Saab Quotes

The Saab seethed off into the night. Arthur watched it go, as stunned as a man might be who, having believed himself to be totally blind for five years, suddenly discovers that he had merely been wearing too large a hat.

Landlords took the side streets, typically not in their Saab or Audi but in their “rent collector,” some oil-leaking, rusted-out van or truck that hauled around extension cords, ladders, maybe a loaded pistol, plumbing snakes, toolboxes, a can of Mace, nail guns, and other necessities.

Kõik, mida rahaga saab joonde ajada, on odavalt saadud.

History is the grand master, and only by studying his game can the pupil learn and improve. [Maria Florkowska]

Tension is the Mirror of our Past.

Müüre ehitatakse selleks, et end kaitsta, kuid ühel päeval saab neist müüridest vangla.

Kättemaksuga üksi saab vähe korda saata. Kättemaks kuulub teise, süngema osa juurde, mis korda tuleb saata, kuid mis tuleb pärast seda?

But here: I just want you to know that I'm not going to try to trick you into thinking there's no evil in the world. Because there is. This world sometimes seems like it's full of incomprehensible, unintelligible, unembraceable, inexorable evil. Violence and injustice and greed and blind rage. But it's also full of all that other stuff. The small things. Kindness between strangers. Love at first sight. Loyalty and friendship. Someone's hand in yours on a Sunday afternoon. Two brothers reconciled. Heroes who stand up when no one else dares. A fiftysomething man in a Saab who slows down when he sees your turn signal and lets you into his lane during rush hour. Summer nights. Children's laughter. Cheesecake. And all you can do is decide which side you want to be on. Which pile you want to contribute to.

On November 25, 2006, thirty-five-year-old James Kim and his wife, Kati, and their two daughters found themselves snowbound in their Saab station wagon after making a wrong turn onto a logging road in Oregon’s Coast Range.

Meie lähme ema ja Nelega vaatama etendust nimega "Evolución". Olavi soovitusel istume parimatel kohtadel: kaheksanda rea keskel. Kohad number 2, 4 ja 6. Ei, need on ikka kõrvuti. Sest kohti nummerdatakse siin tõesti nõnda, et keskelt vasakule jooksevad paaritud numbrid ja paremale paaris numbrid. Miks minna otse, kui saab ringiga, eks ole.

Seda süüd ei andesta aga inimliik, kes ei vihka kunagi niivõrd seda, kes kurja teeb, ega ka tegu ennast, kuivõrd seda, kes selle välja ütleb. Nii tuleb sageli ette, et sellal kui see, kes kurja korda saadab, pälvib rikkuse, au ja võimu, lohistatakse see, kes kuritegu nimetab, tapalavale, sest inimesed on varmalt valmis taluma ükskõik mida, mis neile teiste või taeva poolt osaks saab, kui nad sellest vaid sõnades pääsevad.

Have faith, child. Even though your family isn't here, they're always with you spiritually. And you're always with them. [Father Maksymilian Kolbe]

True freedom comes from bravery, strength, and goodness. The only one who can take those from you is you. [Aleksander Florkowski]

I came to speak ill of Swedish engineering, and so diddled myself out of a Nobel Prize.

In retrospect, Anita will tell the other neighbors that she had not seen Ove so angry since 1977, when there was talk of a merger between Saab and Volvo.

Ajalugu tunneb ainult kahte küsimust, mis inimesi võitlusse tõukab: Kui siiras on sinu armastus? Ja: Kelle käes on ohjad?. Kõige muuga saab kuidagimoodi hakkama.

Vananenud raamatutest oma lastele raamatukogu rajamist saab õigustada ainult samamoodi, nagu õigustatakse varemete säilitamist: arheoloogiaga.

Kas saab olla elult suuremat karistust kui olla lõpus täiesti üksi?

Kuulata saab vaid see, kes unustab vahel kella vaadata.

Ove is fifty-nine. He drives a Saab. He’s the kind of man who points at people he doesn’t like the look of, as if they were burglars and his forefinger a policeman’s flashlight.

Julge saab olla ainult siis, kui ka hirmu tuntakse

Continuing up Rennes. Dodging little Saabs and Renaults. Loving walking here. Sun alternately streaming. Obliterating physiognomies. No longer nouns. But movement. Disappearing. Now heavily raining. Sitting out anyway. Over drain smelling of beer. Metro. Sewers. Fetid breath of Paris. Two cold coffees. Watching shadows lengthening. On la Gaite opposite. Where Colette once performing. Having walked in old boots across city. Drawing mole above lip. Rice-powdering delicious arms. Paris a drug. P saying on phone. Yes Paris a drug. A woman. And I waking this a.m. Thinking there must be some way. Of staying. Now my love’s silhouette of rooftops eclipsing. Into night. Cold heinous breath. Blowing on privates. Through grille underneath.

The young man straightens up for the first time, smiles an almost undetectable smile, and looks her right in the eye with the sort of indomitable pride that only one word can convey. “Saab.

And there were likely people who thought one could not interpret men's feelings by the cars they drove. But when they moved onto the street, Ove drove a Saab 96 and Rune a Volvo 244. After the accident Ove bought a Saab 95 so he'd have space for Sonja's wheelchair. That same year Rune bought a Volvo 245 to have space for a stroller. Three years later Sonja got a more modern wheelchair and Ove bought a hatchback, a Saab 900. Rune bought a Volvo 265 because Anita had started talking about another child. Then Ove bought two more Saab 900s and after that his Saab 9000. Rune bought a Volvo 265 and eventually a Volvo 745 station wagon. But no more children came. One evening Sonja came home and told Ove that Anita had been to the doctor. And a week later a Volvo 740 stood parked in Rune's garage. The sedan model. Ove saw it when he washed his Saab. In the evening Rune found a half bottle of whiskey outside his door. They never spoke about it.

See on erilaadne ilu mõningate vanade naiste juures, hingestatud, peaaegu abstraktne, mis ilmsiks saab nende väheste juures, kes viimaks on leppinud sellega, et nad ei ole enam naised, vaid ainult inimesed.

Anger and grief were intense and debilitating, warping everything beyond recognition. The prison that held my body was trivial by comparison. My true prison was the one that held my soul. [Maria Florkowska]

What is life after war? Returning to the lives we left is impossible, yet creating a life anew feels nearly as insurmountable. We live, fight, and survive while the memories--and the past--endure. [Maria Florkowska]

Maybe we aren't meant to leave the past behind. Maybe we're meant to bring it with us so we can join others weighed down by the same burdens, and we can carry them together. Maybe that's how we find peace. [Maria Florkowska]

Mõnest raamatust peab vaid maigu suhu saama," ütles ta, "teise peab korraga alla kugistama ja viimaks on sellised, mida peab mõnuga mugima ja siis laskma seedida. Aga nad kõik elevad sinu sees edasi. Jah, võib öelda, et sinust saab see, mida loed

Eestlaste reisibüroo Kompass on loomulikult esimene koht, mis kaasmaalastelt riielda saab, kui nende külaskäigu nädalal pole ilm piisavalt päikeseline. Inimesed kõnnivad täiesti enesestmõistetavalt sisse ja nõuavad vastust, millal see jama lõpeb ja millal täpselt päike välja tuleb!

A few weeks ago, Abdul had seen a boy’s hand cut clean off when he was putting plastic into one of the shredders. The boy’s eyes had filled with tears but he hadn’t screamed. Instead he’d stood there with his blood-spurting stump, his ability to earn a living ended, and started apologizing to the owner of the plant. “Sa’ab, I’m sorry,” he’d said to the man in white. “I won’t cause you any problems by reporting this. You will have no trouble from me.

Kellelegi mõju avaldada oma sama kui panna temasse oma hing. Mõjutatav ei mõtle siis enam oma loomulikke mõtteid ega põle enam oma loomulikes kirgedes. Tema voorused pole siis enam tema omad. Tema patud on laenatud — kui pattu üldse olemas on. Ta muutub mingi võõra muusika vastukajaks, saab näitlejaks osas, mis pole kirjutatud tema jaoks.

He drives a Saab. He’s the kind of man who points at people he doesn’t like the look of, as if they were burglars and his forefinger a policeman’s flashlight. He stands at the counter of a shop where owners of Japanese cars come to purchase white cables. Ove eyes the sales assistant for a long time before shaking a medium-sized white box at him.

I'm alive. I'm safe. And I'm free.

When I was born, god scattered me endlessly across the universe. I often find myself in notepads and sticky notes, in the margins of used novels and in the scribbles of bathroom stalls. When I recognize a piece as myself, I am delighted. And no matter how odd or unsettling I find the new fragment to be, I braid it into myself without a doubt that it belongs to me.

Mida ma ütelda tahan, Ike. Sa eu saa oodata surmalt lahendusi. Sa võid ette kujutada, et see lõpetab kõik, mis sinu eksistentsi puutub, aga see on ettekujutus, mitte fakt. Pealegi, tappa ja surra oskab igaüks. Elada mitte. See on ju paradoksaalne. Me teame, mida elus teha saab, aga püüame sellest loobuda. Surma mängureeglitest pole meil aimugi, aga igatseme sinna küll.

When she [Hania] produced a sedative and offered it to me, I shook my head in refusal. I wanted to allow myself to cry, to live fully in this moment, because as painful as it was, it meant my walls had come down in a way I hadn't permitted in a long time. The ache of love and loss pierced me to the core of my soul. And it reminded me that I was still human. [Maria Florkowska]

Nii kaua kui me sõjaväljal peame olema, vajuvad rindepäevad, kui nad on möödas, justkui kivid meisse, sest nad on liiga rasked, et nende üle otsemaid järele mõelda. Kui me seda teeksime, tapaksid nad meid tagantjärele, sest nii palju olen ma juba tähele pannud: õudust saab taluda senikaua, kuni sa olukorrale lihtsalt allud, ent see tapab, kui sa hakkad selle üle järele mõtlema.

Hing, see on keha edevus ja lõbu, kuni sellel kehal on asjad väga hästi, aga samal ajal on see ka soov see keha maha jätta, kohe kui inimene jääb haigeks või kui asjad lähevad halvasti. Sa võtad nendest kahest poosist selle, mis sulle hetkel mugavam on, ja kogu lugu. Kuni valida saab, on kõik väga hästi. Aga minul ei olnud enam midagi valida, minu kaardid olid laotud! Mina hulpisin kõriauguni tões ja minu surm kõndis mul kannul...

Before the war, I thanked God for things like my family, friends, and sunshine, but if something affected those blessings, I lamented my misfortune. I had the audacity to ask God why He let rain chase away my sunshine, as if a thunderstorm were the worst thing that could happen to a girl. But far worse things could happen to a girl: getting her entire family arrested, being interrogated by the Gestapo, having no power to present whatever lay ahead. All I had was rain, and I didn't know if the sunshine would ever return. So I'd find blessings amid the thunder and lightning. [Maria Florkowska]

What are you going to do when he is old enough to go to school?" "Saab, what do you mean? I am not a rich man. I don't have the means to send him to school. I will teach him my trade and he will grow up and earn an honest living. School is not for the likes of us, Saab." Vilie paused and looked into the laughing face of the baby. Krishna was probably right. What could school probably teach him that his parents could not improve upon? They were rich in their knowledge of the ways of the forest, the herbs one could use for food, the animals and birds one could trap and the bitter herbs to counteract the sting of a poisonous snake. "I guess he will go to the best school then," Vilie remarked.

Adrian gets the Saab. Everything else is for you to take care of. You’ve got the house keys. The cat eats tuna fish twice per day and doesn’t like shitting in other people’s houses. Please respect that. There is a lawyer in town who has all the bank papers and so on. There is an account with 11,563,013 kronor and 67 öre. From Sonja’s dad. The old man had shares. He was mean as hell. Me and Sonja never knew what to do with it. Your kids should get a million each when they turn eighteen, and Jimmy’s girl should get the same. The rest is yours. But please don’t let Patrick bloody take care of it. Sonja would have liked you. Don’t let the new neighbors drive in the residential area. Ove At the bottom of the sheet he’s written in capitals “YOU ARE NOT A COMPLETE IDIOT!

Cadets saavdhan,” our Squadron drill instructor shouted at us, and we all came to attention. “Saab, inka drill accha nahi hai. Poora 102 course kaamchor hai, inko khub ragda do,” he said (their drill movements are pathetic, entire 102 course is a shammer, roger them nicely). Then moving towards one of us in the second file, he shouted, “Ye tumhaari belt hai ki ghaagre ka naada?” Apparently, one of us had a loose belt. In fact, it was probably just fine but ideally, the belt was supposed to be as tight as physically possible. “Saab,” D-Lo said to our Squadron instructor, grabbing the cadet from his belt from the front and shaking his entire body from the middle. “Poora ka poora Squadron, to Zero-point,” he said angrily (send the entire Squadron to Zero-point). Saying that, he moved ahead to attack the next Squadron. “Zero-point poora course,” our Squadron instructor screamed at all of us, and we sprinted towards this not-so-coveted place, with him following us.

Inimesed arvavad, et kõigile kõige paremat pakkudes saab neist lõpuks täiuslik ühiskond. See aga pole asja mõte. Loodus - mõelgu hr. Darwin ükskõik mida - ei arene parima ülevõimu poole (milliste kriteeriumide järgi ta siis areneb?). Loodus ammutab jõudu mitmekesisusest. Ta vajab häid, kurje, hulle, meeleheitlikke, sportlikke, vigaseid, küürakaid, jänesemokalisi, rõõmsaid, kurbi, intelligentseid, rumalaid, egoiste, heldeid, väikesi, suuri, musti, kollaseid, punaseid, valgeid ... Ta vajab kõiki religioone, kõiki filosoofiaid, kõiki fanatisme, kõiki tarkusi ... Ainus oht on see, kui üks neist liikidest kõrvaldab teise. Me oleme näinud, kuidas kunstlikult loodud, kahest parimast peast (sellisest, mis vajab kõige vähem vett, talub kõige paremini külma ja annab kõige ilusamaid teri) aretatud maisi põllud on korraga õige tühisemagi haiguse tagajärjel hävinud. Samal ajal aga on metsiku maisi põllud, mis koosnevad mitmetest erinevatest tüvedest - igaüks oma iseärasuste, nõrkuste ja kõrvalekalletega -, alati leidnud kaitse epideemiate vastu. Loodus vihkab ühetaolist ja armastab mitmekesisust. Võib-olla selles seisnebki tema geniaalsus.

Ove nods by way of confirmation and lets him back down on the ground. Then turns around, walks around the SUV, and gets back into the Saab. Parvaneh stares at him, with her mouth hanging open. “Now, you listen to me,” says Ove calmly while he carefully closes the door. “You’ve given birth to two children and quite soon you’ll be squeezing out a third. You’ve come here from a land far away and most likely you fled war and persecution and all sorts of other nonsense. You’ve learned a new language and got yourself an education and you’re holding together a family of obvious incompetents. And I’ll be damned if I’ve seen you afraid of a single bloody thing in this world before now.” Ove rivets his eyes into her. Parvaneh is still agape. Ove points imperiously at the pedals under her feet. “I’m not asking for brain surgery. I’m asking you to drive a car. It’s got an accelerator, a brake, and a clutch. Some of the greatest twits in world history have sorted out how it works. And you will as well.” And then he utters seven words, which Parvaneh will always remember as the loveliest compliment he’ll ever give her. “Because you are not a complete twit.

Ove kept exactly to every speed limit, even on that 35 mph road where the recently arrived idiots in suits came tanking along at 55. Among their own houses they put up speed bumps and damnable numbers of signs about “Children Playing,” but when driving past other people’s houses it was apparently less important. Ove had repeated this to his wife every time they drove past over the last ten years. “And it’s getting worse and worse,” he liked to add, just in case by some miracle she hadn’t heard him the first time. Today he’d barely gone a mile before a black Mercedes positioned itself a forearm’s length behind his Saab. Ove signaled with his brake lights three times. The Mercedes flashed its high beams at him in an agitated manner. Ove snorted at his rearview mirror. As if it was his duty to fling himself out of the way as soon as these morons decided speed restrictions didn’t apply to them. Honestly. Ove didn’t move. The Mercedes gave him a burst of its high beams again. Ove slowed down. The Mercedes sounded its horn. Ove lowered his speed to 15 mph. When they reached the top of a hill the Mercedes overtook him with a roar. The driver, a man in his forties in a tie and with white cables trailing from his ears, held up his finger through the window at Ove. p. 28

Missugused tavalised asjad võivad alguse saada kahe inimese kohtumisest ühel kõrgendiku maalapil? Kuidas saab muuta elu kulgu kõigest ühe tolmusel teel lausutud sõnaga, kui too tee ise on kõigest kui nõelaga veetud kriips, üürike ajas ja nõrguke Aafrika mägedest krobelisel koorel? Kuhu mujale kui tuulde võiks too sõna õigupoolest lennata?

MIKS MA KIRJUTAN Juba väga noores eas, võib-olla viie- või kuueaastaselt, teadsin ma, et suureks kasvades saab minust kirjanik. Umbes seitsmeteistkümnendast kahekümne neljanda eluaastani püüdsin ma sellest mõttest loobuda, kuid teadlikuna, et ma vägistan oma tõelist loomust ja et varem või hiljem tuleb mul paika jääda ja raamatuid kirjutada.

Varjatud reeglite ja mustrite otsimine on mulle justkui vahend soovimatu tuleviku ennetamiseks. Mind huvitab, kas saab ette öelda, mis juhtub, kui tuntakse täpselt lähtepositsiooni fakte. Ma mõtlen, et peaks saama. Aga elu pole nagu keemiakatse, lähtepositsiooni faktid on alati puudulikud, erinevaid muutujaid on liiga palju ja enamik neist käitub olenemata minu vaatlusandmetest etteaimamatult.

Unistuste maastikud toovad meile tagasi palju tarku inimesi, neid, kes üritavad põgeneda tsiviliseeritud maailma haardest. Tean selliseid nii Hiiumaal, Saaremaal kui Lõuna-Eestis ja küllap on neid mujalgi. Seiklusjuttude mõjul mõtleme vist ikka veel, et kusagil kaugetel saartel realiseerub inimkonna väikekultuuride vaimne ime. See saab teoks geograafiliselt väga kaugel, kusagil tundmatul saarel meie uneluses. Väga vähesed usuvad, et jumal elab Hallistes.

You could do your best to lead a quiet life, to keep out of unnecessary conflict, to put in your forty years or whatever it was of working to the best of your ability without creating too many ripples, but there were always difficult decisions needing to be made. And however hard you tried, there would be times when you could not avoid causing pain to others, because pain and disappointment seemed an inevitable concomitant of human life. The moment you accepted any promotion, any slight advantage over those below you in the pecking order, you had to accept that you might have to do things that others would prefer you not to do—make rulings that would dash the hopes of others, give one person advantage over another, make people do things they would rather not do. All this came with seniority; all this came with working in a hierarchical organisation; all this came with simply being human.

This may be the fundamental problem with caring a lot about what others think: It can put you on the established path—the my-isn’t-that-impressive path—and keep you there for a long time. Maybe it stops you from swerving, from ever even considering a swerve, because what you risk losing in terms of other people’s high regard can feel too costly. Maybe you spend three years in Massachusetts, studying constitutional law and discussing the relative merits of exclusionary vertical agreements in antitrust cases. For some, this might be truly interesting, but for you it is not. Maybe during those three years you make friends you’ll love and respect forever, people who seem genuinely called to the bloodless intricacies of the law, but you yourself are not called. Your passion stays low, yet under no circumstance will you underperform. You live, as you always have, by the code of effort/result, and with it you keep achieving until you think you know the answers to all the questions—including the most important one. Am I good enough? Yes, in fact I am. What happens next is that the rewards get real. You reach for the next rung of the ladder, and this time it’s a job with a salary in the Chicago offices of a high-end law firm called Sidley & Austin. You’re back where you started, in the city where you were born, only now you go to work on the forty-seventh floor in a downtown building with a wide plaza and a sculpture out front. You used to pass by it as a South Side kid riding the bus to high school, peering mutely out the window at the people who strode like titans to their jobs. Now you’re one of them. You’ve worked yourself out of that bus and across the plaza and onto an upward-moving elevator so silent it seems to glide. You’ve joined the tribe. At the age of twenty-five, you have an assistant. You make more money than your parents ever have. Your co-workers are polite, educated, and mostly white. You wear an Armani suit and sign up for a subscription wine service. You make monthly payments on your law school loans and go to step aerobics after work. Because you can, you buy yourself a Saab. Is there anything to question? It doesn’t seem that way. You’re a lawyer now. You’ve taken everything ever given to you—the love of your parents, the faith of your teachers, the music from Southside and Robbie, the meals from Aunt Sis, the vocabulary words drilled into you by Dandy—and converted it to this. You’ve climbed the mountain. And part of your job, aside from parsing abstract intellectual property issues for big corporations, is to help cultivate the next set of young lawyers being courted by the firm. A senior partner asks if you’ll mentor an incoming summer associate, and the answer is easy: Of course you will. You have yet to understand the altering force of a simple yes. You don’t know that when a memo arrives to confirm the assignment, some deep and unseen fault line in your life has begun to tremble, that some hold is already starting to slip. Next to your name is another name, that of some hotshot law student who’s busy climbing his own ladder. Like you, he’s black and from Harvard. Other than that, you know nothing—just the name, and it’s an odd one. Barack.

Vaata, tulevik on nagu hautis, supp, oleviku ja mineviku tummine leem. Tuleviku saab nii: segad kokku kõik selle, mida sa täna teinud oled, sellega, mis sa tegid eile ja kõik päevad enne seda, ja sellega, mida tegid need, kellega sa kunagi kohtunud oled ja kellega nemad kunagi kohtunud on. Ja lisaks sool ja sisalik ja pärl ja vihmavarjud ja kirjutusmasinad ja veel palju muud, mida ma sulle öelda ei saa, sest ma olen andnud vande ja nõia vannet tuleb võtta tõsiselt. Nõiakunst on niisugune naljakas asi. See pole sirgjooneline. Mida ma tahan öelda on see, et kui sa segad selle kõik kokku ja sul on piisa valt suur pada ja sa oled nõidumises osav, siis võid saada terve katlatäie homset.

Mööda koridori tõtates püüdis Rothen Vinara kutse põhjusele mitte mõelda. Peagi saab ta selle niigi teada.

It is a Myth that god forgives u for your sins.... Jitna hisaab banta hai na saab, utnaa chukaana hi padta hai, (no waivers and schemes) wo bhi idhar hi.. Isi life main ;) Doesn't mean that you stop praying, selfish logo, Continue praying so that aur paap na karo...

Today, if someone asked me what, if not a bird, if not fire, is love to me, I would most likely say, surrender.

a skintight Elie Saab dress that would have been a lot more comfortable had she opted to remove a few ribs before putting it on.

Seda on ka Eesti ajakirjanduses kajastatud, et Bulgaarias saab operatsioonile ainult inimene, kelle omaksed on haiglale piisavalt palju sama grupi verd andnud.

Igal aastal saab Bulgaarias mõni alaealine mustlane kõrgepingeliinidel surma ja elektrikilpide juures juhtub pidevalt suuri õnnetusi. Huvitav, mitu kilo metalli keskmiselt üks inimelu maksab?

Mittesuitsetavaid bulgaarlasi tunnen ma vähem kui kümmet. /-/ Esimene täielikult suitsuvaba koht linnas [Sofias] on Starbucks ja see saab lastega naiste hulgas ruttu populaarseks.

Bulgaaria õigeusklikel oli Ottomani ikke ajal lubatud rajada ainult niisuguseid kirikuid, mis ei ole kõrgemad, kui meeter maapinnast ja mille ümbermõõt ei ületa ühe lehmanaha pikkust. Mõistagi improviseeriti hoolega ja maa alla rajatud kirikuid on siiani alles. Ühte neist saab näha ka Sofia kesklinnas, metroo peajaama kõrval. Lehmanahk lõigati ka siis pikaks ribaks nii, et kiriku ümbermõõt on ikka oma 50 meetrit vähemalt.

Oma seemet külvates, oma "armutegusid" külvates, head tehes ükskõik mis kujul, te annate ära osa oma isiksusest ja võtate vastu osa teisest isiksusest; te saate vastastikku teineteisest osa; veel natuke tähelepanu, ja teile saab osaks juba teadmine, kõige ootamatud avastused.

Giuseppe armastas meelde tuletada, et end Kristuse pisaratest purju joomine on kauneim asi, mis ühe kristlasega juhtuda saab.

saab. You

See on kohutavalt ilus ja kadestamisväärne, et mingil hetkel saab inimene aru, et tal polegi enam nii väga kiiret.

Koostöö on alati võimalik, kui on keegi, kelle arvel saab kokku leppida.

Iga armumäng saab ükskord otsa, armastus mitte kunagi.

No matter where he went in the City, there was an odoriferous mix of food and vehicles, like the alchemic concoctions of some mad gourmet mechanic: Kung Pao Saab Turbo, Buick Skylark Carbonara, Sweet-and-Sour Metro Bus, Honda Bolognese with Burning Clutch Sauce.

ÕNNE KÕIGILE JA TASUTA!" ei saa. Ei saa kõigile ja ei saa tasuta. Osa saab ja osa ei saa, ning kui saab, siis mitte tasuta. Õnne hind on kõrge ja mõru - oma mina, tervis, aeg, pere, tulevik. Õnn tuleb kontolt, mille deebit on alati null.

Tegusid ei saa tagasi võtta. Aga neid saab, ja alati saab tegemata jätta.

Tänavad on omakorda jagatud avenida'deks, s.t avenüüdeks, mis kulgevad põhjast lõunasse, ja calle'deks, tänavateks, mis kulgevad idast läände.

Mai algul teeme ka teoks aasta algul ära jäänud Nicaragua reisi. See on nagu sõidaks Eestist Leetu: palju on sarnast, aga ometi on kõik teistmoodi.

Imelik, kuidas elu pakub sulle eelnevalt tutvumiseks olukordi, mis mõne aja möödudes saavad sinu elu igapäevaosaks.

vyptává na parkovací místo, protože se o něm psalo v inzerátu. Parvaneh si mladého muže prohlédne od hlavy k patě a zeptá se, co má za auto. Poprvé za celou dobu se mladík narovná, téměř neznatelně se usměje a pohlédne Parvaneh zpříma do očí s takovou hrdostí, kterou může způsobit snad jen jediné slovo. „Saab.

Vaatasin neid ja mul oli neist kahju. Ma ei mõistnud, miks neil oli vaja kõikjal nalja. Kas elu ongi mõeldud selleks, et kambakesi lollusi teha ja siis ennast ahvi kombel ribadeks naerda? Siis tundus mulle see imelik, et inimesed hindavad oma tegevusi selle üle, palju neil nalja saab. Valivad sõpru selle alusel, kes kui naljakas on. Nüüd enne surma ma julgen õelda, et sellised inimesed on narrid. Nad ei saa kunagi kellegi suhtes tõsiseks jääda ja üritavad asjalikke jutuajamisi vältida muutes need tühiseks mölaks. Nendega ei ole võimalik rääkida ausalt ja avameelselt, sest nad naeravad su mõtted lihtsalt välja. Neid ennast aga ei võeta seepärast kunagi tõsiselt.

Kuidas saab veel paremini kinnitada oma autoriteeti, kui veendes eeldatavaid vastaseid, et nad on lüüa saanud juba enne võitluse alustamist?

On kolm põhilist keha: lihalik keha, milles hing saab õppida elu raskeid õppetunde, eeterlik ehk "magnetiline" keha, mille moodustab igaüks meist oma lõbu, ahnuse, tugevate kirgede ja teiste sarnaste asjadega. Kolmas keha on hingekeha, "surematu hing". See on meie lamaistlik usk ja kindlasti mitte ortodokssete budistide usk.

ERIKA: Kas me siit ära ei saa? STAMMGAST: Kuhu? ERIKA: Ära. STAMMGAST: Saab küll, aga ma ei usu, et see oleks eriti mõistlik tegu – lihtsalt ära minna. ERIKA: Lähme siis keeruliselt.

Keppi saab muidugi, veni või ära veni.

Minu eesti sõbranna Mari, kes elab koos oma ungarlasest poiss-sõbraga, teab rääkida, kui väga ungari mehed oma emadest sõltuvad: "Ikka kogu aeg on vaja koju vanemate juurde minna. Ja kõik mu kolleegid ka: enamik on maalt pärit ja nad sõidavad igal nädalavahetusel koju, sest seal saab hästi süüa. Esmaspäeval tulevad tööle, kodust toodud karbid kaasas. Lõuna ajal pakivad lahti ja vaatavad, mis emmed neile süüa on teinud. Jube naljakas!

Mina hoopis oletan, et kui hing saab lõpuks vabaks nõuandjatest, vahendajatest, seletajatest, õpetajatest ja kõikidest, kes püstitavad oma putkad iga usundi teelahkmele, saavutab hing täiusliku valgustuse, nagu iga lill, lind ja põõsas.

Islandi keele eratundidel on see eelis, et õppekava saab ise teha. Mul on õpikud ka, aga need ei sütita mind eriti. Mulle meeldib sõnadega tegeleda nende loomulikus kontekstis. Alustuseks lugesin islandikeelset Pipi Pikksukka ja nokkisin sealt verbe pööramiseks välja. Seejärel asusime nimisõnade kallale IKEA kataloogi toel. Skandinaavia elufilosoofia baastekstid mõlemad, eriti IKEA "aforismid" sellest, kuidas kodu peab olema lapsesõbralik, külalistele avatud, praktiliste ruumilahendustega, valgusküllane, meditatiivse õhkkonnaga ja kergesti pestav.

Ta [Jumal] on meie sees, aga meie oleme tema sees. Ta tegutseb pimesi, aga teab, mida teeb. Ta on nagu leib - igaüks saab kääru ja maitseb seda omal kombel, aga ükski leivakäär ei sisalda tervet leiba.

Every time Salim saab comes to Bharatpur,’ the Maharaja used to say plaintively, ‘he takes two species off my menu.

Sest ilu on see, mis jääb, kõik muu kaob. Hing kaob, vaim kaob, aga ilu ei kao, tema jääb. Sest kui keegi on ilu näinud, s. t. kui keegi on ilu nähes ilu tundnud, siis saab tema ise seeläbi ilusamaks, võtab tuntud, maitstud ilu endasse ja nõnda jääb ilu, kui kõik kaob. Eks ole see jumalik? Jääb see, mida tõeliselt pole olemaski, ja kaob see, mis olemas. Nii et kui Teie pisutki olete tundnud minu silmis ilu, siis elab see ilu teis edasi. Ma olen nii õnnelik seda mõeldes!

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made reservations at a famous fishing lodge on the Au Sable River in Michigan. When I got there and found a place to park among the Saabs and Volvos the proprietor said I was just a few days early for the Hendrikson hatch. There is, I see, one constant in all types of fishing, which is when the fish are biting, which is almost-but-not-quite-now. I looked pretty good making false casts in the lodge parking lot. I mean no one doubled over with mirth. But most of the other two thousand young professionals fishing this no-kill stretch of the Au Sable were pretty busy checking to make sure that their trout shirts were color coordinated with their Reebok wading sneakers. When I stepped in the river, however, my act came to pieces. My line hit the water like an Olympic belly flop medalist. I hooked four “tree trout” in three minutes. My back casts had people ducking for cover in Traverse City and Grosse Pointe Farms. Somebody ought to tie a dry fly that looks like a Big Mac. Then there’d be an excuse for the hook winding up in my mouth instead of the fish’s. The only thing I could manage to get a drag-free float on was me after I stepped in a hole. And the trout? The trout laughed.

Mrs. Högfors scratched Martin’s back, a courtesy that he always greatly appreciated. “Poor Martin,” she said. “It’s not easy being a dog, is it?” Ulf was not sure whether the question was directed at him or at Martin. He replied, though, on Martin’s behalf. “I get by,” he said. “As long as you people remember to feed me. And, of course, give me plenty of exercise.” Mrs. Högfors smiled. “But that’s in the contract, Martin. That’s in the contract between dogs and man.” —

Voilà,” he said as he completed the procedure. Ulf smiled. He was pleased that he had a vet who said voilà. It was not necessarily what one expected from somebody whose profession was so physical, so matter-of-fact. Chefs might say voilà as they extracted some elaborate creation from the oven; an artist might say voilà as he put the final touch of paint to the canvas; a couturier might utter the word as he revealed a new outfit—but not a vet; nor, for that matter, a dentist, nor, a fortiori, a fireman, as he played the final jet of water over the dying embers of a fire.

Rabast koju läksin üksi. Oli saabunud õhtu, ilm hämardus ja ema nõudis kohkunult, kuhu ma olen kirjanik Teet Kallase kaotanud. Mis siis saab, kui ta rappa eksib ja sealt enam tagasi ei tulegi? Mis saab eesti uuest kirjandusest?

Ulf smiled as he parked the Saab. He had much to be grateful for, in spite of his limited freedom, in spite of being a small part of a great and complex machine. Not the least thing to be grateful for was the fact that he was who he was, living where he was: he was Swedish, at a time in history when there were many worse things to be than to be Swedish; and even if there was a small number of people who would happily blow him up simply for being Swedish, then there were many, elsewhere, who lived their lives under the threat of whole armies, with generals and air forces, and all their costly and destructive paraphernalia directed against them. The misfortune of others, thought Ulf, is our misfortune too—its ripples spread a long way, touch the lives of all of us.

He could not do everything, he decided, and take all the troubles of the world on his shoulders. Who could? It was not that he was an uninvolved and irresponsible citizen, one of those who do not care about plastic bags. He was as careful as anyone to keep his ecological footprint as small as possible—apart from the Saab, of course, which ran on fossil fuel rather than electricity. If you took the Saab out of the equation, though, Ulf could hold his head high in the company of conservationists,

like yearning to be a swan when you were demonstrably a bird of a different feather;

Sest asjadega on ju nõnda, et kõik oleneb sellest, kust või kuidas neid näha. Laud on ju servalt vaadates kitsas triip, kepp otsast vaadates punkt, ja kes võib alati kindlasti ütelda, millal saab laiast lauast kitsas triip ja pikast kepist ümarik punkt või vastupidi?

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What a sad reflection that was on the way we ordered our affairs, that anybody should feel that they were just something. Everybody was significant; everybody was as valuable as everybody else. If we stopped thinking that, then any attempt at morality would be built on sand.

there is always a very precise moment for words like that to be uttered; then it passes and it is too late. Just as the moment for words like sorry or I love you is a brief one, fleeting and irreplaceable; a moment of liminality, perhaps.

He said that it should be on the basis of need. People who couldn’t come up with a good reason to drive would not be allocated a licence. They would have to use public transport.” Ulf sighed. This was typical of the Moderate Extremists: an impossible policy, dressed up in Utopian language, and destined—if not actually calculated—to antagonise at least one large segment of the population.

Oh, I wasn’t suggesting you lied,” protested Blomquist. “I was merely raising it as a possibility. I didn’t say you should do that.” That itself, thought Ulf, is a lie. Blomquist was lying about lying, which, of course, was what happened when you started to lie. The first lie required a second—for consistency’s sake—and then a third and a fourth. Soon you would end up living in a vale of lies, where even the fact that it was night or day would be uncertain because the position of the sun could be denied if you so desired.

I can’t think of anything to send a memo about,” he said. “And anyway, there was that memo we got the other day telling us not to send too many memos.