Rac Quotes

[I] threw open the door to find Rob sit­ting on the low stool in front of my book­case, sur­round­ed by card­board box­es. He was seal­ing the last one up with tape and string. There were eight box­es - eight box­es of my books bound up and ready for the base­ment! "He looked up and said, 'Hel­lo, dar­ling. Don't mind the mess, the care­tak­er said he'd help me car­ry these down to the base­ment.' He nod­ded to­wards my book­shelves and said, 'Don't they look won­der­ful?' "Well, there were no words! I was too ap­palled to speak. Sid­ney, ev­ery sin­gle shelf - where my books had stood - was filled with ath­let­ic tro­phies: sil­ver cups, gold cups, blue rosettes, red rib­bons. There were awards for ev­ery game that could pos­si­bly be played with a wood­en ob­ject: crick­et bats, squash rac­quets, ten­nis rac­quets, oars, golf clubs, ping-​pong bats, bows and ar­rows, snook­er cues, lacrosse sticks, hock­ey sticks and po­lo mal­lets. There were stat­ues for ev­ery­thing a man could jump over, ei­ther by him­self or on a horse. Next came the framed cer­tificates - for shoot­ing the most birds on such and such a date, for First Place in run­ning races, for Last Man Stand­ing in some filthy tug of war against Scot­land. "All I could do was scream, 'How dare you! What have you DONE?! Put my books back!' "Well, that's how it start­ed. Even­tu­al­ly, I said some­thing to the ef­fect that I could nev­er mar­ry a man whose idea of bliss was to strike out at lit­tle balls and lit­tle birds. Rob coun­tered with re­marks about damned blue­stock­ings and shrews. And it all de­gen­er­at­ed from there - the on­ly thought we prob­ably had in com­mon was, What the hell have we talked about for the last four months? What, in­deed? He huffed and puffed and snort­ed and left. And I un­packed my books.

Intelligence...[is] not marathon rac[e]: there is no fixed criteria for success, no start or finish lines -- and running sideways or backwards, might secure victory.

Doctors have been waiting for this day for a thousand years,” the RAC’s chairman, Gerard

He shifts awkwardly, and I realize a few things: First, I’m still clinging to a stranger I fell into like an idiot. Second, before he moved, I think I felt something hard. Down there. Maybe. Third, I have cupcake all over my face.

Daniel nodded and sat down. ‘Seeing the Earth like that, Rac. I mean - you’ve always known it was just a ball in space. But seeing it for the first time .... It brings it home to you just how bloody stupid and small-minded national boundaries and wars are. We’re a speck of nothingness. We’ve got one tiny planet and all we can do is fight over it and poison it. There’s nothing else we can live on for billions and billions of miles, and only a four-mile layer of the Earth can support us. That’s from sea-level to a height of twenty-thousand feet. Just four miles. Think what a four-mile drive is, Rac - from here to the outside of town. A million years of human history acted out in a microscopic four-mile wide belt - the same one that we’ve got to use for our future ... assuming we’ve got one.’ Raquel had sat opposite Daniel during his outburst. She studied him intently, her eyes large and serious. ‘Do you want to stop this business? Because if you do, I’d be happy to as well.’ ‘I thought you liked adventure and excitement?’ ‘There’s precious little adventure and excitement in what we’re doing, Daniel. I like running this place because I’m with you. That’s all that matters to me now, Daniel - being with you - doing what you want.’ He shook his head, undecided. ‘Right now I don’t know what I want, Rac.’ ‘If you want to carry on, you’ve got to tell them at home what you’re doing. We can’t carry on alone and you know we can’t.’ Daniel smiled and drew Raquel on to his lap. ‘I had a crazy dream of returning home with all the drawings.’ ‘And be hailed as your country’s saviour?

That’s why it’s best not to start the engine on an open throttle from cold (unless the handbook recommends it): immediate revs from cold cause a lot of wear to oil-starved bearings. Starting with a closed throttle allows the oil time to circulate and warm, while the engine is idling, for those crucial first few seconds.

I fight to keep my fingers from trembling. I have a sudden urge to lick him. That’s not part of the plan. Maybe I can take a bit of a detour, taste what’s on display, even though I probably shouldn’t. Going against the plan is never advisable. But maybe just a little peck – it’s harmless, right? I lean in, and my lips connect with his skin. The reasonable part of my brain reminds me, Not a good idea. The other needy and somewhat desperate parts counter with, Oh god. Best. Idea. Ever.

It’s a good thing I enjoy icing. Very much, in fact.” Luke replies, holding my gaze and smiling charmingly. I think I need water, a gulp of something to cool me down, because I’m no longer thinking of icing on a cupcake. The icing is all over me. And he’s … licking.

Oracle 12c Enterprise or Standard Edition – building on Oracle’s unique ability to deliver Grid Computing, 12c gives Oracle customers the agility to respond faster to changing business conditions, gain competitive advantage through technology innovation, and reduce costs.

Too many Black communities and families have been left behind in the growth and progress of America. Intergenerational wealth and capital accumulation still remain elusive for too many. Many uneven and unfair structures of systemic rac- ism seem to have mutated into forms even stronger and more difficult to dismantle. And making it all worse is the inability or unwillingness of too many of our political leaders and institutions to address matters of race—or to address it in an honest, nuanced, and constructive fashion, given all of the raw histories, complexities, and emotions that it engenders.

The ric rac running ofyour story remains braided in other wars, Liney, no one is interested in telling thetruth. History will only hear you if you give birth to a woman who smoothes starched linen in the wardrobe drawer, trembles when she walks and who gives birth to another woman who cries near a river and vanishes and who gives birth to a woman who is a poet, and, even then.

Julian couldn't help the ghost of a smile. It was what you wanted to hear, wasn't it, from your children? That they knew they were loved? He remembered when he had been carrying Tavvy upstairs, once, when he'd been thirteen; he'd tripped and fallen, twisting his body around so that he would land on his back and head, not caring if he was hurt as long as Tavvy was all right. He'd cracked himself pretty hard on the head, too, but he'd sat upright fast, his mind rac-ing: Tavvy, my baby, is he okay? It was the first time he'd thought "my baby" and not "the baby.

A zatem, od­po­wia­da­jąc na za­da­ne wcze­śniej py­ta­nie: nie, nie mu­sisz zawo­do­wo zaj­mo­wać się pi­sa­niem, aby pisać – i robić to do­brze. Nie musisz też mieć wro­dzo­ne­go ta­len­tu ani setek li­te­rac­kich od­zna­czeń na kon­cie. Aby za­cząć pisać – wy­star­czy za­cząć pisać. Aby za­cząć pisać dobrze – trze­ba po­znać tech­ni­ki, które czy­nią nasze pi­sa­nie lep­szym. Zbyt proste? A kto po­wie­dział, że wszyst­ko za­wsze musi być dia­bel­nie skompliko­wa­ne?