Realtor Quotes

As she brought prospective buyers through, the realtor said it was an oil stain, but it was me, seeping out of the bag.

Good Bones" Life is short, though I keep this from my children. Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways, a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative estimate, though I keep this from my children. For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird. For every loved child, a child broken, bagged, sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world is at least half terrible, and for every kind stranger, there is one who would break you, though I keep this from my children. I am trying to sell them the world. Any decent realtor, walking you through a real shithole, chirps on about good bones: This place could be beautiful, right? You could make this place beautiful.

God didn't put you on this earth to do only one thing. You can do all the many things your heart desires." I just want to add that my grandfather told me that many years ago. He was a preacher, a teacher and a realtor. I had asked him why he did so many different things (I was 5 years old) and that's what he told me. I've never forgotten those words.

Location, location, location, the realtors say. Geography is destiny, respond the historians.

(My greatest human flaw and strength, not surprisingly, is that I can always imagine anything--a marriage, a conversation, a government--as being different from how it is, a trait that might make one a top-notch trial lawyer or novelist or realtor, but that also seems to produce a somewhat less than reliable and morally feasible human being.)

Mondays are the start of the work week which offer new beginnings 52 times a year!

falafel joint, jazz joint, gyro joint, corner. Schoolyard, creperie, realtor, corner. Tenement, tenement, tenement museum, corner. Pink Pony, Blind Tiger, muffin boutique, corner. Sex shop, tea shop, synagogue, corner. Bollywood, Buddha, botanica, corner. Leather outlet, leather outlet, leather outlet, corner. Bar, school, bar, school. People's Park, corner. Tyson mural, Celia Cruz mural, Ladi Di mural, corner. Bling shop, barbershop, car service corner.

Life is short and the world is at least half terrible, and for every kind stranger, there is one who would break you, though I keep this from my children. I am trying to sell them the world. Any decent realtor, walking you through a real shithole, chirps on about good bones: This place could be beautiful, right? You could make this place beautiful.

There are two kinds of fears; rational and irrational - or, in simple terms, fears that make sense and fears that don't. For instance, the Baudelaire orphans have a fear of Count Olaf, which makes perfect sense, because he is an evil man who wants to destroy them. But if they were afraid of lemon meringue pie, this would be an irrational fear, because lemon meringue pie is delicious and has never hurt a soul. Being afraid of a monster under the bed is perfectly rational, because there may in fact be a monster under your bed at any time, ready to eat you all up, but a fear of realtors is an irrational fear. Realtors, as I'm sure you know, are people who assist in the buying and selling of houses. Besides occasionally wearing an ugly yellow coat, the worst a realtor can do to you is show you a house that you find ugly, and so it is completely irrational to be terrified of them.

The white realtor lady asks if I'm adopted—like that's some legitimate, socially appropriate question to ask—and is halfway through a gushy story about her friend's new baby from Korea when I say, “Haven't you ever heard of interracial marriage? It's all the rage in civilized countries,” and she shuts up and purses her lips.

Like what, baby? Like that you miss me?” She started to protest but he cut her off. “Do not say a word. Just listen a minute, if you can. I miss you too, like a fucking phantom limb, do you understand? You are a crucial, functioning part of me, always will be. But I get it. I’m a shit. I won’t deny. But I’ll never, ever be happy or complete without you.

For people who dealt largely in dreams, his father was fond of observing, realtors were a surprisingly unromantic bunch, like card counters in a Vegas casino.

Look, I'm good okay. I'm her..." he stopped dead. The woman at the desk looked up expectantly, "uncle." His voice faded. "Katie certainly has a lot of those, " the annoying person chirped before handing his ID back and pointing to a side door. SHe gave him a different sort of look. This one he recognized. He smiled at her. She was sort of good looking, actually. "You gay like her other uncles?" Jack laughed. "Nope.

You need to have a Why Having a “Why” whatever it is, becomes food. It makes your dreams become more urgent.

Uncle Chris is gay,” Cassie tells the realtor with relish. “Really,” Jessica says, a polite but amused expression plastered on her face. “Mhmm,” Cassie says. “That means he doesn’t like girls. He likes boys instead. My mommy says that’s okay, though. You can like whoever you want to like.” “Is that so”. “Yes. So when I grow up, I’m going to marry a penguin.

Life is short, though I keep this from my children. Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways, a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative estimate, though I keep this from my children. For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird. For every loved child, a child broken, bagged, sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world is at least half terrible, and for every kind stranger, there is one who would break you, though I keep this from my children. I am trying to sell them the world. Any decent realtor, walking you through a real shithole, chirps on about good bones: This place could be beautiful, right? You could make this place beautiful.

A top producing real estate agent is an amateur who didn’t quit.

Realtor

Katie has not spoken to the Realtor since about a month after closing escrow on the island.

A great real estate agent don't sells, he helps.

A good real estate agent sells himself before he sells his services.

Susannah pulled the realtor listing from her pocket, glanced at the cottage, and envisioned it as it could be. The tug inside her tightened, and joy swelled. This is where I belong.

our governments openly favored white supremacy and helped to create and maintain all-white communities. So did most of our banks, realtors, and police chiefs. If public relations offices, Chambers of Commerce, and local historical societies don’t want us to know something, perhaps that something is worth learning. After all, how can we deal with something if we cannot even face it?

Jesus Christ, Ky, you scared me to death! I thought you were like those crazy people you see on TV who trap realtors, then kill them." "You paint a vivid picture. Glad to know you're able to take care of yourself when you come in contact with one of those crazy people," he said from the floor. "Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to come help me up?" "Oh, shut up," I said, while I moved toward him. "I'm trying to calm down my racing heart here. I couldn't give two shits about your balls at the moment. "Nice. Would you at least rub them? They need to know you still love them.

This next house is a classic. It was built in 1908.” Ms. Knight was a realtor trying hard to sell us a house, and my parents thought that the one she just showed us had stunk. My mom made a note on her clipboard

when it would be squarely in the path of heavy machine-gun and rocket fire as fighters advanced into this part of town: a view like staring down the barrel of a rifle. Location, location, location, the realtors say. Geography

One of the most common scripts in America is “I should buy a house.” Your house is the American Dream! It’s a bullshit dream propagated by the National Association of Realtors, which is an organization that you’ll find in hell.

Would it bother you if somebody asked me out on a date?” His laughter stopped instantly. “Why? Who asked you out? That asshole realtor?” That made me laugh. “No. You know there are more men in the world, right?” “Who asked you out?

what mattered most, as I came to realize, was who’d lived in Vegas the longest, which was why the knock-down Mexican beauties and itinerant construction heirs sat alone at lunch while the bland, middling children of local realtors and car dealers were the cheerleaders and class presidents, the unchallenged elite of the school.

Seeing those still-packed boxes and realtor listings shouldn’t have pushed him over the edge like they had. He should have at least talked to Jeanie before bolting from her apartment. Abandonment issues. It sounded complicated, but it was simple. He was afraid. Afraid of Jeanie leaving. Afraid of failing again. Afraid of getting hurt.

Beyond the river and ten miles east of the city the Sangre Mountains began to reveal themselves in more detail as the sun rose higher, the rampart of blue shadow dissolving in the light, exposing the fissured red cliffs, the canyons and gorges a thousand feet deep, the towers leaning out from the main wall, the foothills dry and barren as old bones, and above and behind these tumbled ruins the final barrier of granite, the great horizontal crest tilted up a mile high into the frosty blue sky, sparkling with a new fall of snow. The mountains loomed over the valley like a psychical presence, a source and mirror of nervous influences, emotions, subtle and unlabeled aspirations; no man could ignore that presence; in an underground poker game, in the vaults of the First National Bank, in the realtor's office during the composition of and intricate swindle, in the heart of a sexual embrace, the emanations of mountain and sky imprinted some analogue of their nature on the evolution and shape of every soul.

Having a crazy neighbor is always a good reason to sell your home.

A top producing agent is an amateur who didn't quit.

One common factor among all rich people on earth is that they all invest in earth.

The most profitable investment on the land is land.

Moscone and Milk were the dynamic duo of San Francisco’s progressive revolution. They never forgot what they were elected to do: to fight for the burdened and afflicted, for those whose voices were never heard in the halls of power. They fought for the rights of workers, minorities, gays, and renters. And they made the same enemies: the chamber of commerce, developers, realtors, the SFPD.

Life is short, though I keep this from my children. Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways, a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative estimate, though I keep this from my children. For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird. For every loved child, a child broken, bagged, sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world is at least half terrible, and for every kind stranger, there is one who would break you, though I keep this from my children. I am trying to sell them the world. Any decent realtor, walking you through a real shithole, chirps on about good bones: This place could be beautiful, right? You could make this place beautiful.

The money was rolling in. I wanted to make smart decisions with it so I went out with a realtor for one day, and found a pad in Laurel Canyon and bought it. Pretty soon, Graham unofficially moved in. We spent that spring and summer just the two of us together. We’d grill on the patio for dinner and go see shows every night and sleep late in the mornings. GRAHAM: Karen and I spent whole weekends high as shit, rich as hell, playing songs together, and not telling anybody where we were or what we were up to. It was our little secret. I didn’t even tell Billy. People say that life keeps moving, but they don’t mention that it does stop sometimes, just for you. Just for you and your girl. The world stops spinning and just lets you two lie there. Feels like it, anyway. Sometimes. If you’re lucky. Call me a romantic if you have to. Worse things to be.

The mountains loomed over the valley like a psychical presence, a source and mirror of nervous influences, emotions, subtle and unlabeled aspirations; no man could ignore that presence; in an underground poker game, in the vaults of the First National Bank, in the secret chambers of The Factory, in the backroom of the realtor’s office during the composition of an intricate swindle, in the heart of a sexual embrace, the emanations of mountain and sky imprinted some analogue of their nature on the evolution and shape of every soul.

My disagreements with Joel come to a head when he tells me to establish PACs in other countries. Political action committees, of course, are an American invention that pull together donors to give money to political candidates. There are PACs for every possible cause: to elect more women to office and to elect candidates who are friendly to Realtors, or beer wholesalers, or teachers’ unions. Home Depot runs its own giant PAC, as does AT&T. “We were so late in establishing Facebook’s PAC in the US; I don’t want to make that mistake

Realtor Randall Mann Please consider Ocean Beach out of reach. Try not to gulp the green water we porpoise like employees. My purpose: your thought-partner. There is a feeling just shy of feeling, like tongue on teeth. Disbelief hangs there, an ill-chosen comma, a lanyard with a pass. I swear the train is coming. I’m only here to help. A client bought, on second thought, that House in Vermont. Night is flirty words with fiends, the phlebotomists from Quest boning up on Thoreau. It’s too soon to throw in the cards. Live and let give? Here. Let me give you the high-five. I searched; my activism, lightly starched. I never meant to live in euphemism.

When you've been together for a long time, it's the little things that matter. In a long marriage, you don't need words to have a row, but you don't need words to say, "I love you," either. Once, when they were at Ikea, very recently, Roger had suggested when they were having lunch in the cafeteria that they each have a piece of cake because he understood that it was an important day for Anna-Lena, and because it was important to her, it was important to him as well. Because that's how he loves her. She went on rubbing the cushion cover that was nicer in the floral pattern and glanced over at the two women in a way Anna-Lena thought was discreet. The pregnant one and her wife; Roger was looking at them as well. He was holding the realtor's prospective with the layout of the apartment in his hand and grunted, "For God's sake, darling, look at this. Why do they have to call the small room 'child's room'? It could just as well be a perfectly ordinary damn bedroom." Roger didn't like it when there were pregnant women at apartment viewings because couples expecting a baby always bid too much. He didn't like children's rooms, either. That's why Anna-Lena always asks Roger as many questions as she can think of when they walk through the children's section in Ikea: to help distract him from the incomprehensible grief. Because that's how she loves him.

Your phone’s vibrating,” Scottie says. She takes my cell phone out of her pocket, the phone she has stolen from me to text her friend. She doesn’t even care that she has disobeyed. She doesn’t care that she said “finger-fucked” in front of me. It’s as though I’m not a father. I don’t recognize the number, so I don’t answer. I like to let people leave messages, and then I’ll call back after I rehearse what to say. “You never answer your phone,” Scottie says. “What if someone needs help?” “Then they can leave a message and I’ll call right back.” Alex takes the phone out of my hands. “Hello?” she says. “What the—? Do I not exist, girls? Do you realize I’m in charge here?” Scottie whispers, “Who is it?” “Oh, no,” Alex says. “This is the right number. This is his assistant…Sharon.” Scottie opens her mouth, delighted. I’ve always been impressed by Alex’s effortless ability to lie. “That sounds nice,” Alex says, then punches me lightly on the arm. “Where? Great. And for how long? Okay. Well, thanks. Maybe we’ll peek in on Sunday. Thanks so much. Okay.” She closes the phone. “Well?” “That was a Realtor, Dad, from Brian’s office. She says she’d be happy to show you the house you called about. Well done, Dad. Very clever.” “Good one, King,” Sid says. “What about Brian?” I ask. I feel strange talking about this with Joanie in the room. I position myself so that I face away from her.

had tall windows and a usable, if narrow, balcony, with a view down an alley and straight up a boulevard to a dry fountain that once gushed and sparkled in the sunlight. It was the sort of view that might command a slight premium during gentler, more prosperous times, but would be most undesirable in times of conflict, when it would be squarely in the path of heavy machine-gun and rocket fire as fighters advanced into this part of town: a view like staring down the barrel of a rifle. Location, location, location, the realtors say. Geography is destiny, respond the historians. War would soon erode the facade of their building as though it had accelerated time itself, a day’s toll outpacing that of a decade.

Unlike Kate, by then I’d had a job. In fact, I’d had sixteen jobs, not including the years I worked as a babysitter before I could legally be anyone’s employee. They were janitor’s assistant (humiliatingly, at my high school), fast-food restaurant worker, laborer at a wildlife refuge, administrative assistant to a Realtor, English as a Second Language tutor, lemonade cart attendant, small town newspaper reporter, canvasser for a lefty nonprofit, waitress at a Japanese restaurant, volunteer coordinator for a reproductive rights organization, berry picker on a farm, waitress at a vegetarian restaurant, “coffee girl” at an accounting firm, student-faculty conflict mediator, teacher’s assistant for a women’s studies class, and office temp at a half a dozen places that by and large did not resemble offices and did not engage me in work that struck me as remotely “officey,” but rather involved things such as standing on a concrete floor wearing a hairnet, a paper mask and gown, goggles, and plastic gloves and—with a pair of tweezers—placing two pipe cleaners into a sterile box that came to me down a slow conveyor belt for eight excruciating hours a day.

In an internal panic, I picked up the phone and hurriedly pushed redial. I had to catch Rhonda the Realtor, had to tell her wait, hold off, don’t let it go, I’m not sure, hang on, give me another day…or two…or three. But when the numbers finished dialing, I heard no ringing; instead, in a perfect moment of irony, coincidence, and serendipity, I heard Marlboro Man’s voice on the other end. “Hello?” he asked. “Oh,” I replied. “Hello?” “Hey, you,” he replied. So much for calling Rhonda the Realtor. Three seconds into the phone call, Marlboro Man’s voice had already taken hold. His voice. It weakened my knees, destroyed my focus, ruined my resolve. When I heard his voice, I could think of nothing but wanting to see him again, to be in his presence, to drink him in, to melt like butter in his impossibly strong arms. When I heard his voice, Chicago became nothing but a distant memory. “What’re you up to?” he continued. I could hear cattle in the background. “Oh, just getting a few things done,” I said. “Just tying up a few loose ends.” “You’re not moving to Chicago today, are you?” he said with a chuckle. He was only halfway joking. I laughed, rolling over in my bed and fiddling with the eyelet ruffle on my comforter. “Nope, not today,” I answered. “What are you doing?” “Coming to pick you up in a little bit,” he said. I loved it when he took charge. It made my heart skip a beat, made me feel flushed and excited and thrilled. After four years with J, I was sick and tired of the surfer mentality. Laid-back, I’d discovered, was no longer something I wanted in a man. And when it came to his affection for me, Marlboro Man was anything but that. “I’ll be there at five.” Yes, sir. Anything you say, sir. I’ll be ready. With bells on.

In a very deliberate motion, he squared my shoulders in front of his and clasped my arms. “I know I could never ask you to leave River Oaks. It means a lot more to you than my family’s house means to me. Your aunt Jettie is there. It’s your home. I would like it to be my home, too. I want to make a life with you, and for most people, that means living in the same house.” Gabriel kissed me, as gentle as an angel’s wing brushing across my lips. “You’re my bloodmate in every sense of the word, the person I choose to spend the rest of my immortal life with, if you can stand me that long.” “That’s what that means?” My forehead wrinkled in concentration, and I tried to remember the first time I’d hear that word. “Wait, you told Missy the crazy Realtor that she’d suffer dire consequences if she hurt your ‘bloodmate.’ That was more than a year ago.” “I knew even then. You’re it for me, Jane. You’re my eternity.” “Well, why couldn’t you have told me?” I exclaimed. Gabriel shrugged. “You—” “I wasn’t ready to hear it yet,” I finished for him. “I’m sorry.” But as the enormity of what Gabriel had just said sunk in, a huge grin split my face. I brought it under control, so I could narrow my eyes at him. “So, you’re saying you will tell me everything now. You won’t try to protect me or keep me in the dark. You’ll trust me to make a rational decision about bad news after I have my inevitable, initial panic attack?” He nodded solemnly. “I will.” “And when I have my spastic fits of insecurity, when I make inappropriate jokes and wonder aloud why you love me, you’ll understand that this has nothing to do with you but years and years of conditioning by my mother?” He smirked. “I will.” “Will you agree never to accept invitations issued by my family unless you check with me first?” He nodded. “Absolutely.” I giggled, throwing my arms around him and kissing him deeply. “I love you.

I breathed in a deep dose of night air, trying to calm my schoolgirl nervousness. “I, umm…” I began. “I decided to stick around here a little while.” There. I’d said it. This was all officially real. Without a moment of hesitation, Marlboro Man wrapped his ample arms around my waist. Then, in what seemed to be less than a second, he hoisted me from my horizontal position on the bed of his pickup until we were both standing in front of each other. Scooping me off my feet, he raised me up to his height so his icy blue eyes were level with mine. “Wait…are you serious?” he asked, taking my face in his hands. Squaring it in front of his. Looking me in the eye. “You’re not going?” “Nope,” I answered. “Whoa,” he said, smiling and moving in for a long, impassioned kiss on the back of his Ford F250. “I can’t believe it,” he continued, squeezing me tightly. Our knees buckled under the heat, and before I knew it we were back where we’d been before, rolling around and kissing manically in the bed of his diesel pickup. Occasionally my arm would hit a crowbar and my head would slam against a spare tire or a cattle prod or a jack; I didn’t care, of course. I’d said what I wanted to say that night. Everything else--even minor head injuries--was a piece of cake. We stayed there a long, long time, the balmy night air giving us no good reason to leave. Under the innumerable stars, amidst all the embraces and kisses and sounds from the surrounding livestock, I suddenly felt more at peace in my decision than I had since my phone call with Rhonda the Realtor that morning. I felt at home, comfortable, nestled in, wonderful. My life had changed that day, changed in a way I never, ever, could have predicted. My big-city plans--plans many months in the making--had all at once been smashed to smithereens by a six-foot cowboy with manure on his boots. A cowboy I’d known, essentially, for less than three weeks. It was the craziest thing I’d ever done, deciding to take an impulsive walk down this new and unexpected path. And while I secretly wondered how long it would take for me to regret my decision, I rested easily, at least for that night, in the knowledge that I’d had the courage to step out on such an enormous limb. It was late. Time to go. “Want me to drive you home now?” Marlboro Man asked, lacing our fingers together, kissing the back of my hand. “Or, do you…” He paused, considering his words. “Do you want to come stay at my place?

addition to federal redlining policies, realtors and neighborhood associations used private measures to enforce residential segregation. For much of the twentieth century, “restrictive covenants” provided a legal, race-based mechanism to exclude black people from purchasing homes in white communities. “Private but legally enforceable restrictive covenants . . . forbade the use or sale of a property to anyone but whites.”43 These restrictive covenants, which also dictated details such as what color residents could paint their houses, effectively kept black people out of communities, especially new growth suburbs, for decades. Even after the 1948 Supreme Court ruling in Shelley v. Kraemer forbidding these racial covenants, real estate brokers simply dropped explicitly race-based language but still effectively excluded minorities from buying homes in white areas.

People still tell stories of how terrible the Bronx is. At the same time, somewhere, some realtor is talking up how amazing it is, so that people with money will come and buy up everything. At the same time there are the folks who live here, for whom it’s neither terrible nor amazing; it just is. All of these things are true, and that’s just within our own reality. It’s not just decisions, is what I’m trying to say. It’s… Every legend of this city, every lie, those become new worlds, too. All of them add to the mass that is New York, until finally all of it collapses under its own weight… and becomes something new. Something alive.

Note: I regularly pull historical sales figures on specific complexes or neighborhoods from the MLS sites, but keep in mind that to really get to much of the important data on these sites you will need to work with an experienced realtor, or be a licensed real estate agent yourself.

One time he wanted me to research a house he was curious about—in Iowa. Some realtors might find this annoying, or view it as something they “don’t have time to do.” Anytime someone on my team tells me they’re too busy to answer clients, the next day they’re not on the team. Customer service and follow-through are paramount to referral business from clients just like Campbell. So even though I had no idea what houses in Iowa were worth, I was happy to get more information for him.

Yale economist and Nobel Prize winner Robert Shiller argues that, when maintenance is accounted for, a house isn’t a much better investment than any other asset class. Still, we see our first home purchase as a sign of our progress and trajectory as adults, and it is a form of forced savings. The government has bought into this (see above: National Association of Realtors), and the interest on your mortgage is tax deductible. The mortgage tax deduction is one of the costliest tax breaks in America. Another?

She has a point,” Kema added. “His friend was fine, though. What they be calling him, realtor bae?” “Girl, no. You just made that up,” Sevyn cackled.

There are generally two types of home sellers: Those that do not need to sell anytime soon and those that need to sell as soon as possible!

A realtor told me there was a guy that would not work with people if they did not make an offer after the first day of showing homes.

it says ‘Ryan Fuller, Hallowsdeep’s most untrustworthy realtor. Don’t trust him around your house or your pussy.

GOOD BONES Life is short, though I keep this from my children. Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways, a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative estimate, though I keep this from my children. For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird. For every loved child, a child broken, bagged, sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world is at least half terrible, and for every kind stranger, there is one who would break you, though I keep this from my children. I am trying to sell them the world. Any decent realtor, walking you through a real shithole, chirps on about good bones: This place could be beautiful, right? You could make this place beautiful.

If your realtor does not submit your offer within 48 hours, you need to find a new realtor!

His friend was fine, though. What they be calling him, realtor bae?” “Girl, no. You just made that up,” Sevyn cackled. “I did,” Kema laughed.

Another good source is the Institute of Real Estate Management (IREM) . Each year it publishes a comprehensive book entitled Income and Expense Analysis: Conventional Apartments (Chicago: IREM/National Realtors Association), which provides data on more than 3,700 apartment buildings in over 150 different major metropolitan areas.

A lot of business with something called a Realtor happens after that—they have people these days who do nothing but sell houses, and they aren’t even the ones who built them. Makes no fecking sense.

business of New York in the twenties was real estate. Business was booming, and developers and realtors had every reason for continued optimism. Real estate values, they said, rested on the firm bedrock of population, and New York City—world metropolis, center of finance, industry, and art—had new people locating there all the time. With its limited supply of space and an ever-increasing demand, realtors believed that New York property values would always be rising.

No one had second-guessed whether we belonged or were a good investment. The realtors had talked about how we were a part of a wave of new people coming in to enrich the neighborhood, make it better and more valuable, without knowing a damn thing about us. No, that's not true. The realtors had known one thing, that I was starting to see was more important than I'd realized. Us. Them.

As one longtime New York realtor once said of conspicuous wealth, "It was considered un-American." The rich were also, as they likely would be in a lower-consuming economy, simply less rich. According to the Urban-Brookings Tax Policy Center, for the fifty years following the Great Depression, the tax rate on the highest income bracket averaged 80 percent, redistributing much of the richest Americans' wealth. Beginning in the 1980s with the advent of politicians like Ronald Reagan in the US and Margaret Thatcher in the UK, and with growth increasingly seen as the be-all and end-all of economics, far less was asked of the wealthy. The comparable tax figure for 2020 was 37 percent.

As one longtime New York realtor once said of conspicuous wealth, "It was considered un-American." The rich were also, as they likely would be in a lower-consuming economy, simply less rich. According to the Urban-Brookings Tax Policy Center, for the fifty years following the Great Depression, the tax rate on the highest income bracket averaged 80 percent, redistributing much of the richest Americans' wealth. Beginning in the 1980s with the advent of politicians like Ronald Reagan in the US and Margaret Thatcher in the UK, and with growth increasingly seen as the be-all and end-all of economics, far less was asked of the wealthy. The comparable tax figure for 2020 was 37 percent.

If you’re going to hoot with the owls, you’d better be able to soar with the eagles the next day.

Dylan isn’t your problem, baby girl. You are. You’re just afraid of being dependent on a man again, but you’ve got to let that go. You don’t need a man, and you know that, but it’s okay to want him. Those two things are different. When are you going to figure that out?

Looking at back-to-back years 20 years ago - 2004 and 2005 - housing permits obtained for privately owned homes topped 2 million each year. 2004 was the first year that permits obtained for privately owned homes exceeded 2 million. The trajectory of new home builds in the United States had been on an upward swing, twenty years ago. Last year home builders started construction on just over 947,000 new homes.

At that price point, open houses evaporate and the MLS listings often go away, too. Wealthy sellers don’t want commoners sniffing around their properties, and well-heeled buyers demand a realtor’s full attention. Showings are by appointment only, “otherwise it’s a petting zoo,” says Frank Nolan, co-owner of San Francisco’s Vanguard Properties, who does $150 million to $170 million in annual sales. Would-be buyers are often asked to show their money in advance, “because a lot of people would love to see a house like that just to see a house like that.

With Giddings’s properties, buyer and seller are brought together via a network of elite realtors who, like brand manager David Christiansen, nurture close bonds with their clients. These are multiyear relationships in which Giddings serves as matchmaker, advisor, friend, and de facto therapist. “I may even go home for Sunday dinners and put their children to bed and all of that,” she says. Some clients like her to be involved long after the purchase: “We’re thinking about this in this color. Can you just come by?

Kim Lee provides an impeccable, holistic approach to helping clients buy and sell real estate in Greater Vancouver. As a Vancouver realtor, Kim provides a transparent, comfortable and responsive experience with the aim to maximize results for her clients. With a proven track record, she is ranked in the top 2% of Greater Vancouver Agents. She specializes in single family homes, townhouses, and condominiums. Call or text for an introductory chat!

What are you trying to buy? Asset type? Size? Price? To determine the answer to the first question, do the following: Start with your own net worth. Add in friends and family. The total team net worth is your starting point. Choose a market. Consider travel time and expense. You must be able to be in your market to look at deals at least once a month. Determine the viability of your market. Job growth? Population growth? Get deal flow from the market. Real estate agents Find all commercial realty companies in the city. Get on all their mailing lists. Analyze deals online from realtors in the area. Call the realtors about their listings. Direct to owners Get lists of owners. Create a system to reach owners directly. Mail Text Cold calling Analyze deals. Income approach Income – Expenses = Net operating income Net operating income – Debt service = Cash flow Check with lenders for current terms on debt. What is the CoC return? Cap rate? Debt ratio? Comparable data Check the analyzed cap rate against cap rates in the area for similar properties. Check comparable sale prices. Comps should be close in size and age to the subject property. Comps should have similar amenities. Comps should be within a few miles of the subject property. Exit Hold and operate. Refinance. Sell or flip. Consider upcoming market conditions. Debt Check with lenders or a mortgage broker to determine the availability of loans for this type of property. What are the terms and conditions? Is this the information you used to analyze the deal originally? Make the offer. Use an LOI to submit the offer in writing. The LOI will summarize the main deal points. If your offer is less than 15 percent of the asking price, speak with the realtor before you submit the offer. Once the offer is accepted, send the LOI to your attorney and have them draft the purchase agreement. Draft the purchase and sale agreement. Now that you have a fully executed contract, the clock starts. Earnest money goes into escrow. Do your due diligence. Financial inspection Physical inspection Lease audit Begin your loan application. The lender will complete three inspections. Appraisal Environmental inspection Physical engineer inspection of the buildings Do your closing. The lender will wire the loan proceeds to the closing escrow. Wire your down payment funds to the closing escrow. You own a new property! Engage property management for takeover of operations.

What did we have a right to expect from this life? What were the terms of the contract? What had the politician promised us? The realtor, walking us through being’s beautiful house? Could we sue? We would sue! Could we blow it all open? We would blow it all open! Could we . . . could we post about it?

The median net worth of white U.S. households in 2016 was $171,000, according to one widely cited study—ten times the wealth of Black households and eight times that of Latino households. (The Institute for Policy Studies, using a different methodology, reports racial wealth disparities of 50x and 25x, respectively.) Such results cannot—though many a pseudo-scholar has tried—be attributed to differences in natural talent and work ethic and leadership ability. Rather, throughout our history, merchants and politicians, bankers and realtors, restaurants and social clubs, colleges and corporations, landlords and cops, have taken one look at people with darker skin, stood up from their stools, and said, “You’re at the wrong bar, n—.

I once bought a piece of land for half its valued price. It emerged it was incorrectly listed by the realtor and was not showing up in local land searches!

Any decent realtor, walking you through a real shithole, chirps on about good bones: This place could be beautiful, right? You could make this place beautiful.

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actually began experiencing adverse intimations about Haddam during my last years here, close to ten years ago (I always thought I loved it). And not that a realtor’s view would ever be the standard one, since realtors both live life in a town yet also huckster that place’s very spirit essence for whopper profits.

Realtors share a basic industry with novelists, who make up importance from life-run-rampant just by choosing, changing and telling. Realtors make importance by selling, which is better-paying than the novelist’s deal and probably not as hard to do well.

A missing brother wasn’t the only oddity in Kane’s house. The place was suspiciously perfect. It was just him and his father, but there was a difference between a tidy house and a vacant house staged by a realtor. There was an emptiness that haunted the space. It was a gut feeling I had—nothing remotely concrete—but on top of my existing suspicions, it felt important. Further proof that my wariness about Kane was justified.

the purpose of all this tacky architecture is to create a strong impression on a potential buyer in the first few minutes of a realtor-guided visit. These are assets, not homes.

While Smith is, unsurprisingly, the most common name in England, any English surname that is held by at least ten thousand people is effectively a Smith-type name. (This includes the Kings, the Brays, and the Steads, for example.) No doubt, if surnames were just coming into general use now, Smith would be one of the rarer names, and we would perhaps be encountering more John Analysts, Jack Realtors, and Susan Hackers.

I’m not really the realtor. I made a meal of him last night when he came to air out the house,” the boogeyman said cloaked in darkness.

Treo Real Estate provide the best, full-service real estate representation. Flat rate commission real estate agent will guide you during every step of the transaction, ensuring that you have a thorough understanding of the facts and that you are well equipped to make the best decisions. You can depend on us. In fact, we don't lock you into contracts or require any up-front fees because we feel that if you aren't satisfied with our service, you should have the right to fire us at anytime.

The American real-estate industry believed segregation to be a moral principle. As late as 1950, the National Association of Real Estate Boards' code of ethics warned that "a Realtor should never be instrumental in introducing into a neighborhood ... any race or nationality, or any individuals whose presence will clearly be detrimental to property values." A 1943 brochure specified that such potential undesireables might include madams, bootleggers, gangsters - and "a colored man of means who was giving his children a college education and thought they were entitled to live among whites." The federal government concurred. It was the How Owners' Loan Corporation, not a private trade association, that pioneered the practice of redlining, selectively granting loans and insisting that any property it insured be covered by a restrictive covenant - a clause in the deed forbidding the sale of the property to anyone other than whites. Millions of dollars flowed from tax coffers into segregated white neighborhoods. "For perhaps the first time, the federal government embraced the discriminatory attitudes of the marketplace," the historian Kenneth R. Jackson wrote in his 1985 book, Crabgrass Frontier, a history of suburbanization. "Previously, prejudices were personalized and individualized; FHA exhorted segregation and enshrined it as public policy. Whole areas of cities were declared ineligible for loan guarantees." Redlining was not officially outlawed until 1968, by the Fair Housing Act. By then the damage was done - and reports of redlining by banks have continued.

When I was studying for my 2nd Master Degree in Theatre Costuming at the Fitzgerald Theatre at The University of Hawaii, I met my life partner, Walter Bissett, a successful realtor and, also ‘God!’ An Andy archetype! We have been together for nineteen years. We currently reside on the beautiful island of Maui, Hawaii.

It was the sort of view that might command a slight premium during gentler, more prosperous times, but would be most undesirable in times of conflict, when it would be squarely in the path of heavy machine-gun and rocket fire as fighters advanced into this part of town: a view like staring down the barrel of a rifle. Location, location, location, the realtors say. Geography is destiny, respond the historians. War

Location, location, location, the realtors say. Geography is destiny, respond the historians. War

بسبب أهمية لموقع الجغرافي الفريد من نوعة لتركيا والموقع الاستراتيجي وفي الاونة الاخيرة قفزت تركيا في مجال التطوير الاقتصادي والاستثمار ونخص بذلك مجال التطوير العقاري والعقارات وبدأ قدوم الجنسيات الاخرى بغرض السياحية وشراء العقارات والاستقرار في تركيا وذلك لوجود شروط الاستقرار الاقتصادي من حيث جودة الخدمات وسهولة الحصول على الملكية العقارية وتعتبر تركيا من افضل الاماكن للاوربيين والروس والعرب بشكل خاص.

Don’t sell based on inventory. Inventory based on who you want to sell. A lot of people sell homes. They all have structure. Location, size, style, function, benefit, community, who stays (and leaves)...totally different. You can sell or do anything at a premium. It may be a home, but the type of clientele you work with is a choice. Don’t sell based on inventory. Inventory based on who you want to sell. Go to work.

The Gift that Keeps on Giving I once had a lovely real estate client named Jane who was an elderly lady living alone. Her sons lived far away in the Pacific Northwest and she rarely saw them. I became her Realtor when she decided she needed to down-size from her larger home and buy a smaller one. Throughout this transition, we would talk, laugh, share, and bond. After we successfully completed her transactions and got her comfortably situated in her new home, I stayed in touch to nurture our friendship. Over a year later, I got a call from her son in Seattle who was calling to inform me that his mother had passed away. And at the reading of her will it was revealed she had requested that when it the time came to sell the property in her estate, they were to call Susan Young. By making her feel special and important, I earned not only her friendship, but her loyalty and continued business.

Trevor could almost see the invisible gas leaking from the broken furnace, billowing around his body, wafting in his wake from the laundry room to the living room, seeking out the nostrils of the realtor, the yuppies, the toddler, and every other goddamn trespasser before seeping into their bloodstream and infecting their cells until they dizzied, ached, barfed, and fell to the floor like a bunch of— He caught himself. He breathed through his nose. He pushed away the hate, calmed the tornado strangling his gut, and thought of HER.

PhOne Number:352-587-2948 ADDRESS:407 Lincoln Rd. Suit 10g Miami Beach FL 33139 Miami Realtor, South Beach Realtor, Miami Beach Realto, Miami Real Estate Agent, Miami Beach Real Estate Agent, Miami Luxury Realtor, South Beach Real Estate Agent, Beach Real Estate Agent, MIAMI Association of REALTORS® is not responsible for the accuracy of the information listed above. The data relating to real estate for sale on this website comes in part from the Internet Data Exchange Program and the South East Florida Regional MLS and is provided here for consumers' personal, non-commercial use. It may not be used for any purpose other than to identify prospective properties consumers may be interested in purchasing. Real estate listings held by brokerage firms other than the office owning this website are marked with the IDX logo and detailed information about them includes the name of the listing brokers. Data provided is deemed reliable but not guaranteed. Copyright MIAMI Association of REALTORS®, MLS All rights reserved.

As late as 1950, the National Association of Real Estate Boards’ code of ethics warned that “a Realtor should never be instrumental in introducing into a neighborhood… any race or nationality, or any individuals whose presence will clearly be detrimental to property values.” A 1943 brochure specified that such potential undesirables might include madams, bootleggers, gangsters—and “a colored man of means who was giving his children a college education and thought they were entitled to live among whites.

many people do not usually take the time to think about the foundation upon which they are building their lives. When it comes to buying a house, I see that people care a great deal about the foundations of the property they are about to buy. My dad is a realtor, and before he sells a house, before people trust him with the investment of hundreds of thousands of their dollars, he recommends the buyers hire a home inspector to carefully check the structural soundness of the house, and most importantly, the foundation upon which the potential investment is built. My dad would tell you that, no matter how beautiful or decorated it may be, without a strong foundation; it is doomed. If the foundation is cracked or unstable in any way, the house needs to be torn down and rebuilt on a proper base.

Everywhere you lived is just a ledge, a place you could have tumbled from. Your hometown is a precipice, you’ll learn someday. What the realtor sold to you is merely a coat hook, an excuse for the roof to settle atop your head, like a butterfly

Joe knew what the nod meant-this was why they became outlaws. To live moments the insurance salesman of the world, the truck drivers, and lawyers and bank tellers and carpenters and realtors would never know. Moments in a world without nets-none to catch you and none to envelop you. Joe looked at Dion and recalled what he’d felt after the first time they’d knocked over that newsstand on Bowdoin Street when they were thirteen years old, We will probably die young.

The realtor was visibly irritated but Chanel had reached a point in life where she was done settling.

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