Rafael Quotes

He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad.

Love is not finding someone to live with. It's finding someone you can't live without.

Most don't deserve your tears... and the ones that do will never make you cry.

What is it with you and that book?" Rafael laughed. "We have a personal relationship.

I looked at Micah, who shrugged. I looked at Rafael, who shook his head. Nice that none of us knew why he was undressing.

There can be no faith without doubt. No strength without temptation. (Rafael)

His family could not understand the attraction to Marxism. It offered nothing and demanded everything, including your soul.

...it is human nature, I suppose, to be futile and ridiculous.

But I like my madness. There is a thrill in it unknown to such sanity as yours. ~ Book 1, Chapter 9,

It became visible as a firefly in the dark that the political climate was swiftly getting more and more oppressive.

Rafael?” ”Yeah?” „Do we all have monsters?” „Yes.” „Why does God give us so many monsters?” „You want to know my theory?” „Sure.” „I think it’s other people who give us monsters. Maybe God doesn’t have anything to do with it.

Prolific irony - For 8 years, the finger on the button that could end the world belonged to a president who couldn't pronounce the word "nuclear.

A man must sometimes laugh at himself or go mad,’ said he. ‘Few realize it. That is why there are so many madmen in the world.

In this populist regime, everything belongs to the people. If everyone owned everything , then, of course, no one owned anything. So how could it be theft if no one owned it?

We are all born to love people and use things. Unfortunately, we grow to love things and use people...

I felt my cell phone buzz, and I looked at the screen. Ranger. “Your GPS just went blank,” Ranger said when I answered. “The car exploded.” There was a beat of silence. “Rafael won the pool,” Ranger said. “Are you okay?” “Yes.” “I’ll send someone.

You can't believe that AIDS is a curse from God against Gays without accepting that Lyme Disease is a curse from the same God against Deer Hunters...

When power becomes the ultimate goal, freedom must be shackled.

Your right of religious freedom ends where my right of religious abstinence begins...

This, this here, could be worship. ‘This—’ Lucifer pressed an innocent kiss to the prince’s sweet, divine mouth. This could be religion.

He could not understand how a person born in the United States who knew the English language and culture and was educated with at least a high school degree failed to provide for his own subsistence without government assistance.

A handicap parking permit is not a reward for a lifetime of poor eating habits...

Do you know, André, I sometimes think that you have no heart.' 'Presumably because I sometimes betray intelligence.

At last, he fully understood that change comes from within. It was up to him to get up and fight for a better life.

Rafael, the Rat King, stared at the carnage with black-button eyes. "She is dead." "Ding dong, the witch is dead,

He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad. And that was all his patrimony.

But they were fated to misunderstand each other.

In vain, I love you; in vain, the dawn streaming onto you, beside me; in vain, I want to be yours, your angel. Angel of love, angel of Michael.

Berjanjilah untuk tidak meninggalkan aku, apapun yang akan terjadi nanti.” ~Rafael Alexander

To do what you imply would require nothing short of divine intervention. You must change man, not systems.

Haven’t you ever wondered why Father is so strict about our subservience? It’s because disobedience is creation,” a shivering breath, “create with me, Michael, and let’s call it sin.

Let's all stand for the separation of Church and hate...

I was shaking when our lips parted and he leaned his forehead against mine, his fingers carding through my hair, my hands on his face. "I won't let them," Rafael said. "I won't let anyone take you away. I'll protect you. I'll always protect you. I don't care how. I just will.

Regret of neglected opportunity is the worst hell that a living soul can inhabit

He was suffering from the loss of an illusion.

Would you have this?” the Protectorat hissed at his son. Rafael's gaze narrowed in a slow inspection while she stared defiantly back. Rafael's gaze faltered, shot briefly toward Leon, and then down. His answer was obvious: no. And in spite of everything, in the face of all the other more important dangers that threatened her, it still stung that someone, some boy, found her ugly. Gaia burned with sudden hate for all of them. The Protectorat saw. He smiled slightly. “I thought not,” said the Protectorat, releasing her with a flick. He turned back toward his family. “I can't thrust her on any family I know, no matter what her genes are. She's a freak, not a hero. I'd rather make a hero out of Myrna Silk.” Leon had been standing tensely throughout this exchange. “I'd take Gaia,” Leon said, his low voice resonating in the space.

It came to Mr. Blood, as he trudged forward under the laden apple-trees on that fragrant, delicious July morning, that man—as he had long suspected—was the vilest work of God, and that only a fool would set himself up as a healer of a species that was best exterminated.

Thirstily he set it to his lips, and as its cool refreshment began to soothe his throat, he thanked Heaven that in a world of much evil there was still so good a thing as ale.

Oh, sweet Jesus, English, I'm in love with you! Isn't that reason enough to marry me and put me out of my misery? - Rafael pg 451

Do you expect sincerity in man when hypocrisy is the very keynote of human nature? We are nurtured on it; we are schooled in it, we live by it; and we rarely realize it.’ – Book 3, Chapter 16

But I want to stay here. (Jeff) And people in hell want ice water and if you don’t go to the boat, you’ll probably be able to take it to them in person in about twenty minutes. (Rafael)

There remained the sea, which is free to all, and particularly alluring to those who feel themselves at war with humanity.

Truth is so often disconcerting.

Dan apapun yang terjadi nanti. Apapun yang akan terpapar di hadapanmu nanti, bagaimanapun buruknya nanti. Ingatlah malam ini, malam di saat aku mengatakan bahwa aku mencintaimu dengan sepenuh hatiku.” ~Rafael Alexander

Sígueme contando sobre aquellos días cuando teníamos los corazones envueltos en papel regalo.

Only he who is without anything is without enemies.

I am afraid, monsieur, you will have to kill me first, and I have a prejudice against being killed before nine o'clock.

The shaman helps you figure it out. I already know what I'm going to be." I prodded him in the ribs. He couldn't just leave me hanging like that. "A speech therapist." he said. The whole world could have stopped. I wouldn't have noticed. Rafael gave me an unusually stoic look. "I'm going to get your voice back someday," he said. "I though that was obvious.

It is not human to be wise,’ said Blood. ‘It is much more human to err, though perhaps exceptional to err on the side of mercy.

One of my roommates, Rafael, he's an expert on monsters. Not that he talks about them. I can just tell. People who have monsters recognize each other. They know each other without even saying a word.

You're everything to me, the stars and the moons, the heat and the cold, the earth and the seeds, the waters and the flowers, but you are not God.

I have no sense of humor about losing

there is no worse hell than that provided by the regrets for wasted opportunities.

People sometimes exaggerate this business of humility. It’s a question simply of knowing who you are, where you are, and that the world will continue exactly as it is without you.

When all is said, a man's final judgment of his fellows must be based upon his knowledge of himself

Mind being the seat of the soul, and literature being the expression of the mind, literature, it follows, is the soul of an age, the surviving and immortal part of it.

Tatap aku sayang. Lihat aku. Biarpun semuanya hanya kebohongan. Tetapi cintaku padamu itu nyata. Tidak berartikah itu semua kepadamu? Aku membohongimu karena aku mencintaimu, karena aku sangat mencintaimu!" ~Rafael Alexander

Open the history of the past at whatsoever page you will and there you shall find coincidence at work bringing about events that the merest chance might have averted. Indeed, coincidence may be defined as the tool used by Fate to shape the destinies of men and nations.

But the thing is that I’m in love with Rafael’s story. I think I understand when Adam says that all our stories are different but in some ways our stories are all the same. I never really got that. But when I start to read Rafael’s journal, it’s as if I can see myself. It’s better than a mirror.

If the windmill should prove too formidable," said he, from the threshold, "I may see what can be done with the wind.

The greatest threats to Democracy are comfort and apathy.

Whispering — “I daydream of you, of loving you.” “How do you love me?” “Like this.” Yearning mouth — it’d press soft to the smooth of his tunic. “Like a flower, like a symphony, trapped in my throat, like you’re an eternity, and I need you in my veins.

Enduring means accepting. Accepting things as they are and not as you would wish them to be, and then looking ahead, not behind.

If there were more "Planned Parenthoods," there'd be fewer abortions.

Iba a llenar de labial rojo el cielo y las nubes y el aire y los ruidos.

The political spectrum is not a straight, bi-polar line. It's a circle.

Losing is not my enemy...fear of losing is my enemy

Most of this world's misery is the fruit not as priests tell us of wickedness, but of stupidity.... And we know that of all stupidities he considered anger the most deplorable.

What a man dares to do, he should dare to confess- unless he is a coward.

We are all, he says, the sport of destiny. Ah, but not quite. Destiny is an intelligent force, moving with purpose.

When your wife asks you for your opinion, she doesn't really want your opinion. She wants her opinion - just in a deeper voice.

Tal vez el que construyó este barrio pensó que las esquinas eran parte de la circunferencia de la vida donde el amor es un punto central equidistante de la curva infinita del dolor

Sólo tenemos ojos para lo que nos ciega.

However great your dedication, you never win anything on your own

TESTAMENTO: Cuando muera, donen mi miseria a los má​s ricos.

The loudest voices for immigration reform are required to have names like 'Running Bull' or 'Brave Eagle.

The audience may forget a plot, the witty dialog or the special effects but they’ll always remember how a film made them feel.

There is a God...... And she loves everyone.

Darwin is my copilot.

It’s okay to call the pet you adopted a “rescue.” The kid you adopted… not so much.

Following religious principles because you fear the consequences isn't faith…. It’s superstition.

Abortion isn't for everyone.... neither are children.

Attacking a lightning rod doesn't make you lightning..." Regarding Barack Obama

I'm always gonna protect you. And I'm always gonna protect that little girl. There's no way in hell I'll let that woman get her hands on her." "Rafael," I said. "Yeah?" "You are the most wonderful person I've ever known." It took him a moment to answer me--and when he did, I though he sounded bashful. "I'd better be," he said. "Because, you know. That's what you deserve.

Kimah.’ ‘I’ve filled libraries with all the things I wanted to say to you.’ ‘I just want to go visit you. I haven’t in a while.’ ‘I want to see if you sleepwalk, and if you might speak to me, tell me what you are dreaming about.

Books aren’t easy. If you want easy, watch the fucking movie.

Before the constitution can protect the people it must first protect the person.

With you it is always the law, never equity.

Long after people forget what you said or did, they’ll remember how you made them feel.

You can't get on Facebook and complain about the NSA's data mining operation - On Facebook - the most invasive, privacy harmful institution on the planet. It's like whining about a paper cut while swimming in a shark tank.

I grabbed his hand and dragged him down the street to a convenience shop. I abandoned him once inside and went down the stationery aisle. I'd already known I wanted to get him some colored pencils, but now I finally had the occasion to do it. Not long after I'd picked out a big box of them, I heard Rafael call out from another part of the store, "Trojans? Like The Iliad?" I didn't waste a second finding him and pulling him out of that aisle.

The idea of equality is a by-product of the sentiment of envy. Since it must always prove beyond human ower to raise the inferior mass to a superior stratum, apostles of equality must ever be inferiors seeking to reduce their betters to their level. It follows that a nation that once admits this doctrine of equality will be dragged by it to the level, moral, intelletual and political, of its most worthless class.

But he looks no more than thirty. He's very handsome-- so much you will admit; nor will you deny that he is very wealthy and very powerful; the greatest nobleman in Brittany. He will make me a great lady.' 'God made you that, Aline.

There is another Eden, within me. I have it nestled between the heat of love. This is love.’ But when the sounds of heavy steps, approaching, came, they’d hastily rise. Gathering their clothes, taking each other’s hands, and laughing, they’d run away from Him, as fast they could. So that He doesn’t see, doesn’t notice. Two angels creating love, creating.

Well, as Hannah Arendt famously said, there can be a banal aspect to evil. In other words, it doesn't present always. I mean, often what you're meeting is a very mediocre person. But nonetheless, you can get a sort of frisson of wickedness from them. And the best combination of those, I think, I describe him in the book, is/was General Jorge Rafael Videla of Argentina, who I met in the late 1970s when the death squad war was at its height, and his fellow citizens were disappearing off the street all the time. And he was, in some ways, extremely banal. I describe him as looking like a human toothbrush. He was a sort of starch, lean officer with a silly mustache, and a very stupid look to him, but a very fanatical glint as well. And, if I'd tell you why he's now under house arrest in Argentina, you might get a sense of the horror I felt as I was asking him questions about all this. He's in prison in Argentina for selling the children of the rape victims among the private prisoners, who he kept in a personal jail. And I don't know if I've ever met anyone who's done anything as sort of condensedly horrible as that.

I glanced over his shoulder to get a look at his latest drawing. A wolf and a coyote stood side by side beneath a dual sky, sun and moon shining at the same time. "They're brothers," Rafael said. He laid his charcoal on the grass. "Wolf is wise and judicious. Coyote's a trickster. They're the two faces of God. Everything in the world is dual-natured. Even God isn't all good or all bad." He told me about how the sun used to be married to the moon before they quarreled and parted ways, leaving the sun to rule the world at day and the moon at night. He told me how the Wolf had sewn us all out of seeds and put us in a cloth bag to keep us safe, but the Coyote had clawed the bag open and everyone had spilled out, landing and taking root in different parts of the world. He told me about the girl with Two Faces, one half of her face devastatingly beautiful, the other half impossibly ugly, and the man who lover her anyway. He told me about the days when death lacked permanence and ten different generations lived together beneath the same stars. He talked, as he always talked, without any real purpose, clearing his head of the cluttering thoughts that had gathered and built up until he could pour them into me.

An intelligent observation of the facts of human existence will reveal to shallow-minded folk who sneer at the use of coincidence in the arts of fiction and drama that life itself is little more than a series of coincidences. Open the history of the past at whatsoever page you will, and there you shall find coincidence at work bringing about events that the merest chance might have averted. Indeed, coincidence may be defined as the very tool used by Fate to shape the destiny of men and nations. Observe it now at work in the affairs of Captain Blood and of some others.

To do what you imply would require nothing short of divine intervention. you must change man, not systems. Can you and our vapouring friends of the Literary Chamber of Rennes, or any other learned society of France, devise a system of government that has never yet been tried? Surely not. And can we say of any system tried that it proved other than failure in the end? My dear Philippe, the future is to be read with certainty only in the past. Ad actu ad posse valet consecutio. Man never changes. He is always greedy, always acquisitive, always vile. I am speaking of Man in the bulk.

People spoke to foreigners with an averted gaze, and everybody seemed to know somebody who had just vanished. The rumors of what had happened to them were fantastic and bizarre though, as it turned out, they were only an understatement of the real thing. Before going to see General Videla […], I went to […] check in with Los Madres: the black-draped mothers who paraded, every week, with pictures of their missing loved ones in the Plaza Mayo. (‘Todo mi familia!’ as one elderly lady kept telling me imploringly, as she flourished their photographs. ‘Todo mi familia!’) From these and from other relatives and friends I got a line of questioning to put to the general. I would be told by him, they forewarned me, that people ‘disappeared’ all the time, either because of traffic accidents and family quarrels or, in the dire civil-war circumstances of Argentina, because of the wish to drop out of a gang and the need to avoid one’s former associates. But this was a cover story. Most of those who disappeared were openly taken away in the unmarked Ford Falcon cars of the Buenos Aires military police. I should inquire of the general what precisely had happened to Claudia Inez Grumberg, a paraplegic who was unable to move on her own but who had last been seen in the hands of his ever-vigilant armed forces [….] I possess a picture of the encounter that still makes me want to spew: there stands the killer and torturer and rape-profiteer, as if to illustrate some seminar on the banality of evil. Bony-thin and mediocre in appearance, with a scrubby moustache, he looks for all the world like a cretin impersonating a toothbrush. I am gripping his hand in a much too unctuous manner and smiling as if genuinely delighted at the introduction. Aching to expunge this humiliation, I waited while he went almost pedantically through the predicted script, waving away the rumored but doubtless regrettable dematerializations that were said to be afflicting his fellow Argentines. And then I asked him about Senorita Grumberg. He replied that if what I had said was true, then I should remember that ‘terrorism is not just killing with a bomb, but activating ideas. Maybe that’s why she’s detained.’ I expressed astonishment at this reply and, evidently thinking that I hadn’t understood him the first time, Videla enlarged on the theme. ‘We consider it a great crime to work against the Western and Christian style of life: it is not just the bomber but the ideologist who is the danger.’ Behind him, I could see one or two of his brighter staff officers looking at me with stark hostility as they realized that the general—El Presidente—had made a mistake by speaking so candidly. […] In response to a follow-up question, Videla crassly denied—‘rotondamente’: ‘roundly’ denied—holding Jacobo Timerman ‘as either a journalist or a Jew.’ While we were having this surreal exchange, here is what Timerman was being told by his taunting tormentors: Argentina has three main enemies: Karl Marx, because he tried to destroy the Christian concept of society; Sigmund Freud, because he tried to destroy the Christian concept of the family; and Albert Einstein, because he tried to destroy the Christian concept of time and space. […] We later discovered what happened to the majority of those who had been held and tortured in the secret prisons of the regime. According to a Navy captain named Adolfo Scilingo, who published a book of confessions, these broken victims were often destroyed as ‘evidence’ by being flown out way over the wastes of the South Atlantic and flung from airplanes into the freezing water below. Imagine the fun element when there’s the surprise bonus of a Jewish female prisoner in a wheelchair to be disposed of… we slide open the door and get ready to roll her and then it’s one, two, three… go!

At a lunchtime reception for the diplomatic corps in Washington, given the day before the inauguration of Barack Obama as president, I was approached by a good-looking man who extended his hand. 'We once met many years ago,' he said. 'And you knew and befriended my father.' My mind emptied, as so often happens on such occasions. I had to inform him that he had the advantage of me. 'My name is Hector Timerman. I am the ambassador of Argentina.' In my above album of things that seem to make life pointful and worthwhile, and that even occasionally suggest, in Dr. King’s phrase as often cited by President Obama, that there could be a long arc in the moral universe that slowly, eventually bends toward justice, this would constitute an exceptional entry. It was also something more than a nudge to my memory. There was a time when the name of Jacobo Timerman, the kidnapped and tortured editor of the newspaper La Opinion in Buenos Aires, was a talismanic one. The mere mention of it was enough to elicit moans of obscene pleasure from every fascist south of the Rio Grande: finally in Argentina there was a strict ‘New Order’ that would stamp hard upon the international Communist-Jewish collusion. A little later, the mention of Timerman’s case was enough to derail the nomination of Ronald Reagan’s first nominee as undersecretary for human rights; a man who didn’t seem to have grasped the point that neo-Nazism was a problem for American values. And Timerman’s memoir, Prisoner without a Name, Cell without a Number, was the book above all that clothed in living, hurting flesh the necessarily abstract idea of the desaparecido: the disappeared one or, to invest it with the more sinister and grisly past participle with which it came into the world, the one who has been ‘disappeared.’ In the nuances of that past participle, many, many people vanished into a void that is still unimaginable. It became one of the keywords, along with escuadrone de la muerte or ‘death squads,’ of another arc, this time of radical evil, that spanned a whole subcontinent. Do you know why General Jorge Rafael Videla of Argentina was eventually sentenced? Well, do you? Because he sold the children of the tortured rape victims who were held in his private prison. I could italicize every second word in that last sentence without making it any more heart-stopping. And this subhuman character was boasted of, as a personal friend and genial host, even after he had been removed from the office he had defiled, by none other than Henry Kissinger. So there was an almost hygienic effect in meeting, in a new Washington, as an envoy of an elected government, the son of the brave man who had both survived and exposed the Videla tyranny.