Sacramento Quotes

Space is about 100 kilometers away. That’s far away—I wouldn’t want to climb a ladder to get there—but it isn’t that far away. If you’re in Sacramento, Seattle, Canberra, Kolkata, Hyderabad, Phnom Penh, Cairo, Beijing, central Japan, central Sri Lanka, or Portland, space is closer than the sea.

No sé si recordarte es un acto de desesperación o elegancia en un mundo donde al fin el único sacramento ha llegado a ser el suicidio.

perhaps something else besides, for Sacramento is California, and California is a place in which a boom mentality and a sense of Chekhovian loss meet in uneasy suspension; in which the mind is troubled by some buried but ineradicable suspicion that things had better work here, because here, beneath that immense bleached sky, is where we run out of continent.

The Hell's Angels are very definitely a lower-class phenomenon, but their backgrounds are not necessarily poverty-stricken. Despite some grim moments, their parents seem to have had credit. Most of the outlaws are the sons of people who came to California either just before or during World War II. Many have lost contact with their families, and I have never met an Angel who claimed to have a hometown in any sense that people who use that term might understand it. Terry the Tramp, for instance, is "from" Detroit, Norfolk, Long Island, Los Angeles, Fresno and Sacramento. As a child, he lived all over the country, not in poverty but in total mobility. Like most of the others, he has no roots. He relates entirely to the present, the moment, the action.

At five of five, I called the airline number—800-FUCK-YOU—and was told I had to speak directly to lost luggage at the Sacramento Airport. No one answered in Sacramento, though my call was important to them.

Then it happened. One night as the rain beat on the slanted kitchen roof a great spirit slipped forever into my life. I held his book in my hands and trembled as he spoke to me of man and the world, of love and wisdom, pain and guilt, and I knew I would never be the same. His name was Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky. He knew more of fathers and sons than any man in the world, and of brothers and sisters, priests and rogues, guilt and innocence. Dostoyevsky changed me. The Idiot, The Possessed, The Brothers Karamazov, The Gambler. He turned me inside out. I found I could breathe, could see invisible horizons. The hatred for my father melted. I loved my father, poor, suffering, haunted wretch. I loved my mother too, and all my family. It was time to become a man, to leave San Elmo and go out into the world. I wanted to think and feel like Dostoyevsky. I wanted to write. The week before I left town the draft board summoned me to Sacramento for my physical. I was glad to go. Someone other than myself could make my decisions. The army turned me down. I had asthma. Inflammation of the bronchial tubes. “That’s nothing. I’ve always had it.” “See your doctor.” I got the needed information from a medical book at the public library. Was asthma fatal? It could be. And so be it. Dostoyevsky had epilepsy, I had asthma. To write well a man must have a fatal ailment. It was the only way to deal with the presence of death.

US crime rates show a steady rise in violent crime throughout the 1960s and ’70s, peaking in 1980. Taxi Driver came out in February 1976; the bleak and violent film was hailed as an encapsulation of its time, to no one’s surprise. Many retired cops I talk to, from Sacramento but other places too, uniformly recall 1968 to 1980 as a particularly grim period.

If you’re in Sacramento, Seattle, Canberra, Kolkata, Hyderabad, Phnom Penh, Cairo, Beijing, central Japan, central Sri Lanka, or Portland, space is closer than the sea.

Why the long face? Something happen?" "Nothing except my grandmother is still dead and my aunt moved to Sacramento and my sister just got out of a mental hospital." "Oh," Huey says. I spread my sack out, ready to load. Huey folds his handkerchief in half then in half again. I need him to check my count before I can go. "Which part of Sacramento," he says, and I shrug.

In Sacramento it is fiery summer always, and you can gather roses, and eat strawberries and ice cream, and wear white linen clothes, and pant and perspire, at eight or nine o'clock in the morning, and then take the cars, and at noon put on your furs and your skates, and go skimming over frozen Donner Lake...There is transition for you! Where will you find another like it in the western hemisphere?

It’s too late now. The game’s been won by companies who don’t two shits about community character or decent jobs. Congratufuckinglations, America! We did the deal. Now we’ve got an unlimited supply of cheap commodities and unhealthy food and crumbling downtowns, no sense of place, and a permanent under class. Yay. The underclass isn’t relegated to urban ghettos either. It’s coast to coast and especially in between. Take US 50 west from Kansas City to Sacramento or US 6 from Chicago to California and you’ll see a couple thousand miles of corn, soybeans, and terminally ill towns. It looks like a scene from The Walking Dead. If there’s such a thing as the American Heartland, it has a stake through it.

Don't get me wrong. Sacramento is a lovely place, particularly for those with a fondness for methamphetamines. For the meth-addled, Sacramento had conveniently placed a Greyhound bus station just yards from the statehouse where Austria's finest was sworn in as governor of the great state of California.

...it was easy to forget that Washington was just another glum city of government, like Albany or Sacramento, legislators and lobbyists and bureaucrats and their clerks working and reworking the sodden language of government in order to distribute the spoils.

So safe had the Oregon Trail become that by 1860 the newly formed Pony Express began carrying mail along a 2,000-mile route between St. Joseph, Missouri, and Sacramento, California, completing the circuit in ten days during good weather and fourteen in the dead of winter.

Why don’t I give her a bottle while you eat. I brought coffee.” “Really, I didn’t know they made men like you,” she said, letting him follow her into the kitchen. When he put down the plate and thermos, she handed over the baby and tested the bottle. “You seem very comfortable with a newborn. For a man. A man with some nieces in Sacramento.” He just smiled at her. She passed him the bottle and got out two coffee mugs.

They were Chinese vampires. They were discovered during renovation work at the Bok Kai Temple in Old Sacramento. One of the priests there told his brother about them. The brother's whatever the Chinese version of mobbed up is. Alex here thinks he's using them to distract the Nortenos and the Black Dragons long enough to take over the marijuana trade in Sacramento using the stuff they're making in a bunch of grow houses in Elk Grove." Ted stared at me. "And will the Chinese vampires be joined by legions of Korean werewolves who have been cooking meth in trailer parks in Truckee? "No. The werewolves are refusing to get involved. Trust me, I've tried to talk them into helping. They'll have nothing to do with it.

In a single twenty-four-hour period, between May 17 and May 18, the Sacramento Sheriff’s Department received 6,169 calls, almost all of them about the East Area Rapist.

Did not the Donner-Reed Party, after all, eat its own dead to reach Sacramento?

Sacramento teems with angles to explore. What brought him here? Is it a coincidence that all branches of the military transferred their navigation training to Mather Air Force Base on July 1, 1976, just as the rapes began?

But perhaps it is presumptuous of me to assume that they will be missing something. Perhaps in retrospect this has been a story not about Sacramento at all, but about the things we lose and the promises we break as we grow older;

¿Qué tratas de hacer ahora? Bautizar a unos hombres que no creen en el Señor para tu propio beneficio es un pecado y una profanación. Y también un acto de arrogancia mediante el cual cargas al Señor con los pecados de hombres sin fe mediante el sacramento del bautismo.

When California goes bankrupt, the Golden State's woes will be nationalized and shared with the nation at large: the feckless must have their irresponsibility rewarded and the prudent get stuck with the tab. Passing Sacramento's buck to Washington accelerates the centralizing pull in American politics and eventually eliminates any advantage to voting with your feet. It will be as if California and New York have burst their bodices like two corpulent gin-soaked trollops and rolled over the fruited plain to rub bellies at the Mississippi. If you're underneath, it's not going to be fun.

Nixon watched it, the usual mixture of feelings stirred in him. He could never quite make up his mind about the man. Reagan had been too smart to let Ford lure him into the cabinet; you had to give him that. But he’d always had it too easy, especially with the goddamned Republican Party in California. Usually so lazy, they’d gone all out for him in ’66 and made it possible for him to do what Richard Nixon, an ex–vice president, hadn’t been able to four years earlier: send Pat Brown packing from Sacramento. (Christ, Brown’s kid Jerry had moved awfully fast! Now the governor at thirty-eight.

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...

That’s what cousin Mark says. We are going to send the twins to the kindergarten next month.” “What’s the kindergarten?” “Oh, they teach them to make things out of straw and toothpicks—kind of a play place to keep them off the street.” “There’s one up on Sacramento Street, not far from Polk Street. I saw the sign.

I've been accepted to UC Davis. Heading to Sacramento in a few weeks, so I won't be here when you return. Should I send your jacket to Camp Pendleton? - Haley Negative, Haley Cooper. Will collect it in person... along with something else I promised myself. - Reid In your dreams, Marine - Haley Every single night, sweetheart - Reid

The element of surprise is proven to intensify emotional experiences and boost the recall of these experiences.

Not everyone is going to like you, son. And good people don't do good so that they'll win popularity contests. They do good because its the right thing to do.

Una vez que hayas hecho del mundo un fin, y de la fe un medio, ya casi has vencido a tu hombre, e importa muy poco qué clase de fin mundano persiga. Con tal de que los mítines, panfletos, políticas, movimientos, causas y cruzadas le importen más que las oraciones, los sacramentos y la caridad, será nuestro; y cuanto más “religioso” (en ese sentido), más seguramente nuestro.

Calling pronouns like ze and hir “new pronouns” or “neopronouns” is misleading too, because these words are relatively old. They may be enjoying a renaissance today, but ze appears in 1864, introduced by someone known only by the initials J. W. L., and hir first popped up a century ago, invented, or at least introduced to readers in California, by the editor of the Sacramento Bee on August 14, 1920.

On April 6, 2001, two days after the news linking the East Area Rapist and the Original Night Stalker hit the media, the phone rang in a house on Thornwood Drive in east Sacramento. A woman in her early sixties answered. She’d lived in the house for nearly thirty years, though her last name had changed. “Hello?” The voice was low. He spoke slowly. She recognized it immediately. “Remember when we played?

En resumen, fuertes razones teológicas, que tocan a la unidad de creación y redención, mueven a ver cualquier matrimonio válido entre bautizados como sacramento. Si hay sacramento, hay matrimonio natural, y viceversa. Tal unidad no es solo debida a un decreto eclesial, sino que pertenece a la esencia misma de la redención del amor que Jesús lleva a cabo y, por tanto, a la esencia misma del sacramento del matrimonio.

This wasn’t the first time Maureen encountered fellow white people who assumed she shared their racial fears. She recalls with overwhelming fondness her years teaching at Sacramento High, the public charter school whose students were all from working-class backgrounds and mostly African American, with a small percentage of Hmong and Latinx kids. “These were the best students of my career,” she said. “If I gave the students something to read, they read it in three days. I would sometimes plan a lesson [unit] to go on for four or five weeks, and they were done in two weeks and wanted to write the paper because they were excited.” Yet the most frequent question Maureen received from her white friends about the school and its students was “Are you scared?” Her response: “Scared of what? Don’t be scared of Black kids. Be scared for them.

Nora Ephron is a screenwriter whose scripts for Silkwood, When Harry Met Sally, and Sleepless in Seattle have all been nominated for Academy Awards. Ephron started her career as a journalist for the New York Post and Esquire. She became a journalist because of her high school journalism teacher. Ephron still remembers the first day of her journalism class. Although the students had no journalism experience, they walked into their first class with a sense of what a journalist does: A journalists gets the facts and reports them. To get the facts, you track down the five Ws—who, what, where, when, and why. As students sat in front of their manual typewriters, Ephron’s teacher announced the first assignment. They would write the lead of a newspaper story. The teacher reeled off the facts: “Kenneth L. Peters, the principal of Beverly Hills High School, announced today that the entire high school faculty will travel to Sacramento next Thursday for a colloquium in new teaching methods. Among the speakers will be anthropologist Margaret Mead, college president Dr. Robert Maynard Hutchins, and California governor Edmund ‘Pat’ Brown.” The budding journalists sat at their typewriters and pecked away at the first lead of their careers. According to Ephron, she and most of the other students produced leads that reordered the facts and condensed them into a single sentence: “Governor Pat Brown, Margaret Mead, and Robert Maynard Hutchins will address the Beverly Hills High School faculty Thursday in Sacramento. . .blah, blah, blah.” The teacher collected the leads and scanned them rapidly. Then he laid them aside and paused for a moment. Finally, he said, “The lead to the story is ‘There will be no school next Thursday.’” “It was a breathtaking moment,” Ephron recalls. “In that instant I realized that journalism was not just about regurgitating the facts but about figuring out the point. It wasn’t enough to know the who, what, when, and where; you had to understand what it meant. And why it mattered.” For the rest of the year, she says, every assignment had a secret—a hidden point that the students had to figure out in order to produce a good story.

By May 16, a surge of newly installed floodlights lit up the east side like a Christmas tree. In one house tambourines were tied to every door and window. Hammers went under pillows. Nearly three thousand guns were sold in Sacramento County between January and May. Many people refused to sleep between one and four a.m. Some couples slept in shifts, one of them always stationed on the living room couch, a rifle pointed at the window.

If I could make you understand that, I could make you understand California and perhaps something else besides, for Sacramento is California, and California is a place in which a boom mentality and a sense of Chekhovian loss meet in uneasy suspension; in which the mind is troubled by some buried but ineradicable suspicion that things had better work here, because here, beneath that immense bleached sky, is where we run out of continent.

The investigating officer, Col. George Nauman, went to Fort Yuma, verified that Burke had never entertained — much less refused — such a proposal, and the two sent runners out to local tribes promising ransoms for the white captives. Word arrived that one of the girls, probably Mary Ann, had died, and Lorenzo, with the support of his neighbors in El Monte, petitioned Governor J. Neely Johnson in Sacramento, asking for help in rescuing Olive.

Between Roseville and Sacramento the land flattens and is crowded and we have reached, or returned to, cluttered America living close enough to each other to hear and recite the neighbors’ quarrels and exclamations of joy and grief, the only spaces those cleared of trees and reserved for sport: softball diamonds and golf courses. I am saddened by what we make: the buildings where they might as well hang a sign: THIS UGLY PLACE IS WHERE YOU WORK, the playing fields and parks, and the house to contain you. While somehow there is a trick at work and you have been removed not only from the land itself, but from its spirit; or, as Sharon says, the heart. After the open country and mountains, the earth looks punished, and it is hard to believe that its people have not been punished as well, for nothing more than the desire to love and to prove oneself worthy of that by going to work. West

I heard the doctor say impressively: "Dan, how often have we told you that these foreigners cannot understand English? Why will you not depend upon us? Why will you not tell us what you want, and let us ask for it in the language of the country? It would save us a great deal of the humiliation your reprehensible ignorance causes us. I will address this person in his mother tongue: 'Here, cospetto! corpo di Bacco! Sacramento! Solferino!—Soap, you son of a gun!' Dan, if you would let us talk for you, you would never expose your ignorant vulgarity.

What happened in New York and Washington and abroad seemed to impinge not at all upon the Sacramento min. I remember being taken to call upon a very old woman, a rancher's widow, who was reminiscing (the favored conversational mode in Sacramento) about the son of some contemporaries of hers. 'That Johnston boy never did amount to much,' she said. Desultorily, my mother protested: Alva Johnston, she said, had won the Pulitzer Prize, when he was working for The New York Times. Our hostess looked at us impassively. 'He never amounted to anything in Sacramento,' she said.

An even more astonishing revelation occurred when Jandali was describing the previous restaurants that he had run. There had been some nice ones, he insisted, fancier than the Sacramento joint they were then sitting in. He told her, somewhat emotionally, that he wished she could have seen him when he was managing a Mediterranean restaurant north of San Jose. “That was a wonderful place,” he said. “All of the successful technology people used to come there. Even Steve Jobs.” Simpson was stunned. “Oh, yeah, he used to come in, and he was a sweet guy, and a big tipper,” her father added. Mona was able to refrain from blurting out, Steve Jobs is your son!

It’s too late now. The game’s been won by companies who don’t give two shits about community character or decent jobs. Congratufuckinglations, America! We did the deal. Now we’ve got an unlimited supply of cheap commodities and unhealthy food and crumbling downtowns, no sense of place, and a permanent under class. Yay. The underclass isn’t relegated to urban ghettos either. It’s coast to coast and especially in between. Take US 50 west from Kansas City to Sacramento or US 6 from Chicago to California and you’ll see a couple thousand miles of corn, soybeans, and terminally ill towns. It looks like a scene from The Walking Dead. If there’s such a thing as the American Heartland, it has a stake through it.

Twenty-six, and possibly twenty-eight, out of the forty-eight survivors, are living to-day. Noah James is believed to be alive, and John Baptiste was living only a short time since, at Ukiah, Mendocino County, California. Besides these two, there are twenty-six whose residences are known. William McCutchen, who came from Jackson County, Missouri, is hale and strong, and is a highly-respected resident of San Jose, California. Mr. McCutchen is a native of Nashville, Tennessee, was about thirty years old at the time of the disaster, and has a clear, correct recollection of all that transpired. Lewis Keseberg’s history has been pretty fully outlined in his statement. He resides in Brighton, Sacramento County, California.

If our democracy worked as it should, we would elect wise women and men who made laws for the good of the people and enforced those laws. That, though, is not the way things work. Greedy, power–mad billionaires spend money so that politicians such as George W. Bush can buy elections. Corrupt corporations such as Enron defraud old ladies and commit crimes. And they get away with it. They get away with it because most of us are so afraid of losing the security of our nice, normal lives that we are not willing to risk anything about those lives. We are either afraid to fight or we don’t know how. Or we believe that bad things won’t happen to us. And so, in the end, too many people lose their lives anyway. In Nazi Germany, millions of men who acquiesced to Hitler’s murderous rise to power wound up marching into Russia’s icy wasteland—into the Soviet Army’s machine guns and cannon—to themselves be murdered. In America after 9–11, trusting teenagers who had joined the National Guard found themselves sent to Iraq on extended and additional tours. Our enemy killed many of them because we, citizens of the richest country in the world, did not provide them with body armor. Grieving mothers protested the wasting of their sons’ lives. Nadia McCaffrey defied Bush’s shameful ban on the filming of U.S. soldiers’ coffins returning home from Iraq. She knew, as we all did, that this tyrannical dictum of Bush dishonored our soldiers’ sacrifice. And so she invited the press to the Sacramento International Airport to photograph her son’s flag–draped coffin. Again, I am not comparing George W. Bush to Adolph Hitler, nor America to Germany’s Third Reich. What I do believe is that each of us has the duty to keep the Bushes of the world from becoming anything like Hitler—and to keep America from invading other countries with no just cause. We will never, though, be able to stop corrupt politicians and corporations from doing criminal things until we stop surrendering our power to them. The more we fear to oppose them—the more we want to retreat into the supposed safety of our nice gated communities or downtown lofts—the more powerful people will conspire to ruin our prosperity and wreck our lives.

Well, it had been a good many years since I had thought myself very lovable, and I escaped to some degree this trap of shattered ego. I was lucky; I had found a village of people so poor and simple, so engaging, that I had been more interested in my feelings for them than in what they thought of me. And frankly, after eighteen years of farming in the Sacramento Valley, that terrible life-consuming rat race, I was desperate enough to accept almost any human relationship on almost any terms. Love is love, I decided. Just take it and don't analyze it away. "You're my friend; you're good; you give me pennies," some nameless kid from down the beach told me. My God, what is love in this whorehouse world of poverty? And was I shocked because I could buy love or because I could buy it with pennies?

Two o’clock in the morning. On the outskirts of Sacramento. An abandoned shopping mall. Reconstruction would eventually transform the site into upscale apartments with numerous amenities. A chain-link fence encircled the large property, emblazoned with red-lettered signs warning of hazards and against trespassing. Although nothing remained in the mall worth stealing, a guard was usually stationed in a car inside the only gate in the fence, less to deter thieves than to dissuade adventurous urban explorers—those self-described concrete spelunkers—who engaged in explorations of everything from abandoned hotels to the maze of service tunnels underlying major cities. Such exploring was illegal, but if some catacomber or amateur city archeologist were injured in one of their adventures, there was every reason to be concerned that a jury of the ignorant and a judge with issues would award millions to the trespasser. On

[...]a man and a boy, side by side on a yellow Swedish sofa from the 1950s that the man had bought because it somehow reminded him of a zoot suit, watching the A’s play Baltimore, Rich Harden on the mound working that devious ghost pitch, two pairs of stocking feet, size 11 and size 15, rising from the deck of the coffee table at either end like towers of the Bay Bridge, between the feet the remains in an open pizza box of a bad, cheap, and formerly enormous XL meat lover’s special, sausage, pepperoni, bacon, ground beef, and ham, all of it gone but crumbs and parentheses of crusts left by the boy, brackets for the blankness of his conversation and, for all the man knew, of his thoughts, Titus having said nothing to Archy since Gwen’s departure apart from monosyllables doled out in response to direct yes-or-nos, Do you like baseball? you like pizza? eat meat? pork?, the boy limiting himself whenever possible to a tight little nod, guarding himself at his end of the sofa as if riding on a crowded train with something breakable on his lap, nobody saying anything in the room, the city, or the world except Bill King and Ken Korach calling the plays, the game eventless and yet blessedly slow, player substitutions and deep pitch counts eating up swaths of time during which no one was required to say or to decide anything, to feel what might conceivably be felt, to dread what might be dreaded, the game standing tied at 1 and in theory capable of going on that way forever, or at least until there was not a live arm left in the bullpen, the third-string catcher sent in to pitch the thirty-second inning, batters catnapping slumped against one another on the bench, dead on their feet in the on-deck circle, the stands emptied and echoing, hot dog wrappers rolling like tumbleweeds past the diehards asleep in their seats, inning giving way to inning as the dawn sky glowed blue as the burner on a stove, and busloads of farmhands were brought in under emergency rules to fill out the weary roster, from Sacramento and Stockton and Norfolk, Virginia, entire villages in the Dominican ransacked for the flower of their youth who were loaded into the bellies of C-130s and flown to Oakland to feed the unassuageable appetite of this one game for batsmen and fielders and set-up men, threat after threat giving way to the third out, weak pop flies, called third strikes, inning after inning, week after week, beards growing long, Christmas coming, summer looping back around on itself, wars ending, babies graduating from college, and there’s ball four to load the bases for the 3,211th time, followed by a routine can of corn to left, the commissioner calling in varsity teams and the stars of girls’ softball squads and Little Leaguers, Archy and Titus sustained all that time in their equally infinite silence, nothing between them at all but three feet of sofa;

«Ah, gente pecadora, homens e mulheres que em danação temais viver essas vossas transitórias vidas, fornicando, comendo, bebendo mais que a conta, faltando aos sacramentos e ao dízimo, que do inferno ousais falar com descaro e sem pavor, vós homens, que podendo ser apalpais o rabo às mulheres na igreja, vós mulheres, que só por derradeira vergonha não apalpais na igreja as partes dos homens, olhai o que está passando, o pálio de oito varas, e eu, patriarca, debaixo dele, com a sagrada custódia na mão, ajoelhai, ajoelhai, pecadores, agora mesmo vos devíeis capar para não fornicardes mais, agora mesmo devíeis atar os queixos para não sujardes mais a vossa alma com a comilança e a bebedice, agora mesmo devíeis virar e despejar os vossos bolsos porque no paraíso não se requerem escudos, no inferno também não, no purgatório pagam-se as dívidas com rezas, aqui sim é que eles são precisos, para o ouro doutra custódia, para sustentar a prata de toda a gente (...)»

The bus trip from Denver to Frisco was uneventful except that my whole soul leaped to it the nearer we got to Frisco. Cheyenne again, in the afternoon this time, and then west over the range; crossing the Divide at midnight at Creston, arriving at Salt Lake City at dawn—a city of sprinklers, the least likely place for Dean to have been born; then out to Nevada in the hot sun, Reno by nightfall, its twinkling Chinese streets; then up the Sierra Nevada, pines, stars, mountain lodges signifying Frisco romances—a little girl in the back seat, crying to her mother, “Mama when do we get home to Truckee?” And Truckee itself, homey Truckee, and then down the hill to the flats of Sacramento. I suddenly realized I was in California. Warm, palmy air—air you can kiss—and palms. Along the storied Sacramento River on a superhighway; into the hills again; up, down; and suddenly the vast expanse of a bay (it was just before dawn) with the sleepy lights of Frisco festooned across.

I want her, bro. Not only for me, but because I think she has the best chance against these terrorists we're hunting." Tony placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "She's a vampire, Deryn. And not just any vampire. Weldon Harper calls her Pack and she's a member of the Sacramento Pack, too. Now do you know who I'm talking about?" Deryn's eyes widened as he stared at his brother. Now he knew why they were out in the middle of the English countryside in the dark. They wouldn't find a vampire awake during the daytime and it would be dangerous to move one anyway, during that time. No wonder he'd seen a body bag in the trunk of the rental Tony was driving. "Bro, you can't be serious; we can't kidnap a vampire—they'd shred us. And if it's the one dad was telling mom and me about, she'd really shred us." Deryn figured he would have to convince Tony to forget this mission. "All we need to do is find where she is, just before dawn. Then, when she falls asleep, we'll just take her with us. I don't think she'll hurt us, she's not that way," Tony said, climbing inside the car.

Stately and commanding, the house I found on Sacramento Street, in Lower Pacific Heights, was an architectural jewel; tour buses drove down the street several times a day and the guides pointed out our Victorian “painted lady” not just for its curb appeal but also for its lucky survival of the earthquake. Meticulously renovated, the house had a layout that I was sure would work perfectly: a three-room suite on the lower level with a bathroom and laundry room for my mother, living space on the next level, and, on the top floor, bedrooms for Zoë and me. The master bedroom was large enough to double as my office. Moreover, it seemed symbolic that we should find a three-story nineteenth-century Victorian, whose original intention was to house multiple generations. My mother couldn’t have been more pleased. She started calling our experiment “our year in Provence.” In the face of naysayers, I chose to embrace the reaction of a friend who was living in Beijing: “How Chinese of you!” she said upon hearing the news. When I told my mother, she was delighted. “What have the Chinese got on us?” she declared. And I agreed. The Chinese revere their elderly. If they could live happily with multiple generations under one roof, so could we.

Leonardo era un maestro de los gestos, pero también sabía hacerlos enigmáticos, de modo que el espectador participara en la obra. ¿Baja la mano como diciendo: «Lo sabía»? ¿Señala con el pulgar a Judas? Ahora detengámonos en Mateo. Con las palmas de las manos vueltas hacia arriba, ¿apunta a Jesús o a Judas? El espectador no tiene por qué avergonzarse por su confusión; a su manera, Mateo y Tadeo también lo están sobre lo que acaba de ocurrir, intentan aclararse y acuden a Simón el Zelote en busca de respuesta. Jesús tiende la mano derecha hacia un vaso de vidrio lleno una tercera parte de vino tinto. En un detalle deslumbrante, se le ve el meñique a través del vaso, más allá del cual hay un plato y un pedazo de pan. La mano izquierda de Jesús, con la palma hacia arriba, se alarga hacia otro pedazo de pan, al que contempla bajando la mirada. La perspectiva y la composición de la pintura, en especial vista desde la puerta que los monjes usaban para acceder al refectorio, guían la mirada del espectador en la misma dirección que los ojos de Jesús, descendiendo por su brazo izquierdo hasta el pedazo de pan. Ese gesto y esa mirada crean el segundo momento destacado en el relato pictórico: el de la institución de la eucaristía. En el Evangelio según san Mateo, esta ocurre en el momento posterior al anuncio de la traición: «Mientras estaban comiendo, tomó Jesús pan y lo bendijo, lo partió y, dándoselo a sus discípulos, dijo: “Tomad, comed, este es mi cuerpo”. Tomó luego una copa y, dadas las gracias, se la dio diciendo: “Bebed de ella todos, porque esta es mi sangre de la Alianza, que es derramada por muchos para perdón de los pecados”». Este pasaje del relato parte de Jesús para abarcar tanto la reacción a su revelación de que Judas lo traicionaría como la institución del santísimo sacramento.[11]

an example the Sacramento Natural Foods Co-op (SNFC). We have approximately twelve thousand members, and the median income for a family of four in Sacramento County is $52,000. That means that SNFC members earn $624 million per year, over half a billion dollars. We know that people at that income level give 3 percent of their gross income to charity, which means they give away $18.7 million. Who do they give it to? They give it to people that ask them for money.

Alex Robichek had survived their Italian exile; that Uncle Richard and Aunt Roszi were safe in Sacramento.

Incorporated in June 1861, the Central Pacific Railroad of California was the result of conversations that had begun a year and a half earlier between Judah and four Sacramento businessmen: Collis P. Huntington and his partner Mark Hopkins (hardware), Leland Stanford (groceries), and Charles Crocker (dry goods).

Already the respective roles of the Big Four had asserted themselves. Huntington would take care of lobbying in Washington, Stanford would see to the state government, Crocker would supervise construction, and Mark Hopkins would keep the books. Increasingly, Theodore Judah, the chief engineer of the Central Pacific, was finding himself odd man out as his four associates squeezed and resqueezed the project for every penny it was worth. When the Big Four awarded the construction contract to a dummy corporation which they owned, Judah bowed out with a $100,000 payment and an option to buy the company back for $400,000, if he could raise the money in the East. Sailing in October 1863 for New York, where he hoped to raise money from Cornelius Vanderbilt, Judah contracted typhoid fever crossing the Isthmus of Panama and died in New York, four months short of age thirty-eight, and a mere four days after the first rails had been laid in Sacramento.

The Danish King was so named because of his regal dignity. He had been inland once, to Sacramento on a river boat, and he never got over it—the heat was worse than the tropics.

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When Bobby was promoting raves back in Sacramento, Jimmy Bonifant was dealing ecstasy and what was the point of going to a rave without a double drop of vitamin X? The two hustlers shared a condo, ate breakfast at the Silver Skillet at three in the morning, and brought tweakers home and did them in the same room. Eventually,

Guns N’ Roses was no longer a band, but the band—our band. These are my fucking boys—they’re willing to fight through anything. I already knew this trip had set a new benchmark for what we were capable of, what we could and would put ourselves through to achieve our goals as a band. This band became a brotherhood under that oppressive Sacramento sun. Fuck yeah!

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Howard was originally from California. In his eight years of service on the Sacramento streets, the officer had been shot twice, each time refusing desk duty.

¿Qué me impide borrar el pasado mediante el sacramento de la Reconciliación? Crea

The earth and all life upon it endured and was devastated by what can only be described as a globally distributed firestorm at the onset of the Younger Dryas around 12,800 years ago. In this planetary debacle, 10 million square kilometers of trees and other plant matter burned. To put that in perspective, the United Kingdom was in a state of traumatic shock in late June and early July 2018 after 4,942 acres of Lancashire moorland were consumed by wildfires. That's an area of just 20 square kilometers, but firefighters and emergency services from seven counties were utterly overwhelmed by the blaze and the military had to be brought in to assist. Meanwhile, a report in the Sacramento Bee dated July 2, 2018, opined that California's wildfire season had started early, with two 'major fires' already fought at huge expense and requiring evacuation of local residents. These two fires were estimated to have consumed 85,000 acres, which sounds an awful lot but in fact converts to just 344 square kilometers. The previous years, 2017, was California's most destructive wildfire season then on record, with a total of 1.25 million acres burned. The cost of dealing with the disaster, including fire suppression, insurance, and recovery expenditures, was estimated at US$180 billion. Yet 1.38 million acres converts to just 5,585 square kilometers--an insignificant fraction (around 0.05 percent--that is, a twentieth of 1 percent) of the 10 million square kilometers destroyed in the Younger Dryas wildfires.

Francisco detestaba, como hemos visto, a los rígidos hipócritas. ¿Por qué seguir oponiéndose al sacramento para los divorciados vueltos a casar cuando hay tantos curas que viven en concubinato con una mujer en Latinoamérica y África? ¿Por qué seguir odiando a los homosexuales cuando son tan mayoritarios entre los cardenales y, alrededor del papa, en el Vaticano?

The article was about a man named Constantinos “Danny” Filippidis. As he skimmed the first few lines, Hank’s eyes opened wide with awe. This man hadn’t simply disappeared. He kept skimming, now even faster, thinking he would for sure find something suggesting that this whole article was some sort of joke. But he didn’t. It was true. Danny Filippidis, a man from Toronto, Canada, according to the article, disappeared from Whiteface Mountain in eastern New York and was found six days later, dazed and confused, in Sacramento, California, still wearing his skiing gear.

I loved you, you know? I gave you everything I had. Young or not I knew who you were. I knew what this club is about and what it is into. And I also knew what our life together would have been. I was ready for that. I made the decision that you were it for me. Today, I wasn’t ready for this… I wasn’t ready to walk in here watching you with her. That showed me that I am not it for you and that’s ok.” - Gabriella

Because people from Sacramento also were afraid of pretty much every type of weather—rain, snow, drought—it was all frightening

Como si el sacramento de la reconciliación fuera el ámbito oficial, el momento y el lugar canónico en el que el sacerdote se convierte automáticamente y casi de improviso, por gracia de estado, en mediación de la misericordia divina. No hace falta mucho para comprender que o bien es toda la vida del sacerdote cada vez más misericordiosa, en cada uno de sus detalles y con todas las personas, en cualquier momento y contexto, o bien también el sacramento corre el riesgo de convertirse en una práctica expeditiva, poco grata para el mismo confesor[14]

When people arrive in San Francisco, they often discover there isn’t room in the shelters for them. “People come from all over the United States, thinking it’s some sort of spa here,” said a homeless man, “some sort of nirvana here. And they find out that it’s very expensive to live here.”26 The same was true in Los Angeles. “For the first time in 13 years, Los Angeles opened its housing voucher wait list last year,” said Dr. Margot Kushel. “The city drew 600,000 applicants for 20,000 slots, highlighting the enormous unmet need.”27 And more services attracted more people to Seattle. “I do think we have a magnet effect,” said Seattle’s former homelessness chief. Nearly one-quarter of the homeless in King County, in which Seattle is the biggest city, said they became homeless outside of Washington State.28 Mayor Breed said she opposed Proposition C because she feared that spending yet more on homelessness services, without any requirement that people get off the street, would backfire. “We are a magnet for people who are looking for help,” she said. “There are a lot of other cities that are not doing their part, and I find that larger cities end up with more than our fair share.”29 After San Francisco started offering free hotel rooms to the homeless during the 2020 coronavirus pandemic, first responders reported that people had come from across the state. “People are coming from all over the place—Sacramento, Lake County, Bakersfield,” said the city’s fire chief. “We have also heard that people are getting released from jail in other counties and being told to go to San Francisco where you will get a tent and then you will get housing.

That’s me, pretty girl. Ain’t no one ever gonna be here again except for me. You got that?

Because you were supposed to have me right now, Raelyn. I’m here to keep you up. I’m here to be the person you can lean on. I’m here because this is where I’m meant to be.

​“I want there to be a we, Raelyn. I know we’ve barely spent much time together in the grand scheme of things, but we’ve got forever to spend with each other, if you want.

Porque de cuantas damas vio aquel día, ninguna le pareció a Fortunata tan señora como la de Santa Cruz, ninguna tenía tan impresa en el rostro y en los ademanes la decencia. De modo que si le propusieran a la prójima, en aquel momento, transmigrar al cuerpo de otra persona, sin vacilar y a ojos cerrados habría dicho que quería ser Jacinta. Aquel resentimiento que se inició en su alma iba trocándose poco a poco en lástima, porque Manolita le repitió hasta la saciedad que Jacinta sufría desdenes y horribles desaires de su marido. Llegó a sentar como principio general que todos los maridos quieren más a sus mujeres eventuales que a las fijas, aunque hay excepciones. De modo que Jacinta, al fin y al cabo y a pesar del Sacramento, era tan víctima como Fortunata. Cuando esta idea se cruzó entre una y otra, el rencor de la pecadora fue más débil y su deseo de parecerse a aquella otra víctima más intenso.

Pero la comida de los seres humanos fue siempre más que solo ingesta de alimentos, la comida fue siempre también creación de comunidad, participación en la vida de los otros, vida como recepción de los frutos de la tierra, que son así elevados a la forma cultural de vida del ser humano.

No quiero que pienses más en esto, porque cuando un alma se ha humillado, convencida de haber hecho mal y ha lavado su alma en el sacramento de la confesión y está dispuesta a morir antes que ofenderme, el pensar en ello es una afrenta a mi Misericordia, es un impedimento para estrecharla a mi Amor, porque siempre busca con su mente envolverse en el fango pasado y me impide hacerle tomar el vuelo hacia el Cielo, porque siempre con aquellas ideas se encierra en sí misma, si es que busca pensar en ellas. Y además, mira, Yo no recuerdo ya nada, lo he olvidado perfectamente; ¿ves tú alguna sombra de rencor de parte mía?

Reports of “Gold! Gold! Gold!” soon reached the U.S. Army officers who had remained in California after the war. It fell to William Tecumseh Sherman to report back to Washington that upwards of $50,000 per day in gold was being dug out of the riverbeds. Some accounts had the average man earning $20 per day working shovel and pan, nearly fifteen to twenty times a laborer’s daily wage in the East. To corroborate his report, Sherman purchased two hundred ounces of local gold to send along to his superiors back east. “I have no hesitation in saying that there is more gold in the country drained by the Sacramento and San Joaquin river,” wrote Sherman, to offset the cost of “war with Mexico a hundred times over.” If this wasn’t advertisement enough, he continued, “no capital is required to obtain this gold. . . . Many frequently pick out gold out of crevices of rock with their butcher knives in pieces from one to six ounces.” The Californians were picking up gold pieces weighing over a third of a pound.

Sínodo no puso jamás en discusión las verdades fundamentales del sacramento del matrimonio; la indisolubilidad, la unidad, la fidelidad y la procreación, la apertura a la vida. Ahora tenemos un año para madurar las ideas propuestas y encontrar soluciones concretas a tantas dificultades e innumerables desafíos que la familia debe afrontar, a dar respuesta a tanta desazón que circundan y sofocan las familias (...). El deber del Papa es (...) recordar a los pastores que su primer deber es nutrir el rebaño que el Señor les ha confiado y acoger a las ovejas perdidas.

El Papa continuó su prédica con menciones a la compasión y la misericordia. Subrayaba la “indisolubilidad del sacramento”, pero a la vez recomendaba que cuando esa unión se quebraba había que “sentir el dolor por este fracaso y acompañar a aquellos que lo han experimentado. No condenarlos. Caminemos con ellos…”.

Los toros, por encima de todo, son un sacramento y hay que ir como se va a una misa mayor

En el análisis de Ruck de los Evangelios, las epístolas de Pablo, así como otros documentos en griego de la época, las primeras generaciones de cristianos heredaron de los griegos un sacramento que alteraba la mente

Was that what he’d been doing to Destiny Taylor, Patricia wondered? Did he think he was eating blood? She thought about Richard Chase, the Vampire of Sacramento, who killed and partially ate six people in the seventies and literally believed he was an actual vampire.

W ogóle mamy tendencję, by wspominać spektakularne wydarzenia. Jak pan się zastanowi, zorientuje się pan, że życie to także drobiazgi i to głównie one dodają całości smaku. Nieważne, co pan ma na talerzu, mięso, ser czy rybę (...), główne danie samo w sobie nie ma smaku. Wie pan, co ma smak? Przyprawy.

Hay en la Iglesia un grupo de seguidores llamados, enviados y consagrados por el Señor y su Espíritu para reproducir de manera intensiva y pública, sellada por el sacramento del orden, los rasgos de Cristo pastor. Somos signo sacramental de Cristo pastor. Nuestra vocación consiste en hacer presente, patente y operante en la comunidad de Jesús y en el mundo a Cristo pastor. Él, a través de nosotros, ofrece la palabra de Dios, se hace presente y activo en los sacramentos y guía a su comunidad aglutinándola, dirigiéndola y dinamizándola. Nuestra misión consiste, por tanto, en poner a disposición de Cristo nuestra persona, nuestro corazón, nuestras cualidades, nuestra preparación, nuestro tiempo, nuestra oración, para que Jesucristo pueda ejercer en la historia, a través de nuestra vida y ministerio, como pastor de su comunidad.

«La paloma que Noé envió del arca, significa al Espíritu Santo. Y la envió tres veces, porque cada alma fiel saca de los sacramentos de Cristo o de la Iglesia una triple gracia del Espíritu Santo. La primera gracia es la remisión de los pecados; la segunda, la distribución de los diversos dones; la tercera, la remuneración en la resurrección de los muertos.

No, la Iglesia no se ha hecho a sí misma, ha sido creada por Dios y sigue siendo conformada continuamente por Él. Esto encuentra su expresión en los sacramentos, en primer lugar, en el del bautismo: yo entro en la Iglesia no mediante un acto burocrático, sino a través del sacramento. Y esto equivale a decir que se me recibe en una comunidad que no surgió de sí misma y que se proyecta más allá de sí misma.

La pastoral que pretende formar la experiencia espiritual de los fieles debe partir de estos datos fundamentales. Se hace necesario que abandone la idea de una Iglesia que se produce a sí misma y haga hincapié en que la Iglesia se vuelve comunidad en la comunión del cuerpo de Cristo. Su misión es introducir al encuentro con Jesucristo y su presencia en el sacramento.

What I actually had on my mind that year in New York - had on my mind as opposed to in my mind- was a longing for California, a homesickness, a nostalgia so obsessive that nothing else figured. In order to discover what was on my mind I needed room. I needed room for the rivers and for the rain and for the way almonds came into blossom around Sacramento, room for irrigation ditches and room for the fear of kiln fires, room in which to play with everything I remembered and did not understand.

Pues el sacramento solo es una amenaza al statu quo si vuelve loca a la gente.

Después de Jesús, mujeres dominaron las iglesias caseras y catacumbas que definieron la fe, al ofrecer un refugio para el viejo sacramento griego que necesitaba abrigarse de la naturaleza. Las brujas de Perséfone, que eran las misioneras principales del culto secreto focense, tenían todos los incentivos para influir y en algunos casos para incluso volverse las brujas del cristianismo.

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Stories of growing up in Sacramento in the seventies are often bait-and-switches like this, a tangle of sweet and scary, small-town postcards with foreboding on the back.

It was a slow news day. The kind of day that made me wonder why I became a reporter -- an often dull, plodding profession. Adventure and stories of unknown worlds pleading to be written were waiting somewhere. I was thinking I'd rather be Out There -- Alaska, the Amazon, a cornfield in Nebraska. Anywhere. But not here, in the Sacramento Bee newsroom.

HERB CAEN WAS born in Sacramento, California, a town that combined all the glamour of a farm fair with the dazzle of a state franchise board hearing.

What is a Sacramento memento?” instead of a “Sacramento souvenir” or any other factually correct response.

La madurez del cristiano es su capacidad para vivir de fe, de esperanza y de caridad. Ser cristiano no es frecuentar tal o cual práctica, ni seguir una lista de mandamientos y deberes; ser cristiano es, ante todo, creer en Dios, esperarlo todo de Él y querer amarle a Él y al prójimo de todo corazón. Todos los demás aspectos de la vida cristiana (la oración, los sacramentos, todas las gracias que recibimos de Dios —incluidas las experiencias místicas más sublimes—) no persiguen más que un solo fin: aumentar la fe, la esperanza y la caridad. Si no es éste su resultado, no sirven absolutamente para nada.

the California case, the rhythms of tax reduction are strong indicators of structural change and, as table 3 demonstrates, show how the Keynesian state’s delegitimation accumulated in waves, culminating, rather than originating, in Tom Bradley’s 1982 and 1986 gubernatorial defeats. The first wave, or capital’s wave, is indicated by the 50 percent decline in the ratio of bank and corporation taxes to personal income taxes between 1967 and 1986 (California State Public Works Board 1987). Starting as early as 1968, voters had agitated for tax relief commensurate with the relief capital had won after putting Ronald Reagan in the governor’s mansion (Mike Davis 1990). But Sacramento’s efforts were continually disappointing under both Republican and Democratic administrations (Kirlin and Chapman 1994). This set in motion the second, or labor’s, wave, in which actual (and aspiring) homeowner-voters reduced their own taxes via Proposition 13 (1978).25 The third, or federal wave, indicates the devolution of responsibility from the federal government onto the state and local levels, as evidenced by declines of 12.5 percent (state) to 60 percent (local) in revenues derived from federal aid. The third wave can be traced to several deep tax cuts the Reagan presidential administration conferred on capital and the wealthiest of workers in 1982 and again in 1986 (David Gordon 1996; Krugman 1994). The sum of these waves produced state and local fiscal crises following in the path of federal crisis that James O’Connor ([1973] 2000) had analyzed early in the period under review when he advanced the “welfare-warfare” concept. As late as 1977–78, California state and local coffers were full (CDF-CEI 1978; Gramlich 1991). By 1983, Sacramento was borrowing to meet its budgetary goals, while county and city governments reached crisis at different times, depending on how replete their reserves had been prior to Proposition 13. Voters wanted services and infrastructure at lowered costs; and when they paid, they tried not to share. Indeed, voters were quite willing to pay for amenities that would stick in place, and between 1977–78 and 1988–89, they actually increased property-based taxes going to special assessment districts by 45 percent (Chapman 1991: 19).

If the bonus army conquered Washington the lawyer had a boat hidden in the Sacramento River, and he was going to row upstream for a few months and then come back “because they always needed lawyers after a revolution to straighten out all the legal side.

Observamos aquí la principal novedad con respecto a san Buenaventura: Santo Tomás distingue netamente entre el matrimonio natural y el matrimonio sacramento, que llega solo con Cristo. Si el Aquinate reserva de este modo el término, es porque considera el sacramento sobre todo desde su eficacia, desde la gracia que comunica.

De este modo, por un lado, el matrimonio vive de los otros sacramentos, porque en ellos se contiene el lenguaje definitivo del cuerpo, en su dimensión colmada, a partir del cuerpo eucarístico de Jesús. Por otro lado, los demás sacramentos miran al matrimonio, pues a través de él entra en la economía sacramental el cuerpo creatural e histórico[68]. Todos los sacramentos, en torno a la Eucaristía, son sacramentos del nuevo cuerpo, del cuerpo futuro que se hace ya presente en el mundo. El matrimonio, por su parte, testimonia cómo ese cuerpo nuevo asume en sí el cuerpo antiguo, preserva su lenguaje, lo lleva a consumación. Solo la circularidad entre los dos polos, salvando siempre la primacía eucarística, permite el equilibrio de todo el edificio sacramental. A esta luz, no extraña que algunos hayan visto en el matrimonio uno de los sacramentos principales, según decía en el siglo XII Hildeberto de Labardin: «Tres son por tanto los sacramentos en la ciudad de nuestro Dios, porque precedieron a los otros en el tiempo, y tienen el principado en la restauración de los Hijos de Dios»; nuestro autor alude al matrimonio, el bautismo y la Eucaristía[69]. Los medievales hablarían del triple cuerpo de Cristo: primero, el cuerpo que asumió en su vida terrena, muerto y resucitado, cuerpo que ascendió finalmente al cielo; después, el cuerpo de la Iglesia, un solo cuerpo con Jesús; por último, el cuerpo de la Eucaristía, que se ofrece sobre el altar[70]. Hemos visto que la institución del matrimonio se realiza en la conjunción de estos tres cuerpos, en cuanto asumen y no desechan el lenguaje del principio, al par que lo acendran y transfiguran.