Ns Quotes

The real genesis is forbidden to me, vis-à-vis N´s inability to confess even the mildest transgressions.

Page after page she read She cried and laughed She swore and cheered She fell in love with simple characters She loathed imaginary enemies She read and read saying one more chapter She fell asleep with the books in her grasp She got lost in the words and escaped the world

There is a vast mythology surrounding meat, but all the myths are in one way or another related to what I refer to as the Three Ns of Justification: eating meat is normal, natural, and necessary. The Three Ns have been invoked to justify all exploitative systems, from African slavery to the Nazi Holocaust. When an ideology is in its prime, these myths rarely come under scrutiny. However, when the system finally collapses, the Three Ns are recognized as ludicrous.

His eyes narrowed to slits. Power passed over her, intensifying her desire for him. She moaned and rotated her hips against him. “What will you do with me now?

Je kan aan dieren erg veel liefde kwijt. Dieren zullen nooit zeggen: ‘Weet je wat? Ik ga alleen wonen. Ik kom nog wel ‘ns langs om je onderbroeken te wassen.

Good decisions come from experience. But Experience comes from bad decisions. This is life So, Never regret. Learn from mistakes and go ahead.

Consult the genius of the place in all; That tells the waters or to rise, or fall; Or helps th' ambitious hill the heav'ns to scale, Or scoops in circling theatres the vale; Calls in the country, catches opening glades, Joins willing woods, and varies shades from shades, Now breaks, or now directs, th' intending lines; Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs.

So there’s an infinity of memories within me, and an infinity of memories within you. But the infinity between us? It’s even grander.

Fun? “Katrina, I didn’t request to be set up on a date. I can’t go meet a complete stranger and….” he scanned the email again. “…and spend the night with her?

താണ്ഡവത്തിന് മുമ്പ് സശ്രദ്ധം ജടയഴിച്ചിട്ട ശിവനെപ്പോലെ നീണ്ട ചുരുളുമുടിയും കറുത്ത കരിങ്കല്‍ മുഖവും നേരിയ മീശയുമായി ഹിഗ്വിറ്റ ഗോളികള്‍ക്കൊരു അപവാദമായിരുന്നു

I know when you look at me, you see everything that went wrong, but when I look at you?” He licks his lips. “Violet, when I look at you, I still see the love of my life.

Dopamine isn’t the pleasure molecule, after all. It’s the anticipation molecule. To enjoy the things we have, as opposed to the things that are only possible, our brains must transition from future-oriented dopamine to present-oriented chemicals, a collection of neurotransmitters we call the Here and Now molecules, or the H&Ns. Most people have heard of the H&Ns. They include serotonin, oxytocin, endorphins (your brain’s version of morphine), and a class of chemicals called endocannabinoids (your brain’s version of marijuana). As opposed to the pleasure of anticipation via dopamine, these chemicals give us pleasure from sensation and emotion. In fact, one of the endocannabinoid molecules is called anandamide, named after a Sanskrit word that means joy, bliss, and delight.

To Selene (Moon) Hear, Goddess queen, diffusing silver light, bull-horn'd and wand'ring thro' the gloom of Night. With stars surrounded, and with circuit wide Night's torch extending, thro' the heav'ns you ride: Female and Male with borrow'd rays you shine, and now full-orb'd, now tending to decline. Mother of ages, fruit-producing Moon [Mene], whose amber orb makes Night's reflected noon: Lover of horses, splendid, queen of Night, all-seeing pow'r bedeck'd with starry light. Lover of vigilance, the foe of strife, in peace rejoicing, and a prudent life: Fair lamp of Night, its ornament and friend, who giv'st to Nature's works their destin'd end. Queen of the stars, all-wife Diana hail! Deck'd with a graceful robe and shining veil; Come, blessed Goddess, prudent, starry, bright, come moony-lamp with chaste and splendid light, Shine on these sacred rites with prosp'rous rays, and pleas'd accept thy suppliant's mystic praise.

Thou hadst: whom hast thou then or what to accuse, But Heav’ns free Love dealt equally to all? Be then his Love accurst, since love or hate, To me alike, it deals eternal woe. Nay

You’ll never get what you want if you don’t work for it. Nothing in this world comes for free, and the best thing you can do for yourself is work your butt off for what you believe in. Fight, tooth and nail, for the people you love.

Susan . . . it wasn't a good name, was it? It wasn't a truly bad name, it wasn't like poor Iodine in the fourth form, or Nigella, a name which meant "oops, we wanted a boy." But it was dull. Susan. Sue. Good old Sue. It was a name that made sandwiches, kept its head in difficult circumstances, and could reliably look after other people's children. It was a name used by no queens or goddesses anywhere. And you couldn't do much even with the spelling. You could turn it into Suzi, and it sounded as though you danced on tables for a living. You could put in a Z and a couple of Ns and an E, but it still looked like a name with extensions built on. It was as bad as Sara, a name that cried out for a prosthetic H.

HIERONIMO. O eyes! no eyes, but fountains fraught with tears; O life! no life, but lively form of death O world! no world, but mass of public wrongs, Confus'd and fill'd with murder and misdeeds! O sacred heav'ns! if this unhallowed deed, If this inhuman and barbarous attempt, If this incomparable murder thus Of mine, but now no more my son, Shall unreveal'd and unreveng'd pass, How should we term your dealings to be just, If you unjustly deal with those that in your justice trust?

So farwel Hope, and with Hope farwel Fear, Farwel Remorse: all Good to me is lost; Evil be thou my Good; by thee at least Divided Empire with Heav’ns King I hold By thee, and more then half perhaps will reigne; As Man ere long, and this new World shall know. Thus

How? Give me permission, tell me it’s okay to strip you naked, kiss you wherever the need takes me, and f**k you until you can’t see straight.

Stop this right there. You’re not defined by what you do, Violet. It drives me crazy that you think that. You don’t have to do anything to be extraordinary. Just being you is enough. You’re enough.

Of course Crake wasn’t Crake yet, at that time: his name was Glenn. Why did it have two n’s instead of the usual spelling? “My dad liked music,” was Crake’s explanation, once Jimmy got around to asking him about it, which had taken a while. “He named me after a dead pianist, some boy genius with two n’s.

They weren’t you, V. I didn’t realize it before, but once I was with them, I expected their hair to smell like your strawberry shampoo and their hugs to feel like yours and their laughter to sound like yours. I was looking for you in every girl I met.” His thumb brushes against my parted lips. “But there’s no other you, Violet. You’re it for me.

ഈ കൊച്ചു ടൈബറിന്റെ നൂറിരട്ടി വലിപ്പമുണ്ട് ഗംഗയ്ക്ക്. ഞാന്‍ അതിന്റെ തീരത്ത് ഒരു നദീതടസംസ്കാരംപോലെ നിലകൊള്ളം. ഞാനെന്ന മെസപൊറ്റമിയ

If you'd just given me something, I would've given you everything.

Have I ever told you about my passion for romance novels? I’ve always considered myself a hopeless romantic. Reading about love blooming, especially between two people reluctant to it, has always been one of my favorite things in the world. I liked to read about people getting closer and connections being created. I loved to long for a first kiss and dread the eventual fights in the couple’s future.

Do you call that a head on your shoulders, or a blessed dead-eye?" cried Long John. "Don't rightly know, don't you! Perhaps you don't happen to rightly know who you was speaking to, perhaps? Come, now, what was he jawing—v'yages, cap'ns, ships? Pipe up! What was it?" "We

She’s in every place I visit, in all the love songs I listen to. She’s in the chocolate-cherry ice cream I eat and the 2000s movies I watch and the Jeep I still drive and the thunderstorms outside my window and the quotes I read about love and pain and beauty and heartache.

Adam Smith FRSE (baptised June 5, 1723 O.S. / June 16 N.S. – July 17, 1790) was a Scottish moral philosopher and a pioneering political economist. He is also the founder of economics. One of the key figures of the intellectual movement known as the Scottish Enlightenment, he is known primarily as the author of two treatises: The Theory of Moral Sentiments (1759), and An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations (1776). The latter was one of the earliest attempts to systematically study the historical development of industry and commerce in Europe, as well as a sustained attack on the doctrines of mercantilism. Smith's work helped to create the modern academic discipline of economics and provided one of the best-known intellectual rationales for free trade, capitalism, and libertarianism. Adam Smith is now depicted on the back of the Bank of England £20 note. Source: Wikipedia

Have you ever seen Russian nesting dolls?” Thrown by the questions, she opened her eyes. Why would he suddenly speak about a child’s toy? “I own a few of them.” “Then you must understand that undressing you is like playing with one of those dolls. I open one to find another beneath it. I took away your gown to find you are still as clothed as you were a moment ago and I wonder how many more layers I will have to work through to get down to you—the doll I’m searching for.

I’m in love with this man. Again. Not that I fully ever fell out of love with him. I thought at some point that my feelings had disappeared, but apparently, they were only hibernating. And while our years apart were their winter, Will is their spring, his laughter the fresh flowers and his grins the thawing of the ice.

Will you pour out tea, Miss Brent?' The el­der wom­an replied: 'No, you do it, dear. That tea-​pot is so heavy. And I have lost two skeins of my grey knitting-​wool. So an­noy­ing.' Ve­ra moved to the tea-​ta­ble. There was a cheer­ful rat­tle and clink of chi­na. Nor­mal­ity returned. Tea! Blessed or­di­nary everyday af­ter­noon tea! Philip Lom­bard made a cheery re­mark. Blore re­spond­ed. Dr. Arm­strong told a hu­mor­ous sto­ry. Mr. Jus­tice War­grave, who or­di­nar­ily hat­ed tea, sipped ap­prov­ing­ly. In­to this re­laxed at­mo­sphere came Rogers. And Rogers was up­set. He said ner­vous­ly and at ran­dom: 'Ex­cuse me, sir, but does any one know what's become of the bath­room cur­tain?' Lom­bard's head went up with a jerk. 'The bath­room cur­tain? What the dev­il do you mean, Rogers?' 'It's gone, sir, clean van­ished. I was go­ing round draw­ing all the cur­tai­ns and the one in the lav -​ bath­room wasn't there any longer.' Mr. Jus­tice War­grave asked: 'Was it there this morn­ing?' 'Oh, yes, sir.' Blore said: 'What kind of a cur­tain was it?' 'Scar­let oil­silk, sir. It went with the scar­let tiles.' Lom­bard said: 'And it's gone?' 'Gone, Sir.' They stared at each oth­er. Blore said heav­ily: 'Well - af­ter all-​what of it? It's mad - ​but so's everything else. Any­way, it doesn't matter. You can't kill any­body with an oil­silk cur­tain. For­get about it.' Rogers said: 'Yes, sir, thank you, sir.' He went out, shut­ting the door.

Enjoy the little things in life because one day you would look back and realise that those little things were the ones that meant the most.

always have faith in God.

Don’t waste your time being angry when you could be in love.

I don't care that you don't love yourself enough to believe I'd be lucky to be with you. We'll work on that, and in the meantime, I'll love you enough for the both of us.

I need help. Or I guess maybe I don’t. I’d rather have her live in my head than move on and forget about her. Not that I ever could. As you already know, she’s unforgettable.

It's easy to not realize how much you miss something when it's been so long, you don't even remember how it used to be.

Si no creus en la vida eterna, pensa que ens hem d'afanyar. Suposo que estàs d'acord que se'ns acaba el temps.

Jo podia descriure'ns però no podia anomenar-nos. Vaig sospirar pel coneixement perdut.

I say it out loud, often: niamniamensis. It’s like kissing, the “m’s forcing your lips together, rolling over the consonants, your tongue poking into n’s and over the s’s.

Sí, vam decidir esperar i de tant fer-ho el temps se'ns en va anar de les mans.

Aye, they be eggs alright, just not from thunder. They be Cinderflare's eggs. They be all broken 'cause the young'ns hatched a few months ago.

Podem sentir els altres, i podem viatar cap a ells sense moure'ns, i els podem imaginar, i estem tots connectats els uns als altres per un sistema d'arrels al·lucinant com tantes fulles d'herba.

എന്റെ ശരീരത്തിന്റെ നടുവിലെ മുറിവ്. എന്റെ അറിവ്, എന്റെ കൈപ്പത്തിക്കൊപ്പം വളരുന്ന നാണം, എന്റെ വിലക്ക്, എന്റെ ശുദ്ധി, എന്റെ പിഴ, എന്റെ തിരിച്ചറിവ്, എന്റെ കുമ്പസാരക്കൂട്, എന്റെ ശിക്ഷ, എന്റെ മൗനം, എന്റെ അശുദ്ധി, എന്റെ ഉള്‍നാട്, എന്റെ കാസ, എന്റെ ചെകിള, എന്റെ കപ്പേള, എന്റെ മുടന്തുള്ള ആട്ടിന്‍കുട്ടി, എന്റെ മിതശീതോഷ്ണമേഖല, എന്റെ പരദേശം, എന്റെ ഗൊല്‍ഗൊത്ത, എന്റെ കൊടി, എന്റെ മൂന്നാംകണ്ണ്, എന്റെ മണല്‍ത്തിട്ട്, എന്റെ ഉപ്പിന്റെ കാരം, എന്റെ വാല്‍നക്ഷത്രം, എന്റെ മദ്ധ്യസ്ഥത, എന്റെ ഭൂമദ്ധ്യരേഖ, എന്റെ കാന്തസൂചി, എന്റെ മുന്തിരിത്തോട്ടം, എന്റെ അദ്ഭുതം, എന്റെ കമാനം, എന്റെ ഫലിതം, എന്റെ മതം, എന്റെ എഞ്ചുവടി, എന്റെ ചുരം, എന്റെ അഴി, എന്റെ ഘടികാരം, എന്റെ നങ്കൂരം, എന്റെ കൂടാരം, എന്റെ ഭാഗ്യം, എന്റെ ഭഗം.

El fet d'haver estat creats a imatge de Déu ens deixa un cert espai per a les nostres ànimes, per tenir-ne i per estar al seu servei. El poder de què disposem és el de sotmetre'ns al de les nostres ànimes.

He hadn’t come to see her. He’d arrived by mistake and wanted to get far away without further ado. Once upon a time, they’d shared a rare, special love. She remembered it and regretted losing it, even if he didn’t.

Unfast’ns: on a sudden op’n flie With impetuous recoile and jarring sound Th’ infernal dores, and on thir hinges great Harsh Thunder, that the lowest bottom shook Of Erebus. She op’nd, but to shut Excel’d her power; the Gates wide op’n

I no longer blame Thing Woman or myself quite so much for N´s leaving us. I look at him sometimes for an unguarded moment and see a tall, crooked man with yellowing teeth and a leer. I see new N. Bad N. Vulnerable to anyone with a vagina. I also see Good N, just a glimpse, here and there. And Noncommittal N, an extra in his own life, just hitting his marks and looking well pressed. He´s become a whole group of people, a cache of ghosts tugging at my sleeve. Good N was phenomenal.

Cerquem del goig el fàcil escorrim, la falsetat lluent se'ns encomana, i, tement cap paraula sobirana, l'ànima taciturna defugim. Però tot nèctar en el vas de rim, duració en perfum i en transparència es fa en el cup de la completa essència, amb delits i recances que oprimim.

Westside Hochdeutsch mafia, biggest of the big, construction, savings and loans, untaxed billions stashed under an Alp someplace, technically Jewish but wants to be a Nazi, becomes exercised often to the point of violence at those who forget to spell his name with two n’s. What’s he to you?

His dark hair is wet, a sight I’ve never seen anywhere other than at the beach house. And even though it seems foreign to see him in this environment, I can’t help but feel like this is right where I’m supposed to be. Our lives don’t have to only coexist in the beach house. I want him everywhere.

[U]ns verband jene angenehme, anspruchslose Art von Freundschaft, die ausschließlich auf langer Dauer beruht. Wir hatten wenig gemeinsam, kannten aber sonst kaum jemanden, der sich an uns als Neunjährige beim Ponyreiten erinnerte; so hatten unsere gelegentlichen Begegnungen immer etwas Behagliches.

(...) que una cosa sigui difícil ha de ser per a nosaltres un motiu més per fer-la. estimar també és bo: perquè l'amor és difícil. Estimar de persona a persona: això és potser el més difícil que se'ns ha encomanat, el més extrem, l'última prova, el treball per al qual tot altre treball és només una preparació.

One of the powerful functions of a library — any library — lies in its ability to take us away from worlds that are familiar and comfortable and into ones which we can neither predict nor control, to lead us down new roads whose contours and vistas provide us with new perspectives. Sometimes, if we are fortunate, those other worlds turn out to have more points of familiarity with our own than we had thought. Sometimes we make connections back to familiar territory and when we have returned, we do so supplied with new perspectives, which enrich our lives as scholars and enhance our role as teachers. Sometimes the experience takes us beyond our immediate lives as scholars and teachers, and the library produces this result particularly when it functions as the storehouse of memory, a treasury whose texts connect us through time to all humanity." [Browsing in the Western Stacks, Harvard Library Bulletin NS 6(3): 27-33, 1995]

Hi havia gronxadors, en un dels parcs, però com que portàvem faldilles que el vent podia aixecar i ensenyar què hi havia a sota, no se'ns podia ni acudir de prendre'ns la llibertat de pujar-hi. Només els nens podien tastar aquella llibertat; només ells podien enlairar-se, flotar i descendir; només ells podien solcar els aires.

Flowers are hard to grow ,Easy to die ..

Drop by Bell’s for an Irish Kiss anytime. The best in England

Spending my whole life loving Addy wouldn't be long enough.

Try your best, admit your mistakes when you make them, and focus on all the good you do rather than on the tiny faults you commit along the way.

Making mistakes is not the problem. Badly handling them is. Own up to your choices.

Maybe not all love stories need to last a lifetime. Maybe the most beautiful ones are the ones that develop despite the fact that they won’t.

IcloggedthetoiletandImnotabletofixit.

The little pocket of feelings in my chest has expanded to take over all of me, body, mind, and soul. He’s my person. There’s no doubt about it.

the beauty of a real friendship is that no matter how much time passes, you’ll still be able to catch up on what you missed and pick up where you left off.

There’s nothing I want more than to be your forever, but not at the cost of feeling your anger all my life.

My heart still sees him as my person, no matter what my brain says.

To all lost girls out there. I see you. Everything's going to be okay.

My, you do like to dominate

I want Will. With his long nose and soft eyes. With his strong shoulders and hair wet from the ocean water. With his large hands and warm smile. With his shirt off and sand between his toes. But not only that. I want him with winter boots on and a hat on his head. I want to see him at Halloween and at Christmas and at Easter too. I don’t want my Will of summer. I want my Will of forever.

I glanced at him with a smile, though his own grin had disappeared in the last few seconds, replaced by a sad expression of indifference. Turning around to grab a glass in the cupboard, he asked, “Boyfriend?

You’ll win her with ya Irish charm and green eyes, so ya will. Now drink up ya coffee and stop whining like a baby. This girl’s gonna have a fantastic night tomorrow. She’s gonna worship da ground ya c**k drags on.

Live life to the fullest. Always. Starting now. Look at everything around you, be thankful for it, and enjoy the most of it. Time goes by so fast, blink and you’ll miss it. So never wait for anything. Your moment is now.

Mammon led them on, Mammon, the least erected Spirit that fell From heav’n, for ev’n in heav’n his looks and thoughts Were always downward bent, admiring more The riches of Heav’ns pavement, trod’n Gold, Then aught divine or holy else enjoy’d In vision beatific; by him first Men also, and by his suggestion taught, Ransack’d the Center, and with impious hands Rifl’d the bowels of thir mother Earth For Treasures better hid. —MILTON, Paradise Lost

ÆTHIOPS-MINERAL  (Æ'THIOPS-MINERAL)   n.s. A medicine so called, from its dark colour, prepared of quicksilver and sulphur, ground together in a marble mortar to a black powder. Such as have used it most, think its virtues not very great.Quincy.

N’s words suddenly sound louder. “Do you, King Bartholomew Vass, agree to take Savannah Jane Oates as your reluctant wife? In sickness and in health. In rich and richer times. Do you promise to be a faithful captor for as long as you both shall live?

It’s been three years and eight months since I’ve seen her last. I need to move on. I know I do. But Amy, she’s all of my daydreams. Not a moment goes by when I don’t think to myself, “Fuck, do I love her.” She’s in every place I visit, in all the love songs I listen to. She’s in the chocolate-cherry ice cream I eat and the 2000s movies I watch and the Jeep I still drive and the thunderstorms outside my window and the quotes I read about love and pain and beauty and heartache. She’s ruined summer for me.

Does it serve any purpose to ungild the crown of Louis XIV, to scrape the coat of arms of Henry IV? We scoff at M. de Vaublanc for erasing the N’s from the bridge of Jena! What was it that he did? What are we doing? Bouvines belongs to us as well as Marengo. The fleurs-de-lys are ours as well as the N’s. That is our patrimony. To what purpose shall we diminish it? We must not deny our country in the past any more than in the present. Why not accept the whole of history? Why not love the whole of France?” It

    Lead then, said EVE. Hee leading swiftly rowld   In tangles, and make intricate seem strait,   To mischief swift. Hope elevates, and joy   Bright'ns his Crest, as when a wandring Fire   Compact of unctuous vapor, which the Night   Condenses, and the cold invirons round,   Kindl'd through agitation to a Flame,   Which oft, they say, some evil Spirit attends,   Hovering and blazing with delusive Light,   Misleads th' amaz'd Night-wanderer from his way   To Boggs and Mires, & oft through Pond or Poole,   There swallow'd up and lost, from succour farr.

never let the world ruin your heart of gold. No matter how much pain you go through, no matter what is thrown your way, no matter how people treat you, just don’t lose it. You might want to give it up for some bad people, but they’re not worth it. With love and empathy, you can never lose.

What did we talk about? I don't remember. We talked so hard and sat so still that I got cramps in my knee. We had too many cups of tea and then didn't want to leave the table to go to the bathroom because we didn't want to stop talking. You will think we talked of revolution but we didn't. Nor did we talk of our own souls. Nor of sewing. Nor of babies. Nor of departmental intrigue. It was political if by politics you mean the laboratory talk that characters in bad movies are perpetually trying to convey (unsuccessfully) when they Wrinkle Their Wee Brows and say (valiantly--dutifully--after all, they didn't write it) "But, Doctor, doesn't that violate Finagle's Constant?" I staggered to the bathroom, released floods of tea, and returned to the kitchen to talk. It was professional talk. It left my grey-faced and with such concentration that I began to develop a headache. We talked about Mary Ann Evans' loss of faith, about Emily Brontë's isolation, about Charlotte Brontë's blinding cloud, about the split in Virginia Woolf's head and the split in her economic condition. We talked about Lady Murasaki, who wrote in a form that no respectable man would touch, Hroswit, a little name whose plays "may perhaps amuse myself," Miss Austen, who had no more expression in society than a firescreen or a poker. They did not all write letters, write memoirs, or go on the stage. Sappho--only an ambiguous, somewhat disagreeable name. Corinna? The teacher of Pindar. Olive Schriener, growing up on the veldt, wrote on book, married happily, and ever wrote another. Kate Chopin wrote a scandalous book and never wrote another. (Jean has written nothing.). There was M-ry Sh-ll-y who wrote you know what and Ch-rl-tt- P-rk-ns G-lm-an, who wrote one superb horror study and lots of sludge (was it sludge?) and Ph-ll-s Wh--tl-y who was black and wrote eighteenth century odes (but it was the eighteenth century) and Mrs. -nn R-dcl-ff- S-thw-rth and Mrs. G--rg- Sh-ld-n and (Miss?) G--rg-tt- H-y-r and B-rb-r- C-rtl-nd and the legion of those, who writing, write not, like the dead Miss B--l-y of the poem who was seduced into bad practices (fudging her endings) and hanged herself in her garter. The sun was going down. I was blind and stiff. It's at this point that the computer (which has run amok and eaten Los Angeles) is defeated by some scientifically transcendent version of pulling the plug; the furniture stood around unknowing (though we had just pulled out the plug) and Lady, who got restless when people talked at suck length because she couldn't understand it, stuck her head out from under the couch, looking for things to herd. We had talked for six hours, from one in the afternoon until seven; I had at that moment an impression of our act of creation so strong, so sharp, so extraordinarily vivid, that I could not believe all our talking hadn't led to something more tangible--mightn't you expect at least a little blue pyramid sitting in the middle of the floor?

At that tasted Fruit   The Sun, as from THYESTEAN Banquet, turn'd   His course intended; else how had the World   Inhabited, though sinless, more then now,   Avoided pinching cold and scorching heate?   These changes in the Heav'ns, though slow, produc'd   Like change on Sea and Land, sideral blast,   Vapour, and Mist, and Exhalation hot,   Corrupt and Pestilent: Now from the North   Of NORUMBEGA, and the SAMOED shoar   Bursting thir brazen Dungeon, armd with ice   And snow and haile and stormie gust and flaw,   BOREAS and CAECIAS and ARGESTES loud   And THRASCIAS rend the Woods and Seas upturn;

Potser es trenquen les cordes, o potser s'enfonsa el nostre vaixell, o potser som herba, i les arrels són tan interdependents que ningú no es mor mentre encara hi hagi algú viu. El que dic és que, de metàfores, en tenim tantes com vulguem. Però s'ha de vigilar la que es tria, perquè és important. Si tries les cordes, llavors conceps un món en què et pots trencar sense que et puguin arreglar. Si tries l'herba, insinues que tots estem connectats fins a l'infinit, que podem utilitzar aquest sistema d'arrels no només per entendre'ns els uns als altres, sinó també per convertir-nos en l'altre. Les metàfores tenen implicacions.

  Deep under ground, materials dark and crude,   Of spiritous and fierie spume, till toucht   With Heav'ns ray, and temperd they shoot forth   So beauteous, op'ning to the ambient light.   These in thir dark Nativitie the Deep   Shall yeild us, pregnant with infernal flame,   Which into hallow Engins long and round   Thick-rammd, at th' other bore with touch of fire   Dilated and infuriate shall send forth   From far with thundring noise among our foes   Such implements of mischief as shall dash   To pieces, and orewhelm whatever stands   Adverse, that they shall fear we have disarmd   The Thunderer of his only dreaded bolt.

I wanted to climb onto my stand with a large red paintbrush, to paint NO across the back wall of the courtroom in long red strokes, each letter twenty feet tall. I wanted a banner to unfurl from the ceiling releasing crimson balloons. I want everyone’s shirts lifted, Ns and Os painted across hairy stomachs, NONONONONO, doing the wave. I wanted to say, Ask me again. Ask me a million times and that will always be my answer. No is the beginning and end of this story. I may not know how many yards away from the house I peed, or what I’d eaten earlier on that January day. But I will always know this answer. I was finally answering the question he’d never bothered to ask.

What you got in the sack son? He peered from under the load at his inquisitor lounging in the open window of a halted cruiser. He shifted the weight a little higher on his shoulder. Bats, he said. Bats. Yessir. What, ballbats? No, them little'ns. Flittermouses. The policeman's face bore a constant look of tolerant interest. Set the sack down son and let's see what all you got there. Harrogate rolled the sack from his shoulder and lowered it to the paving and spread the drawstring mouth with his thumbs. A musky smell rose. He tilted it slightly policeward. The officer thumbed his cap back on his head and bent to see. A prefiguration of the pit. Vouchsafed a crokersack vision of hell's floor deep with the hairy damned screaming mute and toothy toward the far and heedless city of God. He raised his head and looked at the waiting Harrogate and he looked at the bright sky above Knoxville and he turned to the driver. You know what he's got in that sack? What's he got? Dead bats. Dead bats. Right. Well.

Why is it so hard for us to believe we could have possibly been “narcissized?” What is it about us that would prefer to believe we have some flaw or have made some major mistake to cause our partner to treat us the way he/she did? The truth is the partners blame themselves rather than doubt their N’s. Narcissistic Personality Disorder seems to be such a cold, malignant disease. No one wants to believe it exists…and if it does, no one wants to believe his or her partner is afflicted with a disorder which inflicts such cruelty.

Comus. The Star that bids the Shepherd fold, Now the top of Heav'n doth hold, And the gilded Car of Day, [ 95 ] His glowing Axle doth allay In the steep Atlantick stream, And the slope Sun his upward beam Shoots against the dusky Pole, Pacing toward the other gole [ 100 ] Of his Chamber in the East. Mean while welcom Joy, and Feast, Midnight shout, and revelry, Tipsie dance and Jollity. Braid your Locks with rosie Twine [ 105 ] Dropping odours, dropping Wine. Rigor now is gone to bed, And Advice with scrupulous head, Strict Age, and sowre Severity, With their grave Saws in slumber ly. [ 110 ] We that are of purer fire Imitate the Starry Quire, Who in their nightly watchfull Sphears, Lead in swift round the Months and Years. The Sounds, and Seas with all their finny drove [ 115 ] Now to the Moon in wavering Morrice move, And on the Tawny Sands and Shelves, Trip the pert Fairies and the dapper Elves; By dimpled Brook, and Fountain brim, The Wood-Nymphs deckt with Daisies trim, [ 120 ] Their merry wakes and pastimes keep: What hath night to do with sleep? Night hath better sweets to prove, Venus now wakes, and wak'ns Love. Com let us our rights begin, [ 125 ] Tis onely day-light that makes Sin, Which these dun shades will ne're report. Hail Goddesse of Nocturnal sport Dark vaild Cotytto, t' whom the secret flame Of mid-night Torches burns; mysterious Dame [ 130 ] That ne're art call'd, but when the Dragon woom Of Stygian darknes spets her thickest gloom, And makes one blot of all the ayr, Stay thy cloudy Ebon chair, Wherin thou rid'st with Hecat', and befriend [ 135 ] Us thy vow'd Priests, till utmost end Of all thy dues be done, and none left out, Ere the blabbing Eastern scout, The nice Morn on th' Indian steep From her cabin'd loop hole peep, [ 140 ] And to the tel-tale Sun discry Our conceal'd Solemnity. Com, knit hands, and beat the ground, In a light fantastick round.

Sempre que he pensat en la mort d'aquell home, […] l'he imaginat com vas dir tu, que se li van trencar totes les cordes de dins. Però hi ha mil maneres de mirar-s'ho: potser es trenquen les cordes, o potser s'enfonsa el nostre vaixell, o potser som herba, i les arrels són tan interdependents que ningú no es mor mentre encara hi hagi algú viu. El que dic és que, de metàfores, en tenim tantes com vulguem. Però s'ha de vigilar la que es tria, perquè és important. Si tries les cordes, llavors conceps un món en què et pots trencar sense que et puguin arreglar. Si tries l'herba, insinues que tots estem connectats fins a l'infinit, que podem utilitzar aquest sistema d'arrels no només per entendre'ns els uns als altres, sinó també per convertir-nos en l'altre. […] Les cordes fan que el dolor sembli més fatídic del que és, diria. No som tan fràgils com ens podrien fer entendre les cordes. I també m'agrada l'herba. L'herba m'ha portat fins a tu, m'ha ajudat a imaginar-te com una persona real. Però no som diferents brots de la mateixa planta. Jo no puc ser tu. Tu no pots ser jo. Es pot imaginar prou bé una altra persona, però mai a la perfecció, oi? Potser és més com deies abans, tots estem esquerdats. Tots comencem sent un vaixell hermètic, un compartiment estanc. I passen coses; la gent ens deixa, o no ens estima, o no ens entén, o no els entenem nosaltres, i ens perdem i ens decebem i ens ferim mútuament. I el vaixell es comença a esquerdar per molts llocs. I, és clar, un cop s'esquerda el vaixell, el final esdevé inevitable. […] Però hi ha tot un lapse de temps entre que es comencen a obrir les esquerdes fins que finalment ens trenquem. I és només durant aquest temps que ens podem veure, perquè nosaltres ens veiem a través de les esquerdes i veiem l'interior dels altres a través de les seves esquerdes. Quan ens hem vist cara a cara? No ha estat fins que tu m'has vist a través de les meves esquerdes i jo t'he vist a través de les teves. Abans, només miràvem idees d'un i altre […]. Però un cop el vaixell s'esquerda, la llum hi pot entrar. La llum en pot sortir.

Była to kiedyś trasa przelotowa N-S, bardzo uczęszczana. Gdzie dziś środkiem bieży ścieżka – jezdnia okolona szerokimi chodnikami, gdzie czasem z rzadka przemyka pojedyncza taksówka – tam nie tak dawno tłoczyły się tramwaje, autobusy, taksówki, dorożki. Jednym słowem – Broadway. Teraz w weekendy, kiedy ulica zmienia się w deptak, odbywają się odpusty – jak to na wsi – a tam wszystko od kiełbasy przez miód do folklorystycznych bibelotów (stare „dobre” oscypki, frywolitki, drewniane figurki, upominki dla zakochanych, dla piwoszy, palaczy oraz na srebrne wesele). Lekką ręką zlikwidowano jedną z najważniejszych (Towarowa, Jana Pawła, Marszałkowska – Nowy Świat – Krakowskie) arterii przelotowych. Co zyskano – nic. Kamienne ławki, kwietniki i stojaki na rowery. Stracono przelot – na Żoliborz – przez Miodową z trudem przebity przez plac Krasińskich przed wojną. Lata temu stracono również niezapomniany dźwięk kopyt końskich bijących w drewnianą kostkę nawierzchni. Nie mówię o kilkudziesięciu sklepach, co pamiętają Wokulskiego. Stracono też parę kin (m.in. Studio, małe i duże Collosseum, Majestic, Europa, Pan, Casino), których nie odbudowano przy odrestaurowywaniu Nowego Światu.

Whoever pushes America's sex button must be prepared for sirens and alarms. Whatever else we do in our lives will be drowned out by them.

Catholics believe that the Pope will never lead the Church into error, at least in his doctrinal formulations of matters of faith and morals. History well attests that popes can be corrupt, inept, and imprudent; but they have never — so Catholics claim — proposed as a matter of belief anything contrary to faith (CCC 890). Besides this, Catholics think there are purely logical reasons for why such a thing as a Magisterium is necessary. For the

As B o s t ee l s arg u e s , " party" d o e s n o t n ame an i ns t rume n t for c arrying out t h e i ro n laws o f h i s tory but " t h e fl e x i b l e o r g an i z at io n of a fid e l ity to e ve n t s i n the m i d s t o f unfo re s e e ab l e c i r c u ms t an c e

Warr be-rong orah Where is a better country Governor Arthur Phillip et al Vocabulary of the language of N.S. Wales in the neighbourhood of Sydney, MS 41645, SOAS, University of London

a SmILe Z LyK a SiM cArD lYf z LYk A cElLpHoNe wHenEvEr U iNsErT tHe SiM caRd Of a SMiLe A BeAuTiFuL dAy WiLl ActIvAtEd

Tout commence par une grande fête.Les amis viennent, le célébrant dit un tas de choses qu'il a répétées dans des centaines de mariages où il officiait, comme cette idée de construire une maison dans le roc, et non dans le sable, les invités nous jettent du riz. Nous jetons le bouquet, les femmes célibataires nous envient secrètement ; les mariées savent que nous sommes au début d'un chemin qui n'est pas ce qu'on l9it ;odna ns les contes de fées.

Korkeimmat arvot voidaan yhdistää semmoiseen käsitteeseen kuin sivistys, joka ei ole samaa kuin kulttuuri. Kulttuuri on jokin rajoitettu yhdenmukaisuus, sivistys on vain yksi: se universaalinen aines mikä kuhunkin kulttuuriin sisältyy. Toisiin kulttuureihin sitä sisältyy enemmän, toisiin vähemmän, länsimaiseen kulttuuriin enemmän kuin mihinkään muuhun. Ja se mikä länsimaisessa kulttuurissa on sivistystä, on ensi sijassa tieteellinen ajattelu. Se säilyy, vaikka ns. länsimainen kulttuuri tuhoutuisikin.

Stalinin perillisten ensimmäisten julkilausumien tunnuksena oli käsite "kollektiivinen johto". Toisin sanoen: Ei uutta Stalinia! Tähän vakuutukseen harva uskoi. En muista tuona aikana lukeneeni ainoatakaan ns. asiantuntijan arviota, jossa ei olisi ennustettu, että ennemmin tai myöhemmin nousee esille uusi yksinvaltias, joka hallitsee terrorin avulla: Näin on aina ollut, näin on aina oleva; Venäjää ei voi muilla keinoin hallita.

edge of the box. “Hungry, are you?” laughed Zack as the bird pecked the feeds. “Eat some more, pretty little things!” said Clare as the others flew one by one to Zack. It was a fine and cold morning, and feeding the birds is the beginning of a wonderful day for Zack and Clare. When

La seva absència els perseguirà i l'ex-Intrèpid passarà a ser un espai que no podran omplir. I després el temps pssarà, i ja no hi haurà cap buit, com quan se'ns treu un òrgan i els fluids del cos circulen per l'espai que ha deixat. Els humans no podem suportar la buidor gaire temps.

A vegades no és la lluita el que ens fa ser valents, sinó saber fer front a la mort que sabem que se'ns acosta.