Sons Of Anarchy Quotes

Batman: a force of chaos in my world of perfect order. The dark side of the Soviet dream. Rumored to be a thousand murdered dissidents, they said he was a ghost. A walking dead man. A symbol of rebellion that would never fade as long as the system survived. Anarchy in black.

It's hard not to hate. People, things, institutions. When they break your spirit and take pleasure in watching you bleed... hate is the only feeling that makes sense. But I know what hate does to a man. Tears him apart. Turns him into something he's not. Something he promised himself he'd never become.

There is an old saying: "That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger." I don't believe that. I think the things that try to kill you make you angry and sad. Strength comes from the good things: your family, your friends, the satisfaction of hard work. Those are the things that will keep you whole. Those are the things to hold onto when you are broken.

Jade: "You’ve got to propel rock star, not Sons of Anarchy.” Dante: “Sons of what?” Jade: “Don’t you watch television?” Dante: “I only rent videos, and they all start with a P and end with a big O.

At the moment, my biggest plan for the future consists of a take-out pizza and re-watching the first six seasons of Sons of Anarchy. I’m nurturing a monogamous, not-at-all disturbing relationship with Charlie Hunnam's work right now.

Every time I think maybe I'm heading in the right direction, I end up in a place I never even knew could feel this bad.

We don't know who we are until we are connected to someone else. We're just better human beings when we are with the person we are supposed to be with.

Cal thought: A new player. Terrific. Maybe William Shatner’s in here, too. Also Mike Huckabee . . . Kim Kardashian . . . the guy who plays Opie on Sons of Anarchy and the entire cast of The Walking Dead.

I'm tired of being crushed by the weight of men that believe in nothing, I have to change that.

I don’t care if it’s club business. I’ve watched Sons of Anarchy, Jax told Tara shit.

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.

Go into the London Stock Exchange – a more respectable place than many a court – and you will see representatives from all nations gathered together for the utility of men. Here Jew, Mohammedan and Christian deal with each other as though they were all of the same faith, and only apply the word infidel to people who go bankrupt. Here the Presbyterian trusts the Anabaptist and the Anglican accepts a promise from the Quaker. On leaving these peaceful and free assemblies some go to the Synagogue and others for a drink, this one goes to be baptized in a great bath in the name of Father, Son and Holy Ghost, that one has his son’s foreskin cut and has some Hebrew words he doesn’t understand mumbled over the child, others go to heir church and await the inspiration of God with their hats on, and everybody is happy.

Venus to Tig: "I'm afraid, Alexander, that I may have fallen in love with you." Tig doesn't know what to say, so Venus says it for him: "I'm a man. I am a man who knows she's a woman. And that's exactly where I'm supposed to be. It's the criss-cross that I've come to love. I don't want the surgery. I don't want to undo what God has given me. I know how beautiful I am.

- Do you wanna be with me or not? - I just don't know if I will be able to give you everything you need right now. - And what is it you think I need? Love? Only men need to be loved, sweetheart. Women need to be wanted.

Look, Son of Anarchy, I appreciate the nice guy offer, but how do I even know you’re legit?

It was sort of like being in one of those love-and-horror supernatural novels, the kind Mrs. Robinson in the school library sniffily called “tweenager porn.” In those books the girls dallied with werewolves, vampires—even zombies—but hardly ever became those things. It was also nice to have a grown man stand up for her, and it didn’t hurt that he was handsome, in a scruffy kind of way that reminded her a little of Jax Teller on Sons of Anarchy, a show she and Emma Deane secretly watched on Em’s computer.

the real world.

I found her in the living room watching re-runs of Sons of Anarchy. I think she had a thing for Charlie Hunnam.

After saying goodbye, he makes another call that is quick and in French before setting his phone on the counter, crossing his arms over his black Sons of Anarchy T-shirt.

You’ve been watching Sons of Anarchy, haven’t you?” Pic asked, sighing heavily. Cody swallowed, then nodded. “Fucking show. Whole damned world thinks they’re Jax Teller.

The gospel of Satan is not a system of revolutionary principles, nor yet a program of anarchy. It does not promote strife and war, but aims at peace and unity. It seeks not to set the mother against her daughter nor the father against his son, but fosters the fraternal spirit whereby the human race is regarded as one great “brotherhood.” It does not seek to drag down the natural man, but to improve and uplift him. It advocates education and cultivation and appeals to “the best that is within us.” It aims to make this world such a comfortable and congenial habitat that Christ’s absence from it will not be felt and God will not be needed. It endeavors to occupy man so much with this world that he has no time or inclination to think of the world to come. It propagates the principles of self-sacrifice, charity and benevolence, and teaches us to live for the good of others, and to be kind to all. It appeals strongly to the carnal mind and is popular with the masses, because it ignores the solemn facts that by nature man is a fallen creature, alienated from the life of God, and dead in trespasses and sins, and that his only hope lies in being born again.

You have me all to yourself, germinator. What do you want to do?” I whispered, only wincing a little at the pain in my throat. Kane locked his eyes on mine and with a smirk, he said, “When you come back here I want to turn on my laptop and watch season three of the Sons of Anarchy with you.” Fuck. How’d I get so lucky? “I love it when you talk dirty to me.” Kane laughed, “Then shut up and listen to me talk. Rest your voice - your throat won’t heal otherwise.” “One more thing then I’ll stop.” “What is it?” “I love you,” I whispered. Kane’s face softened. “I love you too, Aideen. You’re my whole world, babydoll, but if you say one more word, I’ll put tape over your mouth.” “Me and you?” He nodded. “Me and you.

It's hard not to hate. People, things, institutions. When they break your spirit and take pleasure in watching you bleed... hate is the only feeling that makes sense. But I know what hate does to a man. Tears him apart. Turns him into something he's not. Something he promised himself he'd never become.

Det här kan vi titta på, Sons of Anarchy.Sån jävla kitsch, om ett motorcykelgäng."Hon svarade inte.Hade lagt sig på sidan med händerna under huvudet.Det var snygga tuffa män med mycker känslor, lojalitet och passionsproblem.Ingen cynism, bara "outlaw"-romantik, läder, motorcyklar, horor och madonnor.Slampor och tunga kvinnor som de egentliga makthavarna, och våld, våld, våld.

Since I called her Wednesday and told her we’re coming down, Jerra’s been so beside herself, you’d think I told her I was bringing Charlie Hunnam home with me. She’s called seven times. If we’re even ten minutes late, she’ll lose her mind.” “Charlie who?” “Charlie Hunnam, Jax from Sons of Anarchy. She watches that show religiously. She has a Sons of Anarchy coffee mug. A Sons of Anarchy ashtray even though she doesn’t smoke. A Sons of Anarchy t-shirt. And she has a Sons of Anarchy billfold that she actually uses that says, ‘What would Gemma do?’ She’s told Hunter that if Charlie Hunnam shows up at the door and tells her she’s the woman of his dreams, she’s leaving him and their kids. Hunter is usually laidback about most stuff but seeing as he’s half Mexican-American, half-WASP, dark-skinned, black-haired and looks absolutely nothing like Charlie Hunnam, not to mention he’s ten years older than Charlie, he, for some reason, does not find this amusing. So, head’s up, babe. Do not mention Sons of Anarchy and absolutely do not mention Charlie Hunnam or sparks will fly and I promise you’ll get burned.

They might permit a king to burn their fields or rape their daughters, as long as payment was made. But you did not touch a man’s sons. For this, the nobles would riot. We all knew the rules; we clung to them to avoid the anarchy that was always a hairsbreadth away. Blood feud. The servants made the sign against evil.

Le fameux discours de Saint-Just a ainsi tous les airs d'une étude théologique. "Louis [XVI] étranger parmis nous", voila la thèse de l'adolescent accusateur. Si un contrat, naturel ou civil, pouvait encore lier le roi et son peuple, il y aurait obligation mutuelle; la volonté du peuple ne pourrait s'ériger en juge absolu pour prononcer le jugement absolu. Il s'agit donc de démontrer qu'aucun rapport ne lie le peuple et le roi. Pour prouver que le peuple est en lui-même la vérité éternelle, il faut montrer que la royauté est en elle-même crime éternel.

Estos revolucionarios de otros tiempos han envejecido, pero no parecen cansados. Ignoran lo que es la irreflexión. Su moral es silenciosa, pero no permite la ambigüedad. Están familiarizados con la violencia, pero miran con profunda desconfianza el gusto por la violencia. Son solitarios y desconfiados; pero una vez traspasado el umbral de su exilio, que nos separa de ellos, se abre un mundo de generosidad, hospitalidad y solidaridad. Cuando uno los conoce, se sorprende al comprobar cuán poca desorientación y amargura hay en ellos; mucho menos que en sus jóvenes visitantes. No son melancólicos. Su amabilidad es proletaria. Tienen la dignidad de las personas que nunca han capitulado. No tienen que agradecerle nada a nadie. Nadie los ha «patrocinado». No han aceptado nada, ni han gozado de becas. El bienestar no les interesa. Son incorruptibles. Su conciencia está intacta. No son fracasados. Su estado físico es excelente. No son hombres acabados ni neuróticos. No necesitan drogas. No se autocompadecen. No lamentan nada. Sus derrotas no los han desengañado. Saben que han cometido errores, pero no se vuelven atrás. Los viejos hombres de la revolución son más fuertes que el mundo que los sucedió.

Un mot sur la « libre-pensée », ou plus précisément sur l’obligation quasi morale qui est faite à tout homme de « penser par lui-même » : cette exigence n’est nullement conforme à la nature humaine, car l’homme normal et vertueux, en tant que membre d’une collectivité sociale et traditionnelle, se rend compte en général des limites de sa compétence. De deux choses l’une : ou bien l’homme est exceptionnellement doué sur tel ou tel plan, et alors rien ne peut l’empêcher de penser d’une manière originale, ce qu’il fera d’ailleurs en accord avec la tradition — dans les mondes traditionnels qui seuls nous intéressent ici— précisément parce que son intelligence lui permet de saisir la nécessité de cet accord ; ou bien l’homme est d’intelligence moyenne ou médiocre, sur un plan quelconque ou d’une façon générale, et alors il s’en remettra aux jugements de ceux qui sont plus compétents que lui, et c’est là dans son cas la chose la plus intelligente à faire. La manie de détacher l’individu de la hiérarchie intellectuelle, c’est-à-dire de l’individualiser intellectuellement, est une violation de sa nature et équivaut pratiquement à l’abolition de l’intelligence, et aussi des vertus sans les quelles l’entendement réel ne saurait s’actualiser pleinement. On n’aboutit ainsi qu’à l’anarchie et à la codification de l’incapacité de penser.

It is 1839. England is tumbling towards anarchy, with countrywide unrest and riots. The gutter presses are fizzing, fire-bombs flying. The shout on the streets is for revolution. Red evolutionists - visionaries who see life marching inexorably upward, powered from below - denounce the props of an old static society: priestly privilege, wage exploitation, and the workhouses. A million socialists are castigating marriage, capitalism, and the fat, corrupt Established Church. Radical Christians join them, hymn-singing Dissenters who condemn the 'fornicating' Church as a 'harlot,' in bed with the State. Even science must be purged: for the gutter atheists, material atoms are all that exist, and like the 'social atoms' - people - they are self-organizing. Spirits and souls are a delusion, part of the gentry's cruel deceit to subjugate working people. The science of life - biology - lies ruined, prostituted, turned into a Creationist citadel by the clergy. Britain now stands teetering on the brink of collapse - or so it seems to the gentry, who close ranks to protect their privileges. At this moment, how could an ambitious thirty-year-old gentleman open a secret notebook and, with a devil-may-care sweep, suggest that headless hermaphrodite molluscs were the ancestors of mankind? A squire's son, moreover, Cambridge-trained and once destined for the cloth. A man whose whole family hated the 'fierce & licentious' radical hooligans. The gentleman was Charles Darwin: well heeled, imperturbably Whig, a privately financed world traveller who had spent five years aboard HMS Beagle as a dining companion to the aristocratic captain.

Comme l'impôt est obligatoire pour tous, qu'ils votent ou non, une large proportion de ceux qui votent le font sans aucun doute pour éviter que leur propre argent ne soit utilisé contre eux; alors que, en fait, ils se fussent volontiers abstenus de voter, si par là ils avaient pu échapper ne serait-ce qu'à l'impôt, sans parler de toutes les autres usurpations et tyrannies du gouvernement. Prendre le bien d'un homme sans son accord, puis conclure à son consentement parce qu'il tente, en votant, d'empêcher que son bien ne soit utilisé pour lui faire tort, voilà une preuve bien insuffisante de son consentement à soutenir la Constitution. Ce n'est en réalité aucunement une preuve. Puisque tous les hommes qui soutiennent la Constitution en votant (pour autant qu'il existe de tels hommes) le font secrètement (par scrutin secret), et de manière à éviter toute responsabilité personnelle pour l'action de leurs agents ou représentants, on ne saurait dire en droit ou en raison qu'il existe un seul homme qui soutienne la Constitution en votant. Puisque tout vote est secret (par scrutin secret), et puisque tout gouvernement secret est par nécessité une association secrète de voleurs, tyrans et assassins, le fait général que notre gouvernement, dans la pratique, opère par le moyen d'un tel vote prouve seulement qu'il y a parmi nous une association secrète de voleurs, tyrans et assassins, dont le but est de voler, asservir et -- s'il le faut pour accomplir leurs desseins -- assassiner le reste de la population. Le simple fait qu'une telle association existe ne prouve en rien que "le peuple des Etats-Unis", ni aucun individu parmi ce peuple, soutienne volontairement la Constitution. Les partisans visibles de la Constitution, comme les partisans visibles de la plupart des autres gouvernements, se rangent dans trois catégories, à savoir: 1. Les scélérats, classe nombreuse et active; le gouvernement est pour eux un instrument qu'ils utiliseront pour s'agrandir ou s'enrichir; 2. Les dupes -- vaste catégorie, sans nul doute, dont chaque membre, parce qu'on lui attribue une voix sur des millions pour décider ce qu'il peut faire de sa personne et de ses biens, et parce qu'on l'autorise à avoir, pour voler, asservir et assassiner autrui, cette même voix que d'autres ont pour le voler, l'asservir et l'assassiner, est assez sot pour imaginer qu'il est "un homme libre", un "souverain"; assez sot pour imaginer que ce gouvernement est "un gouvernement libre", "un gouvernement de l'égalité des droits", "le meilleur gouvernement qu'il y ait sur terre", et autres absurdités de ce genre; 3. Une catégorie qui a quelque intelligence des vices du gouvernement, mais qui ou bien ne sait comment s'en débarrasser, ou bien ne choisit pas de sacrifier ses intérêts privés au point de se dévouer sérieusement et gravement à la tâche de promouvoir un changement. Le fait est que le gouvernement, comme un bandit de grand chemin, dit à un individu: "La bourse ou la vie." Quantité de taxes, ou même la plupart, sont payées sous la contrainte d'une telle menace.

For pure patriotism, however, the Gists of South Carolina stood above the rest. Their father had been an ardent patriot during the Revolution, in consequence of which he named his first son Independence Gist. Independence without some sort of restraint being close to anarchy, however, the father tempered his zeal by naming the second son Constitution Gist. But in 1831 when his third son arrived, it was already evident that Independence and Constitution were not enough. The liberties for which he fought still stood endangered by radicals in Washington. Consequently, as an admonition to all, he named this youngest boy States Rights Gist.

One day, I’m going to start a minivan gang. That’ll show these Sons of Anarchy. We would be called the Sons of Suburbia and our Suburban Steel Stallions, with high MPG, multiple airbags, cup holders and designer car safety seats, would rule the highways… and the preschool pickup line.

The vibrating sounds of a big brass bell reached them from the town. Nekhludoff’s driver, who stood by his side, and the other men on the raft raised their caps and crossed themselves, all except a short, dishevelled old man, who stood close to the railway and whom Nekhludoff had not noticed before. He did not cross himself, but raised his head and looked at Nekhludoff. This old man wore a patched coat, cloth trousers and worn and patched shoes. He had a small wallet on his back, and a high fur cap with the fur much rubbed on his head. “Why don’t you pray, old chap?” asked Nekhludoff’s driver as he replaced and straightened his cap. “Are you unbaptized?” “Who’s one to pray to?” asked the old man quickly, in a determinately aggressive tone. “To whom? To God, of course,” said the driver sarcastically. “And you just show me where he is, that god.” There was something so serious and firm in the expression of the old man, that the driver felt that he had to do with a strong-minded man, and was a bit abashed. And trying not to show this, not to be silenced, and not to be put to shame before the crowd that was observing them, he answered quickly. “Where? In heaven, of course.” “And have you been up there?” “Whether I’ve been or not, every one knows that you must pray to God.” “No one has ever seen God at any time. The only begotten Son who is in the bosom of the Father he hath declared him,” said the old man in the same rapid manner, and with a severe frown on his brow. “It’s clear you are not a Christian, but a hole worshipper. You pray to a hole,” said the driver, shoving the handle of his whip into his girdle, pulling straight the harness on one of the horses. Some one laughed. “What is your faith, Dad?” asked a middle-aged man, who stood by his cart on the same side of the raft. “I have no kind of faith, because I believe no one--no one but myself,” said the old man as quickly and decidedly as before. “How can you believe yourself?” Nekhludoff asked, entering into a conversation with him. “You might make a mistake.” “Never in your life,” the old man said decidedly, with a toss of his head. “Then why are there different faiths?” Nekhludoff asked. “It’s just because men believe others and do not believe themselves that there are different faiths. I also believed others, and lost myself as in a swamp,--lost myself so that I had no hope of finding my way out. Old believers and new believers and Judaisers and Khlysty and Popovitzy, and Bespopovitzy and Avstriaks and Molokans and Skoptzy--every faith praises itself only, and so they all creep about like blind puppies. There are many faiths, but the spirit is one--in me and in you and in him. So that if every one believes himself all will be united. Every one be himself, and all will be as one.” The old man spoke loudly and often looked round, evidently wishing that as many as possible should hear him. “And have you long held this faith?” “I? A long time. This is the twenty-third year that they persecute me.” “Persecute you? How?” “As they persecuted Christ, so they persecute me. They seize me, and take me before the courts and before the priests, the Scribes and the Pharisees. Once they put me into a madhouse; but they can do nothing because I am free. They say, ‘What is your name?’ thinking I shall name myself. But I do not give myself a name. I have given up everything: I have no name, no place, no country, nor anything. I am just myself. ‘What is your name?’ ‘Man.’ ‘How old are you?’ I say, ‘I do not count my years and cannot count them, because I always was, I always shall be.’ ‘Who are your parents?’ ‘I have no parents except God and Mother Earth. God is my father.’ ‘And the Tsar? Do you recognise the Tsar?’ they say. I say, ‘Why not? He is his own Tsar, and I am my own Tsar.’ ‘Where’s the good of talking to him,’ they say, and I say, ‘I do not ask you to talk to me.’ And so they begin tormenting me.

If they really want anarchy, let a Depression come now. My sixteen-year-old son is not the person I was when I was sixteen. He has manly responsibilities. And he doesn’t want any shit. When I was sixteen, I wasn’t afraid to die. But the kid, sixteen now, is not afraid to kill.

him a son of Order, not of Disorder? It is a tragical position for a true man to work in revolutions. He seems an anarchist; and indeed a painful element of anarchy does encumber him at every step,—him to whose whole soul anarchy is hostile, hateful. His mission is Order; every man's is. He is here to make what was disorderly, chaotic, into a thing ruled, regular. He is the missionary of Order. Is not all work of man in this world a making of Order? The carpenter finds rough trees; shapes them, constrains them into square fitness, into purpose and use. We are all born enemies of Disorder: it is tragical for us all to be concerned in image-breaking and down-pulling; for the Great Man, more a man than we, it is doubly tragical.

What’s he look like?” “Like he was this-close to getting a role on Sons of Anarchy,

I'm sorry. I am just your typical suburban mom that watches Sons of Anarchy, and I think I am all bad ass. I will shut up.

Given his family history, it was absurd how all his prison knowledge came from Sons of Anarchy reruns. Ooh, that Gemma! What a wonderful bitch. The

Logiquement, la démocratie s'oppose à la tyrannie, mais en fait, elle y mène ; c'est-à-dire : comme sa réaction est sentimentale — sans quoi elle serait centripète et tendrait vers la théocratie, seule garantie d'une liberté réaliste — elle n'est qu'un extrême qui, par sa négation irréaliste de l'autorité et de la compétence, appelle fatalement un autre extrême et une nouvelle réaction autoritaire, autoritaire celle-ci et tyrannique par son principe même. L'illusion démocratique apparaît surtout dans les traits suivants : en démocratie, est vrai ce que croit la majorité ; c'est elle qui « crée » pratiquement la vérité ; la démocratie elle-même n'est vraie que dans la mesure où — et aussi longtemps que — la majorité y croit, elle porte donc en son sein les germes de son suicide. L'autorité, qu'on est bien obligé de tolérer sous peine d'anarchie, vit à la merci des électeurs, d'où l'impossibilité de gouverner réellement ; l'idéal de « liberté » fait du gouvernement un prisonnier qui doit suivre constamment les pressions des divers groupes d'intérêt ; les campagnes électorales elles-mêmes prouvent que les aspirants à l'autorité doivent duper les électeurs, et les moyens de cette duperie sont si grossiers et stupides, et constituent un tel avilissement du peuple, que cela devrait suffire pour réduire à néant le mythe de la démocratie moderne. Ce n'est pas à dire qu'aucun genre de démocratie ne soit possible : mais alors il s'agit d'abord de collectivités restreintes — nomades surtout — et ensuite d'une démocratie intérieurement aristocratique et théocratique, non d'un égalitarisme laïc imposé à de grands peuples sédentaires. "La Transfiguration de l'homme" (1995)

If the Sons of Anarchy were based in California, the Grandpas of Anarchy must’ve headed north to Seattle.

Like Sons of Anarchy?” “That fucking show,” he grumbled.

Jesus himself was so obviously a rebel and an anarchist. He spoke out against the state and the money lenders, and was clearly a threat to the Roman Empire. He was basically crucified for the crime of extremism! If some homeless vagabond (no disrespect to homeless vagabonds intended; I’ve been one myself!) were to appear on the scenes today, sharing Divine wisdom with the world, and gaining hoards of followers, he would soon be denounced by the church and locked up by the government. If he made the outrageous claim of being the unique son of God, they would probably have him institutionalised! Anyone who can draw a crowd is seen as a threat to the status quo, as history has shown that doing so, has always been one of the first steps to social change, so naturally it’s a practice that all tyrants rightly fear and seek to thwart,

În calitate de astroloagă amatoare, mama prevăzuse revoluția din decembrie 1989, care avea să-i ducă la pierzanie pe Ceaușescu și consoarta sa, și la triumf pe câțiva indivizi mieroși și ahtiați după diplome, insigne și orgasme ale Puterii. Astfel încât prăbușirea comunismului a adus destulă libertate, dar și anarhie, mâl, frustrări înțepătoare, tabuuri stâlcite. Sexualitatea s-a ivit mai întâi pe picioroange, apoi a căzut în trombă pe captele tuturor, facând să se strepezească dinții, să sticlească ochii, să se electrizeze pornografia într-o industrie la fel de performantă precum cea cinematografică. Revoluția din decembrie 1989 m-a prins cu lenjeria de adolescent în vine, iar destinul meu s-a derulat aproape firesc până am consumat tot ce era de știut despre astronautică. Dar apoi s-a ivit pofta aceea teribilă de fornicațiune, ca o toxicomanie epidermică. Traduction de Laure Hinckel dans « Seine et Danube » : En sa qualité d'astrologue amateur, maman avait prévu la révolution de décembre 1989 menant à leur perte les époux Ceaușescu et le triomphe de quelques individus mielleux et bavant d'envie pour les récompenses, les insignes et les orgasmes du Pouvoir. C'est ainsi que l'effondrement du communisme alla de pair avec pas mal de liberté mais aussi d'anarchie, de fange, de frustrations aiguës, de tabous malmenés. La sexualité fit alors son apparition en nous regardant de haut avant de fondre sur nos têtes en provoquant notre agacement. Puis elle fit briller les yeux et enfin elle transforma la pornographie en une industrie aussi performante que celle du cinéma. La révolution de décembre 1989 m'a surpris avec le caleçon sur les chevilles et mon destin a suivi un cours à peu près correct le temps d'absorber tout ce que j'avais à savoir sur l'astronautique. Mais ensuite est apparue cette terrible soif de fornication, comme une toxicomanie de l'épiderme.

Qu'est ce que tu prépares?” he asks, his voice teasing. She slaps at him when he reaches over to snatch a package of cookies that’s sitting on the counter. The atmosphere in here is so disturbingly normal that I’m not quite sure what to do with it. I lean my shoulder against the cabinets, a genuine smile resting on skeptical lips. “Après le dîner, Hael,” Marie chastises, and even if I can’t understand French, I can guess what she’s saying, and I laugh. No cookies until after dinner, Hael. As if her son doesn’t fuck like a porn star and kill people in the dead of night.

What’s your type, Bailey?” “Well, let’s see. I like them tall, hot, muscled. A great ass is a must. A little scruff is great but I don’t like full on beards much. Not a suit wearing person. Not clean cut but a little rough. Someone who knows who he is and what he is about.” “Hate to shatter your illusions, babe, but you just described me. Hah! Let’s go to bed and good luck trying to keep your mitts off my goodies!” I laugh at her. “Oh my god! You are as full of yourself as Mac!” “Doesn’t mean it’s not true. Name someone who matches your description. Who is your perfect man?” “Jax Teller from Sons of Anarchy. That’s my type,” she grins at me. The little wench is just trying to get a rise out of me. It’s working, too. “Jax looks just like me except I have more muscle and shave my head. Everyone says that so we’re back to where we started. Am I going to get fondled in my sleep tonight?” I tease her. “You wish, biker boy! Just keep to your side of the bed or you might end up getting junk punched[…]

On his deathbed, Haidar had written to Tipu with advice to his son on the art of good government. He warned him that the Company would attempt to exploit any weakness in the succession: ‘The greatest obstacle you have to conquer is the jealousy of the Europeans,’ he wrote. ‘The English are today all-powerful in India. It is necessary to weaken them by war.

I have no idea what I want to do with my life. At the moment, my biggest plan for the future consists of a take-out pizza and rewatching the first six seasons of Sons of Anarchy.

On 2 July 1761, Miran, the ‘abominable’, murderous, debauchee son of Mir Jafar, was killed – allegedly by a chance sudden strike of lightning while returning from the campaign against Shah Alam. According to John Caillaud, who was present in the camp, ‘the young nabob, was lying asleep in his tent at midnight.

that they take part in most of the festivals and ceremonies of Muslims and Hindus, mixing with the people. They pay great respect to accomplished scholars of whatever sect.’ Intermarriage, he wrote, was common, though the Indian women who took European partners were, he maintained, rarely respectable: ‘The women of people with no future, of corrupt Muslims, of evil Hindus, who of their own desire enter into the bonds of wedlock with the English, they do not interfere with their religion nor compel them to leave purdah veiling; when any son born of the union reaches the age of 4, he is taken from his mother and sent to England to be educated.

Etant donné sa traditionnelle fixation sur la circulation (anarchie du marché), la distribution (lutte pour la répartition sous forme d'argent) et par conséquent sur une dimension politico-juridique comprise comme extérieure (rapports de propriété, intervention de l'Etat), le marxisme ne put que rester sourd à la problématique écologique qui faisait irruption dans la société, tandis que de son côté le mouvement écologique demeurait "concrétiste" et dépourvu de concept, donc incapable de la moindre critique portant sur la "substance du capital".

He looks like he stepped right off the Sons of Anarchy set. Ten bucks says he’s a drug dealer.” “Who cares?” whispers Sloane, staring at him. “He could be Jack the Ripper and I’d still let him come all over my tits.” I say with affection, “Floozy.” She waves that off. “So I like dangerous alpha males with big-dick energy. Don’t judge.

Shuja ud-Daula, son of the great Mughal Vizier Safdar Jung and his successor as Nawab of Avadh, was a giant of a man. Nearly seven feet tall, with oiled moustaches that projected from his face like a pair of outstretched eagle’s wings, he was a man of immense physical strength.

Historical Setting A reference to “Jonah son of Amittai” in 2Ki 14:25 places the setting for the book of Jonah between 790 and 760 BC. Jonah therefore serves in the generation just before Amos and Hosea, at the beginning of classical prophecy in Israel. During the time of Jonah, the reign of Jeroboam II (793–753 BC) achieved unparalleled prosperity and military success in the history of Israel’s divided monarchy. The Arameans were the only hindrance to territorial expansion. Assyria, in a period of decline, was preoccupied with internal security. This background is important for it shows that the northern kingdom of Israel at this time was near the top, not the bottom, in the realm of international politics. This situation was a reversal from a century earlier when, under Shalmaneser III, the Assyrian Empire had extended its control into the west, exercising authority over Aram, Israel, Judah, and many others. The end of his reign, however, saw revolt by several Assyrian centers (including Nineveh) from 826–820 BC. His son, Shamshi-Adad V, subdued the rebellion, but Assyrian control over the west weakened considerably. Shamshi-Adad V died about 811 BC and left as heir to the throne his young son, Adadnirari III. Until the boy came of age the country was ruled by Shamshi-Adad’s widow, Sammuramat, who retained extensive control until her death. Adadnirari reigned until 783 BC. His city of residence and capital was not Nineveh, but Calah. He was succeeded by three sons: Shalmaneser IV, Ashur-Dan III and Ashurnirari V, respectively. This was a period of practical anarchy. Particularly notable is the series of rebellions between 763 and 758. These were led by disaffected officials who show evidence of usurping royal prerogatives. In such a political climate, a prophecy proclaiming the imminent fall of Nineveh would be taken quite seriously. With the accession of Tiglath-Pileser III in 745 BC, a new dynasty began that established Assyrian supremacy for a century. Tiglath-Pileser III was succeeded by Shalmaneser V, Sargon II and, finally, Sennacherib, who enlarged Nineveh and made it the capital of the Assyrian Empire more than 50 years after the time of Jonah. The importance of this information for the study of the book of Jonah is the understanding that at the time of Jonah, Assyria had not been a threat to Israel for a generation, and it would be no threat for a generation to come. In addition, when Jonah was sent to Nineveh, he was being sent not to the capital city of a vast empire but to one of the provincial centers of a struggling nation. Some would consider this evidence that the book of Jonah was written several centuries after the Assyrian Empire had come and gone by an author unfamiliar with the details of history. Preferably, it could suggest that God had chosen to send Jonah to Nineveh in anticipation of the role it would eventually play.

In the political settlement that followed, Tipu’s sons were despatched to exile in the fort of Vellore and most of the best lands of the state of Mysore were divided between the Company and the Nizam of Hyderabad. The rump was returned to the Hindu Wadyar dynasty whose throne Haidar and Tipu had usurped. A five-year-old child from the dynasty was found living ‘in a state of misery … in kind of stable with sheds attached to

There was no love left for you, no hope. Not only was the world I was bringing you into a grave, but my body was, too- forever. This is why I wanted you to be a ‘’freak’’, as you say, or what I call a ‘cataclysm’. And now I think I wasn’t wrong. You just might have that seed of anarchy I hoped to find in you. I can’t be sure, but I think you are going to destroy everything I hate: the order that devoured me. You aren’t my son, you’re myself. The love I have for you is awkward for both of us. But it is greater than any love known. Even if you can’t understand it.