Roma Quotes

To have and to hold, where even death cannot part us,’ Juliette whispered. ‘In this life and the next,’ Roma returned, ‘for however long our souls remain, mine will always find yours.

I was raised in hatred, Roma. I could never be your lover, only your killer.

Don’t you dare,” Roma said. “Don’t you dare fall apart now, dorogaya.

They speak of Roma Montagov and Juliette Cai as the ones who dared to dream. And for that, in a city consumed by nightmares, they were cut down without mercy.

Because even if you hate me, Roma Montagov, I still love you.

These violent delights have violent ends, you have always known this.

I said I wanted you dead," Roma confirmed. "I never said I didn't love you

I will fight this war to love you, Juliette Cai. I will fight this feud to have you, because it was this feud that gave you to me, twisted as it is, and now I will take you away from it.

You destroy me and then you kiss me. You give me a reason to hat you and then you give me a reason to love you. Is this a lie or the truth? Is the a ploy or your heart reaching for me?

Your life," he seethed. "Is not a game of luck". "Since when," Juliette spat, "did you care about my life?' "I don't." He was trembling with fury. "I hate you". And when Juliette didn't recoil, Roma kissed her.

Don't miss," Roma said. "I never do," Juliette replied

Together or not at all, doragaya

I made a vow to you, Roma.’ She took a step forward. No one stopped her. ‘Where you go, I go. I will not bear a day parted. I will take a dagger to my own heart if I must.

You’re fluent in Russian and that’s the best you could come up with?” Roma asked, flabbergasted. “What is a Montague? It sounds Italian.” “There are Italian Communists!” “Not in Shanghai!

This is why my betrayal was so terrible. Because you believed me incapable of hurting you, and yet I did.

I hate you, what he really meant was I love you. I l still love you so much that I hate you for it

If Roma were ever again to run a tender finger down her spine, it would be to count her vertebrae and gauge where he could stab his knife in.

moya doragaya, I love you, I love you

You destroy me and then you kiss me. You give me a reason to hate you and then you give me a reason to love you. Is this a lie or the truth? Is the a ploy or your heart reaching for me?

If the human soul has an afterlife, has a will, then his would be here for rest, and Alisa has no doubt that Juliette's would follow.

Roma wasn’t sure if Benedikt and Marshall were fated to eventually kill each other or kiss each other.

My darling, darling Juliette

How are you this bad?" Juliette asked in disbelief. "I thought you were Russian." "I am Russian, not an alcoholic," Roma muttered.

Roma was not afraid. He only feared the power of others. Monsters and things that walked the night were strong, but they were not powerful. There was a difference.

Juliette embraced danger with open arms. It seemed that Roma couldn’t do so even when his whole world was at risk, even while Alisa was strapped down by her arms and legs.

Why do you pause?” Juliette mimicked bitterly. Softly, she set him down, brushing his mussed hair out of his face. “Because even if you hate me, Roma Montagov, I still love you.

What are you afraid of?' Roma Montagov asked. Juliette's lips parted. She exhaled a short, abrupt breath. 'The consequences,' she whispered, "of love in a city ruled by hate.

You are a liar, Juliette Cai," he said. "You lied to me until I wanted you dead

Mă amăgesc. Poate toată viaţa n-am făcut decât să mă amăgesc. Şi tu ai să fii cea mai grea amăgire a mea.

Because even if you hate me, Roma Montagov, I still love you.

Science could tell him that the ground was below his feet and the sky was above his head and the early light of day was upon his back. Roma wouldn't listen. To him, Juliette was the sun.

Once you have been tortured, you can never belong in this world. There is no place that ever be your home.

What a face this girl possessed!—could I not gaze at it every day I would need to recreate it through painting, sculpture, or fatherhood until a second such face is born.

«Respira Roma, Lewis, domani sarà già diversa, domani ci sarà anche il tuo odore, fra cento anni lo sentiranno ancora, qui nulla si perde.»

Roma Montagov kicks a chair. “God—” “—dammit,” Juliette Cai finishes with a whisper, far across the city.

Grey has no agenda. . . . Grey has the ability, that no other colour has, to make the invisible visible.

Keep fighting for love.

Under the low-hanging light of the moon, Roma was a black-and-white study of sorrow.

Amelia, if we have children… will you mind that they're part Roma?" "Not if you don't mind that they're part Hathaway.

She wished she could fill herself up like this. She wished she could press mounds of rich soil into the gaps of her heart, occupying the space until flowers could take root and grow roses. Maybe then she wouldn't be hearing Roma's voice in her head over and over again, taking up every inch of her thoughts

A long time ago, Roma had told Juliette that her anger was like a cold diamond. It was something she could swallow smoothly, something to be placed upon other people, gliding along their skin in glitter and glamour before they realized far too late that the diamond had sliced them into pieces. He had admired her for it. Mostly because his own anger was the precise opposite—an uncontrollable wave of fire that knew no subtlety.

At this distance between them that she had willingly manufactured, because they had been born into two families at war, and she would rather die at Roma’s hand than be the cause of his death.

Tú no eres de esos. Tú no le robas el corazón a la gente, tú les recuerdas que lo tienen.

It is important for women to do something about what they see.

Hello, stranger

Setiap orang punya ruang dan tempat tersendiri. Mereka yang pergi dan datang tak akan pernah bisa saling menggantikan

So we are never to change?" she asked. "We are forever blood-soaked roses?" Roma took her hand. Pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "A rose is a rose, even by another name," he whispered. "But we choose whether we will offer beauty to the world, or if we will use our thorns to sting.

We love WWII because the cause was so obviously just, because you can't be a good person and say you wouldn't fight against an evil like that. It was so black and white on our side, and on our side so few died. (Our side meaning the lantern-jawed John Wayne Greatest Generation constantly canonized soldiers who strode in late to the graveyard that was Europe. Compared to Jewish, Russian, Roma, and other casualties, our losses were minimal.) We felt so strong. In some ways I think we're always trying to recapture that feeling of being a country of superheroes. With every war we invoke that one, we hope it will be that good. -from her blog

Tutt'intorno a noi scorreva la città di Roma, splendida nella sua indifferenza, eternamente sicura di sé, felice di prendersi i nostri soldi e posare per una foto, ma senza avere alla fin fine bisogno di niente e di nessuno.

Yunan, Roma ve Avrupa tarihini kendimizi bilmek ve anlamak için öğrenmeliyiz; çünkü biz onun içindeyiz.

Todas las carreteras llevan a Roma, pero mucha gente todavía piensa que solo hay una forma de llegar allí, su propio camino, y si no lo seguimos, todos nos perderemos.

War rages on, and the city tells the tale of Roma and Juliette like some folk song passed between rickshaw runners on their breaks. They speak of Roma Montagov and Juliette Cai as the ones who had dared to dream. And for that, in a city consumed by nightmares, they were cut down without mercy.

It was only that every time she looked at Roma, she didn’t want to stop looking; she wanted to sit down beside him and bid him never to leave her, to listen to him talk forever and ever and ever.

He reminded me of Gerald Roma from grade school, who used to burn ants with a magnifying glass. He was never quite right. It was weird that he spontaneously combusted during finals week our freshman year in college. Payback was a bitch.

Roma tidaklah dibangun dalam waktu sehari. Begitu juga sebuah jalan kereta api. Atau hal-hal lain yang menyenangkan dalam hidup ini. - Charles Ingalls

Here she was, harboring this pulsating lump of hatred burning in her stomach that had only gotten hotter and hotter in the years she had been robbed of a confrontation, an explanation, and yet still she did not have the courage to sink her knife right into Roma's chest, to get revenge in the only way she knew how.

In politics, reality and appearance are of equal importance. You cannot attend to one and neglect the other. A man must determine both what he is, and what others believe him to be.

Once, a long time ago, at the back of a library while a storm raged on outside, Juliette had asked Roma, “Do you ever imagine what life would be like if you had a different last name?” “All the time. Don’t you?” Juliette had thought about it. “Only sometimes. Then I consider all that I would miss out on without it. What would I be if I weren’t a Cai?” Roma had lifted onto his elbow. “You could be a Montagov.” “Don’t be ridiculous.

Mereka yang mengerjakan sesuatu dari hati, karyanya akan memiliki jiwa.

I take you, Juliette Cai," Roma whispered in concentration, "to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, until..." He looked up as he finished the knot. Paused. When he spoke again, he did not look away. "No, scratch that. To have and to hold, where even death cannot part us. In this life and the next, for however long our souls remain, mine will always find yours. Those are my vows to you.

Sometimes a scent is more evocative than a photo or an image. It is a primer for the deflagration of sensation, emotions, desires, uncontrollable atmospheres, dejavus that flood and wrap us like honey, until they make us drown in an unrepeatable moment of wellbeing... olfactory hallucinations that lead us anywhere: to the North of any South, to the East of any West...

La belleza no está reñida con la inteligencia. Y yo tengo la suerte de tener ambas. Pero hablemos de ti. En tu caso la belleza te ha sido concebida... pero la inteligencia brilla por su ausencia.

Juliette wouldn’t dare because no matter how big her talk was, she still couldn’t separate the hatred broiling in her stomach with the sudden lurch of adrenaline that came to life with his proximity. If her body refused to forget who Roma once was to her, how was she to make those same limbs rebel from their nature, make them destroy him? “Penny for your thoughts?

It’s Juliette Montagova.” She lifted her hand and waved her fingers, flashing her gold wedding ring while she continued onward and exited the living room. “I’m a married woman. Roma, come help me get the knives, would you?” In that moment, as Roma pushed off the wall and followed her obediently, he fell in love all over again.

Roma Montagov wasn’t the heir scheming in the shadows anymore. It seemed that he was sick of the city seeing him as the one slitting throats in the dark, the one with a heart of coal and the clothing to match.

but here, with his pulse thudding through his chest and beating an even rhythm onto hers, he was just a boy, just a bloody, beating heart that could be cut out at any moment by a blade sharp enough

I mourned,” Roma said just as softly. “I mourned for months, years outside the gates of the cemetery. Yet I don’t regret choosing you. No matter how cruel you think yourself, your heart beats for your people. That’s why you shot him. That’s why you took the chance. Not because you are merciless. Because you have hope.” Juliette looked up. If Roma turned, even the slightest, they would be nose to nose. “I regret that I was ever put in the position to choose,” Roma continued. His words were faint, whispered into the world while the streets roared with sirens, the building beside them teemed with chaos, and policemen along every street corner screamed for order. But Juliette heard him perfectly. “I hate that the blood feud forced my hand, but I can’t—I did what I had to do and you may think me monstrous for it. The feud keeps taking and hurting and killing and still I couldn’t stop loving you even when I thought I hated you.

The strands (the gods) weave out of our mortal lives are like a pattern visible only from the heavens; we here on earth can only guess at their designs

Nadie escucha la verdad cuando las mentiras son más interesantes.

No," Roma finally said. "Then we would not have met. Then I would have lived an ordinary life, pining for some great love I would never find, because ordinary things happen to ordinary people, and ordinary people settle for something that satisfies them, never knowing if there would have been greater happiness in another life." His voice was rough, but it was certain. "I will fight this war to love you, Juliette Cai. I will fight this feud to have you, because it was this feud that gave you to me, twisted as it is, and now I will take you away from it.

Aku hanya perlu satu. Keberadaanmu. Di sisiku...

...there are places that don't belong to geography but to time.

Touched by an Angel' started my calling to be the messenger, and on a weekly basis, I was able to deliver the message of God's love to the world.

Porque los deseos que más importan son los que nunca se pronuncian en voz alta y, aun así, alguien te los concede.

Ne diyebilirdim ki, bu kentin tarihi konusunda tam bir cahildik. Bırakın Yunan, Roma dönemini, Osmanlı dönemi hakkında bile hiçbir şey bilmiyorduk. Bütün bu bilgisizliğimize rağmen, lafa geldi mi, utanıp sıkılmadan, şanlı ceddimiz diye nutuk atmaya bayılıyorduk.

Has there ever been a country that, once colonized, avoided civil war?

The feud keeps taking and hurting and killing and still I couldn't stop loving you even when I thought I hated you.

El orgullo y los halagos con frecuencia nublan nuestra razón.

I am in love with you,” he declared. It was only for practice, yet his face turned red nonetheless. This was ridiculous. He was fifteen. He could be more suave than this. Roma didn’t know much, but he knew that he had fallen too hard and he had fallen too fast. If he didn’t speak now he might never have a chance, because this city was brutal to dazzling things walking its streets, and Juliette was the most dazzling of them all.

I would have found you anywhere.” He reached forward. Tugged that piece of her hair, then tucked the curl behind her ear. “Across the world and under it. No matter how well you hide. It doesn’t matter where you go. I’ll always find you. Understand?

Podía tener todo lo que estuviera en venta y ese era el problema. Tener la capacidad de poseer cualquier cosa en la que se posasen mis ojos le restaba valor a la realidad, eliminaba la emoción.

En aquel momento pensé que sería la noche más importante de nuestra vida. Tal vez lo fue. Épica porque pusimos un pie en el cielo gracias a nuestros labios. Épica porque sin saberlo también lo hicimos en el infierno. La hora de que el chico que vivía en las sonrisas ajenas brillase como una estrella.

[Sigmund Freud] era un perfecto cretino. [Estaba] equivocado en las interpretaciones exclusivamente sexuales que daba a los símbolos, los sueños y los secretos ocultos de nuestro subconsciente. ¡Vamos, vamos! Pensar que quien sueñe con la aguja de una catedral o con el obelisco de Trajano en Roma está expresando anhelos relacionados con el órgano viril... ¡ésa no puede ser más que la interpretación de un obseso!

The soul mate we marry can become an "ex," but the soul mates we have in our children will be ours forever, until the end of our life.

Men like Caesar and Pompey--they're not heroes, Meto. They're monsters. They call their greed and ambition "honour," and to satisfy their so-called honour they'll tear the world apart. But who am I to judge them? Every man does what he must, to protect his share of the world. What's the difference between killing whole villages and armies, and killing a single man? Caesar's reasons and mine are different only in degree. The consequences and the suffering still spread to the innocent (Gordianus the Finder to his son Meto)

He felt a psychosomatic rush of emptiness before he spoke. “Since we are getting to the real point, I am not stupid John. And it would be foolish to think me ignorant. Isn’t this about the Science Nation interview? Isn’t this because I mistakenly used the word “soul?” Isn’t this about you and the others thinking somewhere along the lines, I had gained an imaginary soul? We all know when you gain a soul, you lose a mind. Don’t we john?” John hesitated briefly staring at Roma. “I believe so yes. Souls are luxuries for speculative minds. Real scientists can’t afford such luxuries. They have the world to save.” Roma narrowed his eyes. “Or destroy.

La puta, la gran puta, la grandísima puta, la santurrona, la simoníaca, la inquisidora, la falsificadora, la asesina, la fea, la loca, la mala; la del Santo Oficio y el Índice de Libros Prohibidos; la de las Cruzadas y la noche de San Bartolomé; la que saqueó Constantinopla y bañó de sangre Jerusalén; la que exterminó a albigenses y a los veinte mil habitantes de Beziers; la que arrasó con las culturas indígenas de América; la que quemó a Segarelli en Parma, a Juan Hus en Constanza y a Giordano Bruno en Roma; la detractora de la ciencia, la enemiga de la verdad, la adulteradora de la Historia; la perseguidora de judíos, la encendedora de hogueras, la quemadora de herejes y brujas...

Quien ha hecho cosas suficientemente importantes es consciente de que podría haberlas hecho mejor y de que ha cometido numerosos errores que podría haber evitado. Sólo el soberbio irredento cree que volvería a hacerlo todo igual.

A perception of empire is found in an early Christian acrostic. An acrostic is a word made up of the first letters of each word in a phrase or sentence. In this case, the phrase is an early Christian saying in Latin: radix omnium malorum avaritia. Radix means “root,” omnium means “all,” malorum means “evil,” and avaritia means “avarice” (or “greed”). Putting it together, it says, “Avarice (or greed) is the root of all evil.” And the first letters of each word produce Roma, the Latin spelling of Rome. It makes a striking point: Roma - empire - is the embodiment of avarice, the incarnation of greed. That’s what empire is about. The embodiment of greed in domination systems is the root of all evil.

Roma’s eyes flared. “You’re saying Einstein was even more wrong?” Retina shook his head. “Einstein was acting within physical bounds. I’m talking invisible, not visible light. Can we factor in the speed of invisible light?” Roma shook his head. “What are you saying?” “We’re always limited by the scope of our senses, our perceptions and its scientific perfections. But in this parallel we call universe there are scopes beyond our perceptive realities or possible realities. Einstein was not wrong but was limited in scope. There is a realm beyond our visible spectrum where time is imperceptible because space is without measure. And in that realm, matter and energy are not intricately related. Matter has no form and is ill recognizable as essence or existence. Energy is all there is.” Roma held a frown. “Who’s been feeding you that Spiritualist crap?” “Dr. Ian Skript, the most renowned Spiritualist scientist I know.

But don’t be mistaken, Juliette.” His eyes swiveled to her slowly. That once-familiar stare was now fathomless, and Juliette’s breath caught in her throat, stilling like a creature in the headlights. She was ready. She knew what he would say. But it still tore into her, it still stung as mightily as razor wire wrapped around her heart, both ends pulled until it could wrap no tighter. “When this is over, I will have my revenge. You will answer to me for what you did.

CAPT. J. W. SIMMONS, master of the steamship Pensacola, had just as little regard for weather as the Louisiana’s Captain Halsey. He was a veteran of eight hundred trips across the Gulf and commanded a staunch and sturdy ship, a 1,069-ton steel-hulled screw-driven steam freighter built twelve years earlier in West Hartlepool, England, and now owned by the Louisville and Nashville Railroad Company. Friday morning the ship was docked at the north end of 34th Street, in the company of scores of other ships, including the big Mallory liner Alamo, at 2,237 tons, and the usual large complement of British ships, which on Friday included the Comino, Hilarius, Kendal Castle, Mexican, Norna, Red Cross, Taunton, and the stately Roma in from Boston with its Captain Storms. As the Pensacola’s twenty-one-man crew readied the ship for its voyage to the city of Pensacola on Florida’s Gulf Coast, two men came aboard as Captain Simmons’s personal guests: a harbor pilot named R. T. Carroll and Galveston’s Pilot Commissioner J. M. O. Menard, from one of the city’s oldest families. At

When he played that violin for us, I thought about his stories and the history he talked of, about paintings I had seen and books I had read. His violin made a smoky, mysterious sound. I heard it in the explosions of chestnuts cooking on a brazier at the edge of a river, and horses clopping across cobblestones in Siena and Florence, and also the rustle of leaves that fell on Garibaldi's troops as they marched. The violin sang 'Roma o morte,' and it wailed for the mountains of dead in an American Civil War across the sea, and for Paris glittering with the Second Empire. It rose and fell with voices reading Victor Hugo aloud by whale oil, and it sang about dynamite, about Ottomans and Englishmen falling under their horses in the Crimea, and the feet of crowds shuffling through international expositions. Above all, Stoyan's violin sang about places - places its maker had been, places the teacher of its maker had been, places its current owner would someday see, and the many, many places where he would someday perform on it.

[A Chinese Restaurant.] Roma is seated alone at the booth.Lingk is at the booth next to him.Roma is talking to him. * * * Roma: . . . Eh? What I’m saying, what is our life? (Pause.) It’s looking forward or it’s looking back. And that’s our life. That’s it. Where is the moment? (Pause.) And what is it that we’re afraid of? Loss. What else? (Pause.) The bank closes. We get sick, my wife died on a plane, the stock market collapsed . . . the house burnt down . . . what of these happen . . . ? None of ’em. We worry anyway. What does this mean? I’m not secure. How can I be secure? (Pause.) Through amassing wealth beyond all measure? No. And what’s beyond all measure? That’s a sickness. That’s a trap. There is no measure. Only greed. How can we act? The right way, we would say, to deal with this: “There is a one-in-a million chance that so and so will happen. . . . Fuck it, it won’t happen to me. . . .” No. We know that’s not the right way I think. (Pause.) We say the correct way to deal with this is “There is a one-in-so-and-so chance that this will happen . . . God protect me. I am powerless, let it not happen to me. . . .” But no to that. I say. There’s something else. What is it? “If it happens, AS IT MAY for that is not within our powers, I will deal with it, just as I do today with what draws my concern today.” I say this is how we must act. I do those things which seem correct to me today. I trust myself. And if security concerns me, I do that which today I think will make me secure. And every day I do that, when that day arrives that I need a reserve, (a) odds are that I have it, and (b) the true reserve that I have is the strength that I have of acting each day without fear. (Pause.) According to the dictates of my mind. (Pause.)

I still identify as Black. Not because I believe Blackness, or race, is a meaningful scientific category but because our societies, our policies, our ideas, our histories, and our cultures have rendered race and made it matter. I am among those who have been degraded by racist ideas, suffered under racist policies, and who have nevertheless endured and built movements and cultures to resist or at least persist through this madness. I see myself culturally and historically and politically in Blackness, in being an African American, an African, a member of the forced and unforced African diaspora. I see myself historically and politically as a person of color, as a member of the global south, as a close ally of Latinx, East Asian, Middle Eastern, and Native peoples and all the world’s degraded peoples, from the Roma and Jews of Europe to the aboriginals of Australia to the White people battered for their religion, class, gender, transgender identity, ethnicity, sexuality, body size, age, and disability. The gift of seeing myself as Black instead of being color-blind is that it allows me to clearly see myself historically and politically as being an antiracist, as a member of the interracial body striving to accept and equate and empower racial difference of all kinds.

They knew where they were headed but they didn’t know where they were going. Retina shrugged the thought. Roma complained about the possibility they were walking into a trap. After all, he was one of the scientists that decided Solstice’s fate. Retina was adamant no one knew him. Lorenzo didn’t care about anything much but reaching Zharfar after Retina surgically removed his Unicell Groper. They were headed to Africa in what seemed a semi commercial private plane. Eight people including the pilots travelled. They weren’t supposed to know any more particulars. But Lorenzo’s watch placed the coordinates in both numbers and words. They were in West Africa, country Nigeria, state Osun, and township Isura. None of them had ever heard of it, the town, but they were there. And they had travelled for miles, over highly forested nonresidential areas and mountain peaks before they stopped. Wherever they were going was greatly isolated, Roma thought.

Alì dagli Occhi Azzurri uno dei tanti figli di figli, scenderà da Algeri, su navi a vela e a remi. Saranno con lui migliaia di uomini coi corpicini e gli occhi di poveri cani dei padri sulle barche varate nei Regni della Fame. Porteranno con sè i bambini, e il pane e il formaggio, nelle carte gialle del Lunedì di Pasqua. Porteranno le nonne e gli asini, sulle triremi rubate ai porti coloniali. Sbarcheranno a Crotone o a Palmi, a milioni, vestiti di stracci asiatici, e di camicie americane. Subito i Calabresi diranno, come da malandrini a malandrini: «Ecco i vecchi fratelli, coi figli e il pane e formaggio!» Da Crotone o Palmi saliranno a Napoli, e da lì a Barcellona, a Salonicco e a Marsiglia, nelle Città della Malavita. Anime e angeli, topi e pidocchi, col germe della Storia Antica voleranno davanti alle willaye. Essi sempre umili Essi sempre deboli essi sempre timidi essi sempre infimi essi sempre colpevoli essi sempre sudditi essi sempre piccoli, essi che non vollero mai sapere, essi che ebbero occhi solo per implorare, essi che vissero come assassini sotto terra, essi che vissero come banditi in fondo al mare, essi che vissero come pazzi in mezzo al cielo, essi che si costruirono leggi fuori dalla legge, essi che si adattarono a un mondo sotto il mondo essi che credettero in un Dio servo di Dio, essi che cantavano ai massacri dei re, essi che ballavano alle guerre borghesi, essi che pregavano alle lotte operaie... ... deponendo l’onestà delle religioni contadine, dimenticando l’onore della malavita, tradendo il candore dei popoli barbari, dietro ai loro Alì dagli Occhi Azzurri - usciranno da sotto la terra per uccidere – usciranno dal fondo del mare per aggredire - scenderanno dall’alto del cielo per derubare - e prima di giungere a Parigi per insegnare la gioia di vivere, prima di giungere a Londra per insegnare a essere liberi, prima di giungere a New York, per insegnare come si è fratelli - distruggeranno Roma e sulle sue rovine deporranno il germe della Storia Antica. Poi col Papa e ogni sacramento andranno su come zingari verso nord-ovest con le bandiere rosse di Trotzky al vento...

Cam reached for her left hand. Taking the signet ring between his fingers, he drew it off easily and gave it to her. “Here. Although I’d rather you left it on.” Amelia’s mouth fell open. She examined her hand, then the ring, and hesitantly pushed it back on the same finger. It slid over her knuckle and back again with ease. “How did you do that?” “I helped you to relax.” He ran a coaxing hand along her spine. “Put it back on, Amelia.” “I can’t. That would mean I’ve accepted your proposal, and I haven’t.” Stretching like a cat, Cam rolled her flat again, his weight partially supported on his elbows. Amelia drew in a quick breath as she felt him still firm within her. “You can’t lie with me twice and then refuse to marry me.” Cam lowered his head to kiss her ear. “I’ll be ruined.” He worked his way to the soft place behind her earlobe. “And I’ll feel so cheap.” Despite the seriousness of the matter, Amelia had to bite back a smile. “I’m doing you a great favor by refusing you. You’ll thank me for it someday.” “I’ll thank you right now if you’ll put the damned ring back on.” She shook her head. Cam pushed a bit farther inside her, making her gasp. “What about my personal endowments? Who’s going to take care of them?” “You can take care of them”— she squirmed to the side to set the ring on the bedside table—“ all by yourself.” Cam moved with her obligingly. “It’s much more satisfying when you’re involved.” As he reached to retrieve the ring, his body shifted higher in hers. She tensed in surprise. He felt harder inside her, thicker, his desire gaining new momentum. “Cam,” she protested, glancing at the closed door. She grabbed for his wrist, trying to keep his hand away from the ring. He grappled with her playfully, turning until they had completed a full revolution across the mattress and she was under him again. He was rampantly aroused now, teasing her with slow lunges. Twisting beneath him, Amelia pushed at his dark head as he began to kiss her breasts. “But … we just finished…” Cam lifted his head. “Roma,” he said, as if by way of explanation, and settled back over her.

As every close observer of the deadlocks arising from the political correctness knows, the separation of legal justice from moral Goodness –which should be relativized and historicized- ends up in an oppressive moralism brimming with resentment. Without any “organic” social substance grounding the standards of what Orwell approvingly called “common decency” (all such standards having been dismissed as subordinating individual freedoms to proto-Fascist social forms), the minimalist program of laws intended simply to prevent individuals from encroaching upon one another (annoying or “harassing” each other) turns into an explosion of legal and moral rules, an endless process (a “spurious infinity” in Hegel’s sense) of legalization and moralization, known as “the fight against all forms of discrimination.” If there are no shared mores in place to influence the law, only the basic fact of subjects “harassing other subjects, who-in the absence of mores- is to decide what counts as “harassment”? In France, there are associations of obese people demanding all the public campaigns against obesity and in favor of healthy eating be stopped, since they damage the self-esteem of obese persons. The militants of Veggie Pride condemn the speciesism” of meat-eaters (who discriminate against animals, privileging the human animal-for them, a particularly disgusting form of “fascism”) and demand that “vegeto-phobia” should be treated as a kind of xenophobia and proclaimed a crime. And we could extend the list to include those fighting for the right of incest marriage, consensual murder, cannibalism . . . The problem here is the obvious arbitrariness of the ever-new rule. Take child sexuality, for example: one could argue that its criminalization is an unwarranted discrimination, but one could also argue that children should be protected from sexual molestation by adults. And we could go on: the same people who advocate the legalization of soft drugs usually support the prohibition of smoking in public places; the same people who protest the patriarchal abuse of small children in our societies worry when someone condemns a member of certain minority cultures for doing exactly this (say, the Roma preventing their children from attending public schools), claiming that this is a case od meddling with other “ways of life”. It is thus for necessary structural reasons that the “fight against discrimination” is an endless process which interminably postpones its final point: namely a society freed from all moral prejudices which, as Michea puts it, “would be on this very account a society condemned to see crimes everywhere.

Zekice bir kitap yazmışsın, Bon-Bon,” diye devam etti Majesteleri, dostumuzun omzuna, o verilen emri tam anlamıyla yerine getirdikten sonra bardağını bırakırken hafifçe, bilgiç bir tavırla vurarak. “Kesinlikle zekice bir kitap. Tam benim sevdiğim türden bir eser. Ancak özdeğe ilişkin tasarımın geliştirilebilir ve fikirlerinin pek çoğu bana Aristoteles’i anımsatıyor. O filozof en yakın tanıdıklarımdan biriydi. Onu hem korkunç huysuzluğundan, hem de pot kırmak gibi eğlenceli bir yönünden dolayı severdim. Bütün o yazdıkları arasında tek bir somut gerçek var ki, onun ipucunu da kendisinin absürdlüğünü sevdiğim için ben verdim. Pierre Bon-Bon, hangi yüce ahlâki gerçekten bahsettiğimi biliyorsun sanırım, değil mi?” “Bildiğimi söyleyemem –” “Evet! – Aristoteles’e insanların hapşırırken gereksiz fikirleri burunlarından dışarı attığını söyleyen bendim.” “Bu –hık!– gerçekten de doğru,” dedi metafizikçi, kendisine bir bardak daha Mousseux koyarken ve ziyaretçisinin parmaklarına enfiye kutusunu sunarken. “Platon’a da,” diye devam etti Majesteleri, enfiye kutusunu ve içerdiği iltifatı alçakgönüllülükle geri çevirerek, “Platon’a da bir zamanlar arkadaşça hisler beslemiştim. Platon’la tanıştın mı Bon-Bon? – Ah! Hayır, binlerce kez özür dilerim. Benimle bir gün Atina’da, Parthenon’da karşılaştı ve bana bir fikirden bunaldığını söyledi. Ona ο νους εδτιv αυλος‘yu* yazmasını önerdim. Bunu yapacağını söyleyip eve gitti, ben de piramitlere çıktım. Ama vicdanım beni bir arkadaşa bile olsa birine gerçeği söylediğim için kınadı ve apar topar Atina’ya geri dönüp ‘αυλος’yu yazarken filozofun sandalyesinin arkasında durdum. Kağıda parmağımla dokunarak ters çevirdim. Böylece cümle şimdi ‘ο νους εδτιv αυγος’** olarak okunuyor ve gördüğün gibi, metafiziğinin temel doktrini.” “Hiç Roma’da bulundunuz mu?” diye sordu restaurateur, ikinci Mousseux şişesini bitirdikten sonra dolaptan büyük bir şişe Chambertin alırken. “Sadece bir kez, sevgili Bon-Bon, sadece bir kez. Bir ara” –dedi Şeytan, sanki bir kitaptan okurcasına– “bir ara beş yıllık bir anarşi dönemi olmuştu ve o sırada bütün memurlarından yoksun kalan cumhuriyetin halkın seçtiklerinden başka yargıcı yoktu. Bunlar da yasal idari yetkiye sahip değildi – o zaman, Mösyö Bon-Bon – yalnızca o zaman Roma’daydım ve bu yüzden onun felsefesine ilişkin dünyevi bir tanıdığım yok.” “Epicurus hakkında ne –hık!– ne düşünüyorsunuz?” “Kimin hakkında?” dedi şeytan şaşkınlıkla, “Epicurus’ta kusur bulmak istiyor olamazsın! Epicurus hakkında ne düşünüyormuşum! Beni mi kastediyorsunuz bayım? – Epicurus benim. Diogenes Laertes tarafından adı anılan üç yüz bilimsel incelemenin herbirini yazan filozof benim.” * Ruh bir flüttür. ** Ruh parlak bir ışıktır.