ono što trebaju čuti, no što još nisu u stanju formulirati. Koji ih oslobađa sve krivnje, svih nepravda. Za kojega se hvataju kao za zadnju slamku spasa kad nema drugog izlaza. Dakle, jedini koji vam može spasiti život. Pripisujemo mu priču po mjeri - po našoj mjeri. Nosi nas, podnosi, prenosi. Uči nas ono što trebamo znati. Pomaže nam da vodimo računa o raznim stvarima. Pojavljuje se u pravom času, nikad ne griješi, vodi nas u pravome smjeru, pokazuje nam ljepotu u nama. Zatim, ako dobro obavi posao, više ga ne trebamo. Zato ga odbacimo. Obrišemo ga kao čarobnu ploču.

Yes. Let’s be honest. I’m a privileged white woman who left her kids in a $30,000 minivan watching Dora the Explorer to go in for a Starbucks. Is there any clearer picture of privilege than that? But no matter what color you are, no matter how much money you have, you don’t deserve to be harassed for making a rational parenting choice.” It’s funny, but in all the time that had passed, I had never thought about what was happening in quite those terms—as harassment. When a person intimidates, insults, verbally abuses, or demeans a woman on the street, in the bedroom, at the office, in the classroom, it’s harassment. When a woman is intimidated or insulted or abused because of the way she dresses or her sexual habits or her outspokenness on social media, she is experiencing harassment. But when a mother is intimidated, insulted, abused, or demeaned because of the way she is mothering, we call it concern or, at worst, nosiness. A mother, apparently, cannot be harassed. A mother can only be corrected.

Zimą wszyscy się zmieniają, robią się bardziej tępi czy co, w ogóle to ludzie i latem nie wywołują specjalnej chęci, by się z nimi zadawać, a zimą robią się po prostu niemożliwi, mężczyźni wbijają się w byle jakie przeraźliwie zielone kurtki, takie wielkie, wiesz, wielkie, przeraźliwie zielone kurtki, chodzą w nich całą zimę, jak nakręceni, i co im zrobisz, to wszystko zima, wszystko zima, latem nikogo nie zmusisz, żeby założył zieloną kurtkę, i to nie tylko dlatego, że latem w ogóle nikt nie nosi kurtki, tym bardziej zimowej, po prostu latem ludzie są jacyś prostsi, nawet do głowy im nie przyjdzie taka głupota – założyć na siebie wielką zieloną kurtkę i chodzić w niej po ulicy, zgroza.

Jutro je, međutim, u Rimu, vanredno. Sunčani zraci padaju ukoso, a blago, kao mesečina, koja se žuti i koja je topla, a ti zraci prodiru u grudi, kao neke prijatne strele. To je jedino sunce koje sija i bogatašu i siromahu, i maldom čoveku, i bolesniku, i starcu. Sunce i Rim stapaju se u sećanju, u jedno. Nigde u Evropi Sunce ne sija tako. Ni na jedni glavni grad zemalja. Niti igde fontane hlade tako lepo. Sam taj fakt, koji se ponavlja - ujutro, u Rimu - pretvara se u duboku ljudsku sreću, a svi u Rimu učestvujemo u tom baletu, koji nosi naslov: Il Giorno. Dan. Možda je to jutro, U Rimu, taj mir, kojim počinje dan, zato tako vedro, jer nas čeka pritajena žalost smrti, u večeru, u Rimu, koji je najveća grobnica na svetu. To samo u Italiji ide zajedno. Samo se u Italiji, u Rimu, život i smrt, tako mešaju.

Najgore je što se čovek onda pita kako će sutra da smogne snage da radi ono što i juče, što već radi toliko dugo, i gde da nađe snage za glupe pokušaje, za hiljadu planova koji ničemu ne vode, za poduhvate koji se uvek izjalove, a sve to samo da bi se još jednom osvedočio da je sudbina nesavladljiva, da svake večeri mora da sklizne do podnožja zida, pritisnut strahom od sutrašnjice, sve neizvesnije i sve mračnije. A možda svemu doprinose i godine, podmuklo nam preteći najcrnjim. Nema više u čoveka dovoljno muzike da bu mi život zaigrao, eto. Sva je mladost već otišla, da umre na kraju sveta, u tišini istine. A kuda poći, pitam ja vas, kad čovek više u sebi ne nosi dovoljnu količinu ludosti? Istina je agonija bez kraja. Istina ovoga sveta je smrt. Treba izabrati, umreti ili lagati. Ja nikad nisam mogao da se ubijem.

Annabeth bez zastanowienia rzuciła się ku Percy'emu, a on jednocześnie pobiegł ku niej. Tłum zamarł. Niektórzy bezwiednie sięgnęli po miecze, których nie mieli. Percy ją objął. Ich usta się odnalazły i przez chwilę nic więcej się nie liczyło. W tej chwili asteroida mogłaby uderzyć w Ziemię i zetrzeć życie z jej powierzchni - Annabeth miałaby to w nosie. Percy pachniał oceanicznym powietrzem. Jego wagi były słone. ,,Glonomóżdżek" - pomyślała nieprzytomnie. Percy cofnął się i przypatrywał się jej twarzy. - O bogowie, nigdy nie sądziłem... Annabeth chwyciła go za nadgarstek i szybkim ruchem przerzuciła sobie przez ramię. Upadł całym ciałem na bruk. Rozległy się przerażone okrzyki Rzymian. Kilku rzuciło sie naprzód, ale Reyna krzyknęła: - Stop! Zostawcie ich! Annabeth wparła kolano w pierś Percy'ego. Przycisnęła mu gardło przedramieniem. Nie dbała o to, co myślą Rzymianie. Rozpalona do białości kula gniewu wybuchła w jej piersi - guz lęku i goryczy, który rósł w niej od ostatniej jesieni. - Jeśli kiedykolwiek znowu mnie opuścisz - powiedziała, czując pieczenie pod powiekami - to przysięgam na wszystkich bogów... Percy odważył się wybuchnąć śmiechem. Nagle wszystkie emocje stopniały w niej jak śnieg w gorącym słońcu. - Przyjąłem ostrzeżenie - rzekł Percy. - Ja tez za tobą tęskniłem. Annabeth podniosła się i pomogła mu wstać. Miała straszną ochotę znowu go pocałować, ale opanowała się.

— Nie, to nie żarty. Opowiadam ci tylko, do czego doszedłem. Można przekazywać wiedzę, ale nie mądrość. Mądrość można znaleźć, można nią żyć, można się na niej wspierać, można dzięki niej czynić cuda, ale wypowiedzieć jej i nauczać nie sposób. Domyślałem się tego już jako chłopak i to właśnie odsunęło mnie od nauczycieli. Dokonałem pewnego odkrycia, Gowindo, które ty znowu uznasz za żart albo za błazeństwo, ale to najbardziej cenna z moich myśli. Oto przeciwieństwo każdej prawdy jest równie prawdziwe! Prawdę można przecież wypowiedzieć i ubrać w słowa tylko wtedy, gdy jest to prawda jednostronna. Wszystko, co ma postać myśli i daje się wyrazić słowami, jest jednostronne, jest połowiczne, brakuje mu całości, dopełnienia, jedności. Gdy wzniosły Gautama nauczał o świecie, musiał go podzielić na sansarę i nirwanę, na złudzenie i prawdę, na ból i wyzwolenie. Inaczej się nie da, kto chce nauczać, nie ma przed sobą innej drogi. Ale sam świat, to, co jest wokół nas i w nas w środku nigdy nie jest jednostronne. Żaden człowiek ani żaden uczynek nie należy całkowicie do sansary ani do nirwany, żaden człowiek nie jest do końca grzeszny ani święty. Tak się wydaje, owszem, ponieważ ulegamy złudzeniu, iż czas jest czymś rzeczywistym. Czas nie jest czymś rzeczywistym. A jeśli czas nie jest rzeczywisty, to i ta odległość, jaka zdaje się dzielić świat od wieczności, cierpienie od szczęścia, zło od dobra, jest tylko złudzeniem. — Jakże to? — spytał niespokojnie Gowinda. — Posłuchaj mnie, mój miły, słuchaj mnie dobrze! Grzesznik, taki jak ja i taki jak ty, jest grzesznikiem, ale kiedyś znowu złączy się z brahmanem, osiągnie kiedyś nirwanę, będzie buddą i teraz zobacz: to “kiedyś" jest złudzeniem, jest tylko przenośnią! Naprawdę bowiem nie jest tak, że grzesznik przebywa jakąś drogę, by stać się buddą, nie staje się nim w trakcie rozwoju, choć nasz umysł nie potrafi sobie tego inaczej wyobrazić. Nie, w grzeszniku jest już teraz dzisiaj przyszły buddą, cała jego przyszłość już w nim jest zawarta i w tym grzeszniku, w sobie samym, w każdym człowieku należy wielbić przyszłego, możliwego, ukrytego buddę. Świat, przyjacielu, nie jest doskonały ani też nie zbliża się powoli do doskonałości, nie: jest doskonały w każdej chwili, wszelki grzech zawiera w sobie już łaskę, każde dziecko nosi w sobie starca, każdy noworodek śmierć, każdy umierający wieczne życie. Nikomu z ludzi nie jest dane ocenić, jak daleko inny zaszedł na swej drodze, w zbóju i hulace czeka już budda, w braminie czeka zbój. Głęboka medytacja pozwala ci znieść czas, widzieć naraz wszelkie życie niegdysiejsze, obecne i przyszłe, i wtedy wszystko jest doskonałe, wszystko jest brahmanem. Dlatego wszystko, co jest, zdaje mi się dobre, śmierć na równi z życiem, grzech na równi ze świętością, roztropność na równi z głupotą, wszystko musi być takie, jakie jest, potrzeba tylko mojej zgody, mojej dobrej woli, mojego przyzwolenia, a wszystko jest dla mnie dobre, może mnie tylko wesprzeć, nie może mi szkodzić. Na własnym ciele i duszy doświadczyłem, że potrzeba mi było grzechów, potrzebna mi była rozpusta, chciwość, próżność i najstraszniejsze zwątpienie, aby nauczyć się uległości, aby pokochać świat, aby nie porównywać go z jakimś przez siebie wymarzonym, wyobrażonym światem, z wymyślonym jakimś rodzajem doskonałości, tylko zostawić go takim, jakim jest, i kochać go i cieszyć się, że do niego należę. Takie między innymi są moje odkrycia, Gowindo.