Re Leone Quotes

You're Mad Rogan!" Leon burst out. "Yes," Mad Rogan said, his voice calm. "And you can break cities?" "Yes." "And you have all this money and magic?" "Yes." Where was Leon going with this? My cousin blinked. "And you look . . . like that?" Mad Rogan nodded. "Yes." Leon's dark eyes went wide. He looked at Mad Rogan, then glanced back at himself. At fifteen, Leon weighed barely a hundred pounds. His arms and legs were like chopsticks. "There is no justice in the world!" Leon announced.

If you're lucky enough to fall in love, that's one thing. Otherwise all that was ever truly beautiful to me was boyhood. It's the meal we sup on for the rest of our lives. Love puts the icing on life. But if you don't find it...you must call on your childhood memories over and over till you do.

Talent isn't enough. You need motivation-and persistence, too: what Steinbeck called a blend of faith and arrogance. When you're young, plain old poverty can be enough, along with an insatiable hunger for recognition. You have to have that feeling of "I'll show them." If you don't have it, don't become a writer

You’re lovely, and I will never hurt you how he hurt you. (That part was me.) Leon xx

Miss Abigail, I want to be an author because writers know when a person is lonely. I mean, when Molly read me some books, those writers reached out and said, Look Gideon, we know about your loneliness and we know you're feeling downtrodden. And they said...I'll stand up for you. You're not lone anymore.

One of the cheapest commodities in the world is unfulfilled genius. All of us want to be known as a unique individual, the one who broke out of the pack. So, you offer yourself up as a sacrifice and what you’re afraid of is losing and being thrown back into the pack. One question taunts you. Do you want to have, or do you want to be?

Someone came in all Starfleet badges today. Not on my shift, sadly.' 'Fascist,' Leon had said. 'Why are you so prejudiced against nerds?' 'Please,' Billy said. 'That would be a bit self-hating, wouldn't it?' 'Yeah, but you pass. You're like, you're in deep cover,' Leon said. 'You can sneak out of the nerd ghetto and hide the badge and bring back food and clothes and word of the outside world.

She grinned at me. “Aha, took you a second. Don’t worry, I only poison random strangers on Tuesdays.” “Today is Tuesday,” Leon said. “Oops. Well, that’s okay. You told me your name, so we’re not strangers. You should be safe.” She turned to Leon. “But I don’t know who you are. No promises.

Huxley: "Tell me something Bryce, do you know the difference between a Jersey, a Guernsey, a Holstein, and an Ayershire?" Bryce: "No." Huxley: "Seabags Brown does." Bryce: "I don't see what that has to do..." Huxley: "What do you know about Gaelic history?" Bryce: "Not much." Huxley: "Then why don't you sit down one day with Gunner McQuade. He is an expert. Speaks the language, too." Bryce: "I don't..." Huxley: " What do you know about astronomy?" Bryce: "A little." Huxley: "Discuss it with Wellman, he held a fellowship." Bryce: "This is most puzzling." Huxley: "What about Homer, ever read Homer?" Bryce: "Of course I've read Homer." Huxley: "In the original Greek?" Bryce: "No" Huxley: "Then chat with Pfc. Hodgkiss. Loves to read the ancient Greek." Bryce: "Would you kindly get to the point?" Huxley: "The point is this, Bryce. What makes you think you are so goddam superior? Who gave you the bright idea that you had a corner on the world's knowledge? There are privates in this battalion who can piss more brains down a slit trench then you'll ever have. You're the most pretentious, egotistical individual I've ever encountered. Your superiority complex reeks. I've seen the way you treat men, like a big strutting peacock. Why, you've had them do everything but wipe your ass.

When I walk into [the studio] I am alone, but I am alone with my body, ambition, ideas, passions, needs, memories, goals, prejudices, distractions, fears. These ten items are at the heart of who I am. Whatever I am going to create will be a reflection of how these have shaped my life, and how I've learned to channel my experiences into them. The last two -- distractions and fears -- are the dangerous ones. They're the habitual demons that invade the launch of any project. No one starts a creative endeavor without a certain amount of fear; the key is to learn how to keep free-floating fears from paralyzing you before you've begun. When I feel that sense of dread, I try to make it as specific as possible. Let me tell you my five big fears: 1. People will laugh at me. 2. Someone has done it before. 3. I have nothing to say. 4. I will upset someone I love. 5. Once executed, the idea will never be as good as it is in my mind. "There are mighty demons, but they're hardly unique to me. You probably share some. If I let them, they'll shut down my impulses ('No, you can't do that') and perhaps turn off the spigots of creativity altogether. So I combat my fears with a staring-down ritual, like a boxer looking his opponent right in the eye before a bout. 1. People will laugh at me? Not the people I respect; they haven't yet, and they're not going to start now.... 2. Someone has done it before? Honey, it's all been done before. Nothing's original. Not Homer or Shakespeare and certainly not you. Get over yourself. 3. I have nothing to say? An irrelevant fear. We all have something to say. 4. I will upset someone I love? A serious worry that is not easily exorcised or stared down because you never know how loved ones will respond to your creation. The best you can do is remind yourself that you're a good person with good intentions. You're trying to create unity, not discord. 5. Once executed, the idea will never be as good as it is in my mind? Toughen up. Leon Battista Alberti, the 15th century architectural theorist, said, 'Errors accumulate in the sketch and compound in the model.' But better an imperfect dome in Florence than cathedrals in the clouds.

I've always told people that for each person there is a sentence--a series of words--which has the power to destroy him. When Fat told me about Leon Stone I realized (this came years after the first realization) that another sentence exists, another series of words, which will heal the person. If you're lucky you will get the second; but you can be certain of getting the first: that is the way it works.

I want to look at the work. I don’t care if its white or black. I don’t agree that “If you’re white, you can’t write”. I want to see what they can do. I also don’t believe that because I am a man, I can’t write about women. I had better quit writing, if I can’t write about women. Why can’t women write about men? It’s talent that’s important.

We’re not a pack,” Leon said, waving a hand dismissively. “We’re a pride. But instead of a King with a bunch of lionesses we have a Queen with a bunch of Lions.” “I’m not a fucking Lion,” Ryder disagreed. “You are. You’re Scar, Dante’s Mufasa and I’m Simba and Gabe is…Zazu.

We're Irish, messed up, superstitious and unorganizable…but, by God, you don't see any poets coming out of Ulster.

I have written so many books on God, but after all that, what do I really know? I think, in the end, God is the person you're talking to, the one right in front of you.

You’re an attractive man, Heath Everson, but I will not get teased for noticing it.” “Of course not! If I teased every woman who noticed, I would have no female friends.

Oh, the boom box, oh God. Oh! This is an appropriation of the hood and the street — you’re giving us like baaad hip hop, thuggerish, but it’s not thuggish enough.

We never know them well. Do we?” “Who?” “Real people.” “What do you mean, real people?” “As opposed to people in books,” Paola explained. “They’re the only ones we ever know well. Or know truly.

Leon Dufour, a world-renowned Jesuit theologian and Scripture scholar, a year before he died at ninety-nine, confided in a Jesuit who was caring for him, "I have written so many books on God, but after all that, what do I really know? I think, in the end, God is the person you're talking to, the one right in front of you." I mantra I use often, to keep me focused in delight on the person in front of me, comes from an unlikely place. Richard Rolheiser writes that, "the opposite of depression is not happiness, it's delight." After all, we breathe in the Spirit that delights in our being. We don't breathe in the Spirit that just sort of puts up with our mess. It's about delight.

I need Leon to know I’m sorry. I don’t need his forgiveness. I don’t believe in forgiveness. I think if you hurt someone, it becomes a part of you both. Each of you just has to live with it and the person you hurt gets to decide if they want to give you the chance to do it again. If they do and you’re a good person, you won’t make the same mistakes. Just whole new ones.

Theo: You don’t know this, because I haven’t wanted to talk about it, but Sam and Derek are my and Leone’s exes. They’re getting married. To each other. Guess how drunk we are?

If you’re Irish enough, you can go an entire lifetime filled with conversations that never took place, like those

They’re two tiny, weak, strong, fearless women side by side, facing me, their self-appointed protector. They’re ready to defend themselves against me—me—and it hurts like a motherfucker!

I'm sorry," Leon said. "I can see you loved your two friends and you miss them, and maybe they're flying around somewhere in the sky, zipping here and there and being spirits and happy. But you and I and three billion other people are not, and until it changes here it won't be enough, Phil; not enough. Despite the supreme heavenly father. He has to do something for us here, and that's the truth. If you believe in the truth--well, Phil, that's the truth. The harsh, unpleasant truth.

I’ve always told people that for each person there is a sentence—a series of words—which has the power to destroy him. When Fat told me about Leon Stone I realized (this came years after the first realization) that another sentence exists, another series of words, which will heal the person. If you’re lucky you will get the second; but you can be certain of getting the first: that is the way it works. On their own, without training, individuals know how to deal out the lethal sentence, but training is required to deal out the second.

BAD THINGS REALLY DID HAPPEN. (Mo asked me to remind you.) But you got through said bad things, and now you are stronger for it. (Gerty told me to pass on … though her version had more swearwords.) You’re lovely, and I will never hurt you how he hurt you. (That part was me.) Leon xx

Carey, my best advice is this. Do better than them. Be smarter. Ace tests and kick ass. They’re trying to bring you down to prove they’re better than you. Don’t let them. Be pretty, be tough, be whatever you want to be. Don’t let them dictate the terms of your life. It’s your life, not theirs.

Leon Dufour, a world-renowned Jesuit theologian and Scripture scholar, a year before he died at ninety-nine, confided in a Jesuit who was caring for him, “I have written so many books on God, but after all that, what do I really know? I think, in the end, God is the person you’re talking to, the one right in front of you.

You’re Mad Rogan!” Leon burst out. “Yes,” Mad Rogan said, his voice calm. “And you can break cities?” “Yes.” “And you have all this money and magic?” “Yes.” Where was Leon going with this? My cousin blinked. “And you look . . . like that?” Mad Rogan nodded. “Yes.” Leon’s dark eyes went wide. He looked at Mad Rogan, then glanced down at himself. At fifteen, Leon weighed barely a hundred pounds. His arms and legs were like chopsticks. “There is no justice in the world!” Leon announced. I giggled and almost choked on my pancake. Mother cracked a smile. “Can you play guitar too?” Leon asked. “Because if you can, I’ll go kill myself right now.” “No, but I can sing a little,” Mad Rogan said. “God damn it!” Leon punched the table. “Calm yourself,” Bern told him. “You shut up. You’re the size of Sasquatch. Leon pointed at Mad Rogan. “Are you seeing this? How is this fair?” “He’s fifteen,” I told Mad Rogan. “Fair is very important right now.” “You have time,” Mad Rogan said. “Yeah . . .” Leon shook his head. “No, not really. I can’t sing for sure, and I’ll never look like that.

Why did you come?” Gaia asked, passing over his shirt. “I wanted to see you,” he said. “That’s all? No problem with the crims or anything?” It seemed like so long ago that he’d left the crims to come into the village to find her. He fingered his shirt, which was all but dry. “No. Just you.” “You’re awfully untalkative for a guy who came all this way to see me,” she said. He glanced up again, seeing the concern in her eyes when she smiled at him. His loneliness began to thaw. “You were amazing in there, you know,” he said. She shook her head, turning his hat in her hands. “I hope I didn’t boss you around too much. I can get a little single-minded.” “Hardly at all. ‘Take yer boots off and git yerself in here,’” he drawled.

People always ask me, they say, “Jarod, what do you do with your money?” Well, I base my financial decisions on the annual migratory patterns of Bigfoot, because maps are the new charts, as taught by the esteemed Ponce de Leon School of Youth, Wealth, and Duck Farming. Next time you’re in St. Augustine, Fl, or here in The Ozarks, you should stop on by and learn to become your own cartographer.

A diamond may be forever, but terrorism, promiscuously funded, will be too. Let's make the connection clearly by tracing the path of the diamond. Diamonds start out in the earth, and eventually that earth is part of a country, like Sierra Leone, Angola, or the Democratic Republic of Congo. In those countries, desperate battles for control have been going on for decades, and the armies that fight the battles finance their ambitions with diamonds. Villagers are forced to mine the diamonds by ruthless rebels who maintain order through terror: by raping women and hacking off the limbs of the children, something, by the way, you never see in the De Beers ads. The rebels then smuggle the diamonds into neighboring dictatorships in exchange for guns and cash. There the diamonds are sold to the highest bidder--whether they be terrorists or "legitimate" dealers--and finally they're laundered in Europe, shipped to America, and end up in jewelry stores where they're purchased by men and given to women in exchange for oral sex. In the feminized world we live in, it's practically national policy that women are more evolved that men--but if that's so, how come they're still so impressed by shiny objects?

One thing more, Leon. You say that life is meaningless, but I believe it's life that's sacred. I talk about art and sex because they're the most intense life experiences I know, so I feel they must be sacred too. They let us experience the values we've chosen for our lives in one exquisite not of pleasure exactly but of oneness with all of existence and with our own personal relationship to it. Art says: "This is Life." Sex says: "This is Living.

It's all that's left,' Leon said in a suddenly weak voice. 'It's what is left of civilization. You take raw material and you transform it. That is civilization. Physical love is all raw meat. That's why everyone's so preoccupied with it now. I have been told by a colleague ten years older than myself--as if it were possible for anybody to be ten years older than I am--that salvation comes from staring at the pubic region of strangers, and freedom, from inducing in myself, by the use of a chemical, the kind of ecstatic lunacy in which I spent most of my adolescence, a condition I attribute solely to the strength of my body at that time and the conviction I had then that I would see socialism in the United States during my lifetime. Now that my bones are weak, my brain is stronger. I don't expect . . . anything. But I cannot bear the grotesque, lying piety of my own unhinged contemporaries. One man, a literary star'--and here he broke off, laughed once, choked and shook his head--'oh, yes, a star, told me he only regretted the pill had not yet been developed in his own youth. All those girls who might have been his! In this age of generalized cock, is this the whole revelation toward which my life has been directed? I would, in any case, prefer to contemplate the organ of a horse. It is handsomer, larger and more comic than anything my fellow man has to show. It is the age of baby shit, darling. Don't kid yourself. My privacy has been violated--what I've admired and thought about all my life has been debased. Poor bodies . . . poor evil-smiling gross flesh. Perhaps we're going downhill, all of us.' He reached out and pressed her shoulder. 'Do you understand me?' he asked.

This is slightly embarrassing,” Alkaitis said that night, when they’d left the bar and retired to a quieter corner of the lobby to discuss investments, “but you said you’re in shipping, and I realized as you said it that I’ve only the dimmest idea of what that actually means.” Leon smiled. “You’re not alone in that. It’s a largely invisible industry, but nearly everything you’ve ever bought traveled over the water.” “My made-in-China headphones, and whatnot.” “Sure, yes, there’s an obvious one, but I really mean almost everything. Everything on and around us. Your socks. Our shoes. My aftershave. This glass in my hand. I could keep going, but I’ll spare you.” “I’m embarrassed to admit that I never thought about it,” Jonathan said. “No one does. You go to the store, you buy a banana, you don’t think about the men who piloted the banana through the Panama Canal. Why would you?

You’re Mad Rogan!” Leon burst out. “Yes,” Mad Rogan said, his voice calm. “And you can break cities?” “Yes.” “And you have all this money and magic?” “Yes.” Where was Leon going with this? My cousin blinked. “And you look . . . like that?” Mad Rogan nodded. “Yes.” Leon’s dark eyes went wide. He looked at Mad Rogan, then glanced down at himself. At fifteen, Leon weighed barely a hundred pounds. His arms and legs were like chopsticks. “There is no justice in the world!” Leon announced. I giggled and almost choked on my pancake. Mother cracked a smile. “Can you play guitar too?” Leon asked. “Because if you can, I’ll go kill myself right now.” “No, but I can sing a little,” Mad Rogan said. “God damn it!” Leon punched the table. “Calm yourself,” Bern told him. “You shut up. You’re the size of Sasquatch.” Leon pointed at Mad Rogan. “Are you seeing this? How is this fair?” “He’s fifteen,” I told Mad Rogan. “Fair is very important right now.” “You have time,” Mad Rogan said. “Yeah . . .” Leon shook his head. “No, not really. I can’t sing for sure, and I’ll never look like that.

If you look back in the 1930s, Leon Trotsky said that fascism was the inability of the socialist parties to come forth with an alternative,” Hudson said. “If the socialist parties and media don’t come forth with an alternative to this neofeudalism, you’re going to have a rollback to feudalism. But instead of the military taking over the land, as occurred with the Norman Conquest, you take over the land financially. Finance has become the new mode of warfare. “You can achieve the takeover of land and the takeover of companies by corporate raids,” he said. “The Wall Street vocabulary is one of conquest and wiping out. You’re having a replay in the financial sphere of what feudalism was in the military sphere.” The debauched ethics of all casino magnates, including Trump, define the dark, petulant heart of America. Our schools and libraries lack funding, our infrastructure is a wreck, drug addiction and suicide are an epidemic, and we flee toward the promise of magic, unchecked hedonism, and perpetual stimulation. There is a pathological need in America to escape the dreary and the depressing.

So how did he turn out?” “I don’t know…It’s strange because there’s the him I remember from middle school, and that’s just my memory of him, but then there’s the him now.” “Did you guys ever go out back then?” “Oh no! Never.” “So that’s probably why you’re curious about him now.” “I didn’t say I was curious.” Lucas gives me a look. “You basically did. I don’t blame you. I’d be curious too.” “It’s just fun to think about.” “You’re lucky,” he says. “Lucky how?” “Lucky that you have..options. I mean, I’m not officially ‘out,’ but even if I was, there are, like, two gay guys at our school. Mark Weinberger, who’s a pizza face, and Leon Butler.” Lucas shudders. “What’s wrong with Leon?” “Don’t patronize me by asking. I just wish our school was bigger. There’s nobody for me here.” He stares off into space moodily. Sometimes I look at Lucas and for a second I forget he’s gay and I want to like him all over again. I touch his hand. “One day soon you’ll be in the world, and you’ll have so many options you won’t know what to do with them. Everyone will fall in love with you, because you’re so beautiful and so charming, and you’ll look back on high school as such a tiny blip.” Lucas smiles, and his moodiness lifts away. “I won’t forget you, though.

However, it is also true that sometimes people are transformed by their marriages in negative and hostile ways. I think this occurs as an attempt to resolve what Leon Festinger in 1957 referred to as cognitive dissonance. Festinger writes that we’re all powerfully driven to experience ourselves as consistent in our thought processes. As a result, if we become aware of an inconsistency in our beliefs, we’ll change one or more of the beliefs to make them more internally consistent. How might the theory of cognitive dissonance explain why Sam changed from being a kind and considerate family member to being critical and angry? Here’s how the shift in personality might work: Belief: My parents and sisters are good people who deserve my love and respect. Belief: Maria hates my family and thinks they brainwashed me into thinking that they were good to me when they really weren’t. Since Sam loves both his family and Maria, he’s in a quandary. If he remains committed to Maria, he’ll produce endless fights by disagreeing with her or pushing her into being more involved with his family; she has already said that she doesn’t like them and doesn’t feel comfortable being in their presence. He will also feel guilt toward Maria if he remains in contact with them, as she’s made it clear that he needs to choose her over him and being close to them is therefore a betrayal of her. Since Sam has to come home to Maria each night, his path of least cognitive dissonance is to accept her version of his parents as the correct one.

Dalla parte opposta Antoine-Luois-Leon Florelle de Saint-Just, pallido, fronte bassa, profilo regolare, sguardo misterioso, tristezza profonda, ventitré anni; Merlin de Thionville, chiamato dai tedeschi Feuer-Teufel, diavolo di fuoco; Merlin de Douai, criminale autore della legge dei sospetti; Soubrany, che il popolo volle come generale al primo pratile; l'ex curato Lebon che maneggiava la spada con la mano un tempo benedicente; Billaud-Varennes che sognava una magistratura dell'avvenire senza giudici, affidata a soli arbitri; Fabre d'Eglantine, che ebbe una piacevole trovata , il calendario repubblicano, come Rouget de Lisle ebbe un'ispirazione sublime, La Marsigliese, ma l'uno come l'altro senza ritorni spirituali; Manuel, il procuratore della Comune, il quale sentenziò: «Un re morto non rappresenta un uomo di meno»; Goujon che era entrato nelle truppe a Trippe Lacroix, avvocato fattosi generale e creato cavaliere di San Luigi sei giorni prima del 12 agosto; Frèron Thersiste, figlio di Fréron-Zoile; Ruhl, inesorabile nell'esaminare il contenuto del famoso armadio di ferro, predestinato al suicidio, da perfetto repubblicano, il giorno in cui fosse caduta la repubblica; Fouché, anima demoniaca e viso cadaverico; Camboulas, l'amico di di Père Duchéne, che rimproverava a Guilliotin: «Tu appartieni al Club dei Foglianti, ma tua figlia al Club dei giacobini» Jagot, che obiettava a coloro che non approvavano la nudità dei carcerati. « Una prigione è pur sempre un abito di pietra»; Javagues, il macabro violatore di tombe di Saint-Denis; Osselin, proscrittore che concedeva asilo a una proscritta, Madame Charry; Bentabolle, il quale nelle funzioni di presidente, dava al pubblico il segnale degli applausi o delle imprecazioni; il giornalista Robert, marito di Kéralio, la quale scriveva: «Né Robespierre né Marta frequentano la mia casa, Robespierrre vi può venire quando vuole, Marat non vi metterà mai piede»; Garan Coulon, che a seguito dell'intervento della Spagna nel processo contro Luigi XVI aveva chiesto fieramente che l'assemblea non si degnasse di dar lettura della lettera di un re a favore di un altro re; Grégoire, vescovo degno della Chiesa primitiva, il quale sotto l'Impero, cancellò poi la sua fede repubblicana, assumendo il titolo di conte Grégoire; Amar, che affermava: «La terra intera condanna Luigi XVI. A chi appellarsi contro la condanna, ai pianeti?» Rouyer, il quale si era opposto all'impiego del cannone dal Pont – Neuf asserendo: «La testa di un re non deve, cadendo, far più rumore della testa di un uomo qualsiasi»; Chénier, fratello di André; Vadier, uno di quelli che posarono una pistola sulla tribuna; Tanis, che diceva a Momoro: «Voglio che Robespierre e Marat si riappacifichino alla mia tavola». «Dove abitate? A Charenton. «Mi sarei stupito che abitaste altrove»; Legendre, il macellaio della rivoluzione d'Inghilterra: « Vieni dunque che ti spacchi la testa», gridava a Lanjuinais; E costui rispondeva: «Devi ottenere prima un decreto che mi classifiche tra i buoi»; Collot d'Herbois, macabro commediante che portava sul viso l'antica maschera con due bocche, una per il sì e una per il no, uomo che approvava con l'una ciò che biasimava con l'alra, pronto ad accusare Carrier a Nantes e a deificare Châlier a Lione, a inviare Robespierre al patibolo e Marat al Pantheon; Génissieux, il quale chiedeva la pena di morte contro chiunque portasse su di sé la medaglia rappresentante Luigi XVI martirizzato; Leonard Bourdain, il maestro di scuola che aveva offerto la sua casa al vegliardo di Mont-Jura;Topsent, marinaio; Goupilleau, avvocato; Laurent Lecointre, commerciante; Duhem, medico; Sergent, scultore; David,pittore; Joseph Égalité, principe. Atri ancora: Lecointe-Piuraveau, il quale chiedeva che Marat «fosse riconosciuto in stato di demenza»;

Pioneer social psychologist Leon Festinger made sense of that behavior in his 1950s study, When Prophecy Fails. Festinger and two colleagues closely followed a tiny American sect that predicted natural disasters from which the faithful would be saved by flying saucers. When the prophesied time passed, the small group of believers suddenly began trying to convince the world of their beliefs. Festinger's explanation: When a person believes in something, and the belief is clearly proved wrong, a gap opens between what the person sees and what he or she knows is true. You can shed the beliefs, but if you've staked a lot on them, that hurts. One medicine is an explanation proving that the belief is still true. And the best way to convince yourself is persuade others: "If more and more people can be convinced that the system of belief is correct, then clearly it must, after all, be correct." Ergo, when a messianic figure dies or disappoints followers, or when a date set for the End passes, believers are likely to respond by evangelizing. At the least, they'll look for reassurance that they're right. That may explain why monthly sales of Left Behind books actually doubled in January 2000, after the Y2K bug failed to trigger the End.

One thing more, Leon. You say that life is meaningless, but I believe it's life that's sacred. I talk about art and sex because they're the most intense life experiences I know, so I feel they must be sacred too. They let us experience the values we've chosen for our lives in one exquisite moment not of pleasure exactly but of oneness with all of existence and with our own personal relationship to it. Art says: "This is Life." Sex says: "This is Living.

Leon laughed again. “That’s why it’s so hard to hurry kids. They’re not thinking about what happened yesterday or what has to happen later today. They just want to enjoy now.

In 1452, Leon Battista Alberti recommended in his De re aedificatoria (On Building), “The husband and wife must have separate bedrooms, not only to ensure that the husband be not disturbed by his wife, when she is about to give birth or is ill, but also to allow them, even in summer, an uninterrupted night’s sleep.

She wasn’t my type, though I really don’t have a type. I’ve spent my entire life traveling overseas. My parents worked for a charitable foundation in places like Laos and Peru and Sierra Leone. I don’t have any siblings. It was exciting and fun when I was a kid, but it got tiresome and difficult as I grew older. I wanted to stay in one place. I wanted to make some friends and play on one basketball team and, well, meet girls and do teenage stuff. It’s hard to do that when you’re backpacking in Nepal. This

L'acqua era diventata fredda. Jaime apri' gli occhi, stava fissando il moncone della mano con cui un tempo impugnava la spada. "La mano che ha fatto di me lo Sterminatore di Re." Con quell'unico colpo, Vargo Hoat il Caprone gli aveva strappato la gloria e la vergogna. 'Lasciando che cosa? Chi sono io adesso?' Brienne appariva ridicola, con l'asciugamano stretto a coprire le inesistenti tette e le grosse gambe bianche torreggianti. "La mia storia ti ha lasciato senza parole? Avanti fa' qualcosa: maledicimi, baciami, chiamami bugiardo. Qualsiasi cosa." "Se tutto questo e' vero, come mai nessuno ne e' al corrente?" "I cavalieri della Guardia reale giurano di tenere i segreti del re. Non avresti voluto che io infrangessi il mio solenne giuramento, vero?" Jaime rise. "Credi davvero che il nobile lord di Grande Inverno fosse interessato ad ascoltare le mie futili spiegazioni? Un uomo cosi' onorevole, Eddard Stark. Gli basto' meno di un'occhiata per giudicarmi colpevole." Balzo' in piedi, mentre l'acqua ormai fredda gli ruscellava contro il petto. "Ma con quale diritto il lupo giudica il leone? Con quale diritto?" Jaime fu colto da un brivido violento. Mentre cercava di uscire dalla vasca, fini' con l'urtare il moncone contro il bordo. La sofferenza dilago'... e di colpo, i bagni di Harrenhal si misero a ruotare attorno a lui. Brienne lo affero' prima che potesse cadere. Le sue braccia, irte di pelle d'oca, erano viscide e gelide, le gambe inerti come un cazzo moscio. Ma la donzella era forte, e piu' delicata di quanto lui avrebbe creduto. 'Piu' delicata di Cersei...' Quel pensiero gli attraverso' la mente mentre Brienne lo aiutava a uscire dalla vasca. "Guardie! Guardie!" la udi' gridare. "Lo Sterminatore di Re..." 'Jaime... il mio nome e' Jaime

In the aftermath, she (Misty) still felt as though she were floating and as Leone shifted back from her she leant over him, silver-grey eyes bright with emotion, and whispered, ‘I died and went to heaven the day I found you.’ A wolfish grin of appreciation slashed his wide, sensual mouth. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You don’t sound at all like yourself.’ ‘Enjoy it while it lasts,’ she advised, happiness flooding through her as he curved her close and pressed a slow, sweet kiss to her reddened mouth. ‘I didn’t realise I’d found heaven until I stumbled into hell,’ Leone traded feelingly.

Leon was my battle buddy for this mission and he was thrilled. “Cake shop,” he said. “Yes.” Leon let out a long-suffering sigh. “Are you sure that I’ll be enough? These places can get pretty rough. You walk into a cake shop and then some gunslinger tells you, ‘You ain’t from around here, partner,’ and the next thing you know, you’re in the middle of the street, your horse is dead, the bad guy’s got your girl by her hair, and you’re down to one bullet.” “What is going on in your head?” “It’s a dark, lawless place, Catalina. So dark.

I know you’re tired of hearing me say this, Guido, but I think plastic bottles are wrong, even though they’re certainly not criminal. Though,” she quickly added, “I think they will be within a few years. If we have any sense, that is.

Don't you think this has gone on long enough?" I looked up from my book. Leon was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. It was Thursday night, and although my sickness-or aftereffect-was gone, I still refused to join the land of the living...I was better off indoors. "You're interrupting my reading." I regarded Leon suspiciously. He hadn't spent any time yelling at me since Friday, but that didn't mean he wasn't about to start again. "Get up," he said. "We're going out." "I'm not going out," I protested, faking a cough. "I'm sick." "You're better."... "It's going to rain. Or snow. Or both. You never know with Minnesota. We could wander right into a blizzard." ... "Fine, but I'm still not going anywhere. It's the middle of the night." "It's eight." "I'm in my pajamas

Wide-eyed, I lifted the blade. “Damn, that is sharp.” I turned around, about to point that out to Leon when the daimon pure was suddenly right in my face. It licked its lips. “Apollyon…” “Oh, come on, can you all really smell it?” I flipped the sickle over and shoved it into his stomach. “You smell like warmth and summer.” Seth appeared at my side. “I told you, you smelled good.” “Well, you smell like… like…” Seth waited, brows raised. My eyes widened. Over his shoulder, I saw at least five more daimon pures coming down the hallway. “Daimons.” “I smell like a daimon?” He looked let down. “No, you idiot, there’re more daimons coming.” Seth glanced over his shoulder. “Oh. Well, damn.

I’m okay, Mom. Really.” My father hung back for a moment, as was his way. His eyes were wet and red. I looked at his face. He knew. He hadn’t bought the story about Africa with no phone service. He had probably helped peddle it to Mom. But he knew. “You’re so skinny,” Mom said. “Didn’t they feed you anything there?” “Leave him alone,” Dad said. “He looks fine.” “He doesn’t look fine. He looks skinny. And pale. Why are you in a hospital bed?” “I told you,” Dad said. “Didn’t you hear me, Ellen? Food poisoning. He’s going to be fine, some kind of dysentery.” “Why were you in Sierra Madre anyway?” “Sierra Leone,” Dad corrected. “I thought it was Sierra Madre.” “You’re thinking of the movie.” “I remember. With Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hep-burn.” “That was The African Queen.” “Ohhh,” Mom said, now understanding the confusion. Mom let go of me. Dad moved over, smoothed my hair off my forehead, kissed my cheek. The rough skin from his beard rubbed against me. The comforting smell of Old Spice lingered in the air. “You okay?” he asked. I nodded. He looked skeptical. They both suddenly looked so old. That was how it was, wasn’t it? When you don’t see a child for even a little while, you marvel at how much they’ve grown. When you don’t see an old person for even a little while, you marvel at how much they’ve aged. It happened every time. When did my robust parents cross that line? Mom had the shakes from Parkinson’s. It was getting bad. Her mind, always a tad eccentric, was slipping somewhere more troubling. Dad was in relatively good health, a few minor heart scares, but they both looked so damn old.

Do you prepare these speeches when you’re washing the dishes, or do such rhetorical flourishes come to you unrehearsed?’ She considered his question in the spirit in which it had been asked and answered, ‘I’d say they come to me quite naturally, though I imagine I’m aided by the fact that I see myself as the Language Police, ever on the prowl for infelicities or stupidities.’ ‘Lots of work?’ he asked. ‘Endless.’ She

Being at odds with yourself, which psychologists call “cognitive dissonance,” is a surprisingly powerful force first studied by Leon Festinger in the 1950s. People often go to great lengths to avoid reckoning with their internal contradictions. Cognitive dissonance can help explain why cults are so hard to leave (after you’ve joined and invested so much of yourself, it’s difficult to admit that you’re unhappy) and why smokers often underestimate the health effects

In the end, there are some people it makes sense to trust.’ ‘Why?’ He had no idea where this line of questioning had come from nor where it might lead them, but he sensed the seriousness with which she was pursuing it. ‘Because there are some people, still, who can be trusted absolutely. We have to believe that’s so.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because if we don’t find at least someone we can trust absolutely, then, well, we’re made less by not having them. And by not having the experience of trusting them.’ He wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by this, or perhaps he was just doing a bad job of explaining what it was he did mean, but he knew he felt that he would be a lesser man if there were no one into whose hands he would put himself.

Let's not talk about what we all kill for," Leon said lightly. "I'm sure Gabriel would kill to protect his roof tent and I'd kill to protect a sandwich, so we're all capable of murder for reasonable things.

I see why she likes you so much, Stanley,” I commented, flexing my fist and still picturing how it’d feel to punch that shit stain Leon in the face. “You’re a good listener. Nonjudgmental. I bet I could tell you all about—” A

Really? Those are the questions you wanna be asking right now?” Leon snapped back. “You just woke up with your dick in my woman’s mouth, but you wanna know why you’re handcuffed. Honestly, DeLuna, his priorities are fucked. Just come over here and sit on my face.

no one needs to choose here. We’re perfect just the way we are. All three of us… even if Murder Rabbit tests my patience every damn day.” Leon gave a dramatic gasp. “That’s what you’ve been calling me? Fuck. I like it.” Dammit, I was so in love with both of them it made me sick.

Nothing, you coward. You think you can lecture me on responsibility? Leon, my life might be pathetic, but you? You’re dead already.’ Anawak replayed the words in his mind. ‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘You’re right.’ He got up. ‘But thanks for saving my life.

The discussion between Leon and Rayna seemed to have finally concluded. The woman turned around. “Follow me. We’ll find a place for you all,” she said as she walked back into the village. Derek watched the pretty blonde woman as she fell in beside Leon and began chatting. “What’s with the oddly dressed person in your group?” she whispered to Leon, but Derek was close enough that with his stats, he could hear the conversation if he focused. “Oddly dressed person?” Leon looked back, and his eyes fell on Derek. A slightly surprised look appeared on his face as he turned back around. “I think you’re talking about Derek. That’s another thing we have to discuss, but I would prefer to do so in private,” he said. “Very well, though I don’t see why we need to discuss it in private. He looks odd, and he was staring out into space earlier when we were talking about the future of your people. Is he slow? Mentally challenged?” Rayna let her suspicions be known. Derek’s eyelid twitched at that statement. Mentally challenged? I’ll show her mentally challenged. Leon had turned just in time to see Derek’s facial expression change. “Slow… No! No, he’s not slow at all.” Leon moved even closer to Rayna and whispered something as lightly as he could. This time, Derek could not make out what they said, but he could guess by the reaction Rayna made. Her head rapidly turned back to look at Derek. This time, a look of shock appeared on her face. He could not stop himself from smirking ever so slightly. Hmm… Serves you right for calling me slow.

The Russian soldier made his way nervously up the ragged side of the hill, holding his gun ready. He glanced around him, licking his dry lips, his face set. From time to time he reached up a gloved hand and wiped perspiration from his neck, pushing down his coat collar. Eric turned to Corporal Leone. “Want him? Or can I have him?” He adjusted the view sight so the Russian’s features squarely filled the glass, the lines cutting across his hard, somber features. Leone considered. The Russian was close, moving rapidly, almost running. “Don’t fire. Wait.” Leone tensed. “I don’t think we’re needed.

Have you been reading the letters of Rosa Luxemburg again, Donatella?’ Brunetti asked in a normal voice. She laughed her bright laugh, a sound he delighted in hearing because to be thought clever or amusing by this woman was, to Brunetti, a jewel of great price. ‘No dear, not recently. Besides, they’re very serious and filled with lofty thoughts about the inner contradictions of capitalism, and I’m too old to enjoy reading things like that.’ She gave him a level glance as though she were testing how far she could go – the same look he had sometimes been given by her daughter – and added, ‘And too rich.’ This time it was Brunetti who laughed.

Says the murdering snake who probably has more dead bodies in his back yard than some of the inmates at Darkmore Penitentiary," Dante tossed at me. I sneered at him, baring my teeth. "I kill to protect my gang." "And I kill to protect my family," he shot back, lifting his chin. "Let's not talk about what we all kill for," Leon said lightly. "I'm sure Gabriel would kill to protect his roof tent and I'd kill to protect a sandwich, so we're all capable of murder for reasonable things.

Signing a pledge is a particularly soft form of commitment because the penalty is simply the guilt and discomfort you’ll feel if you break your word, to others or yourself. Being at odds with yourself, which psychologists call “cognitive dissonance,” is a surprisingly powerful force first studied by Leon Festinger in the 1950s. People often go to great lengths to avoid reckoning with their internal contradictions. Cognitive dissonance can help explain why cults are so hard to leave (after you’ve joined and invested so much of yourself, it’s difficult to admit that you’re unhappy) and why smokers often underestimate the health effects of their habit (if you believe you’re intelligent and also have a nasty habit, cognitive dissonance pushes you to discount or ignore evidence that your habit is, indeed, nasty). Cognitive dissonance is also a handy tool we can harness to change behavior for good. By electing to make pledges and asking others to do the same, we can turn cognitive dissonance into a soft penalty that helps us and them achieve more.

Capiterà quando meno ve lo aspettate. Una volta che si è Re o Regine di Narnia, si è sempre Re e Regine di Narnia (Il leone, la strega e l’armadio)

You’re a part of it now, Macie, whether you like it or not. Leon has never let anyone in. Letty got somewhere close, but you… you’re it for him.

Leon, it’s not that eas—” “Nothing worth fighting for is easy.” “You’re not playing fair,” I whisper. “I thought you already realized that I don’t play by the rules, Red.

Bad, little monster,” Leon scolded. “You can sit in the boring corner until you’re ready to sing along with me.

Bad, little monster,” Leon scolded. “You can sit in the boring corner until you’re ready to sing along with me.” I snorted a laugh and glanced up at Ryder as his arms slipped around my waist and he drew me closer. “At least in the boring corner we can hear what’s going on in the movie,” he replied, his gaze on the screen. Leon grinned. “I knew you loved it. I see you, Ryder. And I don’t think you’re as much of a blank page as you want everyone to believe you are.

Davor knows we’re out here and about Rainer,” I said quickly, shattering his plan in one swift sentence. “I’m going to come over this bar and strangle you,” Niko said, dropping the stick to the counter.

One step at a time, right?” I said as I went to the garage with Heath. “This was just step one.” “That’s right, and you’re not walking alone.” Leaning on his shoulder for a moment, I knew that.

You’re grounded. And you can only see that boy again with an escort present.” “What?” she gasped. “That’s ridiculous! Literally every girl in my class has lost their V card, how come I have to be V-pressed?” Leon sniggered at that word, then fought away his smile and rearranged his serious face. I stepped closer to her to draw her attention again. “The difference is, you don’t own your V card - we do. So suck it up, buttercup.” I folded my arms and RJ whinnied furiously.

Come on, little monster," Leon said enthusiastically. "The dream team is about to unite and I want a front row seat to seeing the Rydikins and Dantesaurous bromance kicking off officially." "Let's just focus on not dying for tonight," I suggested as we jogged towards the door. "We can think about getting them matching friendship bracelets once we're sure we aren't all going to die.

I opened the box and a surprisingly heavy black meteorite fell into my palm, the names Leon & Elise carved into it and making my fingers tingle with magic as I traced them over it. "That’s like, honest to the stars solid good luck you're holding, little monster," Leo said, in a low voice just for me as he reached out to tuck a lock of my lilac hair behind my ear. "Because you've had way too much bad luck in life and I want that to change for you more than anything in the world. I want you to know that I'm always on your side and fighting your corner and that I'll back you in anything and everything until the bitter end.

You really want to be my mate?" Gabriel asked, a flash of vulnerability in his gaze as he looked at Leon again. "I told you," I growled. "It's all of you, Gabriel. I want you all the same so unless you're going to say no..." "No chance of that," he replied fiercely. “But I think I wanna be the one finding a branch for you." "Then you'd better catch me and go all Lion on me, Harpy boy because if you don't, I'm going to find the best fucking branch you ever saw, and you'll swoon so hard you'll fall right out of the sky at my feet.

Never forget who you are

Her smile was involuntary. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘What did you pack?’ ‘Surprises,’ he answered, and this time she noticed the way his smile always began at his mouth and then crept up into his eyes. ‘Good. I just hope one of them is mortadella.’ ‘Mortadella?’ he asked. ‘How did you know? I love it, but I never think anyone else does, so I never bring any. It’s such peasant food: I can’t imagine anyone like you eating it.’ ‘Oh, but I do,’ she said with real enthusiasm, ignoring his compliment, at least for the moment. ‘It’s true, isn’t it? no one feels comfortable eating it any more. They want, oh, I don’t know, caviare or lobster tails, or …’ ‘When what they’re really lusting for,’ he broke in, ‘is a panino with mortadella and so much mayonnaise it drips out of the sandwich and down their face.

It makes no sense to talk about “African countries” and “Africa’s problems” and yet people do, all the time. It leads to ridiculous outcomes like Ebola in Liberia and Sierra Leone affecting tourism in Kenya, a 100-hour drive across the continent. That is farther than London to Tehran

Where does the word cocktail come from? There are many answers to that question, and none is really satisfactory. One particular favorite story of mine, though, comes from The Booze Reader: A Soggy Saga of a Man in His Cups, by George Bishop: “The word itself stems from the English cock-tail which, in the middle 1800s, referred to a woman of easy virtue who was considered desirable but impure. The word was imported by expatriate Englishmen and applied derogatorily to the newly acquired American habit of bastardizing good British Gin with foreign matter, including ice. The disappearance of the hyphen coincided with the general acceptance of the word and its re-exportation back to England in its present meaning.” Of course, this can’t be true since the word was applied to a drink before the middle 1800s, but it’s entertaining nonetheless, and the definition of “desirable but impure” fits cocktails to a tee. A delightful story, published in 1936 in the Bartender, a British publication, details how English sailors of “many years ago” were served mixed drinks in a Mexican tavern. The drinks were stirred with “the fine, slender and smooth root of a plant which owing to its shape was called Cola de Gallo, which in English means ‘Cock’s tail.’ ” The story goes on to say that the sailors made the name popular in England, and from there the word made its way to America. Another Mexican tale about the etymology of cocktail—again, dated “many years ago”—concerns Xoc-tl (transliterated as Xochitl and Coctel in different accounts), the daughter of a Mexican king, who served drinks to visiting American officers. The Americans honored her by calling the drinks cocktails—the closest they could come to pronouncing her name. And one more south-of-the-border explanation for the word can be found in Made in America, by Bill Bryson, who explains that in the Krio language, spoken in Sierra Leone, a scorpion is called a kaktel. Could it be that the sting in the cocktail is related to the sting in the scorpion’s tail? It’s doubtful at best. One of the most popular tales told about the first drinks known as cocktails concerns a tavernkeeper by the name of Betsy Flanagan, who in 1779 served French soldiers drinks garnished with feathers she had plucked from a neighbor’s roosters. The soldiers toasted her by shouting, “Vive le cocktail!” William Grimes, however, points out in his book Straight Up or On the Rocks: A Cultural History of American Drink that Flanagan was a fictional character who appeared in The Spy, by James Fenimore Cooper. He also notes that the book “relied on oral testimony of Revolutionary War veterans,” so although it’s possible that the tale has some merit, it’s a very unsatisfactory explanation. A fairly plausible narrative on this subject can be found in Famous New Orleans Drinks & How to Mix ’em, by Stanley Clisby Arthur, first published in 1937. Arthur tells the story of Antoine Amedie Peychaud, a French refugee from San Domingo who settled in New Orleans in 1793. Peychaud was an apothecary who opened his own business, where, among other things, he made his own bitters, Peychaud’s, a concoction still available today. He created a stomach remedy by mixing his bitters with brandy in an eggcup—a vessel known to him in his native tongue as a coquetier. Presumably not all Peychaud’s customers spoke French, and it’s quite possible that the word, pronounced coh-KET-yay, could have been corrupted into cocktail. However, according to the Sazerac Company, the present-day producers of Peychaud’s bitters, the apothecary didn’t open until 1838, so there’s yet another explanation that doesn’t work.

Tiffy: Yes, Leon. I really, really wanted to come. Poke her in the cheek with one finger. Tiffy, already laughing: Ow! What was that for? Me: You’re real? A real-life human female? Tiffy: Yes, I’m real, you idiot.

They’re hateful people who need someone to pick on. They’re not doing it because of you. They’re doing it because they want power, and that’s how they find it. They’re doing it because it makes them look better when you look bad. The world will come for them in the end.

Where does American money come from? Steel. Railways. You know how it is over there. It doesn’t matter if you murder or rob to get it. The trick is in keeping it for a hundred years, and then you’re aristocrats.’ ‘Is that so different from here?’ Brunetti asked. ‘Of course,’ Padovani explained, smiling. ‘Here we have to keep it five hundred years before we’re aristocrats. And there’s another difference. In Italy, you have to be well-dressed. In America, it’s difficult to tell which are the millionaires and which are the servants.

La forza è l’unica legge – mio padre me lo diceva spesso quand’ero piccolo. La legge della natura è assoluta. Tutto diventa più semplice se accettiamo che certi ordini non si possono ribaltare. Nel cielo c’è il sovrano del cielo. Nel mare c’è il sovrano del mare. In ogni mondo c’è sempre un sovrano. Anche se il leone è il re degli animali, non sa volare, né respirare sott’acqua. E non può nemmeno mangiare le talpe. Le talpe hanno vinto i leoni costruendo il loro mondo sottoterra. […] Non morirò. Perché ormai questo è il mio mondo, e sono io il re!

I’ve heard of you,’ Leon said, as James Adams approached. ‘You’re the guy that started the epic food fight in the campus dining-room.’ James smirked. ‘Good to know my legend lives on.’ ‘I bow down before you,’ Alfie said. ‘You’re the guy that had sex in the campus fountain.’ Grace shook her head. ‘No, that was Dave Moss.

Where does American money come from? Steel. Railways. You know how it is over there. It doesn't matter if you murder or rob to get it. The trick is in keeping it for a hundred years, and then you're aristocrats.

Your friend Leon certainly didn't join to be in the military - he can't stand the people we will protect. People join because they're not ready to die and they don't want to be old. They join because life on Earth isn't interesting past a certain age. Or they join to see someplace new before they die. That's why I joined, you know. I'm not joining to fight or be young again. I just want to see what it's like to be somewhere else.

Intellectuals”?’ Brunetti repeated. ‘I think it’s more true to say they’re the cartographers of the Flat Earth Society

Ernst Mach held to the conviction that all great contributions to science, all great theories, were not so much closer approximations to a final description of reality as they were insights into the psychology of the scientists who produced them. In this view, the history of science is really the history of a succession of individual psychologies writ large, as it were, a notion suggesting perhaps that some scientific theories at least might be considered psychopathological. A world- view that idealizes the “pleromatic” as composed of dead, mindless matter has be- come reified into a world in which the reality of the death of ecosystems has be- come all too apparent. One hypothesizes that the thinking of Hoffmeyer, Bateson, and Serres represents a reaction to what they see as the psychopathology inherent in the excesses of modern science. As opposed to this way of thinking, each of the foregoing thinkers has attempted to provide a rational (in the Platonic sense) re- description of the grounds on which future scientific theorizations should develop. This perhaps represents the beginnings of an (unknowingly) rediscovered imag- inary that supplants one of actants over and against objects and ideals of algorithmic certainty of outcome, with one of intersubjective exchanges governed by the mystery of probability, negentropy, and difference.

When you’re in pain, you need to think of something so that at least part of you can be free of the pain, so that your mind can go somewhere where there’s no pain.

Brink haal die Amerikaanse skrywer Eldridge Cleaver só aan: “We’re so filled with fears of rejection & pretenses that we scarcely know whether we’re being fraudulent with ourselves.

Certain of us are meant for certain things,” he began. “I thank God I discovered at an early age and was able to make peace about myself within the narrow framework allowed to me. There’s a book kept on all of us from the moment we’re born. If only we could open it and really learn what’s in store. The problem is it takes most of us most of our lives to understand what we should have known from the beginning.

. “We’re still a family and you don’t count time as minutes on a clock or miles of an ocean.” Brigid tried to shove past him but he held fast.

Get to know your student loans the way you’d get to know someone you’re dating — very intimately.