Soa Quotes

The Librarian considered matters for a while. So…a dwarf and a troll. He preferred both species to humans. For one thing, neither of them were great readers. The Librarian was, of course, very much in favor of reading in general, but readers in particular got on his nerves. There was something, well, sacrilegious about the way they kept taking books off the shelves and wearing out the words by reading them. He liked people who loved and respected books, and the best way to do that, in the Librarian’s opinion, was to leave them on the shelves where Nature intended them to be.

I got breakfast covered,” she said. “Berries reduced in sugar and acid, fused with a blended nut butter and spread on toasted wheat.” “So…a PB and J?” asked Aiden.

You’re the SOA agent I grabbed by the scruff of his shirt outside the Williams house. I don’t remember your name.” “My name is Richard.” “Can I call you Dick? You look like a Dick.

This is one of the harshest after effects of the pandemicthat I am witnessing someand experiencing some,a diminished ability to deal with resistance,and soa willingness to stay in one place for too long,shut off from the outside world,nose in phone or binge-watchingsome showwhen once upon a timewe used to have to wait a week for the next installmentand discussed it with colleagues over water coolersand over landlines with friends. We need colleagues.We need friends.

You a fan of the show?” AJ asked. “Oh, yeah, I adored it—well, until the whole sixth season and Billith.” AJ snickered. “I couldn’t agree more. I used to be pretty much obsessed with it, but yeah, I couldn’t get it up for the last two seasons. Now I’m more a Walking Dead and Sons of Anarchy fan myself.

There was a man who loved the moon, but whenever he tried to embrace her, she broke into a thousand pieces and left him drenched, with empty arms. Sathaz had finally learned that if he climbed into the pool and kept very still, the moon would come to him and let him be near her. Only near, never touching. He couldn’t touch her without shattering her, and so—as Lazlo had told Sarai—he had made peace with the impossible. He took what he could get.

Ser bom pode não ser agradável, 6655321. Pode ser horrível ser bom. E quando digo isto a você, eu compreendo como soa contraditório. Eu sei que vou passar muitas noites sem dormir por causa disto. O que é que Deus quer? Deus quer a bondade ou a escolha da bondade? O homem que escolhe o mal é talvez de uma certa forma melhor do que aquele a quem a bondade é imposta.

Detroit is just like everywhere else, only more so--a lot more so.

Seja sempre inquieto e vez por outra paciente. Parece contraditório, soa meio diferente, às vezes pisar no freio também é andar pra frente.

Apaguei todas as coisas que escrevi de manhã. Toda aquela besteira sobre ser verdadeiro comigo mesmo. Só escrevi aquilo porque pensei que soava bem. É claro que soava bem. Ficção sempre soa bem, mas não ajuda muito quando a realidade vem e joga você de cara no chão. Quando enrola sua língua, prendendo as palavras na sua cabeça. Quando deixa você almoçando sozinho.

A felicidade. Sempre sentiu medo dessa palavra, que lhe soa arrogante, quando levada a sério; quando usada ao acaso, gastou-se completamente pelo uso e não corresponde mais a coisa alguma, além de um anúncio de tevê ou uma foto de calendário.

Na boca do homem o epíteto «fêmea» soa como um insulto; no entanto, ele não se envergonha da sua animalidade, sente-se, ao contrário, orgulhoso se dizem dele: «É um macho!» O termo «fêmea» é pejorativo, não porque enraíza a mulher na Natureza, mas porque a confina ao seu sexo.

So…a way to leave a shadow in the world, even when you’re not in it.

Que amo eu, quando Vos amo? Não amo a formosura corporal, nem a glória temporal, nem a claridade da luz, tão amiga destes meus olhos, nem as doces melodias das canções de todo o gênero, nem o suave cheiro das flores, dos perfumes ou dos aromas, nem o maná ou o mel, nem os membros tão flexíveis aos abraços da carne. Nada disso amo, quando amo a Deus. E contudo, amo uma luz, uma voz, um alimento e um abraço, quando amo a Deus, luz, voz, perfume do homem interior, onde brillha para minha alma uma luz que nenhum espaço contém, onde soa uma voz que o tempo não arrebata, onde exala um perfume que o vento não esparge, onde se saboreia uma comida que a sofreguidão não diminui, onde se sente um contato que a saciedade não desfaz. Eis o que amo quando amo a Deus.

He’s left th’ gate at t’ full swing, and Miss’s pony has trodden dahn two rigs o’ corn, and plottered through, raight o’er into t’ meadow!  Hahsomdiver, t’ maister ‘ull play t’ devil to-morn, and he’ll do weel.  He’s patience itsseln wi’ sich careless, offald craters—patience itsseln he is!  Bud he’ll not be soa allus—yah’s see, all on ye!  Yah mun’n’t drive him out of his heead for nowt!’ ‘Have you found Heathcliff, you ass?’ interrupted Catherine.

The basic common denominator of all life is the urge to survive, and the survival of life on Planet Earth is achieved only as a shared initiative with and through all life-forms. Life is a joint effort; no 'man' separate from 'nature.' Homo sapiens as individuals and as species are as much a part of life's overall thrust for survival as any other species. As living organisms, we are part if the greater whole, and as such, we are embodied with exactly the same fundamental purpose: to survive. And to do so--as individuals, families, groups, and as a species--we have to live in dynamic collaboration with the plant and animal kingdoms in a healthy, life-sustaining environment.

A noção de sublimação, porém, é muito problemática. Aos 51 anos, Freud parecia ter deixado para trás a possibilidade de converter tesão em trabalho intelectual e reconhecia que os encontros sexuais atrapalhavam seu trabalho teórico. Em uma carta a Jung, planejou: “Quando eu houver superado completamente minha libido (no sentido comum do termo), começarei a trabalhar em uma [teoria da] ‘Vida amorosa do ser humano’”. Freud não está falando de impotência, mas da própria falta de tesão, que surge como condição para a empreitada intelectual. Então seria preciso parar de sentir desejo para conseguir se concentrar numa obra ambiciosa? Havia ele se convencido de que apenas forças superiores o impediriam de ceder aos apelos da carne em detrimento do tempo dedicado ao espírito criativo? Tudo me soa ridiculamente despropositado: poucas coisas produzem mais tesão do que um encontro intelectual extraordinário; e, em contrapartida, sem libido (“no sentido comum do termo”), prefiro crer que não poderei mais produzir coisa nenhuma e estarei prontinha para desligar os aparelhos.

Can I tell you something without it going to your head?" Shelby murmured as she ran her fingers down his chest, over his ribs. "Probably not." His voice had thickened from the pleasure of being touched. "I'm reasily flattered." "In my workroom..." Shelby pressed her lips to his chest and felt his heartbeat thud faster against them. "When I messed up your shirt and you took it off to rinse it? I turned around and saw you-I wanted to get my hands on you like this." She ran her palms up,then down again to where his waist narrowed. "Just like this,I nearly did." Alan felt his blood start to pound-in his head, his heart,his loins. "I wouldn't have put up much of a fight." "If I'd decided to have you, Senator," she murmured on a sultry laugh, "you wouldn't have had a chance." "Is that so?" Shelby ran her tongue down his rib cage. "Mmm," she said when she heard the small, quick intake of breath. "Just so.A MacGregor will always buckle under to a Campbell." Alan started to form a retort, then her fingers skimmed his thigh. As a politician, he knew the value of a debate-but sometimes they didn't require words.She could have the floor first.

She was almost to the door when Aelin said, “How much longer—until you’re free of your debts?” “I still have a great deal to pay off, so—a while.” Lysandra paced a few steps, and then caught herself. “Clarisse keeps adding money as Evangeline grows, claiming that someone so beautiful would have made her double, triple what she originally told me.” “That’s despicable.” “What can I do?” Lysandra held up her wrist, where the tattoo had been inked. “She’ll hunt me until the day I die, and I can’t run with Evangeline.” “I could dig Clarisse a grave no one would ever discover,” Aelin said. And meant it. Lysandra knew she meant it, too. “Not yet—not now.” “You say the word, and it’s done.” Lysandra’s smile was a thing of savage, dark beauty.

Though it was a relief to no longer experience a rebellion at the sight of my own face, moving through the world in my Before body had grooved my brain, and operating as if that weren't so--as if those grooves had instead been worn by thousands of wet towel snaps and gay jokes--felt as dissonant as looking in the mirror had once been. There was no language to describe my whole self that didn't put me in danger. I passed in that I allowed others to believe I had sprung, fully formed, into the man that stood before them. Passing is, after all, a social phenomenon. I did not 'pass' when I looked at myself, but I passed when others prescribed to me a boyhood I'd never had. I passed as the man others saw, and I did not dissuade them of their vision of me. I was, like everyone, passing as my most coherent translation. It was a blanket of familiarity that I put over myself, and it kept me safe.

...The gulag—with its millions of victims, if you listen to Solzehnitsyn and Sakharov—supposedly existed in the Soviet Union right down to the very last days of communism. If so—as I've asked before—where did it disappear to? That is, when the communist states were overthrown, where were the millions of stricken victims pouring out of the internment camps with their tales of torment? I'm not saying they don't exist; I'm just asking, where are they? One of the last remaining camps, Perm-35—visited in 1989 and again in '90 by Western observers—held only a few dozen prisoners, some of whom were outright spies, as reported in the Washington Post. Others were refuseniks who tried to flee the country. The inmates complained about poor-quality food, the bitter cold, occasional mistreatment by guards. I should point out that these labor camps were that: they were work camps. They weren't death camps that you had under Nazism where there was a systematic extermination of the people in the camps. So there was a relatively high survival rate. The visitors also noted that throughout the 1980s, hundreds of political prisoners had been released from the various camps, but hundreds are not millions. Even with the great fall that took place after Stalin, under Khrushchev, when most of the camps were closed down...there was no sign of millions pouring back into Soviet life—the numbers released were in the thousands. Why—where are the victims? Why no uncovering of mass graves? No Nuremburg-style public trials of communist leaders, documenting the widespread atrocities against these millions—or hundreds of millions, if we want to believe our friend at the Claremont Institute. Surely the new...anti-communist rulers in eastern Europe and Russia would have leaped at the opportunity to put these people on trial. And the best that the West Germans could do was to charge East German leader Erich Honecker and seven of his border guards with shooting persons who tried to escape over the Berlin Wall. It's a serious enough crime, that is, but it's hardly a gulag. In 1955[sic], the former secretary of the Prague communist party was sentenced to two and a half years in prison. 'Ah, a gulag criminal!' No, it was for ordering police to use tear gas and water cannons against demonstrators in 1988. Is this the best example of bloodthirsty communist repression that the capitalist restorationists could find in Czechoslovakia? An action that doesn't even qualify as a crime in most Western nations—water cannons and tear gas! Are they kidding? No one should deny that crimes were committed, but perhaps most of the gulag millions existed less in reality and more in the buckets of anti-communist propaganda that were poured over our heads for decades.

I saw the Tracker—but that’s wrong, really. I saw right to where the tracking thing was. I saw those winnowing tentacles come out again, and the front figure pause, and then—it’s the only word that actually describes it—ooze on again on its via dolorosa. And at that the hind figure seemed to summon all its strength. It seemed to open out a fringe of arms or tentacles, a sort of corona of black rays spread out. It gaped with a full expansion, and even I could feel that there was a perfectly horrible attraction, or vacuum drag, being exerted. That was horrible enough, with the face of the super-suffering man now almost under me resonating my own terror. But the worst thing was that, as the tentacles unwrapped and winnowed out toward their prey, I saw they weren’t really tentacles at all. They were spreading cracks, veins, fissures, rents of darkness expanding from a void, a gap of pure blackness. There’s only one way to say it—one was seeing right through the solid world into a gap, an ultimate maelstrom. And from it was spreading out a—I can only call it so—a negative sunrise of black radiation that would deluge and obliterate everything. Of course it was still only a fissure, a vent, but one realized—This is a hole, a widening hole, that has been pierced in the dike that defends the common-sense, sensuous world. Through this vortex-hole that is rapidly opening, over this lip and brink, everything could slip, fall in, find no purchase, be swallowed up. It was like watching a crumbling cliff with survivors clinging to it being undercut and toppling into a black tide that had swallowed up its base. This negative force could drag the solidest things from their base, melt them, engulf the whole hard, visible world. And we were right on that brink. What was after us, for I knew now I was in its field, was not a thing of any passions or desires. Those are limited things, satiable things—in a way, balanced things, and so familiar, safe even, almost friendly in comparison with this. You know the grim saying, “You can give a sop to Cerberus, but not to his Master.” No, this was—that’s the technical term, I found, coined by those who have been up against this and come back alive—this was absolute Deprivation, really insatiable need, need that nothing can satisfy, absolute refusal to give, to yield. It is the second strongest thing in the universe, and, indeed, outside that. It could swallow the whole universe, and the universe would go for nothing, because in that gap the whole universe could fill not a bit of it. It would remain as empty, as gaping, as insatiable as ever, for it is the bottomless pit made by unstanchable Lack.

Had the mission system proved successful—and by the 1830s it had had more than sixty years to do so—a steady stream of Hispanicized Native Americans should long since have been transferring into the civil population of California. This never happened. Either the Indians died off, or they became permanently missionized (which is to say, wards of the Franciscans), or they fled into the interior. Mission culture remained volatile

você me revira por dentro com dois dedos e eu fico chocada acima de tudo. parece borracha esfregando uma ferida aberta. não gosto. você começa a se mexer cada vez mais rápido. mas não sinto nada. você busca uma reação no meu rosto e começo a agir como as mulheres nuas dos vídeos que você vê quando acha que ninguém está olhando. imito os gemidos. vazios e vorazes. você pergunta se estou gostando e eu digo sim tão rápido que soa ensaiado. mas a interpretação. você não percebe.

An accountant is someone who attempts to value the present. An actuary is someone who attempts to value the future.

Julián não queria recuperar o amor, porque deixara de amá-la havia muito tempo. Deixara de amá-la um segundo antes de começar a amá-la. Soa estranho, mas é assim que ele sente: em vez de amar Karla, ele amara a possibilidade do amor, e depois a iminência do amor. Amara a ideia de um vulto se movendo entre lençóis brancos e sujos.

Ainda que eu fale as línguas dos homens e dos anjos, e não tinha amor, seria como o metal que soa ou como o sino que tine. E ainda que teve o dom de, e conhece todos os mistérios e toda a ciência, e ainda que tinha toda a fé, de maneira tal que fez os montes, e não tinha amor, nada seria. E ainda que distribuísse toda a minha fortuna para sustento dos pobres, e ainda que entregasse o meu corpo para ser queimado, e não tinha amor, nada disso me aproveitaria. O amor é sofredor, é benigno; o amor não é invejoso; o amor não trata com leviandade, não se ensoberbece. Não se porta com indecência, não busca os seus interesses, não se irrita, não suspeita mal; Não folga com a injustiça, mas folga com a verdade; Tudo sofre, tudo crê, tudo espera, tudo suporta. O amor nunca falha; mas havendo profecias, serão aniquiladas; havendo línguas, cessarão; havendo ciência, desaparecerá; Porque, em parte, conhecemos, e em parte profetizamos; Mas, quando vier o que é perfeito, então o que está em parte será aniquilado. Quando eu era menino, falava como menino, sentia como menino, discorria como menino, mas, logotipo que chegou a ser homem, acabei com as coisas de menino. Porque agora vemos por espelho em enigma, mas então verá um rosto; agora depois, conhecer em parte, mas então conhecerei como também sou conhecido. Agora, pois, permanecem a fé, a esperança e o amor, estes três, mas o maior destes é o amor. 1 Coríntios 13:1-13

SOA Microservices Inter-service communication Smart pipes, such as Enterprise Service Bus, using heavyweight protocols, such as SOAP and the other WS* standards. Dumb pipes, such as a message broker, or direct service-to-service communication, using lightweight protocols such as REST or gRPC Data Global data model and shared databases Data model and database per service Typical service Larger monolithic application Smaller service

SOA and the microservice architecture usually use different technology stacks. SOA applications typically use heavyweight technologies such as SOAP and other WS* standards. They often use an ESB, a smart pipe that contains business and message-processing logic to integrate the services. Applications built using the microservice architecture tend to use lightweight, open source technologies. The services communicate via dumb pipes, such as message brokers or lightweight protocols like REST or gRPC.

Ela: Poemas e Cartas de Amor - Nina Maria - Página 8 "Ela é poesia que soa com voz de ventania e atravessa a pele em carne viva. Oferecida de uma mulher negra à outra, Ela já nasce cósmica , ancestral e revolucionária. . . que tenhamos olhos e mãos sensíveis para partilhar e celebrar, em tempos tão difíceis, esta e todas as nossas outras amoras - amores!

There are days when it wears on me more than others. Today was one of them.” “Do you at least have friends to lean on?” he asked. “No. I’ve never had a true friend in my life.” He winced. “That’s…really sad.” She snorted. “It is, isn’t it?” “I don’t think I’d have made it this far without my friends. Or my sister.” “For those of us with neither friends nor family, we find ways to make do.” “No family, eh? A true lone wolf.” He added, “My father’s a piece of shit, so…a lot of the time I wish I were like you.” “I have a family. A very influential one.” She propped her head on a burning fist. “They’re pieces of shit, too.

O río aínda collía uns anacos da lúa vella, de lúa podre, de anaco de cabazo podre que se despenaba, de manteiga amarela, de luz pegañosa, polas restrebas escorrendo a se derreter por embaixo dos piñeiros de Santa Ladaíña a retrincos aínda máis vermellos, como cando vin o ferro vivo na fundición de Malingre ou o ferro na fragua do Catapiro no primeiro instante da auga, agora sen chiar, alumando de preguiza, sen renxer, manseliño polas restrebas; todo tépedo, calado, arrecendendo a río do verán, á espesidume do cheiro do verán, ás pozas mornas do verán, a cabazo podre, a lúa morta aformentada do verán, escorregando até os enchoupos do brión, cos retrincos de luz amarela, morredía, na auga encol dos cachóns múos do verán, e tantas arrás na espesidume do seu canto no cheiro da lama do verán, e a luz vermella nas pozas e limos apegadizos, e nos coiñais dunha soa cor an espesidume do ar do verán e as sombras medrando medrando, afundíndose, estendéndose sen se ver xa a outra beira do río, xa con présa como apagándose todo decontado, e puña medo.

Even so,—a million years after we shall have ceased to view the sun,—will the gladness and grief of our own lives pass with richer music into other hearts—there to bestir, for one mysterious moment, some deep and exquisite thrilling of voluptuous pain.

Because the priests say that God created our souls, and that just puts us under the control of another puppeteer. If God created our will, then he’s responsible for every choice we make. God, our genes, our environment, or some stupid programmer keying in code at an ancient terminal—there’s no way free will can ever exist if we as individuals are the result of some external cause.” “So—as I recall, the official philosophical answer is that free will doesn’t exist. Only the illusion of free will, because the causes of our behavior are so complex that we can’t trace them back. If you’ve got one line of dominoes knocking each other down one by one, then you can always say, Look, this domino fell because that one pushed it. But when you have an infinite number of dominoes that can be traced back in an infinite number of directions, you can never find where the causal chain begins. So you think, That domino fell because it wanted to.” “Bobagem,” said Miro. “Well, I admit that it’s a philosophy with no practical value,” said Ender. “Valentine once explained it to me this way. Even if there is no such thing as free will, we have to treat each other as if there were free will in order to live together in society. Because otherwise, every time somebody does something terrible, you can’t punish him, because he can’t help it, because his genes or his environment or God made him do it, and every time somebody does something good, you can’t honor him, because he was a puppet, too. If you think that everybody around you is a puppet, why bother talking to them at all? Why even try to plan anything or create anything, since everything you plan or create or desire or dream of is just acting out the script your puppeteer built into you.” “Despair,” said Miro. “So we conceive of ourselves and everyone around us as volitional beings. We treat everyone as if they did things with a purpose in mind, instead of because they’re being pushed from behind. We punish criminals. We reward altruists. We plan things and build things together. We make promises and expect each other to keep them. It’s all a made-up story, but when everybody believes that everybody’s actions are the result of free choice, and takes and gives responsibility accordingly, the result is civilization.” “Just a story.

Men need to be Loved, Women need to be Wanted!

A cynic might suggest that vendors co-opted (and in some cases drove) the SOA movement as a way to sell more products, and those selfsame products in the end undermined the goal of SOA.

While problem solving is a fundamental skill we all possess, not everyone should have to solve the same problems.

SOA,

A technology architecture expresses fundamental and foundational aspects of physical design for some piece of technology.

Warr be-rong orah Where is a better country Governor Arthur Phillip et al Vocabulary of the language of N.S. Wales in the neighbourhood of Sydney, MS 41645, SOAS, University of London

So—as I recall, the official philosophical answer is that free will doesn’t exist. Only the illusion of free will, because the causes of our behavior are so complex that we can’t trace them back. If you’ve got one line of dominoes knocking each other down one by one, then you can always say, Look, this domino fell because that one pushed it. But when you have an infinite number of dominoes that can be traced back in an infinite number of directions, you can never find where the causal chain begins. So you think, That domino fell because it wanted to.” “Bobagem,

Well, that might be fine for the lot of you,” Kerry broke in, “but given you’re siding with Mr. Wingman here, it hardly does me any good. What happened to the whole sisterhood thing? And this after I came to you, hat in hand--” “You were dragged in,” Fiona reminded her. “Laundry basket in hand. Then we had to all but sit on you to squeeze the details out of you. If you want us to be all supportive and on your side, then, you know, you have to actually give us something to side with. So far, all we’ve heard is how you didn’t know how he felt, and then he sent your entire world spinning off its axis with that--” “Fiona--” Kerry said, clear warning in her tone. But it was too late. Logan had walked back to the group and was just saying he had a sailboat lined up and did they want a captain or were they going to sail it themselves, when he overheard the last bit of Fiona’s statement and paused. He turned to look at Kerry, then perhaps a tad more menacingly at Cooper. “With that…what?” Before Cooper could remind him about their recently established wingman/bro code status, Logan’s wife slid past him and hooked her arm through her husband’s and tipped up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Remember our first kiss?” She gave him a meaningful look to go with what was clearly a very private smile. “So I really don’t think you want to go there. Do you?” Logan cleared his throat. “Right, so…as you were,” he finally said. “I’ve got to get back to the station. Keep the mean streets of Blueberry Cove safe.” “Coward!” Kerry called after his retreating back. “See?” Delia said. “We have our ways.” “Except you’re supporting the wrong side,” Kerry said. “Oh, that all depends on how you define ‘sides,’” Grace put in. “We’re on the side of love.” She drew out that last word, making it sound almost like a coo, with Fiona joining her, both of them adding an exaggerated batting of lashes, aimed first at Kerry, then at Cooper. Fiona added a little heart made by steepling her fingers together. Logan looked back over his shoulder. He was grinning now. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll head back to the airport right now,” he called to Cooper. Cooper lifted his hand in a wave. “No worries, mate.

fundamental to the Java platform from its inception and predates the emergence of Web-based services standards.

major tragedy of our times, the citizens of the USA remain relatively passive and indifferent to what is occurring. Yes, it is true we respond to the individual and specific mass tragedies associated with violence, disasters, and related instances of suffering. But as a population — with a few exceptions (e.g., OWM, SOA protests, union protests) — we remain passive to the many injustices and abuses perpetrated by public and private individuals and organizations that serve self-interests at the expense of our nation and the world. Say what you will in argument and contention, but the United States of America is a “Culture of Violence,” and we are exporting that culture in all of its manifestations and forms across the world as we encourage greed, profit, consumerism, materialism, commodification, environmental

My point, however, is that a male should treat a female he wants like a woman; he should make her feel feminine. That includes protecting her and shielding her from discomfort (since a female is more vulnerable than him after all), but he should not sacrifice himself/'while doing so-as women do not want that. Only society does. Females are naturally attracted to a male who believes he is important and valuable, but also equal to them, and therefore treats his female as important and valuable too.

Getting integration right is the single most important aspect of the technology associated with microservices in my opinion. Do it well, and your microservices retain their autonomy, allowing you to change and release them independent of the whole. Get it wrong, and disaster awaits. Hopefully once you’ve read this chapter you’ll learn how to avoid some of the biggest pitfalls that have plagued other attempts at SOA and could yet await you in your journey to microservices.

So—a French garden, as far as I can tell, is a garden that gets tended. You know, my aunt, she walks around it slowly and bends down now and then to pull up some shit, or to stick some other stuff in somewhere. That’s a French garden. An English garden is something that used to be a French garden but that no one does anything to anymore. So, it looks run-down. Things don’t grow in proper lines. This is what they tell me. My

MDM plays a key role within an information architecture as a provider and custodian of master data to the enterprise. This

The fundamental purpose of an MDM System is to serve as the authoritative source for master data: An MDM System is a system that provides clean, consistent master data to the enterprise. If

Deixara de amá-la um segundo antes de começar a amá-la. Soa estranho, mas é assim que ele sente: em vez de amar Karla, ele amara a possibilidade do amor, e depois a iminência do amor. Amara a ideia de um vulto se movendo entre lençóis brancos e sujos.

SOA actually means that components of an application act as interoperable services, and can be used independently and recombined in other applications. The

APIs extend the reach of your software and data; SOA accelerates it through proven patterns.

7 Toco tu boca, con un dedo toco el borde de tu boca, voy dibujándola como si saliera de mi mano, como si por primera vez tu boca se entreabriera, y me basta cerrar os ojos para deshacerlo todo y recomenzar, hago nacer cada vez la boca que deseo, la boca que mi mano elige y te dibuja en la cara, una boca elegida entre todas, con soberana libertad elegida por mí para dibujarla con mi mano en tu cara, y que por un azar que no busco comprender coincide exactamente con tu boca que sonríe por debajo de la que mi mano te dibuja. Me miras, de cerca me miras, cada vez más de cerca y entonces jugamos al cíclope, nos miramos cada vez más de cerca y los ojos se agrandan, se acercan entre sí, se superponen y los cíclopes se miran, respirado confundidos, las bocas se encuentran y luchan tibiamente, mordiéndose los labios, apoyado apenas la lengua en los dientes, jugando en sus recintos donde un aire pesado va y viene con un perfume viejo y un silencio. Entonces mis manos buscan hundirse en tu pelo, acariciar lentamente la profundidad de tu pelo mientras nos besamos como si tuviéramos la boca llena de flores o peces, de movimientos vivos, de fragancia oscura. Y si nos mordemos el dolor es dulce, y si nos ahogamos en un breve y terrible absorber simultáneo del aliento, esa instantánea muerte es bella. Y hay una soa saliva y un solo sabor a fruta madura, y yo te siento temblar contra mí como una luna en el agua.

Falar para as pessoas que estão na base da pirâmide sobre um sistema com uma distribuição de renda mais justa e equilibrada – algo que talvez signifique menos indivíduos com iates de 100 pés, casas de 2 mil metros quadrados e aviões particulares – soa como se estivessem tirando dessas pessoas a chance de um dia conquistar tudo isso. Como se um dia fossem fazê-lo! As estatísticas são tão desfavoráveis que se pode afirmar que nunca irão! A (falsa) esperança é portanto a base política do capitalismo. Difícil não concordar com Nietzsche que a esperança, olhada sob esse prisma, seja um dos maiores males do homem, por prolongar seu sofrimento. Percebam como a indústria que vende esperança é forte, reparem quantas coisas baseiam-se exclusivamente nela. As religiões, as loterias, os jogos de azar, os investimentos de risco e tantos outros exemplos estão à nossa frente.

Sim, pensou o Conde, de facto o mundo dá muitas voltas. Aliás, dá voltas sobre o seu eixo até enquanto descreve um círculo em redor do Sol. E a galáxia também gira, uma roda dentro de uma roda maior, fazendo repicar um toque completamente diferente do de um martelinho num relógio. E quando soa esse repique celestial, talvez um espelho sirva, subitamente, o seu intento mais verdadeiro: revelar a um homem não quem ele imagina que é, mas quem se tornou.

E assim por diante, na ladainha sem fim que todos os interrogadores recitavam quando viam pela primeira vez seus detentos. Muitos detentos não conseguiam deixar de rir ao ouvir esse absurdo mais próprio do Feitiço do Tempo [Groundhog Day]; na verdade, era o único entretenimento que tínhamos na câmara de interrogatório. Quando o interrogador disse a um dos detentos “Sei que você é inocente”, ele riu com vontade e respondeu: “Preferia ser um criminoso e estar em casa com meus filhos”. Acho que qualquer coisa perde força por ser muito repetida. Quando uma pessoa ouve pela primeira vez uma expressão como “Você é o pior criminoso da face da Terra”, o mais provável é que fique assustadíssima. Porém, quanto mais ouve isso, mais o medo vai diminuindo, e chega o momento em que não tem efeito nenhum. Soa mais como um bom-dia.

No inicio de um relacionamento tudo é frágil, basta uma palavra dita fora de hora, um telefonema que não foi feito ou a menção a alguém que parece ter mais importância do que tem, o temperamento que você ainda conhece e soa indevidamente agressivo ou distante, e a pessoa que nasceu para estar do seu lado vai embora sem que você tenha a chance de saber disso.

The rules are simple: We’re friends who fuck to feel good. You can’t offer more. I’m not taking more. I’m asking you, as your friend, if you’d like to orgasm on my face. Say yes, and I’ll even let you pick which episode of SOA we watch after.” Oh my god, I’m dead. Here lies Tess, passed away from too much sexual tension.

Dão-nos um lírio e um canivete e uma alma para ir à escola mais um letreiro que promete raízes, hastes e corola Dão-nos um mapa imaginário que tem a forma de uma cidade mais um relógio e um calendário onde não vem a nossa idade Dão-nos a honra de manequim para dar corda à nossa ausência. Dão-nos um prémio de ser assim sem pecado e sem inocência Dão-nos um barco e um chapéu para tirarmos o retrato Dão-nos bilhetes para o céu levado à cena num teatro Penteiam-nos os crâneos ermos com as cabeleiras das avós para jamais nos parecermos connosco quando estamos sós Dão-nos um bolo que é a história da nossa historia sem enredo e não nos soa na memória outra palavra que o medo Temos fantasmas tão educados que adormecemos no seu ombro somos vazios despovoados de personagens de assombro Dão-nos a capa do evangelho e um pacote de tabaco dão-nos um pente e um espelho pra pentearmos um macaco Dão-nos um cravo preso à cabeça e uma cabeça presa à cintura para que o corpo não pareça a forma da alma que o procura Dão-nos um esquife feito de ferro com embutidos de diamante para organizar já o enterro do nosso corpo mais adiante Dão-nos um nome e um jornal um avião e um violino mas não nos dão o animal que espeta os cornos no destino Dão-nos marujos de papelão com carimbo no passaporte por isso a nossa dimensão não é a vida, nem é a morte.

SOA mainly uses protocols like SOAP for remote access and Microsoft Messaging Queue (MSMQ), and Advance Messaging Queue Protocol (AMQP) for messaging. Microservices generally use Representational State Transfer (REST) and Java Messaging Service (JMS) for messaging.

O apêndice de Warren Buffett para a quarta edição revisada de O investidor inteligente (livro de Benjamin Graham) descreve um concurso em que cada um dos 225 milhões de americanos começa com 1 dólar e lança uma moeda uma vez por dia. As pessoas que acertam no primeiro dia recolhem um dólar daqueles que erraram; é feito um novo lançamento no segundo dia, e assim por diante. Dez dias depois, 220 mil pessoas acertaram dez vezes seguidas e ganharam 1.000 dólares. “Talvez tentem ser modestas, mas, nas festas, admitirão ocasionalmente, aos membros atraentes do sexo oposto, suas técnicas e os maravilhosos insights que podem oferecer para o estudo do lançamento de moedas.” Depois de mais dez dias, estamos com 215 sobreviventes que acertaram vinte vezes seguidas e ganharam 1 milhão de dólares cada. Essas pessoas escrevem livros intitulados “Como transformei um dólar em um milhão em vinte dias trabalhando trinta segundos por manhã” e passam a ganhar dinheiro com palestras. Soa familiar?

The hard-won lesson of the last two centuries, which even many liberals don’t grasp, is that most injustices shrivel under the application of light. And light consists of photons called facts. Reiterating: we see zillionaire oligarchs finance relentless propaganda aimed at riling millions into hatred, and not only wrath aimed at powerless minorities. Just as dangerous is their campaign – stirring up that pre-existing SoA reflex – of open war against “knowledge elites” – precisely because those skill castes do have power! Civil servants, scientists, teachers, doctors, intel agents and so can do a lot to thwart the New Lords’ ambitions. All must be gelded. Broken to harness. Taught their place.

When my daughter was born, my wife found herself unable to nurse our infant. That gave me the privilege of sharing the midnight feedings. Tiffany was a dream: I could zap the formula in the microwave, change her, feed her the whole eight ounces, and tuck her back into her crib—all in under twenty minutes. Then our son came along. Midnight feedings with him were horrendous. Although he had an enormous appetite, he sucked and drank with only three speeds: slow, dead slow, and stop. Worse, he had to be burped every ounce or so—a painfully slow process—or he would display his remarkable gift for projectile vomiting. Without any warning, he could upchuck what he had taken in and send it fifteen feet across the room. If there were an Olympic event in projectile vomiting, he would have taken one of the medals. I never got him back into his crib in under an hour; an hour and a half was more common.

Aí está uma palavra que soa bem, cheia de promessas e certezas, dizes metamorfose e segues adiante, parece que não vês que as palavras são rótulos que se pegam às cousas, não são as cousas, nunca saberá como são as cousas, nem sequer que nomes são na realidade os seus, porque os nomes que lhes deste não são mais que isso, os nomes que lhes deste,

Die Verwendung eines technischen Musters wie SOA – oder sogar im Falle von eTOM eines fachlichen Musters – kann tiefe Auswirkungen und Konsequenzen bis hinein in die Prozesse der Softwareerstellung und des Betriebs der Software haben. Daher ist z. B. das Management des Serviceportfolios, das beim flächendeckenden Einsatz einer SOA irgendwann einmal das Management des

meisten Fällen wird man von beiden Ausprägungen mehrere Muster verwenden. Parallel zu einer SOA findet man in den meisten Unternehmen auch einen sogenannten Web Application Blueprint (falls der Begriff nicht geläufig ist – siehe Abschnitt 9.3.2). Für die Zwecke dieses Buches soll es genügen, ein Muster

All of which went to confirm Lad in the natural belief that anything found on the road and brought to the Mistress would be looked on with joy and would earn him much gratitude. So,—as might a human in like circumstances,—he ceased to content himself with picking up trifles that chanced to be lying in his path, in the highway, and fell to searching for such flotsam and jetsam.

TO READ: Exodus 14:5-31 STAND STILL AND GET MOVING But Moses told the people, “Don’t be afraid. Just stand where you are and watch the LORD rescue you. The Egyptians that you see today will never be seen again. The LORD himself will fight for you. You won’t have to lift a finger in your defense!” Then the LORD said to Moses, “Why are you crying out to me? Tell the people to get moving!” EXODUS 14:13-15 It’s amazing how quickly men forget! Only a few days after begging the Israelites to leave, following the dreadful disaster of the death of the firstborn, Pharaoh and his men regretted the decision. “ ‘What have we done, letting all these slaves get away?’ they asked” (Exod. 14:5). So the Egyptians mobilized the army and took off after the escaping slaves. Meanwhile, when the Israelites realized the Egyptian armies were coming after them, they turned on Moses and accused him of leading them into the wilderness against their will, asserting that “Egyptian slavery was far better than dying out here in the wilderness!” (14:12). With remarkable faith and confidence, Moses told the panicking people, “Don’t be afraid. Just stand where you are and watch the Lord rescue you” (14:13). So that is precisely what the people did—probably while paralyzed with fear. But then the Lord commanded Moses, “Tell the people to get moving!” (14:15). So Moses, having just told them to stand still, now told them to get moving! When Moses told the people to stand still, he was stressing that “the Lord himself will fight for you. You won’t have to lift a finger in your defense” (14:14). As things turned out, he was quite right! But at the same time, in order for them to see what God would do, it was necessary for them to move through the opened waters to the other side of the sea. There are things in life that only God can handle and situations in daily experience for which no man has an answer. But God has the answers. Recognition of this sometimes leads a man to “stand still” and see what God can and will do. It is a matter of trust, of faith. At the same time, while man cannot solve his problems, God may tell him to get moving so that God can solve them. Then it is a matter of obedience. In fact, all spiritual experience is about faith and obedience. The two are not incompatible. The power to obey becomes available as we trust God to act. Without faith, there will be no obedience, and without obedience there is evidently no faith. So, as the old hymn says, “trust and obey.” Or, if you prefer, stand still and get moving.