Pash Quotes

Santangelo is irritated. "We're not suppose to be collaborating. It's supposed to be a war and you're supposed to stick to the boundaries." "We've seen you in your jocks," she reminds him. "Taylor and Griggs have pashed. You've broken into your father's police station for us. Don't you think the war has lost a bit of its tension?

But you pashed Jonah Griggs and he's the leader of the enemy.

It's obvious which one you are,' Jimmy Hailler tells me as we walk through Hyde Park. 'If it's so obvious why can't I see it.' 'Because you live in your own world and can't see anything.' 'Then which one am I?' 'You're all four. You're constantly bitching things under your breath, you come across bloody stupid because you don't speak, on a particular angle in that uniform on an overcast day with your hair up, you've got that stocky butch thing happening, plus you're pashing other girl's boyfriends which makes you a slut.

Pash shot us!” she wailed. “And my teacher! Palamedes was talking to the Angel and someone shot us through the window and now the carpet’s gross! This is the worst day of school ever!

And, er, these stories about you..." "Oh, all true. Most of them. A bit of exaggeration, but mostly true." "The one about the Citadel in Muntab and the Pash and the fish bone?" "Oh, yes." "But how did you get in where half a dozen armed and trained men couldn't even - ?" "I am a little man and I carry a broom," said Lu-Tze simply. "Everyone has some mess that needs clearing up. What harm is a man with a broom?" "What? And that was it?" "Well, the rest was a matter of cookery, really. The Pash was not a good man, but he was a glutton for his fish pie." "No martial arts?" said Lobsang. "Oh, always a last resort. History needs shepherds, not butchers." "Do you know okidoki?" "Just a lot of bunny-hops." "Shittake?" "If I wanted to thrust my hand into hot sand I would go to the seaside." "Upsidazi?" "A waste of good bricks." "No kando?" "You made that one up.

Wanted to get inside your heads,” said Pash. “Did you?” “Occasionally literally.

But opposites attract, as they say, and that's certainly true when it comes to Emma Marchetta and me. She's the beauty and I'm the brains. She loves all forms of reality television, would donate a kidney if it meant she could pash Andrew G, is constantly being invited out to parties and other schools' semi formals, and likes any movie featuring Lindsay Lohan. I, on the other hand, have shoulder-length blonde hair, too many freckles and - thanks to years of swimming the fifty-metre butterfly event - swimmer's shoulders and no boobs. In other words, I look like an ironing board with a blonde wig. - Cat

With no small amount of swagger, Gavin Greyling said, "I remember Gavin fucking Guile, who won the False Prism's War, who outwitted the Thorn Conspirators and ended the Red Cliff Uprising. Gavin Guile, who brought low pirate kings and bandit lords, who ended the Blood Wars with wits and one deadly wave of his hand, who brought justice to the Seven Satrapies. Gavin Guile, who hunted wights and criminals, who built Brightwater Wall in less than a week, who aborted the birth of gods, destroyed at least two bane, and killed a god full fledged at Ruic Head. Gavin Guile, who faced a sea demon and lived, saving all the people of Garriston and the Blackguard, too. Gavin Guile, who sank Pash vecchio's great ship Gargantua with a rat. Gavin Guile, who armed us for war and gave the Blackguard the seas entire with ou sea chariots and hull wreckers. Gavin Guile, heart of our heart, our Promachos, the one who goes before us in war, who came and conquered and will come again.

A great irony of sleep is that, while it is meant to revitalize, one is never really at the controls of the dreams it broadcasts to oneself. Sleep is the ultimate proof of man, not as a dreamer, but as a gambler.

If the security of the land calls for a life without conscience To imagine a word other than ‘yes’ is an obscenity And the mind bends low before the lecherous times then the security of the land is a threat to us If the security of the land means that every strike crushed makes that peace stronger Martyrdom is no more than death at the borders Art blooms only at the palace window Intellect only drives the waterwheel that irrigates the ruler’s crops Labour is little more than a broom at the palace door then the security of the land is a threat to us

Hodha syte perjashta nga varrezat e lagura prej shiut dhe pashe guret e varreve, qe ishin mbuluar me gjethe te venitura dhe te felliqura. Mjegulla, porsi nje kafshe e zberdhulet, ua kish thithur gjate nates lengun e gjelber gjetheve te pemeve; tani ato vareshin te mekura e te nemitura neper dege; cdo gulsh ere, sado i lehte, kepuste nga nje dhe e rrezonte ngadale ose e fluturonte tutje... Dhe une, ashtu papritur e pakujtuar, si nje te therur te mprehte e mizore, e ndjeva per here te pare qe po afrohej ndarja, qe ajo po behej e vertete, po aq e vertete sa vjeshta, e cila ish zvarritur fshehurazi neper ato dege pemesh atje perjashta dhe kish lene pas gjurmet e saj te verdha.

XII. If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk Above its mates, the head was chopped, the bents Were jealous else. What made those holes and rents In the dock's harsh swarth leaves, bruised as to baulk All hope of greenness? Tis a brute must walk Pashing their life out, with a brute's intents. XIII. As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair In leprosy; thin dry blades pricked the mud Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood. One stiff blind horse, his every bone a-stare, Stood stupified, however he came there: Thrust out past service from the devil's stud! XIV. Alive? he might be dead for aught I knew, With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain. And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane; Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe; I never saw a brute I hated so; He must be wicked to deserve such pain. XV. I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart, As a man calls for wine before he fights, I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights, Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. Think first, fight afterwards, the soldier's art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights. XVI. Not it! I fancied Cuthbert's reddening face Beneath its garniture of curly gold, Dear fellow, till I almost felt him fold An arm to mine to fix me to the place, The way he used. Alas, one night's disgrace! Out went my heart's new fire and left it cold. XVII. Giles then, the soul of honour - there he stands Frank as ten years ago when knighted first, What honest man should dare (he said) he durst. Good - but the scene shifts - faugh! what hangman hands Pin to his breast a parchment? His own bands Read it. Poor traitor, spit upon and curst! XVIII. Better this present than a past like that: Back therefore to my darkening path again! No sound, no sight as far as eye could strain. Will the night send a howlet or a bat? I asked: when something on the dismal flat Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train. XIX. A sudden little river crossed my path As unexpected as a serpent comes. No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms; This, as it frothed by, might have been a bath For the fiend's glowing hoof - to see the wrath Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes. XX. So petty yet so spiteful! All along, Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it; Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit Of mute despair, a suicidal throng: The river which had done them all the wrong, Whate'er that was, rolled by, deterred no whit. XXI. Which, while I forded - good saints, how I feared To set my foot upon a dead man's cheek, Each step, of feel the spear I thrust to seek For hollows, tangled in his hair or beard! - It may have been a water-rat I speared, But, ugh! it sounded like a baby's shriek. XXII. Glad was I when I reached the other bank. Now for a better country. Vain presage! Who were the strugglers, what war did they wage, Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank soil to a plash? Toads in a poisoned tank Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage - XXIII. The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque, What penned them there, with all the plain to choose? No footprint leading to that horrid mews, None out of it. Mad brewage set to work Their brains, no doubt, like galley-slaves the Turk Pits for his pastime, Christians against Jews.

Strange Fruit Here is the girl's head like an exhumed gourd. Oval-faced, prune-skinned, prune-stones for teeth. They unswaddled the wet fern of her hair And made an exhibition of its coil, Let the air at her leathery beauty. Pash of tallow, perishable treasure: Her broken nose is dark as a turf clod, Her eyeholes blank as pools in the old workings. Diodorus Siculus confessed His gradual ease with the likes of this: Murdered, forgotten, nameless, terrible Beheaded girl, outstaring axe And beatification, outstaring What had begun to feel like reverence.

can’t remember his words, but that’s what he meant. He has this tendency when things get too much, he sometimes does irrational things. He said he couldn’t understand why he did it.” Of course, it had happened before—in his interview with Pash in 1943 and his meeting with Truman in 1945—and it would happen again during his security hearing in 1954. But, as Bernard Peters observed to Weisskopf, “He [Oppenheimer] was obviously scared to tears of the hearings, but this is hardly an explanation. . . . I found it a rather sad experience to see a man whom I regarded very highly in such a state of moral despair.

Kanga e rinis Rini, thueja kangës ma të bukur që di! Thueja kangës sate që të vlon në gji. Nxirre gëzimin tand' të shpërthejë me vrull... Mos e freno kangën! Le të marri udhë. Thueja kangës, rini, pash syt e tu... Të rroki, të puthi kanga, të nxisi me dashnu me zjarrm tand, rini... Dhe të na mbysi dallga prej ndjenjash të shkumbzueme q'i turbullon kanga. Rini, thueja kangës dhe qeshu si fëmi Kumbi i zanit te përplaset për qiellë dhe të kthejë prap te na - se hyjt ta kanë zili e na të duem fort si të duem një diell. Thueja kangës, Rini! Thueja kangës gëzimplote! Qeshu, rini! Qeshu! Bota asht e jote.

There’s so much to do in Bali that you may feel a little overwhelmed when it comes to packing. On a recent trip, I hiked a volcano, went island hopping and snorkelling, went to yoga and breathwork classes, got massages, visited waterfalls, dined at upscale restaurants, spent an afternoon at a beach club, wandered through rice paddies and visited temples.

Travel is the epitome of expansion, connection, and discovery – both of the world and one-self. It's a profound experience that transcends geography, opening our hearts to the mesmerising tapestry of our world. Travel invites us to shatter the confines of our daily routines and perspectives, guiding us to embrace fresh outlooks, alternative lifestyles, and mind-boggling traditions.

Barcelona is the type of city where you can leave your accommodation in the morning and explore all day. On a typical day, you may be taking the subway, waiting in lines at busy tourist attractions, wandering through museums and romantic neighbourhoods, and sitting down for food and drinks at one of the many tapas bars before heading out to an upscale restaurant. Your outfits will work best if they can take you from day to night.

The word beast is a translation of a Hindi or Sanskrit word, pashu. That word has a significance of its own. Literally pashu means the animal, the beast, but it is a metaphor. It comes from the word pash – pash means bondage. Pashu means one who is in bondage. The beast is one who is in bondage – the bondage of the body, instincts, unconsciousness; the bondage of society, mind, thought. The beast is one who is in bondage.

Although London is known for many things, a fashion-forward capital is not one of them.

Vocabulary mattered. ‘Grouse’ meant awesome, and the thumbs-up sign did not mean good luck but ‘up yer bum’. Hot boys were ‘spunks’ and when you had a crush you were ‘rapt’ in them. Kissing was ‘pashing’. But there was one all-purpose phrase that would guarantee me instant entrée into all good sharpie society. And that expression was ‘shit, eh?’ It could be used as a question or an exclamation. Or just a simple indication that you were listening during a long-winded story.

More common were "pashes" between the girls. Friends held hands and kissed in the corridors, wrote fervid letters. "My darling ..." "I kiss your marvellous eyes," etc. Girls visited one another at night. These infatuations sprang up in the hothouse of Whitlow, blasted by the winds of the outside world.

Kush ta fali bukurine Kush ta fali bukurine Qe t'e me trerosh te zine! Kur te pashe per te vluar, Pellumbeshe pende-shkruar, Bubu!plumb ne kraharuar, Plumb qe vret dyke gjemuar! Mbledhur shoqet me nje qoshe, Dic, m'ju flisje,dic m'ju thoshe, Gushe-e-llere-e-gji-bardhoshe. Pa me syckezat e tua, Sy-larme!c'me fole mua. Leshrave t'ju binte hija, Yll i ndezur me shkendija, Ndezur mun ne mes ne balle, Te me vesh ne dhe te gjalle.

Syt’ e tu vetëtimtarët Syt’e tu, vetëtimtarët, i mbulon pluhur i zi. Syt’e tu vetëtimtarët ndezin yj mi vala detesh. Me vështrim të perënduar, kaq hirplotë ti më mbetesh Si t’i fshesh qipall’e rëndë të paçmuarat stoli. Kur i pash’oh! Në nat’helmi, hën’e largë-ish derdhur n’ar. Kur i pashë në nat’helmi, ar i derdhur m’u bëj zija: M’u bë gas ndaj fërfëllonte vgjeri-i shenjt’ hijen e tija: Mi shtrat fletë sapo shtruar...na shij qjelli zilitar... Syt’e tu- enigm’ e kohës; syt’ e tu-çudi pa çmim; Syt’e tu- çkëlqim gazmuar i skëterrës dhemshurishte. Kish durim yll’ i zhuritur, yll me zjarr durimi kishte, Që krijoj kaq dritë djelli, që mbaroj kaq dëshërim. Syt’e tu vetëtimtarët, sillen qark gjerakorisht. Syt’e tu vetëtimtarët ëndërojne-aq të qetuar. Ndaj shtron hijen vgjeri-i shentë kur i putha-i llaftaruar, Syt’e tu vetëtimtarët buzëqeshnë dhemshurisht.

Ms. Fuller explained to me that the reason Sickert gave Ms. Pash for his divulging such a fantastic and shocking story was he wanted the truth “known but not during his lifetime.” To prove his point, Sickert supposedly showed Ms. Pash a number of “murder paintings that he later burned,” Ms. Fuller told me.

Fucking idiots,” said Pash. “Wrote down all their names. Psychological wrecks. This barricade’s nothing. A zombie could bust it in seconds. These guys ever apply for strike teams, pow, they can go whistle.” “You misuse your power in an incredible fashion,” said We Suffer. “Commandet, I wouldn’t misbehave if you hadn’t given me the worst job of my life.” “It was meant to be privilege enormous.” “Not saying it’s not,” said Pash, “but it’s still the worst job of my life.

How much to ride the merry-go-round?” said someone familiar. It was the Angel. The Angel and Pash appeared in front of Nona’s chair, before the truck, and with them—most wonderfully—Noodle; Noodle sitting on the ground, opening his mouth and panting, closing his mouth and rolling his eyes with displeasure, obviously as past the events of the day as Nona herself. Pyrrha said with a flicker of old humor—“How much to get off?” “More than we can afford, I guess,” said the Angel. “Sometimes I feel as though I were born on the merry-go-round—I worry I won’t know what to do with myself when it stops. If it ever stops.

I do not recommend jumpsuits or rompers on safari drives. You may need to relieve yourself in the bush. The last thing you want is to be entirely butt naked and look up to find a wild animal staring you down.

London is a melting pot of diverse cultures, which makes it fertile soil for an eclectic art, music, and culture scene. London keeps a firm grip on its history and origins, which is evident in the way the locals dress.

The term pashu comes from the root pash, "to bind." The pashu is, in fact, the man who is bound by the bonds (pasha), of which the Kularnava Tantra enurnerates eight – namely, pity (daya), ignorance and delusion (moha), fear (bhaya), shame (lajja), disgust (ghrina), family (kula), custom (shila), and caste (varna).

Berliners wear black" is the conventional wisdom. However, arriving in the city, you will find this is hardly true.

It was disheartening to read this sentence in a travel blog. Just including it here makes me cringe: "Sneakers and even sweatpants are acceptable attire everywhere, even in upscale or fancy restaurants." What has become of us? When did travellers transform into the people always in workout gear? What happened to the days when embarking on a journey was an occasion that warranted dressing with pride?

The quintessential French outfit is suitable for any time or place. It is made up of timeless classics: a good-quality blazer, a simple dress, classic jeans, smart, comfortable shoes, and minimal jewellery. The key to dressing like une vraie parisienne is simplicity.

While many of us pursue comfort through upgraded plane tickets, luxurious hotels, and fine dining experiences, authentic comfort runs deeper. It encompasses how we carry ourselves, express our unique identities, and navigate the complex web of culture and fashion in diverse destinations.

If you hate him, it was just a pash, and from now on I can begin to move in. Deathless adoration, eternal whatsit – and you hate him. Well, well. That isn’t the way I love you, and it’s not the way you’re going to love me. One of these fine days. Some enchanted evening.

Colonel Boris T. Pash, the ALSOS commander, reported that interrogations and other evidence confirmed that “the Nazis had not progressed in atomic development as far as our own project had early in 1941.

Kanga skandaloze Një murgeshë e zbetë, që bashkë me mkatet e botës bar dhe mkatet e mia mbi supet e vet të molisun, mbi supat e verdhë si dylli që i ka puth hyjnia - kaloi rrugës së qytetit si ejll i arratisun… Një murgeshë e zbetë, e ftohtë si rrasa e vorrit, me sy boj hini si hini i epsheve të djegna të gjallesës, me buzë të holla të kuqe, dy gajtana pshertimet që mbysin ma la der' vonë kujtimin, kujtimin e ftohtë të kalesës. Prej lutjesh (jo tallse!) duel dhe në lutje prap po shkon… Lutjet i flejnë gjithkund: ndër sy, ndër buzë, ndër Gishta. Pa lutjet e saj bota, kushedi, ç'fat do kishte? Por dhe nga lutjet e saj ende s'i zbardhi drita. O murgeshë e zbetë, që çon dashni me shënjt, që n'ekstazë para tyne digjesh si qiriu pranë lterit dhe ua zbulon veten… Smirë ua kam shejtënvet: Mos u lut për mue, se due pash më pash t'i bij ferrit. Unë dhe ti, murgesh, dy skaje po të një litari; të cilin dy tabore ia ngrehin njeni-tjetrit - lufta asht e ashpër dhe kushedi ku do t'dali, prandaj ngrehet litari edhe përplasen njerzit.