Rico Quotes

Live to learn to love. Learn to love to live. Love to live to learn so that you may live the life that you yearn.

We are literally the gayest pack that has ever existed,” Rico said to no one in particular. “I see no problem with this.

Keep Pushing Mav," Rico Says ," Tough situations don't last. Tough People Do.

E eu pergunto aos economistas políticos, aos moralistas, se já calcularam o número de indivíduos que é forçoso condenar à miséria, ao trabalho desproporcionado, à desmoralização, à infâmia, à ignorância crapulosa, à desgraça invencível, à penúria absoluta, para produzir um rico?

we left about midnight and walked down the hill in silence. the night was muggy, and all around me i felt the same pressure, a sense of time rushing by while it seemed to be standing still. whenever i thought of time in puerto rico, i was reminded of those old magnetic clocks that hung on the walls of my classrooms in high school. every now and then a hand would not move for several minutes -- and if i watched it long enough, wondering if it had finally broken down, the sudden click of the hand jumping three for four notches would startle me when it came.

She was actually a recording star in Puerto Rico when my mom was growing up. My mom was always stuck sitting backstage somewhere or sitting in a front row, watching a performance her entire childhood. She thought that when her mom stopped performing she was relieved of those duties, but all I wanted to do was sing, ever since I was born, so she's always been backstage.

Es más rico el rico cuando empobrece que el pobre cuando enriquece. The rich person is richer when he becomes poor, than the poor person when he becomes rich.

En los diarios solo lo llamaban "el joven escocés". Eso también es ser rico, pensé entonces: ese desprecio por lo precioso y la incapacidad de ofrecer la dignidad de nombrar.

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

anyone can come into your life and tell you how much they love you but, it takes someone really special to stay in your life and show you how much they care

Ya lo verán, decía, se volverán a repartir todo entre los curas, los gringos y los ricos, y nada para los pobres... porque éstos estarán siempre tan jodidos que el día en que la mierda tenga algún valor los pobres nacerán sin culo".

Cuando advierta que para producir necesita obtener autorización de quienes no producen nada; cuando compruebe que el dinero fluye hacia quienes trafican no bienes, sino favores; cuando perciba que muchos se hacen ricos por el soborno y por influencias mas que por el trabajo, y que las leyes no lo protegen contra ellos, sino, por el contrario son ellos los que están protegidos contra usted; cuando repare que la corrupción es recompensada y la honradez se convierte en un autosacrificio, entonces podrá, afirmar sin temor a equivocarse, que su sociedad está condenada.

Then Rico said, “Okay, like. No offense, papi. You know I love you. Bros for life, and all that. But did you go a little nuts in your head from the mystical moon magic? Because it seems like you went a little nuts in your head from the mystical moon magic.

«Quien cree que el dinero lo hace todo, acaba haciéndolo todo por dinero... Cuando sólo es rico el que sabe limitar sus deseos...»

El modo más eficaz de hacer inofensivos a los pobres es enseñarles a querer imitar a los ricos.

Be grateful for the things and people you have in your life. Things you take for granted someone else is praying for.

Happiness seeps into me when you're around, Rico. Without invitation, without notice, joy finds me. Being around you is being alive, it's breathing, it's home.

Que culpa eles têm? Roubam para comer porque todos estes ricos que têm para botar fora, para dar para as igrejas, não se lembram que existem crianças com fome.

This is your heritage,' he said, as if from this dance we could know about his own childhood, about the flavor and grit of tenement buildings in Spanish Harlem, and projects in Red Hook, and dance halls, and city parks, and about his own Paps, how he beat him, how he taught him to dance, as if we could hear Spanish in his movements, as if Puerto Rico was a man in a bathrobe, grabbing another beer from the fridge and raising it to drink, his head back, still dancing, still steeping and snapping perfectly in time.

La muerte espera al más valiente, al más rico, al más bello. Pero los iguala al más cobarde, al más pobre, al más feo, no en el simple hecho de morir, ni siquiera en la conciencia de la muerte, sino en la ignorancia de la muerte. Sabemos que un día vendrá, pero nunca sabemos lo que es.

Sometimes the good guy rips out innocent people's throats. That's just something the world need to live with if it wants the good guy to keep saving the day.

—¡Ese Rasputín maquiavélico y vengativo! ¡Nuevo rico! ¡Ex comunista! ¿Quién se cree que es?

[NINA] When I was younger, I’d imagine what would happen If my parents had stayed in Puerto Rico Who would I be if I had never seen Manhattan If I lived in Puerto Rico with my people

La revolución beneficia al pobre, al ignorante, al que toda su vida ha sido esclavo, a los infelices que ni siquiera saben que si lo son es porque el rico convierte en oro las lágrimas, el sudor y la sangre de los pobres. || The revolution benefits the poor, the ignorant, who all his life has been a slave, the unfortunate who do not know if they are is because the rich becomes the tears, sweat and blood of the poor in gold.

No necesitas trabajar duro por dinero. Nada en la naturaleza trabaja duro. En cambio, se trata solo de agregar valor y contribuir bien a la sociedad, ser alegre, estar abierto a recibir, sentir gratitud y sentirse rico. Haz estas cosas y el dinero fluye.

It’s a little-known fact that most terrorist groups fail, and that all of them die. Lest this seem hard to believe, just reflect on the world around you. Israel continues to exist, Northern Ireland is still a part of the United Kingdom, and Kashmir is a part of India. There are no sovereign states in Kurdistan, Palestine, Quebec, Puerto Rico, Chechnya, Corsica, Tamil Eelam, or Basque Country. The Philippines, Algeria, Egypt, and Uzbekistan are not Islamist theocracies; nor have Japan, the United States, Europe, and Latin America become religious, Marxist, anarchist, or new-age utopias. The numbers confirm the impressions.

Hay una cosa segura, más segura que ninguna: los ricos hacen dinero y los pobres hacen… niños

La deuda no es un instrumento; es un método para hacer ricos a los bancos, no a usted.

A un perro no le importa si uno es rico o pobre, educado o iletrado, listo o aburrido. Si uno le brinda el corazón, él responderá brindando el suyo

Cansado do universo e sociedade, Da abstracção que não finda o que é fundo Do meu fatal pôr-olhos sobre o mundo, Pobre de amor e rico de ansiedade, Já nada me seduz nem me persuade.

La Muerte es el final de toda existencia, su guadaña iguala a la humanidad, ricos y pobres, ancianos y jóvenes, hombres y mujeres… Nacemos para morir. Ella es nuestro último destino, tanto en la vida real como en la literatura.

Eine Depression ist, wenn all deine Gefühle im Rollstuhl sitzen. Sie haben keine Arme mehr und es ist leider auch gerade niemand zum Schieben da. Womöglich sind auch noch die Reifen platt. Macht sehr müde.

I'm here to tell niggas it ain't all swell. There's Heaven then there's Hell niggas One day your cruisin' in your seven, Next day your sweatin', forgettin' your lies, Alibis ain't matchin' up, bullshit catchin' up Hit with the RICO, they repoed your vehicle Everything was all good just a week ago 'Bout to start bitchin' ain't you? Ready to start snitchin' ain't you? I forgive you. Weak ass, hustlin' just ain't you Aside from the fast cars Honeys that shake they ass in bars You know you wouldn't be involved With the Underworld dealers, carriers of mac-millers East coast bodiers, West coast cap-peelers Little monkey niggas turned gorillas.

(Rico) “What’s it going to take to get you to dance with me?” She crooked her index finger and motioned him to come close. “A million in your bank account and seven inches in your pants.” Without missing a beat he replied, “The million I have, but even for a woman as beautiful as you, I won’t cut off three inches.” Olivia’s eyes went wide and she burst out laughing.

Americans can handle one person from anywhere. They had Desi Arnaz from Cuba. And Tin Tan from México. And Rita Moreno from Puerto Rico. But as soon as there are too many of us, they throw up their hands. No, no, no! We were only just curious. We are not actually interested in you people.

So the only time RICO was used to fight mortgage fraud was when the criminal was a black gang member and the victims were banks. (Ironically, nobody thought to wonder how it was possible for a Lincoln Park gang member to buy 222 houses with no money down. Heading into that particular rabbit hole would have led to the larger crime, but nobody did.)

So I don’t know why you’re trying to talk yourself out of it now. The hard stuff is over. You dumped the groom, ran out on your wedding reception, and jumped on the back of a Harley in your slip. Then you got drunk and flew to Puerto Rico with your best friend’s older brother, who, incidentally, thinks you look smoking hot. Who’s got more balls than you?

A fé para os pobres.A instrução para os ricos.

Nadie en mi familia es rico, pero parece que todos ahorran lo necesario para este tipo de eventos, y todos fingimos que somos ricos por un día.

Hay algo que debes saber sobre los ricos: siempre quieren ser más ricos. Nunca se aburren de ganar más dinero.

…los ricos son los administradores de los bienes de Dios ¿habrase visto mayor disparate? Dios no existe y el que no existe no tiene bienes…

We used military force to establish American power in Cuba and Puerto Rico, in Haiti and the Dominican Republic, in Central America, in Hawaii and the Philippines.

Quien cree que el dinero lo hace todo, acaba haciéndolo todo por dinero… Cuando sólo es rico el que sabe limitar sus deseos

Es justo esperar de nuestra época muchas más grandes cosas que las de épocas pasadas, pues el mundo, al ser más viejo es más rico en infinidad de observaciones y experiencias

Cuando veo todas esas camisas negras, pardas, rojas o azules, exigiendo que te afilies a esto o aquello, pienso que antes el mundo era de los ricos y ahora va a ser de los resentidos.

Ox!” Jessie bellowed. “This is going to be loud,” Chris said. “Should we leave?” Tanner asked. “Nah,” Rico said. “I want to wwatch what happens. “As your Alpha, I command you to save me," I told them. They just stared at me. Useless fucking pack.

...estos ricos que metí en la cárcel de Apapátaro eran ricos mexicanos, que constituyen una raza maldita y que debieron ser pasados por las armas, todos, desde tiempos del Cura Hidalgo.

Ora, não se deve matar pobres, porque cada um deles representa esmolas possíveis, quer dizer Boas Acções. Como dizia o Poeta, «os pobres são os degraus da escada que conduz os ricos ao Céu».

Automobile in America, Chromium steel in America, Wire-spoke wheel in America, Very big deal in America! Immigrant goes to America, Many hellos in America, Nobody knows in America, Puerto Rico's in America! I like the shores of America! Comfort is yours in America! Knobs on the doors in America! Wall-to-wall floors in America!

One thing he'd say about her- she blushed like no one else he'd ever met. Her gorgeous skin went from warm brown to an almost fiery pink. It didn't help that Rico knew she was blushing with her entire body right now. He had loved to chase that blush across her skin.

Nobody ever wrote down a plan to be broke fat, lazy or stupid. Those things are just what happens to you when you dont have a plan.

Sup, man,” said Rico Vega, joining me in the back of Spanish class. “’Sup,” I answered. “How can they let you take Spanish when that’s what you speak half the damn time?” “Why they let a bunch of gueros take English? You gringos gotta be stupid if you ain’t got it down in eighteen years.

I talked a lot in my car. Thousands of words and songs and swears are absorbed in its fabric, just like the orange juice I spilled on my way to the dentist. It knows what happened, when Allie went to Puerto Rico, understands the difference between the way I look at Nick and the way I look at Adam, and remembers the first time I experimented with talking to myself.

There was nothing I could ever give him that would be so beautiful because the only things I owned that were beautiful were not mine to give away. My mother. Gordo. Rico, Tanner, and Chris. They were the only things I had.

I was nearly asleep when Rico said, “Bambi’s convinced I’ve slept with half of you. She wouldn’t tell me which half, but since there are more men than women, that means she thinks I’ve sucked some dick. It’s not that I’m scared of dick, but I don’t know how I feel about balls hitting my chin, you know?” Chris and Tanner burst out laughing even as most of the rest of us groaned.

¿No recuerda esto el viejo cuento Muerte en Teherán? Un persa rico y poderoso paseaba un día por el jardín con uno de sus criados. Este estaba compungido porque acababa de ver a la muerte, que lo había amenazado. El criado suplica a su amo que le preste un caballo veloz para huir a Teherán, adonde podía llegar esa misma noche. El amo accede y el sirviente se aleja al galope. Al regresar a casa, el amo se encuentra con la muerte y le pregunta: —¿Por qué has asustado y amenazado tanto a mi criado? —No lo he amenazado. Me ha sorprendido verlo aquí, cuando tengo que encontrarme esta noche con él en Teherán —respondió la muerte.

A friend is someone who accepts you for who you are not what you are. They are with you through the good and the bad, the thick and the thin and doesn't try to change you but will tell you when you are in error. If you believe in your friend you will accept their opinion as an optimistic way to improve yourself. No one can tell you who to choose as a friend as you must choose who you are willing to accept failure from because even a friend can let you down but it is up to you to choose who you will allow to let you down

Nobody ever wrote down a plan to be broke fat, lazy or stupid. Those things are just what happens to you when you dont have a plan.

I will fucking kill you and anyone else who gets in the way of me and my tunes.

The sunsets here were always deep, passionate, and rich - always colors Camila thought she could take a shovel to and dig at for days.

Volverse adulto es, en esta sociedad, estar preparado para comenzar la carrera que te lleve hasta la meta del prestigio, el dinero, el reconocimiento de tus pares, ésos que corren junto a ti, tirándote codazos para que caigas al suelo y haya menos competidores. Hoy valen un pepino la justicia, la igualdad, la solidaridad. Nadie quiere ser sabio, todos quieren ser ricos.

Всеки път когато усетите, че нещо не ви достига, че се нуждаете от нещо, първо дайте и то ще ви се върне десетократно. Това се отнася както за пари, така и за усмивки, любов, приятелство.

El inteligente pobre es un observador mucho más fino que el rico inteligente. El pobre mira a su alrededor a cada paso que da, espía suspicazmente cada palabra que oye a las gentes que encuentra; a cada paso que da él mismo impone a sus pensamientos y sus sentimientos un deber, una norma. Tiene el oído fino, es impresionable, es un hombre experimentado, su alma tiene quemaduras.

Pero aunque el país más pobre, a pesar de la inferioridad de sus cultivos, puede en alguna medida rivalizar con el rico en la baratura y calidad de sus granos, no podrá competir con sus industrias, al menos en las manufacturas que se ajustan bien al suelo, clima y situación del país rico.

Es verdad;pues reprimamos esta fiera condición, esta furia, esta ambición, por si alguna vez soñamos; y sí haremos, pues estamos en mundo tan singular, que el vivir sólo es soñar; y la experiencia me enseña que el hombre que vive sueña lo que es hasta despertar. Sueña el rey que es rey, y vive con este engaño mandando. disponiendo y gobernando; y este aplauso, que recibe prestado, en el viento escribe, y encenizas le convierte la muerte,¡desdicha fuerte!: ¿que hay quien intente reinar, viendo que ha de despertar en el sueño de la muerte? Sueña el rico en su riqueza que más cuidados le ofrece; sueña el pobre que padece su miseria y su pobreza; sueña el que a medrar empieza, sueña el que afana y pretende, sueña el que agravia y ofende, y en el mundo, en conclusión, todos sueñan lo que son, aunque ninguno lo entiende. Yo sueño que estoy aquí destas prisiones cargado, y soñé que en otro estado más lisonjero me vi. ¿Qué es la vida?,Un frenesí, ¿Qué es la vida?, una ilusión, una sombra, una ficción, y el mayor bien es pequeño; que toda la vida es sueño, y los sueños, sueños son.

Pues bien, existe otra cosa en la que creo, William. Creo en lo que veo. Y ésa es la razón de que sea un hombre relativamente rico. Y también es el motivo de que sea un hombre vivo. La mayoría de la gente no cree lo que ve. Yo no creo en Dios. Pero si le viese, creería. No iría por ahí diciendo: Jesús vaya un efecto especial más estupendo. La definición de imbécil es un tipo que no cree en lo que ve

If the USA doesn't start learning how to put personal egos aside for the sustainability of a nation, then these "mighty" United States will be no better than the politically divided commonwealth of Puerto Rico. Where progress is slowed because each party thinks any idea from the other party must be stupid or without validity and Independence has become a distant dream squashed by corruption. I suggest politicians go back to kindergarten to learn the basics in decent humanity. The notions of sharing and respect obviously didn't stick the first time.

Haz lo que tu corazón te diga que es lo correcto porque de todas formas te van a criticar. Mal si lo haces y mal si no lo haces.

Sometimes, we only truly find ourselves when we have lost ourselves first.

Then a strange thing happened. A US Senator named Millard Tydings finally introduced a bill that would give Puerto Ricans their independence. Every politician on the island supported it—except Luis. Throughout the 1940s, he repeatedly opposed the Tydings independence bill. He even traveled to Washington in 1943 and 1945 to lobby against it, saying that Puerto Rico “was not ready for self-government.”54

— ¿Sabes que soy uno de los hombres más ricos de la Inglaterra? ¿Sabes que mis riquezas son incontables? ¿Que tengo propiedades alrededor del mundo, una flota de barcos, un astillero, acciones en varias industrias, dinero en los bancos, joyas, piezas de arte? Tu mente no puede calcularlo, ¿verdad? ¿Y acaso sabes que me he partido el lomo para ganarme cada maldito penique, que he arriesgado mi vida en incontables ocasiones? Pues no debería decirte esto, puesto que ya ostentas demasiado poder sobre mí; de igual modo quiero que sepas que, si con mis riquezas yo pudiera asegurarte a mi lado, alejarte de la muerte, del peligro, del dolor, comprarte la felicidad eterna, yo las entregaría sin pensarlo un segundo. Me desprendería de todo si supiese que de ese modo tendría para siempre conmigo a mi dulce Isaura.

And then this man, this ridiculously wonderful human, howled at the sky, the cords in his neck standing out. It echoed in the forest around us, and there came the sound of answering howls from back in the compound. “I’ve been practicing,” Rico said with a shrug as we stared at him. “Pretty good, right? And fuck me, you’re naked and we have guns and we’re going to go face an evil witch. Let’s do this thing.

All in one day I flew to Puerto Rico and took care of two matters. Then I flew to Chicago and took care of one matter. Then I flew to San Francisco and stopped at a bar for a couple of glasses of wine, because I knew I wouldn’t get anything to drink when I got to the Fairmont to meet up with Jimmy and give him the report. I walked into Jimmy’s hotel room at exactly 8:00 P.M. and he yelled at me for keeping him waiting.

Todos os que têm uma vida difícil, que são esmagados pela miséria, privados de todos os direitos, submetidos aos ricos e lacaios destes, todos, todo o povo deve ir ao encontro dos homens que por ele morrem nas prisões, que são torturados e mortos. Eles apontam a todos, sem fazerem caso dos seus interesses pessoais, o caminho da felicidade, eles não procuram enganar os outros: dizem que é um caminho difícil e não arrastam ninguém à força, mas logo que estivermos com eles, não somos capazes de deixá-los mais, porque vemos que têm razão, que esse caminho é belo e que não há outro.

He estado haciendo una lista de las cosas que no te enseñan en la escuela. Ellos no te enseñan cómo amar a alguien. Ellos no te enseñan cómo ser famoso. Ellos no te enseñan cómo ser rico o cómo ser pobre. Ellos no te enseñan cómo alejarte de alguien a quien ya no amas. Ellos no te enseñan cómo saber lo que sucede en la mente de otra persona. Ellos no te enseñan qué decir a alguien que está muriendo. Ellos no te enseñan nada que valga la pena saber.

Queridas niñas, tengo planes ambiciosos para vosotras, pero no tienen que ver con que lleguéis a tener un puesto importante u os caséis con un hombre rico por el mero hecho de serlo o porque tenga una casa estupenda, sobre todo si en esa casa falta el amor y no es un verdadero hogar. El dinero es un bien necesario y valioso y, si se hace buen uso de él, se convierte en algo noble, pero no quiero que creáis que es lo más importante o aquello a lo que debéis aspirar. Prefiero veros convertidas en esposas de hombres pobres pero felices, amadas y satisfechas, a que seáis reinas en su trono, carentes de respeto y paz.

-Parece que no te cae demasiado bien -dijo Daniel, acercándose más hacia él para que nadie pudiera oírlos-. ¿Por qué lo has invitado? En realidad, Jennsen no le había caído mal hasta hacía unos quince minutos. -Por lo mismo que invité a todos los demás. Porque es rico. -No entiendo cómo podría serte de utilidad a no ser que pretendas robarle. -Ni en broma. -Hummm. Y supongo que eres consciente de que aunque sea rico, la heredera con la que tienes que casarte debe ser una mujer.

Look at the evolution of the price of a kilogram of the drug, as it makes its way from the Andes to Los Angeles. To make that much cocaine, one needs somewhere in the neighborhood of 350 kilograms of dried coca leaves. Based on price data from Colombia obtained by Gallego and Rico, that would cost about $385. Once this is converted into a kilo of cocaine, it can sell in Colombia for $800. According to figures pulled together by Beau Kilmer and Peter Reuter at the RAND Corporation, an American think tank, that same kilo is worth $2,200 by the time it is exported from Colombia, and it has climbed to $14,500 by the time it is imported to the United States. After being transferred to a midlevel dealer, its price climbs to $19,500. Finally, it is sold by street-level dealers for $78,000.10 Even these soaring figures do not quite get across the scale of the markups involved in the cocaine business. At each of these stages, the drug is diluted, as traffickers and dealers “cut” the drug with other substances, to make it go further. Take this into account, and the price of a pure kilogram of cocaine at the retail end is in fact about $122,000.

En Montford Falls, el primer lugar al que me mude cuando me fui, me llame Eliza. El vecindario donde vivíamos era donde vivían todas estas familias felices, como algo de un viejo show de televisión. En el siguiente lugar, Petree, todos eran ricos. Era Lizbet, y vivíamos en este elevado complejo de apartamentos, todo en oscura madera y aplicaciones de metal. Era como algo sacado de una revista: incluso el ascensor era silencioso. Cuando nos mudamos a Westcott, teníamos una casa en la playa, tan soleada y cálida, y podía llevar flip-flops todo el año si quería. El primer día me presente como Beth. En Lakeview, la casa tenía un aro de baloncesto. Yo iba a ser Liz Sweet.

…porque somos como elles; porque, bem como elles, nos persuadimos de que, varrendo todos os vestigios do Portugal antigo, poderemos esconder aos estranhos a nossa decadencia actual; porque, além disso, cremos que para ser deste seculo, é preciso renegar dos antepassados. Todavia, ainda ha quem deplore a destruição das memorias venerandas de melhores tempos; ainda ha quem lucte contra a torrente de barbaria que alaga este paiz tão rico de recordações, recordações que tantos animos envilecidos pretendem fazer esquecer.

No publiques con facilidad lo que pienses, ni ejecutes cosa no bien premeditada primero. Debe ser afable; pero no vulgar en el trato. Une a tu alma con vínculos de acero aquellos amigos que adoptaste después de examinada su conducta; pero no acaricies con mano pródiga a los que acaban de salir del cascarón y aún están sin plumas. Huye siempre de mezclarte en disputas, pero no una vez metido en ellas, obra de manera que tu contrario huya de ti. Presta el oído a todos, y pocos la voz. Oye las censuras de los demás; pero reserva tu propia opinión. Sea tu vestido tan costoso cuanto tus facultades lo permitan, pero no afectado en su hechura; rico, no extravagante: por que el traje dice por lo común quién es el sujeto...

Emilia typed in her password and checked her inbox. A review by the Secretariat de Gobernación of drug cartel activities across Mexico. A report of a robbery in Acapulco’s poorest barrio neighborhood that would probably never be investigated. Notice of a reward for a child kidnapped in Ixtapa who was almost certainly dead by now. Her phone rang. It was the desk sergeant saying that a Señor Rooker wished to see her. Emilia avoided Rico’s eye as she said, yes, the sergeant could let el señor pass into the detectives’ area. A minute later Rucker was standing by her desk, sweat beaded on his forehead. The starched collar of his shirt was damp. “There’s a head,” he said breathlessly. “Someone’s head in a bucket on the hood of my car.

Dortmunder had helped by expressing doubts. “If the Puerto Ricans all come here,” he’d said, for instance, “how come it’s such a hot idea for us to go there?” Another time, he’d expressed the opinion that airplanes were too heavy to fly, and a little later he’d pointed out he didn’t have a passport. “You don’t need a passport,” May told him. “Puerto Rico’s part of the US.” He stared at her. “The hell it is.” But it turned out she was right about that; Puerto Rico wasn’t exactly a state, but it was something in the United States of America—maybe it was “of.

Both the Environmental Protection Agency and the Department of the Interior removed from their websites the links to climate change data. The USDA removed the inspection reports of businesses accused of animal abuse by the government. The new acting head of the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, Mick Mulvaney, said he wanted to end public access to records of consumer complaints against financial institutions. Two weeks after Hurricane Maria, statistics that detailed access to drinking water and electricity in Puerto Rico were deleted from the FEMA website. In a piece for FiveThirtyEight, Clare Malone and Jeff Asher pointed out that the first annual crime report released by the FBI under Trump was missing nearly three-quarters of the data tables from the previous year.

E, de súbito, tem medo de que nesta casa sejam bons para ele. Sim, um grande medo de que sejam bons para ele. Não sabe mesmo por quê, mas tem medo. E levanta-se, sai do seu esconderijo e vai fumar bem por baixo da janela da senhora. Assim verão que ele é um menino perdido, que não merece um quarto, roupa nova, comida na sala de jantar. Assim o mandarão para a cozinha, ele poderá levar para diante sua obra de vingança, conservar o ódio no seu coração. Porque se esse ódio desaparecer, ele morrerá, não terá nenhum motivo para viver. E diante dos seus olhos passa a visão do homem de colete que vê os soldados a espancar o Sem-Pernas e ri numa gargalhada brutal. Isso há de impedir sempre o Sem-Pernas de ver o rosto bondoso de dona Ester, o gesto protetor das mãos do padre José Pedro, a solidariedade dos músculos grevistas do estivador João de Adão. Será sozinho e seu ódio alcança a todos, brancos e negros, homens e mulheres, ricos e pobres. Por isso teme que sejam bons para consigo.

I think the responsibility of writers is to convey the feelings that exist in the moment, the moment of that sharp and immediate pang of sour smiles when your heart suddenly starts pumping ice through your veins and becomes difficult and visual perception takes on the appearance of cinematographer on Cops, with unsteady frames and jostling scenes, running through a backyard chasing perpetrators.

Dear Sirs," Flick began before loudly inhaling, "On account of there being no heat down here in account of the being no electricity on account of the brand-new energy rations so thoughtfully and nobly and honorably imposed on the steerage decks by Sovereign Nicolaeus on account of the blackouts - Aster fell prey to a brief fit of hypothermia-induced delirium de spoke against you in her maddery. She's healed up now so you don't have to worry about it happening again.

Si no eres dueña de tu cuerpo, mujer, ¿de qué mierda eres dueña? Mujer pobre, mujer proleta, mujer obrera, cansada de trabajar, lavar, educar, amamantar a la prole que, según estos beatos, te manda Dios. Como si Dios te diera un bono de mantención para la crianza. Como si los críos vinieran con una beca divina. Mira tú, si los ricos Opus pueden darse el lujo de parir a destajo porque les sobran las lucas. En el fondo, como dice una amiga, este pastel podrido es segregación clasista. Que tengan guaguas como conejas las cuicas UDI, que tienen servidumbre para que les críen a los nenes blanquitos. Porque también, si ellas no quieren, pueden hacerse el aborto de un millón, en el fundo o con el médico de la familia, y después llegar regias al cóctel en La Dehesa

[Author's Note:] When my grandmother came to the United States from Puerto Rico in the 1940s, she was a beautiful, glamorous woman from a wealthy family in the capital city, and the young bride of a dashing naval officer. She expected to be received as such. Instead, she found that people here had a very reductionist view of what it meant to be Puerto Rican, of what it meant to be Latinx. Everything about her confused her new neighbors: her skin tone, her hair, her accent, her notions. She wasn't what they expected a boricua to be. My grandmother spent much of her adult life in the States but didn't always feel welcome here. She resented the perpetual gringo misconceptions about her. She never got past that resentment, and the echoes of her indignation still have some peculiar manifestations in my family today. One of the symptoms is me. Always raging against a perceived slight, always fighting against ignorance in mainstream ideas about ethnicity and culture. I'm acutely aware that the people coming to our southern border are not one faceless brown mass but singular individuals, with stories and backgrounds and reasons for coming that are unique. I feel this awareness in my spine, in my DNA. So I hoped to present one of those unique personal stories - a work of fiction - as a way to honor the hundreds of thousands of stories we may never get to hear. And in so doing, I hope to create a pause where the reader may begin to individuate. When we see migrants on the news, we may remember: these people are people.

Skill teachers are made scarce by the belief in the value of licenses. Certification constitutes a form of market manipulation and is plausible only to a schooled mind. Most teachers of arts and trades are less skillful, less inventive, and less communicative than the best craftsmen and tradesmen. Most high-school teachers of Spanish or French do not speak the language as correctly as their pupils might after half a year of competent drills. Experimentsconducted by Angel Quintero in Puerto Rico suggest that many young teen-agers, if given the proper incentives, programs, and access to tools, are better than most schoolteachers at introducing their peers to the scientific exploration of plants, stars, and matter, and to the discovery of how and why a motor or a radio functions.

Se necesitan políticas para un crecimiento sostenible, equitativo y democrático. Esta es la razón del desarrollo. El desarrollo no consiste en ayudar a unos pocos individuos a enriquecerse o en crear un puñado de absurdas industrias protegidas que solo benefician a la elite del país; no consiste en traer a Prada y Benetton, Ralph Lauren o Louis Vuitton para los ricos de las ciudades, abandonando a los pobres del campo de su miseria. El que se pudieran comprar bolsos de Gucci en los grandes almacenes de Moscú no significo que el país se había vuelto una economía de mercado. El desarrollo consiste en transformar las sociedades, mejorar las vidas de los pobres, permitir que todos tengan la oportunidad de salir adelante y acceder a la salud y a la educación. Este tipo de desarrollo no tendrá lugar si sólo unos pocos dictan las políticas que deberá seguir un país. Conseguir que se tomen decisiones democráticas quiere decir garantizar que un abanico de economistas, funcionarios y expertos de los países en desarrollo estén activamente involucrados en el debate. También implica una amplia participación que va bastante más allá de los expertos y los políticos. Los países en desarrollo deben tomar las riendas de su propio porvenir. Pero nosotros en occidente no podemos eludir nuestras responsabilidades

Todo el mundo descubrió temprano que yo había nacido con la ambigua capacidad de engañar, de convencer a la gente sobre cualquier cosa. Y tenían razón. Yo habría sido un gran abogado. El más hijo de puta de todos. El más respetado, el que más culpables ricos habría salvado de la cárcel, el que más inocentes pobres habría metido en prisión. Un gran abogado, sí señor. Una mierda de persona. Hasta tendría un chalet con pileta, un auto grandote. Pero gracias a Dios, para cada oficio espurio hay uno noble. Incluso si tu talento en la tierra es el de mentir. Yo por ejemplo elegí contar cuentos y decir públicamente barbaridades sin importancia. Si mi talento hubiera consistido en correr atrás de una pelota, también tendría una opción correcta y otra incorrecta: mediocampista o árbitro. Y así podríamos seguir toda la tarde: payaso o político, carpintero o banquero, primera dama o puta.

Creo que si un hombre se atreviera a vivir su vida plena y totalmente, a dar forma a cada sentimiento, expresión a cada pensamiento, realidad a cada ensueño… creo que el mundo cobraría de nuevo un ímpetu de alegría, que olvidaríamos todas las enfermedades del medievalismo, y tornaríamos al ideal helénico… a algo quizá más bello, más rico que el ideal helénico. Pero hasta el más audaz de nosotros tiene miedo de sí mismo. La mutilación del salvaje tiene su trágica supervivencia en la renuncia de sí mismo que frustra nuestras vidas. Y somos castigados por ello. Cada impulso que luchamos por estrangular, germina en el espíritu y nos envenena. El cuerpo peca una vez, y acaba con su pecado, pues la acción es una especie de purificación. Nada queda entonces, excepto el recuerdo de un placer, o la voluptuosidad de un arrepentimiento. El único medio de librarse de una tentación es ceder ante ella. Resistan, y su alma enfermará de deseo por las cosas que se ha prohibido a sí misma, y de concupiscencia por aquello que sus leyes monstruosas han hecho ilícito y monstruoso. Se ha dicho que los grandes acontecimientos del mundo tienen lugar en el cerebro. En el cerebro también, y sólo en el cerebro, tienen lugar los grandes pecados del mundo.

Already the people murmur that I am your enemy because they say that in verse I give the world your me. They lie, Julia de Burgos. They lie, Julia de Burgos. Who rises in my verses is not your voice. It is my voice because you are the dressing and the essence is me; and the most profound abyss is spread between us. You are the cold doll of social lies, and me, the virile starburst of the human truth. You, honey of courtesan hypocrisies; not me; in all my poems I undress my heart. You are like your world, selfish; not me who gambles everything betting on what I am. You are only the ponderous lady very lady; not me; I am life, strength, woman. You belong to your husband, your master; not me; I belong to nobody, or all, because to all, to all I give myself in my clean feeling and in my thought. You curl your hair and paint yourself; not me; the wind curls my hair, the sun paints me. You are a housewife, resigned, submissive, tied to the prejudices of men; not me; unbridled, I am a runaway Rocinante snorting horizons of God's justice. You in yourself have no say; everyone governs you; your husband, your parents, your family, the priest, the dressmaker, the theatre, the dance hall, the auto, the fine furnishings, the feast, champagne, heaven and hell, and the social, "what will they say." Not in me, in me only my heart governs, only my thought; who governs in me is me. You, flower of aristocracy; and me, flower of the people. You in you have everything and you owe it to everyone, while me, my nothing I owe to nobody. You nailed to the static ancestral dividend, and me, a one in the numerical social divider, we are the duel to death who fatally approaches. When the multitudes run rioting leaving behind ashes of burned injustices, and with the torch of the seven virtues, the multitudes run after the seven sins, against you and against everything unjust and inhuman, I will be in their midst with the torch in my hand.

He tried to catch her eye, but all he got was the slightest nod before she looked away. He had no idea how he knew there was gratitude in that nod, but he did. The loose lock of hair that always seemed to escape the confines of her bun fell across her cheek. I want to be your hair. How many times had he said that to her? Not once had she needed to ask him what he meant. Her hair- midnight spun into strands- was always kissing her cheeks, playing with her collarbones, caressing her skin.

Aquella sociedad potosina, enferma de ostentación y despilfarro, sólo dejó a Bolivia la vaga memoria de sus esplendores, las ruinas de sus iglesias y palacios, y ocho millones de cadáveres de indios. Cualquiera de los diamantes incrustados en el escudo de un caballero rico valía más, al fin y al cabo, que lo que un indio podía ganar en toda su vida de mitayo, pero el caballero se fugó con los diamantes. Bolivia, hoy uno de los países más pobres del mundo, podría jactarse -si ello no resultara patéticamente inútil- de haber nutrido la riqueza de los países más ricos. En nuestros días, Potosí es una pobre ciudad de la pobre Bolivia: "La ciudad que más ha dado al mundo y la que menos tiene", como me dijo una vieja señora potosina, evuelta en un kilométrico chal de lana de alpaca, cuando conversamos ante al patio andaluz de su casa de dos siglos. Esta ciudad condenada a la nostalgia, atormentada por la miseria y el frío, es todavía una herida abierta del sistema colonial en América: una acusación. El mundo tendría que empezar por pedirle disculpas.

Would the behavior of the United States during the war—in military action abroad, in treatment of minorities at home—be in keeping with a “people’s war”? Would the country’s wartime policies respect the rights of ordinary people everywhere to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness? And would postwar America, in its policies at home and overseas, exemplify the values for which the war was supposed to have been fought? These questions deserve thought. At the time of World War II, the atmosphere was too dense with war fervor to permit them to be aired. For the United States to step forward as a defender of helpless countries matched its image in American high school history textbooks, but not its record in world affairs. It had opposed the Hatian revolution for independence from France at the start of the nineteenth century. It had instigated a war with Mexico and taken half of that country. It had pretended to help Cuba win freedom from Spain, and then planted itself in Cuba with a military base, investments, and rights of intervention. It had seized Hawaii, Puerto Rico, Guam, and fought a brutal war to subjugate the Filipinos. It had “opened” Japan to its trade with gunboats and threats. It had declared an Open Door Policy in China as a means of assuring that the United States would have opportunities equal to other imperial powers in exploiting China. It had sent troops to Peking with other nations, to assert Western supremacy in China, and kept them there for over thirty years.

I leaned against the SUV he was working on. “So….” “So?” he asked, looking back down at the tablet. “How rich are we?” He snorted. “Get back to work.” And I was going to do just that, except that Kelly Bennett decided to appear right at that moment. Wearing a deputy’s uniform. Tight green pants with a tan button-up shirt that pulled against his torso. He had a mic clipped near his shoulder and a black utility belt around his waist. He wasn’t carrying a gun, but I barely noticed because at that exact moment, I discovered my legs decided to quit working and I tripped and fell into the side of the SUV. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at me. “Sorry,” I said quickly, using the SUV to pull myself back up. And immediately hit the top of my head on the open hood. “Son of a bitch.” “What are you doing?” Gordo asked slowly. I laughed wildly. “Nothing! It’s nothing. Just… don’t even worry about it.” He turned toward the front of the garage. “Oh no,” he said when he saw who was standing there. “Not this again.” He pointed the tablet at Kelly. “I swear to god, if I find an animal carcass brought here at any point, I will make both your lives a living hell. Do you understand me? I’m getting too old for this shit.” “I can’t believe we have to watch this all over again,” Chris said to Tanner. “It was bad enough the first time. Remember when Robbie figured out that he wanted to put himself all over Kelly?” “Yeah,” Tanner said. “How could I forget? We had to tell Ms. Martin that her side mirror was broken by accident instead of telling her the truth, that Robbie got a weird wolf boner and forgot his own strength.” “Maybe it’ll be like it was with Ox and Joe,” Rico said, tapping a socket wrench against his hand. “Mini muffins, you know? I ate, like, ten of them.” Chris looked scandalized. “You did what? That was one of their mystical moon magic presents! You don’t touch another man’s mystical moon magic present, Rico. They could have killed you, or worse, gotten confused and made you their mate.” He frowned. “Are there werewolf threesomes? That sounds complicated. Too many limbs. I don’t know anything about being a wolf.

- Sim, é talvez tudo uma ilusão... E a Cidade a maior ilusão! Tão facilmente vitorioso redobrei de facúndia. Certamente, meu Príncipe, uma ilusão! E a mais amarga, porque o Homem pensa ter na Cidade a base de toda a sua grandeza e só nela tem a fonte de toda a sua miséria. (...) Na Cidade perdeu ele a força e beleza harmoniosa do corpo, e se tornou esse ser ressequido e escanifrado ou obeso e afogado em unto, de ossos moles como trapos, de nervos trémulos como arames, com cangalhas, com chinós, com dentaduras de chumbo, sem sangue, sem febra, sem viço, torto, corcunda - esse ser em que Deus, espantado, mal pode reconhecer o seu esbelto e rijo e nobre Adão! Na Cidade findou a sua liberdade moral: cada manhã ela lhe impõe uma necessidade, e cada necessidade o arremessa para uma dependência: pobre e subalterno, a sua vida é um constante solicitar, adular, vergar, rastejar, aturar; e rico e superior como um Jacinto, a Sociedade logo o enreda em tradições, preceitos, etiquetas, cerimónias, praxes, ritos, serviços mais disciplinares que os de um cárcere ou de um quartel... A sua tranquilidade (bem tão alto que Deus com ela recompensa os santos ) onde está, meu Jacinto? Sumida para sempre, nessa batalha desesperada pelo pão, ou pela fama, ou pelo poder, ou pelo gozo, ou pela fugidia rodela de ouro! Alegria como a haverá na Cidade para esses milhões de seres que tumultuam na arquejante ocupação de desejar - e que, nunca fartando o desejo, incessantemente padecem de desilusão, desesperança ou derrota? Os sentimentos mais genuinamente humanos logo na Cidade se desumanizam! Vê, meu Jacinto! São como luzes que o áspero vento do viver social não deixa arder com serenidade e limpidez; e aqui abala e faz tremer; e além brutamente apaga; e adiante obriga a flamejar com desnaturada violência. As amizades nunca passam de alianças que o interesse, na hora inquieta da defesa ou na hora sôfrega do assalto, ata apressadamente com um cordel apressado, e que estalam ao menor embate da rivalidade ou do orgulho. E o Amor, na Cidade, meu gentil Jacinto? Considera esses vastos armazéns com espelhos, onde a nobre carne de Eva se vende, tarifada ao arratel, como a de vaca! Contempla esse velho Deus do Himeneu, que circula trazendo em vez do ondeante facho da Paixão a apertada carteira do Dote! Espreita essa turba que foge dos largos caminhos assoalhados em que os Faunos amam as Ninfas na boa lei natural, e busca tristemente os recantos lôbregos de Sodoma ou de Lesbos!... Mas o que a cidade mais deteriora no homem é a Inteligência, porque ou lha arregimenta dentro da banalidade ou lha empurra para a extravagância. Nesta densa e pairante camada de Idéias e Fórmulas que constitui a atmosfera mental das Cidades, o homem que a respira, nela envolto, só pensa todos os pensamentos já pensados, só exprime todas as expressões já exprimidas: - ou então, para se destacar na pardacenta e chata rotina e trepar ao frágil andaime da gloríola, inventa num gemente esforço, inchando o crânio, uma novidade disforme que espante e que detenha a multidão como um monstrengo numa feira. Todos, intelectualmente, são carneiros, trilhando o mesmo trilho, balando o mesmo balido, com o focinho pendido para a poeira onde pisam, em fila, as pegadas pisadas; - e alguns são macacos, saltando no topo de mastros vistosos, com esgares e cabriolas. Assim, meu Jacinto, na Cidade, nesta criação tão antinatural onde o solo é de pau e feltro e alcatrão, e o carvão tapa o céu, e a gente vive acamada nos prédios como o paninho nas lojas, e a claridade vem pelos canos, e as mentiras se murmuram através de arames - o homem aparece como uma criatura anti-humana, sem beleza, sem força, sem liberdade, sem riso, sem sentimento, e trazendo em si um espírito que é passivo como um escravo ou impudente como um Histrião... E aqui tem o belo Jacinto o que é a bela Cidade! (...) -Sim, com efeito, a Cidade... É talvez uma ilusão perversa!

Separated from everyone, in the fifteenth dungeon, was a small man with fiery brown eyes and wet towels wrapped around his head. For several days his legs had been black, and his gums were bleeding. Fifty-nine years old and exhausted beyond measure, he paced silently up and down, always the same five steps, back and forth. One, two, three, four, five, and turn . . . an interminable shuffle between the wall and door of his cell. He had no work, no books, nothing to write on. And so he walked. One, two, three, four, five, and turn . . . His dungeon was next door to La Fortaleza, the governor’s mansion in Old San Juan, less than two hundred feet away. The governor had been his friend and had even voted for him for the Puerto Rican legislature in 1932. This didn’t help much now. The governor had ordered his arrest. One, two, three, four, five, and turn . . . Life had turned him into a pendulum; it had all been mathematically worked out. This shuttle back and forth in his cell comprised his entire universe. He had no other choice. His transformation into a living corpse suited his captors perfectly. One, two, three, four, five, and turn . . . Fourteen hours of walking: to master this art of endless movement, he’d learned to keep his head down, hands behind his back, stepping neither too fast nor too slow, every stride the same length. He’d also learned to chew tobacco and smear the nicotined saliva on his face and neck to keep the mosquitoes away. One, two, three, four, five, and turn . . . The heat was so stifling, he needed to take off his clothes, but he couldn’t. He wrapped even more towels around his head and looked up as the guard’s shadow hit the wall. He felt like an animal in a pit, watched by the hunter who had just ensnared him. One, two, three, four, five, and turn . . . Far away, he could hear the ocean breaking on the rocks of San Juan’s harbor and the screams of demented inmates as they cried and howled in the quarantine gallery. A tropical rain splashed the iron roof nearly every day. The dungeons dripped with a stifling humidity that saturated everything, and mosquitoes invaded during every rainfall. Green mold crept along the cracks of his cell, and scarab beetles marched single file, along the mold lines, and into his bathroom bucket. The murderer started screaming. The lunatic in dungeon seven had flung his own feces over the ceiling rail. It landed in dungeon five and frightened the Puerto Rico Upland gecko. The murderer, of course, was threatening to kill the lunatic. One, two, three, four, five, and turn . . . The man started walking again. It was his only world. The grass had grown thick over the grave of his youth. He was no longer a human being, no longer a man. Prison had entered him, and he had become the prison. He fought this feeling every day. One, two, three, four, five, and turn . . . He was a lawyer, journalist, chemical engineer, and president of the Nationalist Party. He was the first Puerto Rican to graduate from Harvard College and Harvard Law School and spoke six languages. He had served as a first lieutenant in World War I and led a company of two hundred men. He had served as president of the Cosmopolitan Club at Harvard and helped Éamon de Valera draft the constitution of the Free State of Ireland.5 One, two, three, four, five, and turn . . . He would spend twenty-five years in prison—many of them in this dungeon, in the belly of La Princesa. He walked back and forth for decades, with wet towels wrapped around his head. The guards all laughed, declared him insane, and called him El Rey de las Toallas. The King of the Towels. His name was Pedro Albizu Campos.