Sabina Quotes

We can never know what to want, because, living only one life, we can neither compare it with our previous lives nor perfect it in our lives to come.

For Sabina, living in truth, lying neither to ourselves nor to others, was possible only away from the public: the moment someone keeps an eye on what we do, we involuntarily make allowances for that eye, and nothing we do is truthful. Having a public, keeping a public in mind, means living in lies.

When we want to give expression to a dramatic situation in our lives, we tend to use metaphors of heaviness. We say that something has become a great burden to us. We either bear the burden or fail and go down with it, we struggle with it, win or lose. And Sabina - what had come over her? Nothing. She had left a man because she felt like leaving him. Had he persecuted her? Had he tried to take revenge on her? No. Her drama was a drama not of heaviness but of lightness. What fell to her lot was not the burden, but the unbearable lightness of being.

I prefer empty cages, Sabina, until I find a unique bird I once saw in my dreams.

Yes, it was too late, and Sabina knew she would leave Paris, move on, and on again, because were she to die here they would cover her up with a stone, and in the mind of a woman for whom no place is home the thought of an end to all flight is unbearable.

At sixteen, Sabina took moon baths—first of all, because everyone else took sun baths, and second, she admitted, because she had been told it was dangerous.

My wife and I were present at this congress. Sabina told me, "Richard, stand up and wash away this shame from the face of Christ! They are spitting in His face." I said to her, "If I do so, you lose your husband." She replied, "I don't wish to have a coward as a husband.

I walked to the door where Clovis waited. When I looked up, he was staring at Adam. A quick glance backward confirmed Adam was returning his stare. Freaking males, I thought, they couldn’t be more obvious about their territorial dispute if they’d both peed on me.

From tender youth we are told by father and teacher that betrayal is the most heinous offence imaginable. But what is betrayal?…Betrayal means breaking ranks and breaking off into the unknown. Sabina knew of nothing more magnificent than going off into the unknown.

While people are fairly young and the musical composition of their lives is still in its opening bars, they can go about writing it together and sharing motifs (the way Tomas and Sabina exchanged the motif of the bowler hat), but if they meet when they are older, like Franz and Sabina, their musical compositions are more or less complete, and every motif, every object, every word means something different to each of them.

Is that all you bought?” His eyes shot to the left. “Um.” I clenched my teeth. “What else?” “A Super Mega Juicer,” he said quickly. “But, Sabina, seriously that juicer is a miracle machine.” “I’m a vampire, Giguhl. The only liquids I drink are blood and alcohol. I don’t do juice.

Her drama was a drama not of heaviness but of lightness. What fell to her lot was not the burden but the unbearable lightness of being.

By now, I should have learned that luck, if she was a lady, was a mean-spirited bitch with a grudge against me.

Living for Sabina meant seeing. Seeing is limited by two borders: strong light, which blinds, and total darkness. Perhaps that was what motivated Sabina's distaste for all extremism. Extremes mean borders beyond which life ends, and a passion for extremism, in art and in politics, is a veiled longing for death.

But deep down she said to herself, Franz maybe strong, but his strength is directed outward; when it comes to the people he lives with, the people he's loves, he's weak. Franz's weakness is called goodness. Franz would never give Sabina orders. He would never command her, as Tomas had, to lay the mirror on the floor and walk back and forth on it naked. Not that he lacks sensuality; he simply lacks the strength to give orders. There are things that can be accomplished only by violence. Physical love is unthinkable without violence.

What up, peeps?" I looked at my hairless cat for a moment. "What up, peeps? You've been watching MTV again, haven't you?" "Word.

There is no bleaker moment in life of the city than that one which crosses the boundary lines between those who have not slept all night and those who are going to work. It was for Sabina as if two races of men and women lived on earth, the night people and the day people, never meeting face to face except at this moment.

Being a woman is a fate Sabina did not choose. What we have not chosen we cannot consider either to our merit or our failure. Sabina believed that she had to assume to correct attitude to her unchosen faith. To rebel against being born a woman seemed as foolish to her as taking pride in it.

Beauty in the European sense has always had a premeditated quality to it. We've always had an aesthetic intention and a long-range plan. That's what enabled western man to spend decades building a Gothic cathedral or a Renaissance piazza. The beauty of New York rests on a completely different base. It's unintentional. It arose independent of human designt, like a stalagmitic cavern. Forms which in themselves quite ugly turn up fortuitously, without design, in such incredible surroundings that they sparkle with with a sudden wondrous poetry...Sabina was very much attracted by the alien quality of New York's beauty. Fran found it intriguing but frightening; it made him feel homesick for Europe.

I cringed at her entirely accurate summary of the kiss. "Look, it‘s not a big deal. I think it was curiosity more than anything." "Curiosity? Like you were wondering what his tonsils tasted like?

Believe it or not, there are plenty of ways to satisfy your need for blood without harming anyone." I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, but where's the fun in that?

I think you need to go find that boy and tell him how you feel about him. Then you need to ride him like a tilt-o-whirl.

Sabina." Vinca said interrupting my maudlin thoughts. "Hmmm..." She rolled her eyes. "I said, don't you think Adam looks nice tonight." I shook myself. "I guess so," I said with a shrug. "Oh, stop," he said. "You're going to make me blush.

Sure. What's the worst that could happen." Twenty minutes later, we had our answer. "I can't frecking believe this." I cringed. "I'm so sorry." "I'm bald!" Giguhl continued. "I look like a freak." "It's not that bad," I said. But it was. Oh, my lord was it bad. I'd never seen an uglier cat in my entire life.

Got it. Look for a room with a sign with a big arrow that says, ‘Kidnapped Mancies Here,’ ” he said.

Queen Vasilisa Sabina Rhea Dragomir, first of her name.

Si quieres olvidarme date prisa, no me consuela tu amistad, tu duda...

Fuck fate and David's fatalism. I was going to make destiny my bitch.

Now, perhaps, we are in a better position to understand the abyss separating Sabina and Franz: he listened eagerly to the story of her life and she was equally eager to hear the story of his, but although they had a clear understanding of the logical meaning of the words they exchanged, they failed to hear the semantic susurrus of the river flowing through them.

El amor es una epidemia que se acaba con el tiempo.

What she means is, I might look like a pussy but I'm really a badass demon.

Spare me the self-righteous indignation. I highly doubt your motives are selfless.

From tender youth we are told by father and teacher that betrayal is the most heinous offense imaginable. But what is betrayal?…Betrayal means breaking ranks and breaking off into the unknown. Sabina knew of nothing more magnificent than going off into the unknown.

Perhaps if they had stayed together longer, Sabina and Franz would have begun to understand the words they used. Gradually, timorously, their vocabularies would have come together, like bashful lovers, and the music of one would have begun to intersect with the music of the other. But it was too late now.

My eyes bulged out of my head as I saw what rested between his hips. “Good Lord!” I said without thinking. A forked penis will do that to a girl. He glanced down at the appendage and smiled knowingly. “Once you go demon you never go back.

If wishes solved problems, the world would be a very different place.

At sixteen Sabina took moon baths, first of all because everyone else took sun baths, and second, she admitted, because she had been told it was dangerous. The effect of moon baths was unknown, but it was intimated that it might be the opposite of the sun’s effect. The first time she exposed herself she was frightened. What would the consequences be?

Before I joined them, I cracked my neck from side to side. Breathing in a martyred sigh, I reminded my temper to behave itself. If I'd learned one thing, it was that killing people who annoyed me generally created more problems than it solved. I mentally patted myself on the back. See? Totally growing.

We passed by a few workers, who did double takes as we ran past. I supposed that the image of a hairless cat in a sweater being followed by a stressed-looking chick in stiletto boots could have been funny. I was too anxious to get the hell out of there to see any humor in it.

This passion because it is so strong, must destroy in order to be contained within the limits of self-preservation.

I laughed. "Yeah, right. If anyone gives you trouble, he'll hump their leg like a berserker." "Hey! I haven't humped anyone in months." The demon pursed his lips".

I frowned. This from a man who just watched a midget riding a gimp?

When things got tough, Sabina, like any normal, red-blooded American woman, turned up the volume.

Wait,” he said, pulling me to a stop when I tried to march off toward my destiny. “Is there something you want to tell me?” I looked at him, trying to think of anything I’d done recently that I needed to admit to. When nothing came to mind other than the usual, I shook my head. “Not really. Why?” He reached out and touched my leather jacket. “Is that a bullet hole?” Freaking great.

Why is it forked?

We are who we are. No one can change that. Just like we cannot change whom we love.

Vix watched you like a lion watches a lioness.” “And how does a lion watch a lioness?” Sabina didn’t even try to pretend nonchalance this time. “He doesn’t need to tend her, because she hunts her own prey. He doesn’t need to shield her, because she kills her own enemies. He doesn’t need to look for her, because she’s always at his side.

He scrambled to grab a hose and pointed it at us. A pathetic stream of water trickled out. What are you going to do? Giguhl said. Moisten us?

Hey, controlling a zombie horde is hard work. I'd punch a nun for a cheeseburger right about now.

Incluso en estos tiempos en los que soy feliz de otra manera, todos los días tienen ese instante en que me jugaría la primavera por tenerte delante.

Must not kill the demon cat. Must not kill the demon cat.

When I saw you, Sabina, I chose my body.

I laughed uneasily. “Jeez, you guys make it sound like I was on the brink of death or something. I just fainted.” (Sabina)

That's right, bitch. Goldie Schwartz. And I'm not a fucking midget. I prefer the term 'fun sized'.

Stand up and wash away this shame from the face of Christ! They are spitting in His face.

No one can get reall drunk on a novle or a painting, but who can help getting drunk on Beethoven's night, Bartok's Sonata for two Pianos and percussion or the Beatles' White Album? He loved mozart as much as rock. He considered music a liberating force, it liberated him from lonliness, introversion, the dust of the library; it opened the door of hi body and allowed his soul to step out into the world to make friends, He loved to dance an regretted that Sabina did not share his passion

And if i had to listen to one more minute of my demon's increasingly pathetic and creepy attempts to get a piece of rebound faery ass, i was going to cut a bitch.

We must be the masters of our own destinies. I did not learn that until it was too late. You have to fight to take back control of your life. Sometimes you will hurt the ones you love the most. But in the end, it will always have to be your choice.

But all he could think of was what Sabina would have said about it. Everything he did, he did for Sabina, the way Sabina would have liked to see it done. It was a perfectly innocent form of infidelity and one eminently suited to Franz, who would never have done his bespectacled student-mistress any harm. He nourished the cult of Sabina more as a religion than as love

What are you doing here?” a deep voice demanded. My heart burst into a rapid staccato as I swung around, ready to defend myself. Only instead of a guard or employee, Giguhl sat a few feet away laughing at me. “Dammit, you scared the crap out of me.” He laughed, a spooky noise coming from an even spookier-looking cat. “You should have seen your face.

My mouth fell open. I wasn‘t used to receiving practical advice from Giguhl. But the weird thing? He was totally right. ―When‘d you become so insightful? He smiled wickedly. ―Lady, I piss insight.

..Though I have to say nothing beats Type O mixed with a little cannabis." A muscle worked in David's jaw. "You're stoned?" "Not Really," I said. "Though I do have a strange craving for pizza. Extra garlic.

He curled his claw into a fist. "I'd like to shove a stake up that bastard's ass." Adam's lip curled. "Remind me not to piss you off." The demon raised his brow. "Trust that shit, mancy.

He paused, letting the tension mount. His solemn gaze met mine. "How long are you going to make me wait?" I considered making a joke. Blowing the whole thing off like nothing had happened. But I cared about Adam too much to dismiss his genuine interest with careless sarcasm. "I don't know." He stared at me for a few moments. Behind his eyes I could see the wheels turning. Weighing the options and eventualities. Finally, he breathed out through his nose, like expelling bad energy. "Well, I guess that's better than 'never'.

Just be sure you brush your teeth tonight. Morning breath is a fresh sea breeze compared to the hellitosis of blood breath.

Hate is a strong emotion. Much more stronger than indifference. But those who burn with hate can also love just as intensely.

I've never needed a knight. I can wield my own damn sword when I need to.

La buena reputación es conveniente dejarla caer a los pies de la cama hoy tienes una ocasión de demostrar que eres una mujer además de una dama.

Don't go getting all Oprah on me now, demon.

We need more than that. They're got security all over the place." "I can probably get some faeries involved," Vinca offered. Frank snorted. "What are you going to do, blow pollen on them?

I guess you don't get to watch much TV in Irkalla." He propped his head on one scaly bicep and turned to look at me. "Nah. We stayed busy torturing the souls of the damned and playing hide the hot poker. You know, the usual.

The point isn't knowing what will happen, it's being aware that everything we do affects the whole. All of us - mages, vampires, humans, and the rest - affect the balance of life." "If you start singing 'Kum Ba Yah' I'm out of here.

Curiosity leads to knowledge. Knowledge leads to understanding. Understanding leads to love. Love leads to harmony. Be curious.

Mexico has made a mistake. Alone, it fights a war against a global phenomenon that only matters to a few. That makes the headlines in every case because of its unusual cruelty.

When the world stilled again, ominous silence reigned. Scratch that, not silence exactly. The van’s radiator hissed, and someone was groaning. Oh, right. That was me.

God is always on the side of the persecuted,

Of course cher . A proper southern woman never allows a simple misunderstanding get in the way of hospitality.

Even when she was just a flutter inside me, I loved her. Because she is ours.

Incluso en estos tiempos de aprender a vivir sin esperarte, todos los días tengo recaídas y aunque quiera olvidar no se me olvida que no puedo olvidarte.

Tanto la quería, que, tardé, en aprender a olvidarla, diecinueve días y quinientas noches.

No pido perdón, ¿para qué? si me va a perdonar porque ya no le importa…

But fate-that fickle bitch-made a liar out of me. Again.

You want me to assassinate him." "No, my dear, we want you to infiltrate his organisation, find out his plans, root out his spies, and then kill him.

Para mentiras las de la realidad promete todo pero nada te da, yo nunca de mentí más que por verte reir. Menos piadosas que las del corazón son las mentiras de la diosa razón, yo solo te conté media verdad al revés (que no es igual que media mentira). Mejor que yo miente la necesidad; sabe de sobra como hacerte llorar; mi crimen fue vestir de azul al príncipe gris.

Ewan played it cool, looking back at Sebastian. "Are their names on the list?" Sebastian didn't miss a beat. "No sir." "But he isn't holding a list," the girl whined. (...) "Is my name of the list?" I teased Sebastian. "What list?" he said, deadpan. "Go on back?

For Sabina, living in truth, lying neither to ourselves not others, was possible only away from the public: the moment someone keeps an eye on what we do, we involuntarily make allowances for that eye, and nothing we do is truthful. Having a public, keeping a public in mind, means living in lies. Sabina despised literature in which people give away all kinds of intimate secrets about themselves and their friends. A man who loses his privacy loses everything, Sabina thought. And a man who gives it up on his own free will is a monster. That is why Sabina did not suffer in the least from having to keep her love a secret. On the contrary, only by doing so could she live the truth.

Lo que yo quiero, corazón cobarde, es que mueras por mí. Y morirme contigo si te matas y matarme contigo si te mueres porque el amor cuando no muere mata porque amores que matan nunca mueren.

Where'd you send her?" "Siberia. Lovely this time of year. A bit remote, I'm afraid. Might take her weeks to find a town and even longer to arrange transportation back to the States." My lips quirked. I didn't feel like laughing, but the image of my half-millenium-old grandmother trudging through snow was kind of funny. "You're sick, you know that?" "What can I day? I thought a cold-hearted bitch like her would feel at home in the tundra.

By revealing to Tomas her dream about jabbing needles under her fingernails, Tereza unwittingly revealed that she had gone through his desk. If Tereza had been any other woman, Tomas would never have spoken to her again. Aware of that, Tereza said to him, Throw me out! But instead of throwing her out, he seized her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers, because at that moment he himself felt the pain under her fingernails as surely as if the nerves of her fingers led straight to his own brain. Anyone who has failed to benefit from the Devil’s gift of compassion (co-feeling) will condemn Tereza coldly for her deed, because privacy is sacred and drawers containing intimate correspondence are not to be opened. But because compassion was Tomas’s fate (or curse), he felt that he himself had knelt before the open desk drawer, unable to tear his eyes from Sabina’s letter. He understood Tereza, and not only was he incapable of being angry with her, he loved her all the more.

He ran a finger down my cheek. "Time is a commodity right now, Red. Wait too long and it might be too late." I swallowed hard. Went still as my stomach clenched with dread. Hadn't Maisie said almost those exact same words to me in New York when she'd encouraged me to admit my feelings to Ada? "I know." He leaned forward and placed another soft kiss on my lips. When he pulled away, he held my gaze. "Soon, Sabina.

Yo le quería decir que el azar se parece al deseo que un beso es sólo un asalto y la cama es un ring de boxeo, que las caricias que mojan la piel y la sangre amotinan se marchitan cuando las toca la sucia rutina.

The what?" "Lone Wolves." He turned to show me the back of his raggedy jacket. Sure enough, a snarling wolf face stared back at me from the leather. "Wait a second," I said. "Isn't it supposed to be 'Lone Wolf' as in, you know, one? If there's more than one, then it kind of defeats the purpose of being 'lone', doesn't it?" The leader squinted hard, as if trying to follow my logic and getting lost.

Darkness attracted him as much as light. He knew that these days turning out the light before making love was considered laughable, and so he always left a small lamp burning over the bed. At the momemnt he penetrated sabina, however, he closed his eyes. The pleasure suffusing his body called for darkness. The darkness was pure, perfect, thoughtless, vision less; that darkness was without end, without borders; that darkness was the infinite we each carry within us.

Understanding the physiological and neurological features of spiritual experiences should not be interpreted as an attempt to discredit their reality or explain them away. Rather, it demonstrates their physical existence as a fundamental, shared part of human nature. Spiritual experiences cannot be considered irrational, since we have seen that, given their physiological basis, experiencers' descriptions of them are perfectly rational... All human perceptions of material reality can ultimately be documented as chemical reactions in our neurobiology; all our sensations, thoughts, and memories are ultimately reducible to chemistry, yet we feel no need to deny the existence of the material world; it is not less real because our perceptions of it are biologically based... It is not rational to assume that the spiritual reality of core experiences is any less real than the more scientifically documentable material reality.

You know what you need?" Giguhl said. I raised a brow, bracing myself for a punch line. "A to-do list. Might help you keep track of all the beings who want you dead and the satanic birdlife you've kidnapped." I imagined a list in my head: 1. Perform voodoo ritual on evil owl. 2. Find out who sold us out to the anachronistic Caste vampires. 3. Make amends with a lesbian werewolf. 4. Rescue twin. 5. Murder grandmother. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. "Yeah, I'll get right on that." Gighul heard the sarcasm. "Suit yourself, but don't come crying to me if you forget who you're supposed to kill when.

Ahora que no te escribo cuando me voy. Ahora que estoy más vivo de lo que estoy. Ahora que nada es urgente, que todo es presente, que hay pan para hoy. Ahora que no te pido lo que me das. Ahora que no me mido con los demás. Ahora que, todos los cuentos, parecen el cuento de nunca empezar.

She lifted an eyebrow. "Hmm, I wonder why? Wouldn't have to do with a certain sexy hexy, would it?" "If you mean the annoying asshole who was here earlier, yes." Vinca and Giguhl traded a glance and then looked at me. "Please," Gighul said. "You're so hot for that mancy you're about to spontaneously combust.

In young women, I find that a feeling of anxiety is normal and moves to the forefront of repressed feelings when the possibility of fulfilment of the wish first appears. It is a well-defined form of anxiety: You feel that the enemy is within; its characteristic ardour compels you, with inflexible urgency, to do what you do not want to do; you feel the end, the transient, before which you vainly may attempt to flee to an uncertain future. You might ask: Is this all? Is this the high point with nothing more beyond?

All languages that derive fromLatin form the word 'compassion' by combining the prefix meaning 'with' (com-) and the root meaning 'suffering' (Late Latin, passio). In other languages- Czech, Polish, German, and Swedish, for instance- this word is translated by a noun formed of an equivalent prefixcombined with the word that means 'feeling' (Czech, sou-cit; Polish, wsspół-czucie; German, Mit-gefühl; Swedish, medkänsla). In languages that derive from Latin, 'compassion' means: we cannot look on coolly as others suffer; or, we sympathize with those who suffer. Another word with approximately the same meaning, 'pity' (French, pitié; Italian, pietà; etc.), connotes a certain condescension towards the sufferer. 'To take pity on a woman' means that we are better off than she, that we stoop to her level, lower ourselves. That is why the word 'compassion' generally inspires suspicion; it designates what is considered an inferior, second-rate sentiment that has little to do with love. To love someone out of compassion means not really to love. In languages that form the word 'compassion' not from the root 'suffering' but from the root 'feeling', the word is used in approximately the same way, but to contend that it designates a bad or inferior sentiment is difficult. The secret strength of its etymology floods the word with another light and gives it a broader meaning: to have compassion (co-feeling) means not only to be able to live with the other's misfortune but also to feel with him any emotion- joy, anxiety, happiness, pain. This kind of compassion (in the sense of soucit, współczucie, Mitgefühl, medkänsla) therefore signifies the maximal capacity of affective imagination, the art of emotional telepathy. In the hierarchy of sentiments, then, it is supreme. By revealing to Tomas her dream about jabbing needles under her fingernails, Tereza unwittingly revealed that she had gone through his desk. If Tereza had been any other woman, Tomas would never have spoken to her again. Aware of that, Tereza said to him, 'Throw me out!' But instead of throwing her out, he seized her and kissed the tips of her fingers, because at that moment he himself felt the pain under her fingernails as surely as if the nerves of her fingers led straight to his own brain. Anyone who has failed to benefit from the the Devil's gift of compassion (co-feeling) will condemn Tereza coldly for her deed, because privacy is sacred and drawers containing intimate correspondence are not to be opened. But because compassion was Tomas's fate (or curse), he felt that he himself had knelt before the open desk drawer, unable to tear his eyes from Sabina's letter. He understood Tereza, and not only was he incapable of being angry with her, he loved her all the more.

Sometimes when a person is not being heard, it is appropriate to blame him or her. Perhaps he or she is speaking obscurely; perhaps he is claiming too much; perhaps she is speaking rather too personally. And one can, perhaps, charge Spielrein on all three counts. But, on balance, her inability to win recognition for her insight into repression was not her fault; it was Freud’s and Jung’s. Preoccupied with their own theories, and with each other, the two men simply did not pause even to take in the ideas of this junior colleague let alone to lend a helping hand in finding a more felicitous expression for her thought. More ominously still, both men privately justified their disregard by implicitly casting her once more into the role of patient, as though that role somehow precluded a person from having a voice or a vision of his or her own. It was and remains a damning comment on how psychoanalysis was evolving that so unfair a rhetorical maneuver, one so at odds with the essential genius of the new therapeutic method, came so easily to hand. In the great race between Freud and Jung to systematize psychoanalytic theory, to codify it once and for all, a simpler truth was lost sight of: Sometimes a person is not heard because she is not listened to.