Oi Quotes

There was a clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione's arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet. "Is this the moment?" Harry asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice. "OI! There's a war going on here!" Ron and Hermione broke apart, their arms still around each other. "I know, mate," said Ron, who looked as though he had recently been hit on the back of the head with a Bludger, "so it's now or never, isn't it?" "Never mind that, what about the Horcrux?" Harry shouted. "D'you think you could just --- just hold it in, until we've got the diadem?" "Yeah --- right --- sorry ---" said Ron, and he and Hermione set about gathering up fangs, both pink in the face.

Who're you going with, then?" said Ron. "Angelina," said Fred promptly, without a trace of embarrassment. "What?" said Ron, taken aback. "You've already asked her?" "Good point," said Fred. He turned his head and called across the common room, "Oi! Angelina!" Angelina, who had been chatting with Alicia Spinnet near the fire, looked over at him. "What?" She called back. "Want to come to the ball with me?" Angelina gave Fred a sort of appraising look. "All right, then," she said, and she turned back to Alicia and carried on chatting with a bit of a grin on her face. "There you go," said Fred to Harry and Ron, "piece of cake.

I gave the prescribed Metropolitan Police "first greeting". "Oi!" I said "What do you think you're doing?

It’s awful, telling it like this, isn’t it? As though we didn’t know the ending. As though it could have another ending. It’s like watching Romeo drink poison. Every time you see it you get fooled into thinking his girlfriend might wake up and stop him. Every single time you see it you want to shout, 'You stupid ass, just wait a minute,' and she’ll open her eyes! 'Oi, you, you twat, open your eyes, wake up! Don’t die this time!' But they always do.

Ned?' he says, after a while. 'Oi, Ned?' 'What?' 'If someone says to you that the guy they're going out with doesn't have to prove how smart he is, what's your response?' 'That he's dumb.' 'And if he has a sixpack?' 'Dumb jock.' 'Not too intense.' 'Dumb jock with no personality.' 'And they see eye to eye?' Ned pauses. 'With the spitfire from Dili?' 'Same,' Tom corrects. Ned holds up a hand to where Tara would reach him in height. 'Dumb jock with no personality and short-man syndrome.' 'Thanks, Ned.' 'Anytime.

The Doctor puffed out some air and looked down to the sea. 'A very charming man. I should be more careful of very charming men... At least I don't have that problem with you, Rory.' 'Oi,' said Rory.

I thought about suicide all the time, but it seemed toomuch effort, swallowing all those pills or jumping off things. If I'd lived out in the country I would have found a quiet stretch of railway track, and lain on it, fallen asleep, so that I would never have known when my last moment came. In London, the minimum tube fare had gone up so much that even to get near the line cost a fortune. Suicide seemed an extravagance I couldn't afford. People never leave you alone, either; I knew that if I'd tried to lie down on the line, any number of commuters would have pulled me off again, so that I didn't delay their train. There must have been murderers out there who wanted to kill, with no way of finding those who wanted to be dead. If there had been some way of contacting them, a date-with-death line, I would have called them to set up a meeting. The current ways of death seemed too haphazard; it was all left up to chance. Had Chance come up, tapped me on the shoulder, said "Oi, you - long black tunnel, white light, off you go," I wouldn't have complained. It was like having frostbite all over - feeling numb and in pain at the same time.

I don’t suppose you’ll be anywhere near Kensington anytime soon?” “That shithole?” he says with a wink. “Not if I can help it.” “Oi,” Henry says. He’s grinning now. “That’s disrespect of the crown, that is. Insubordination. I’ve thrown men in the dungeons for less.” Alex turns, walking backward toward the car, hands in the air. “Hey, don’t threaten me with a good time.

Oi’m always noble, sir; it’s in my blood. ’As been ever since Oi ate that knight a few years back. Why?

Oi! Can't a poor Boggart have no peace?

In his handful of years working with Potter and Weasley, Draco had developed a cool, professional kind of rapport with them, which Weasley demonstrated the next morning by calling, "Oi! Dickhead!

Allo, darlin’. Oi’m so glad to see it’s love at first sight for you, too.

Oi!” Sirius barked, pointing at James, “Hands off my man.

I leaned forward and kissed him. And again. As if I were passing him all those silent words I cound not say, the ones that explained my biggest secret: that I might not have OI but I knew how he (Adam) felt. That I was breaking apart, too, all the time."-Amelia

Oi, lovebirds!” Puck’s voice shattered the quiet, bouncing through the darkness. Ash pulled back with a rueful look. “Get a room, would ya? We’ve got better things to do than watch you suck face!

Hey, Noble Dark One! Get down here. Oi! I got some samogorths that need to go home.

What good is a crow to a pack of grieving humans? A huddle. A throb.              A sore.                          A plug.                                       A gape.                                                    A load. A gap. So, yes. I do eat baby rabbits, plunder nests, swallow filth, cheat death, mock the starving homeless, misdirect, misinform. Oi, stab it! A bloody load of time wasted. But I care, deeply. I find humans dull except in grief.

But Gemma, you could change the world." "That should take far more than my power," I say. "True. But change needn't happen all at once. It can be small gestures." "Moments. Do you understand?" He's looking at me differently now, though I cannot say how. I only know I need to look away... We pass by the pools, where the mud larks sift. And for only a few seconds, I let the magic loose again. "Oi! By all the saints!" a boy cries from the river. "Gone off the dock?" an old woman calls. The mud larks break into cackles. "'S not a rock!" he shouts. He races out of the fog, cradling something in his palm. Curiosity gets the better of the others. They crowd about trying to see. In his palm is a smattering of rubies. "We're rich mates! It's a hot bath and a full belly for every one of us!" Kartik eyes me suspiciously. "That was a strange stroke of good fortune." "Yes it was." "I don't suppose that was your doing." "I'm not sure I don't know what you mean," I say. And that is how change happens. One gesture. One person. One moment at a time.

*Nick talking to Tara and Darcy* "Oi oi A girl on each arm! Get in there, my son! Ha ha ha" - the annoying guy that I dont bother to remember his name "Why are straight people like this" - Tara BAHAHHA LETS GO TARA

Smallpox,' ' Zach read aloud when the page was passed to him. 'It was eradicated by the nineteen eighties,' Pip said. 'Oi, no time travel.' Jamie whacked her on the head with his master booklet.

It’s not a bad idea.” “It’s a terrible idea,” Oi said. “It just has the advantage of being better than the other option.

There's a gang of boys on bikes blocking the road ahead. They've got their hoods up, cigarettes shielded. The sky's a really strange colour and there's hardly anyone else about. I slow right down. "What shall I do?" "Reverse," Zoey says. "They're not going to move." I wind down the window. "Oi!" I yell "Move your arses!" They turn languid, shift lazily to the edge of the road and grin as I blow kisses at them. Zoey looks stunned, "What's got into you?" "Nothing- I just haven't learned reversing yet.

Oi!’ I drop in on him the first chance I get. Round three. There’s one coming on the inside and I start paddling for it. He starts for it too, telling me, ‘It’s mine, sunshine.’ ‘Get stuffed.’ As I feel the surge take my board, he grins across at me. ‘Split it?’ So we split the peak, he goes left and I go right, and I know, like me, he’s thinking, How good is this?

Hello, Lucy. Do you name all your weapons, Grunthor?” “O’ course. It’s tradition.” Rhapsody nodded, understanding coming into her eyes. “That makes perfect sense. Do you find that you fight better with a weapon you’ve named?” “Yep.” Her eyes began to sparkle with excitement. “Why, Grunthor, in a way, you’re a Namer, too!” The giant broke into a pleased grin. “Well, whaddaya know. Should Oi sing a lit’le song?” “No,” said Rhapsody and Achmed in unison.

Take the Friendmaker, for instance. Oi called 'im that , and now, when people see 'im, they instantly want to be my friend. Those that live, o' course." - Grunthor

Oi,” Wayne said, hustling up beside him. “A good plan that one was, eh?” “It was the same plan you always have,” Wax said. “The one where I get to be the decoy.” “Ain’t my fault people like to shoot at you, mate,” Wayne said as they reached the coach. “You should be happy; you’re usin’ your talents, like me granners always said a man should do.” “I’d rather not have ‘shootability’ be my talent.” “Well, you gotta use what you have,” Wayne said, leaning against the side of the carriage as Cob the coachman opened the door for Wax. “Same reason I always have bits of rat in my stew.

How did they decide what was valuable? Did they all just gather together, sit around in their suits and gowns, and say, “Oi. Let’s start eatin’ fish eggs, and make the stuff real expensive. That’ll rust their brains, it will.” Then they’d have a nice round of rich folks’ laughter and throw some servants off the top of a building to see what kind of splats they’d make when they hit.

Hang on a moment!” said Ron sharply. “We’ve forgotten someone!” “Who?” asked Hermione. “The house-elves, they’ll all be down in the kitchen, won’t they?” “You mean we ought to get them fighting?” asked Harry. “No,” said Ron seriously, “I mean we should tell them to get out. We don’t want any more Dobbies, do we? We can’t order them to die for us —” There was a clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione’s arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet. “Is this the moment?” Harry asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice. “OI! There’s a war going on here!

Oi que series capaç de qualsevol cosa per conservar la teva tranquil·litat? Oi que ho sacrifiques tot, absolutament tot, a la teva manera de viure sense maldecaps, sense ideals?

Oi, stop looking at my nethers. Be a gentleman, look away. When a gal’s in a predicament you should ‘elp ‘er out

Oi elämäni, toivoton sammumaton. Miten kadehdin tuulen tuivertamia soihtuja yössä.

We buy time where we may.” “You bought yourself time,” Oi agreed. “I don’t think it’s of very good quality.

Oi, meu amor.” She said. Hello, my love, in Portuguese.

„Cîte zile-oi mai avea, o să zbor încoace și încolo între lucruri care se exclud reciproc.

Mr. Landowsky was eighty-two and somehow his chest had shrunk over the years, and now he was forced to hike his pants up under his armpits. "Oi," he said. "This heat! I can't breathe. Somebody should do something." I assumed he was talking about God. "That weatherman on the morning news. He should be shot. How can I go out in weather like this? And then when it gets so hot they keep the supermarkets too cold. Hot, cold. Hot, cold. It gives me the runs." I was glad I owned a gun, because when I got as old as Mr. Landowsky I was going to eat a bullet. The first time I got the runs in the supermarket, that was it. BANG! It would all be over.

Smallpox,' ' Zach read aloud when the page was passed to him. 'It was eradicated by the nineteen eighties,' Pip said. 'Oi, no time travel.' Jamie whacked her on the head with his master booklet.

Oi sweetheart, is your mummy a thief?' 'No she's not.' she said, sucking her thumb to signal a temper tantrum. 'Well, then, m'dear,' said the thief, 'who stole those diamonds and put them in your eyes?

Simțea milă de tovarășii lui de suferință, dar o milă lucidă și rece. La urma urmelor, aceste mari migrații umane păreau dictate de legi ale naturii, își zicea el. Deplasări periodice de mase considerabile erau probabil necesare popoarelor, cum e transhumanța pentru oi. În mod straniu, ideea îl întărea.

Oi, Evans!” James had remerged, apparently ready to enact his plan. The whole room turned to look at him, standing on top of one of the study tables with his broom held aloft. “Oh no…” Remus breathed. “Oh yes!” Sirius cheered. “POTTER!” Lily Evans shouted, “Get DOWN from there, you’ll hurt yourself!” “Watch this!” James cried, gleefully, thrilled by the attention. He leapt onto his broom and soared upwards at an astonishing rate. “He’s never fallen off before,” Marlene said, uncertainly, as James began the first of a series of loops and dives, each shakier than the last. “Has he ever been drunk before, though?” Mary countered.

Just so ya know, mate, superpowers come at a cost." "What superpowers are you-" "Oi, listen. D'ya know Pinocchio? The wooden lad. Yeah, his superpower was ta lie ta everyone about anythin' he saw fit. An' I think 'tis cool if y'ask me. But it had a cost, it did. His nose grew longer with every lie. Ha! Ya see?" "No, I don't." "We're reality's lies mate. An' there's a cost ta'r existence." -Robert Cassidy, on people with paranormal abilities.

I didn't believe him. Without a word, I reached into the satchel on his lap, my fingers grazing the curve of his hip bone through the fabric. "Oi," he protested, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "If you're going to violate me, I'd appreciate if you wait until I'm naked.

You know, Raymond, when you're at a party, at a dance. And it's maybe a slow dance, and you're with the person you really want to be with, and the rest of the room's supposed to vanish. But somehow it doesn't. It just doesn't. You know there's no one half as nice as the guy in your arms. And yet.... well, there are all these people everywhere else in the room. They don't leave you alone. They keep shouting and waving and doing daft things just to attract your attention. "Oi! How can you be satisfied with that?1 You can do much better! Look over here!" It's like they're shouting things like that all the time. And so it gets hopeless, you just can't dance quietly with your guy. Do you know what I mean, Raymond?

Hang on a moment! said Ron sharply. We’ve forgotten someone! Who? asked Hermione. The house-elves, they’ll all be down in the kitchen, won’t they? You mean we ought to get them fighting? asked Harry. No, said Ron seriously, I mean we should tell them to get out. We don’t want anymore Dobbies, do we? We can’t order them to die for us – There was a clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione’s arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet. Is this the moment? Harry asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice. Oi! There’s a war going on here! Ron and Hermione broke apart, their arms still around each other. I know, mate, said Ron, who looked as though he had recently been hit on the back of the head with a Bludger, so it’s now or never, isn’t it? Never mind that, what about the Horcrux? Harry shouted. D’you think you could just – just hold it in until we’ve got the diadem? Yeah – right – sorry – said Ron, and he and Hermione set about gathering up fangs, both pink in the face.

Les persones vivim a base d'anar cremant records. I, a l'hora de mantenir-nos vius, tant és si aquests records són realment importants o no. Els records només són el combustible que cremem. Quan llences papers al foc, tant és que siguin anuncis de diari, llibres de filosofia, fotos de revistes pornogràfiques o bitllets de deu mil iens. Només són papers, oi? Mentre els crema, el foc no va pensant: "Oh, això és Kant", "Això és l'edició vespertina del Yomiuri" o "Renoi, quines tetes". Per al foc, només són retalls de paper. Doncs amb els records passa el mateix. Tant els que són importants, com els que no ho són tant, com els que no ho són gens... només són el combustible que cremem.

El que cal fer i el que no obre tot un ventall de possibilitats entremig, però, oi?

– Nu te-oi speria cu Hugo, continuă rusul. Probabil c-o moarte din partea lui ți-ar părea mai comodă decât propria ta piele.

OI, champion! What the blast is goin’ on around here?! First, the lad’s house erupts, then that fairy princess land shows up,

...De ce mă gândesc mereu la N.? Nu m-oi fi îndrăgostit oare? Cred că nu. Am vorbit destul de mult zilele acestea cu el, e într-adevăr un om inteligent.

Oi! Pay first, then run away screaming if you want!

Oi! By me is so big the mouth, so my foot always goes in.

― Abraticezamu! Senha incorreta. ― Abracadabra. Senha incorreta. ― lalala1? ― Oi.

He was going to take in, possess the whole of the world. Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oi Oi Oi? Fuck off. He wanted more.

Stumbling out of the debris cloud, I ran smack into Jules. "What the hell did ya do?" she asked in exasperation. "I mean, I only left ya alone for thirty minutes and---" "Not me, Boss!" I gasped, coughing up some drywall. "Monique. Rei. Schoolhouse-rumble." "Oi," Jules said, face-palming. "For the love of the spirit, what for?" I dusted myself off. "Street cred, yo. Street cred.

23And  oI will set up over them one shepherd,  pmy servant David, and he shall feed them: he shall feed them and be their shepherd. 24And  qI, the LORD, will be their God, and my servant David shall be prince among them.

...şi văzui un zbârc roş, Voia sângele să i-l beie, Zilele să i le ieie, Nici sângele n-ai să i-l bei, Că eu cu acul oi descânta Cu mătura oi mătura, În trestie l-oi băga, Şi-n Dunăre l-oi arunca Şi Sanda de-acum o rămânea Curată!...

It’s been entertaining to watch you three,” he said. “The skeptic, the failure, and the fool.” “Oi!” Crispin interjected. “Nobody calls my brother a fool!” My eyes rolled heavenwards. “He meant you. I’m the skeptic.” Crispin blinked. “Oh.

Jos mun tuttuni tulisi, Ennen nähtyni näkyisi, Sille kättä käppäjäisin, Vaikk ois käärme kämmenpäässä, Sille suuta suikkajaisin, Vaikk ois suu suden veressä, Siitä kaulahan kapuisin, Vaikk ois kalma kaulan päällä, Vielä vierehen kävisin, Vaikk ois vierus verta täynnä.

Chinnan chirukkiLiyE kaNNammA selvak-kaLanjiyamE Ennaik-kali theerthey ulagil Etram puriya vandAi PiLLaik-kaniyamudE kaNNammA pEsum por-chittiramE ALLi aNaittiDavE en munnE Adi varum tEnE Odi varugaiyilE kaNNammA uLLam kuLirudaDi Adi-tiridhal kaNDAl unnaip-pOi Avi tazhuvudaDI Ucchi tanai mughandAl garuvam Ongi vaLarudaDi Mecchi unnai oorar pugazhndAl mEni shilirkkudaDI Kannattil muttamittal uLLam thAn kaL veri koLLudaDi Unnait-tazhuvidilO kaNnammA unnatham,AgudaDI Un kaNNil neer vazhindAl ennenjil udiram koTTudaDi En kaNNin pAvaiyanrO kaNNammA ennuyir ninradanrO?

Hang on a moment!” said Ron sharply. “We’ve forgotten someone!” “Who?” asked Hermione. “The house-elves, they’ll all be down in the kitchen, won’t they?” “You mean we ought to get them fighting?” asked Harry. “No,” said Ron seriously, “I mean we should tell them to get out. We don’t want any more Dobbies, do we? We can’t order them to die for us —” There was a clatter as the basilisk fangs cascaded out of Hermione’s arms. Running at Ron, she flung them around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ron threw away the fangs and broomstick he was holding and responded with such enthusiasm that he lifted Hermione off her feet. “Is this the moment?” Harry asked weakly, and when nothing happened except that Ron and Hermione gripped each other still more firmly and swayed on the spot, he raised his voice. “OI! There’s a war going on here!” Ron and Hermione broke apart, their arms still around each other.

I didn't cry out and I didn't weep when I was told that my son Henri was a prisoner in his own world, when it was confirmed that he is one of those children who don't hear us, don't speak to us, even though they're neither deaf nor mute. He is also one of those children we must love from a distance, neither touching, nor kissing, not smiling at them because every one of their senses would be assaulted by the odour of our skin, by the intensity of our voices, the texture of our hair, the throbbing of our hearts. Probably he'll never call me maman lovingly, even if he can pronounce the world poire with all the roundness and sensuality of the oi sound. He will never understand why I cried when he smiled for the first time. He won't know that, thanks to him, every spark of joy has become a blessing and that I will keep waging war against autism, even if I know already that it's invincible. Already, I am defeated, stripped bare, beaten down.

Rakkaudessa niin kuin lähes kaikissa ihmisten välisissä asioissa sydänten sopu syntyy väärinymmärryksestä. Tämä väärinymmärrys on nautinto. Mies karjuu: >>Oi enkelini!>> Nainen kujertaa: >>Mamma! Mamma!>> Ja nämä kaksi typerysstä ovat vakuuttuneita että he ajattelevat samoin. Ylikäymätön kuilu - yhteydettömyys - jää ylitse käymättä.

The coach passed by many buildings of this sort, which would no doubt be little palaces to the occupants, who had escaped from Cockbill Street and Pigsty Hill and all the other neighbourhoods where people still dreamed that they could ‘better themselves’, an achievement that might be attained, oh happy day, when they had ‘a little place of their own’. It was an inspiring dream, if you didn’t look too deeply into words like mortgage and repayments and repossession and bankruptcy, and the lower middle classes of Ankh-Morpork, who saw themselves as being trodden on by the class above and illegally robbed by the one below, lined up with borrowed money to purchase, by instalments, their own little Oi Dong

So where is it?” Harry asked suspiciously. “Unfortunately,” said Scrimgeour, “that sword was not Dumbledore’s to give away. The sword of Godric Gryffindor is an important historical artifact, and as such, belongs—” “It belongs to Harry!” said Hermione hotly. “It chose him, he was the one who found it, it came to him out of the Sorting Hat—” “According to reliable historical sources, the sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor,” said Scrimgeour. “That does not make it the exclusive property of Mr. Potter, whatever Dumbledore may have decided.” Scrimgeour scratched his badly shaven cheek, scrutinizing Harry. “Why do you think—?” “—Dumbledore wanted to give me the sword?” said Harry, struggling to keep his temper. “Maybe he thought it would look nice on my wall.” “This is not a joke, Potter!” growled Scrimgeour. “Was it because Dumbledore believed that only the sword of Godric Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he wish to give you that sword, Potter, because he believed, as do many, that you are the one destined to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?” “Interesting theory,” said Harry. “Has anyone ever tried sticking a sword in Voldemort? Maybe the Ministry should put some people onto that, instead of wasting their time stripping down Deluminators or covering up breakouts from Azakaban. So is this what you’ve been doing, Minister, shut up in your office, trying to break open a Snitch? People are dying—I was nearly one of them—Voldemort chased me across three counties, he killed Mad-Eye Moody, but there’s been no word about any of that from the Ministry, has there? And you still expect us to cooperate with you?” “You go too far!” shouted Scrimgeour, standing up; Harry jumped to his feet too. Scrimgeour limped toward Harry and jabbed him hard in the chest with the point of his wand: It singed a hole in Harry’s T-shirt like a lit cigarette. “Oi!” said Ron, jumping up and raising his own wand, but Harry said, “No! D’you want to give him an excuse to arrest us?” “Remembered you’re not at school, have you?” said Scrimgeour, breathing hard into Harry’s face. “Remembered that I am not Dumbledore, who forgave your insolence and insubordination? You may wear that scar like a crown, Potter, but it is not up to a seventeen-year-old boy to tell me how to do my job! It’s time you learned some respect!” “It’s time you earned it,” said Harry.

looked for much, and behold, it came to little. And when you brought it home,  o I blew it away. Why? declares the LORD of hosts. Because of my house  h that lies in ruins, while each of you busies himself with his own house.

Teniendo yo después como seis o siete años, y sabiendo ya leer y escribir, (...) oi decir que había Universidad y Escuelas en que se estudiaban las ciencias en Méjico; y apenas lo oi cuando empecé a matar a mi madre con instantes e importunos ruegos sobre que, mudándome el traje [=vistiéndola de varón], me enviase a Méjico (...) para estudiar y cursar la Universidad; ella no lo quiso hacer (...) pero yo despiqué el deseo en leer muchos libros varios que tenía mi abuelo (...)

[Sonetto XVII] Venite a intender li sospiri miei, oi cor gentil, ché pietà ’l disia: li quai disconsolati vanno via, e s’e’ non fosser, di dolor morrei; però che li occhi mi sarebber rei, molte fiate più ch’io non vorria, lasso!, di pianger sì la donna mia, che sfogasser lo cor, piangendo lei. Voi udirete lor chiamar sovente la mia donna gentil, che si n’è gita al secol degno de la sua vertute; e dispregiar talora questa vita in persona de l’anima dolente abbandonata de la sua salute.

[Sonetto XXI] "L’amaro lagrimar che voi faceste, oi occhi miei, così lunga stagione, facea lagrimar l’altre persone de la pietate, come voi vedeste. Ora mi par che voi l’obliereste, s’io fosse dal mio lato sì fellone, ch’i’ non ven disturbasse ogne cagione, membrandovi colei cui voi piangeste. La vostra vanità mi fa pensare, e spaventami sì, ch’io temo forte del viso d’una donna che vi mira. Voi non dovreste mai, se non per morte, la vostra donna, ch’è morta, obliare". Così dice ’l meo core, e poi sospira.

Dupa un timp, sunetele s-au stins si în usa colibei s-a ivit Bach în pijama vargata, era mai tânar, parea livid, extazul îi împaienjenise ochii, se clatina beat de muzica, îmi parea rau ca tace, as fi vrut sa-i aud cuvintele, sa aud ce se poate spune în starea aceea; atunci s-a repezit din porumb o fetita de vreo doi-trei ani, fetita lui, s-a împleticit, i-a cazut la picioare iar Bach, de dincolo de vis, din ameteala armoniilor, i-a spus: “Când ti-oi da vreo doua, iar te c... pe tine...” Acestea erau cuvintele.

Years later, I would discover that constantly behaving in a way that makes you feel shameful means you simply will not be able to take yourself seriously and your self-esteem will plummet lower and lower. Ironically, my teenage one-woman mission to be a grown-up through excessive drinking left me feeling more like a child than any other of my actions in my life. For years of my twenties, I wandered around feeling like I was about to be accused of something terrible, like someone could very easily march up to me and say, “YOU’RE the dick who drank Jo Malone Pear and Freesia bath oil in a pint glass at my house party for a dare—you owe me £42!”; or “OI! TOSS POT! I still can’t believe you got off with my boyfriend outside the Mornington Crescent Sainbury’s!”—and I would have to nod reverently and say, “Yes, I can’t recall that specifically, but I shall take your word for it and I’m sorry.” Imagine walking around in a world where you think someone is ALWAYS about to tell you you’re an arsehole, and you’re ready to agree with them wholeheartedly. What sort of fun is that?

Dolores asuu talossa, jonka pienellä etupihalla on neitsyt Marian patsas ja vaaleanpunainen lintupatsas. Seisomme pienen rautaportin luona ja minä en oikein tiedä pitäisikö nyt suudella häntä jolloin hän saattaisi innostua niin että saattaisimme hiippailla jonkin puun taakse kiihotusta harjoittamaan, mutta samassa kuuluu sisältä karjaisu Jumalauta, Dolores, äkkiä sisään sieltä, jo on otsaa kun tuolla lailla perkele pikkutunneilla kotiin lampsitaan, ja sano sille perkeleen turvenuijalle että ottaa jalat alleen ja juoksee henkensä edestä, ja Dolores sanoo vain oi ja juoksee sisään.

Omul, desigur, luat ca fiinţă izolată ar putea fi fericit, dar omenirearea — niciodată. Tragedia omului constă în faptul că fost silit să devină omenire, sau că a prea târziu, când era era diferenţiat iremediabil în popoare, rase religii, stări si clase, în bogaţi şi săraci, în culţi şi inculţi. în stăpînitori şi stăpîniţi. Puneţi într-o singură turmă cai, lupi, oi, pisici, vulpi şi căprioare, urşi şi capre, închideţi-le in aceeaşi curte, siliţi-le să trăiască in această mulţime absurdă pe care o numiţi socială şi să respecte regulile vieţii sociale; va fi o turmă nefericită, nemulţumită, fatal sfîşiată de contradicţii, în care nici o făptură nu se va simţi acasă. Acesta este, in general, tabloul exact al turmei mari şi eterogene care se numeşte omenire (...)Am pus legea morală deasupra legii biologice. Am încălcat marea premiza naturala, care glăsuieşte că numai că societate omogena poate sa cunoască fericirea. Si această fericire realizabila a fost jertfită unui vis cu neputinţă de realizat: adică înfăptuirii unei singure omeniri, a unei singure orânduiri, la care să participe toți oamenii, toate popoarele, toate clasele şi păturile sociale. A fost o prostie mărinimoasă! Şi, în felul ei, o încercare lăudabilă a omului de a se ridica deasupra lui însuşi !

M'havia ensenyat tot el que ara sabia sobre els crancs de riu, els petons, el vi rosat i la poesia. M'havia transformat. […] —No em pots transformar i després anar-te'n —li vaig dir en veu alta—, perquè jo ja estava bé abans, Alaska. […] Ella havia encarnat el Gran Potser: m'havia demostrat que valia la pena deixar enrere una vida mediocre a la recerca de potsers més rellevants, i ara se n'havia anat i s'havia endut la meva fe en els potsers. […] «Em vas deixar mancat de potsers, atrapat al bell mig del teu maleït laberint. I ara ja no sé si realment vas escollir sortir-ne de pressa i sense pensar; no sé si em vas abandonar expressament. Mai no et vaig conèixer, oi? No puc recordar res perquè mai no ho vaig saber».

[Sonetto XVIII] "Primo cominciamento" Era venuta ne la mente mia la gentil donna che per suo valore fu posta da l’altissimo signore nel ciel de l’umiltate, ov’è Maria. [Vita Nuova XXXIV 7] "Secondo cominciamento" Era venuta ne la mente mia quella donna gentil che piange Amore, entro ’n quel punto che lo suo valore vi trasse a riguardar quel ch’eo facia. Amor, che ne la mente la sentia, s’era svegliato nel destrutto core, e diceva a’ sospiri: "Andate fore"; per che ciascun dolente si partia. Piangendo uscivan for de lo mio petto con una voce che sovente mena le lagrime dogliose a li occhi tristi. Ma quei che n’uscian for com maggior pena, venian dicendo: "Oi nobile intelletto, oggi fa l’anno che nel ciel salisti".

The Capitalist Class knows that what brings on the increased supply is not immigration so much, but the improved and ever improving machinery, held as private property. For every immigrant by whom the labor market is overstocked, it is overstocked by ten workingmen in the country whom privately owned machinery displaces. The Capitalist Class is full well aware that if this fact be known the conclusion would leap to sight ; to wit, that the solution oi" the Labor Problem is simply the public ownership of the machine. If fifty men, working ten hours a day, can, with improved machinery, produce as much as one hundred did before without such improved machinery, the publicly owned machine would not, as the privately owned machine does, throw out fifty men; it would throw out five of the former ten hours of work. It is clear as day to the Capitalist Class that it must raise dust over this fact so as to conceal it; and no better means to this end is offered than the fomenting of the plausible delusion that the evil lies in immigration. Anti-immigration laws are the fruit of these two purpose. Such laws kill two flies with one slap ; they draw attention away from the nerve that aches, and simultaneously they help to set the workers of the land in racial and creed hostility against the newcomers, who, of course, the Capitalist Class itself sees to shall not be lacking. Obviously, it is in the interest of the Working Class that this brace of fatal delusions be dispelled from their minds. What does the Labor Leader do? He helps nurse both delusions.

Now  m the LORD said [1] to Abram, “Go from your country [2] and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. 2 n And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. 3 o I will bless those who bless you, and him who dishonors you I will curse, and  p in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” [3]

Put your glasses on mate ….. Come down from there, you’re gonna kill yourself …. Well, what does your Method Statement say? …. Right, let’s get you re-inducted. You need a reminder of site rules ….. Where are your outriggers, mate? ….. Put your glasses on ….. Put your glasses on …. Put your glasses on …. Oh, they steam up, do they? I’ve never heard that one before …. Where’s your mask? If you breathe this shit in you’re going to kill yourself. Silicosis is incurable ….. Right STOP! Do not reverse another inch without a banksman ….. Don’t put your glasses on just because you see me walk around the corner. They won’t protect MY eyes …. Hook yourself on, what’s the matter with you? Are all you scaffolders superhuman or something? ….. Put your glasses on ….. Oi! What stops me walking right in there? Where’s your barriers and signage? ….. Oi! I’m getting showered in fucking sparks here. And so is that can of petrol ….. Put your glasses on …. Where’s the flashback arrestor on this bottle of propane? ….. Hey, pal, stop welding until you’ve sheeted up ….. What are you doing climbing up there? Where’s your supervisor? What did he say about access in this morning’s Safe Start briefing? Nothing? Right, he can sit through another induction tomorrow ….. Where are the retaining pins to the joint clamps in this concrete pump line? SEAMUS! Fucking deal with this, will you? ….Put your glasses on …. Hey! Hey! Come here! Why have you got a nail instead of an ‘R’ clip to the quick-hitch system on your excavator bucket? NO! IT WON’T DO! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? If that bucket falls on someone they’re not going to get up again. And you trust a fucking nail to hold it in position! Take this machine out of service immediately until you’ve got the proper ‘R’ clip! ….. Put your glasses on …. Where’s the edge protection. Who removed the edge protection? Right, let me phone for a scaffolder ….. Put your glasses on ….. Oi! Get out from under there! Never, ever stand underneath a suspended load. Even if all the equipment’s been inspected, which it obviously has, you can never trust the crane driver. He can be taken ill suddenly ….. Come here, mate, let’s have a little chat. Why are you working on Fall Arrest? You’re supposed to be working on Fall Restraint (FR ‘restrains’ you going near the perimeter edge of the building, FA ‘arrests’ your fall if, well, if you fall. If you’re hanging off a building we’ve got less than ten minutes to reach you before you start going into toxic shock brought on by suspension trauma. In other words, we need a Rescue Plan, which is why we’d prefer people work on Fall Restraint)

M'havia ensenyat tot el que ara sabia sobre els crancs de riu, els petons, el vi rosat i la poesia. M'havia transformat. Em vaig encendre un cigarret i vaig escopir al rierol. —No em pots transformar i després anar-te'n —li vaig dir en veu alta—, perquè jo ja estava bé abans, Alaska. Ja estava bé, amb les últimes paraules, i els amics de l'escola… No em pots transformar i després morir-te. Ella havia encarnat el Gran Potser: m'havia demostrat que valia la pena deixar enrere una vida mediocre a la recerca de potsers més rellevants, i ara se n'havia anat i s'havia endut la meva fe en els potsers. Podria respondre a tot el que el Coronel fes i digués amb un «molt bé», podria intentar fer veure que tot m'era igual, però això mai no tornaria a ser cert. «No pots convertir-te en algú tan important per a mi i després morir-te, Alaska, perquè ara ja sóc irreversiblement diferent, i em sap greu haver-te deixat marxar, sí, però vas ser tu qui va prendre aquella decisió. Em vas deixar mancat de potsers, atrapat al bell mig del teu maleït laberint. I ara ja no sé si realment vas escollir sortir-ne de pressa i sense pensar; no sé si em vas abandonar expressament. Mai no et vaig conèixer, oi? No puc recordar res perquè mai no ho vaig saber».

GENESIS 12 Now  mthe LORD said [1] to Abram, “Go from your country [2] and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. 2 nAnd I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. 3 oI will bless those who bless you, and him who dishonors you I will curse, and  pin you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” [3] 4So Abram went, as the LORD had told him, and Lot went with him. Abram was seventy-five years old when he departed from  qHaran. 5And Abram took Sarai his wife, and Lot his brother’s son, and all their possessions that they had gathered, and the people that they had acquired in Haran, and they set out to go to the land of Canaan. When they came to the land of Canaan, 6Abram  rpassed through the land to the place at Shechem, to  sthe oak [4] of  tMoreh. At that time  uthe Canaanites were in the land. 7Then the LORD appeared to Abram and said,  v“To your offspring I will give this land.” So he built there an altar to the LORD, who had appeared to him. 8From there he moved to the hill country on the east of  wBethel and pitched his tent, with Bethel on the west and Ai on the east. And there he built an altar to the LORD and called upon the name of the LORD. 9And Abram journeyed on, still going toward the Negeb.

When an emergency arose that necessiated Uncle Jay-Jay to shoe a horse himself, I always manipulated the bellows. He was always so exacting that I did it with great decorum, fearing his displeasure. This case was different. I worked the pole with such energy that it nearly blew the fire out of the pan, and sent ashes and sparks in a whirlwind around Harold. “That the way to blow?” I asked demurely. “Take things a little easier,” He replied. I took them so easily that the fire was on its last gasp and the shoe was almost cold when required. “This won’t do,” Said Harry. I recommenced with such force that he had to retreat. “Steady! Steady!” He shouted. “Sure, O’i can’t plaze yez anyhows,” I replied

Ce se întîmplă cu tine, băiete? mă întrebă. Vorbea destul de aspru pentru felul lui de a fi. Cîte materii ai urmat în trimestrul ăsta? ― Cinci, domnule profesor. ― Cinci? Şi la cîte ai căzut? ― La patru. Îmi amorţise fundul stînd pe pat. În viaţa mea nu stătusem pe un pat atît de tare. ― La engleză am trecut, i-am spus, fiindcă poveştile cu Beowulf şi cu Lord Randal, fiul meu le-am învăţat încă de pe vremea cînd eram la Whooton. Şi, de fapt, la engleză nu trebuia să fac mai nimic, decît să scriu din cînd în cînd cîte o compunere. Bătrînul nici nu mă asculta. N-asculta niciodată cînd îi vorbeai. ― Eu unul te-am trîntit la istorie fiindcă n-ai ştiut absolut nimic. ― Ştiu, domnule profesor, vă înţeleg. Ce era să faceţi? ― Absolut nimic, repetă el. Tare mă înfurie cînd oamenii repetă de două ori un lucru pe care tu l-ai recunoscut de prima dată. Şi pe urmă a mai spus-o şi a treia oară. ― Dar absolut nimic. Ai deschis cartea măcar o dată, în trimestrul ăsta? Eu mă îndoiesc. Spune drept! ― Păi, ştiţi, am răsfoit-o... de vreo două ori, am spus. Nu voiam să-l jignesc. Îi plăcea istoria la nebunie! ― A, ai răsfoit-o! spuse el foarte ironic. Uite, hm, teza ta e acolo sus pe raft, deasupra teancului de caiete. Ad-o, te rog, încoace. Era o figură urîtă din partea lui. Dar n-am avut încotro, m-am dus şi i-am adus-o. Pe urmă, m-am aşezat din nou pe patul lui de ciment. Mamă, nici nu ştiţi ce rău începuse să-mi pară că venisem să-mi iau rămas bun. Ţinea lucrarea mea de parc-ar fi fost o bucată de rahat sau mai ştiu eu ce. ― Am studiat cu voi egiptenii de la 4 noiembrie la 2 de¬cembrie, îmi zise. Singur ai ales să scrii despre ei la lucrarea facultativă de control. Vrei să auzi ce-ai scris? ― Nu, domnule profesor, nu face, i-am răspuns. Cu toate astea, începu să citească. Nu poţi opri niciodată un profesor să facă un anumit lucru, dacă s-a hotărît să-l facă. Oricum, face tot ce vrea el! Egiptenii sînt o rasă veche de caucazieni care locuiesc într-una din regiunile din nordul Africii. Africa, după cum ştim cu toţii, e cel mai mare continent în emisfera răsăriteană. Şi eu eram obligat să stau şi s-ascult toate tîmpeniile astea! Zău că era urît din partea lui. Pe noi, astăzi, egiptenii ne interesează din mai multe motive. Ştiinţa modernă n-a descoperit nici pînă azi ce substanţe misterioase întrebuinţau cînd îmbălsămau morţii, pentru ca feţele lor să nu putrezească secole la rînd. Această enigmă interesantă continuă să constituie o sfidare pentru ştiinţa modernă a secolului XX. Se opri şi puse jos lucrarea. Începusem să-l urăsc! ― Eseul tău, ca să-i zicem aşa, se opreşte aici, spuse cît se poate de ironic. N-ai crede că un tip atît de bătrîn poate fi atît de ironic şi aşa mai departe. Apoi adăugă: Şi în josul paginii mi-ai scris şi mie cîteva cuvinte. ― Ştiu, ştiu, i-am răspuns precipitat, ca să-l opresc înainte de a-ncepe să citească. Dar parcă mai putea cineva să-l oprească?! Ardea ca un fitil de dinamită. Dragă domnule Spencer (citi el cu glas tare), asta e tot ce ştiu eu despre egipteni. Nu reuşesc să mă intereseze, cu toate că dumneavoastră predaţi foarte frumos. Să ştiţi totuşi că nu mă supăr dacă mă trîntiţi ― că în afară de engleză tot am picat la toate materiile. Cu stimă, al dumnea¬voastră, Holden Caulfield. În sfîrşit, a pus jos lucrarea mea nenorocită şi mi-a arun¬cat o privire de parcă m-ar fi bătut măr la ping-pong sau mai ştiu eu ce. Cît oi trăi nu cred c-am să-l iert c-a citit cu glas tare toate rahaturile alea. Dacă le-ar fi scris el, eu unul nu i le-aş fi citit niciodată. Zău că nu. Şi, de fapt, nu-i scrisesem notiţa aia nenorocită decît ca să nu-i pară prea rău că mă trînteşte. ― Mă condamni că te-am trîntit, băiete? m-a întrebat el. ― Nu, domnule profesor, zău că nu! i-am răspuns eu. Numai de-ar fi încetat naibii să-mi mai zică "băiete"!