Tenant Sayings Quotes

I can remember how when I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind - and that of the minds of the ones who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists say it is the end; the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single tenant or family moving out of a tenement or a town.

I can remember how when I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind -- and that of the minds who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists say it is the end; the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single tenant or family moving out of a tenement or a town.

Sir, people never wanted me to make it to squire. They won't like it any better if I become a knight. I doubt I'll ever get to command a force larger than, well, just me.' Raoul shook his head. 'You're wrong.' As she started to protest, he raised a hand. 'Hear me out. I have some idea of what you've had to bear to get this far, and it won't get easier. But there are larger issues than your fitness for knighthood, issues that involve lives and livelihoods. Attend,' he said, so much like Yayin, one of her Mithran teachers, that Kel had to smile. 'At our level, there are four kids of warrior,' he told Kel. He raised a fist and held up one large finger. 'Heroes, like Alanna the Lioness. Warriors who find dark places and fight in them alone. This is wonderful, but we live in the real world. There aren't many places without any hope or light.' He raised a second finger. 'We have knights- plain, everyday knights, like your brothers. They patrol their borders and protect their tenants, or they go into troubled areas at the king's command and sort them out. They fight in battles, usually against other knights. A hero will work like an everyday knight for a time- it's expected. And most knights must be clever enough to manage alone.' Kel nodded. 'We have soldiers,' Raoul continued, raising a third finger. 'Those warriors, including knights, who can manage so long as they're told what to do. These are more common, thank Mithros, and you'll find them in charge of companies in the army, under the eye of a general. Without people who can take orders, we'd be in real trouble. 'Commanders.' He raised his little finger. 'Good ones, people with a knack for it, like, say, the queen, or Buri, or young Dom, they're as rare as heroes. Commanders have an eye not just for what they do, but for what those around them do. Commanders size up people's strengths and weaknesses. They know where someone will shine and where they will collapse. Other warriors will obey a true commander because they can tell that the commander knows what he- or she- is doing.' Raoul picked up a quill and toyed with it. 'You've shown flashes of being a commander. I've seen it. So has Qasim, your friend Neal, even Wyldon, though it would be like pulling teeth to get him to admit it. My job is to see if you will do more than flash, with the right training. The realm needs commanders. Tortall is big. We have too many still-untamed pockets, too curse many hideyholes for rogues, and plenty of hungry enemies to nibble at our borders and our seafaring trade. If you have what it takes, the Crown will use you. We're too desperate for good commanders to let one slip away, even a female one. Now, finish that'- he pointed to the slate- 'and you can stop for tonight.

I'm as religious as the next man - which is to say I'll keep in with the local parson for form's sake and read the lessons on feast-days because my tenants expect it, but I've never been fool enough to confuse religion with belief in God. That's where so many clergymen... go wrong

She says I shall now have one mouth the more to fill and two feet the more to shoe, more disturbed nights, more laborious days, and less leisure or visiting, reading, music, and drawing. Well! This is one side of the story, to be sure, but I look at the other. Here is a sweet, fragrant mouth to kiss; here are two more feet to make music with their pattering about my nursery. Here is a soul to train for God; and the body in which it dwells is worth all it will cost, since it is the abode of a kingly tenant. I may see less of friends, but I have gained one dearer than them all, to whom, while I minister in Christ's name, I make a willing sacrifice of what little leisure for my own recreation my other darlings had left me. Yes, my precious baby, you are welcome to your mother's heart, welcome to her time, her strength, her health, her tenderest cares, to her lifelong prayers! Oh, how rich I am, how truly, how wondrously blest!

The coops were finished. They were not masterpieces, and I have seen chickens pause before them in deep thought, as who should say: "Now what in the world have we struck here?" But they were coops, within the meaning of the act, and we induced the hens to become tenants.

What is it that constitutes virtue, Mrs. Graham? Is it the circumstance of being able and willing to resist temptation; or that of having no temptations to resist? - Is he a strong man that overcomes great obstacles and performs surprising achievements, though by dint of great muscular exertion, and at the risk of some subsequent fatigue, or he that sits in his chair all day, with nothing to do more laborious than stirring the fire, and carrying his food to his mouth? If you would have your son to walk honourably through the world, you must not attempt to clear the stones from his path, but teach him to walk firmly over them - not insist upon leading him by the hand, but let him learn to go alone.' 'I will lead him by the hand, Mr. Markham, till he has strength to go alone; and I will clear as many stones from his path as I can, and teach him to avoid the rest - or walk firmly over them, as you say; - for when I have done my utmost, in the way of clearance, there will still be plenty left to exercise all the agility, steadiness, and circumspection he will ever have. - It is all very well to talk about noble resistance, and trials of virtue; but for fifty - or five hundred men that have yielded to temptation, show me one that has had virtue to resist. And why should I take it for granted that my son will be one in a thousand? - and not rather prepare for the worst, and suppose he will be like his - like the rest of mankind, unless I take care to prevent it?

In a covenant...among proprietor and community tenants for the purpose of protecting their private property, no such thing as a right to free (unlimited) speech exists, not even to unlimited speech on one’s own tenant-property. One may say innumerable things and promote almost any idea under the sun, but naturally no one is permitted to advocate ideas contrary to the very covenant of preserving and protecting private property, such as democracy and communism. There can be no tolerance toward democrats and communists in a libertarian social order. They will have to be physically separated and removed from society.

I wish all the Americans who think 'Muslim' is just another way of saying 'terrorist' could have been there that day. The true core tenants of Islam are justice, tolerance, and charity.

how shall I get through the months or years of my future life, in company with that man -- my greatest enemy -- for none could injure me as he has done? Oh! when I think how fondly, how foolishly I have loved him, how madly I have trusted him, how constantly I have laboured, and studied, and prayed, and struggled for his advantage, and how cruelly he has trampled on my love, betrayed my trust, scorned my prayers and tears, and efforts for his preservation --crushed my hopes, destroyed my youth's best feelings, and doomed me to a life of hopeless misery -- as far as man can do it -- it is not enough to say that I no longer love my husband -- I HATE him! The word stares me in the face like a guilty confession, but it is true: I hate him -- I hate him!

You are not disposable. I know you feel that way when people choose to walk out of your life, but their emptiness causes space. And that vacant area of your life is desperately crying out for the one meant to take up residence. Let the angry tenant go. You don't want someone staying because you've begged and pleaded for their occupancy. You want the one who sees your quaking heart and says: "Honey I'm home".

You need not fear me, for I not only should think it wrong to marry a man that was deficient in sense or in principle, but I should never be tempted to do it; for I could not like him, if he were ever so handsome, and ever so charming, in other respects; I should hate him—despise him—pity him—anything but love him.  My affections not only ought to be founded on approbation, but they will and must be so: for, without approving, I cannot love.  It is needless to say, I ought to be able to respect and honour the man I marry, as well as love him, for I cannot love him without.

True the greater part of the Irish people was close to starvation. The numbers of weakened people dying from disease were rising. So few potatoes had been planted that, even if they escaped bight, they would not be enough to feed the poor folk who relied upon them. More and more of those small tenants and cottagers, besides, were being forced off the land and into a condition of helpless destitution. Ireland, that is to say, was a country utterly prostrated. Yet the Famine came to an end. And how was this wonderful thing accomplished? Why, in the simplest way imaginable. The famine was legislated out of existence. It had to be. The Whigs were facing a General Election.

Dear Daniel, How do you break up with your boyfriend in a way that tells him, "I don't want to sleep with you on a regular basis anymore, but please be available for late night booty calls if I run out of other options"? Lily Charlotte, NC Dear Lily, The story's so old you can't tell it anymore without everyone groaning, even your oldest friends with the last of their drinks shivering around the ice in their dirty glasses. The music playing is the same album everyone has. Those shoes, everybody has the same shoes on. It looked a little like rain so on person brought an umbrella, useless now in the starstruck clouded sky, forgotten on the way home, which is how the umbrella ended up in her place anyway. Everyone gets older on nights like this. And still it's a fresh slap in the face of everything you had going, that precarious shelf in the shallow closet that will certainly, certainly fall someday. Photographs slipping into a crack to be found by the next tenant, that one squinter third from the left laughing at something your roommate said, the coaster from that place in the city you used to live in, gone now. A letter that seemed important for reasons you can't remember, throw it out, the entry in the address book you won't erase but won't keep when you get a new phone, let it pass and don't worry about it. You don't think about them; "I haven't thought about them in forever," you would say if anybody brought it up, and nobody does." You think about them all the time. Close the book but forget to turn off the light, just sit staring in bed until you blink and you're out of it, some noise on the other side of the wall reminding you you're still here. That's it, that's everything. There's no statue in the town square with an inscription with words to live by. The actor got slapped this morning by someone she loved, slapped right across the face, but there's no trace of it on any channel no matter how late you watch. How many people--really, count them up--know where you are? How many will look after you when you don't show up? The churches and train stations are creaky and the street signs, the menus, the writing on the wall, it all feels like the wrong language. Nobody, nobody knows what you're thinking of when you lean your head against the wall. Put a sweater on when you get cold. Remind yourself, this is the night, because it is. You're free to sing what you want as you walk there, the trees rustling spookily and certainly and quietly and inimitably. Whatever shoes you want, fuck it, you're comfortable. Don't trust anyone's directions. Write what you might forget on the back of your hand, and slam down the cheap stuff and never mind the bad music from the window three floors up or what the boys shouted from the car nine years ago that keeps rattling around in your head, because you're here, you are, for the warmth of someone's wrists where the sleeve stops and the glove doesn't quite begin, and the slant of the voice on the punch line of the joke and the reflection of the moon in the water on the street as you stand still for a moment and gather your courage and take a breath before stealing away through the door. Look at it there. Take a good look. It looks like rain. Love, Daniel Handler

Love is the heart’s best tenant; it always pays its rent on time.

When she was gone, I felt as if there was to be no more fun—though it is difficult to say what she had contributed to the hilarity of the party. No jests, and little laughter, had escaped her lips; but her smile had animated my mirth; a keen observation or a cheerful word from her had insensibly sharpened my wits, and thrown an interest over all that was done and said by the rest.

I am not sure the loneliness of the place was not one of its chief recommendations. I take no pleasure in watching people pass the windows; and I like to be quiet.’ ‘Oh! as good as to say you wish we would all of us mind our own business, and let you alone.’ ‘No, I dislike an extensive acquaintance; but if I have a few friends, of course I am glad to see them occasionally. No one can be happy in eternal solitude.

What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright or the carpenter? The gallowsmaker, for that frame outlives a thousand tenants. [...] And when you are asked this question next, say "a gravemaker". The houses he makes lasts till doomsday.

But," comes the reply, "I am being driven from the farm which my father and grandfather owned!" Well? Who owned the land before your grandfather? Can you explain what people (I will not say what person) held it originally? You did not enter upon it as a master, but merely as a tenant. And whose tenant are you? If your claim is successful, you are tenant of the heir. The lawyers say that public property cannot be acquired privately by possession;11 what you hold and call your own is public property —indeed, it belongs to mankind at large.

Now I know it to be merely a function of the mind - and that of the minds of the ones who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists say it is the end; the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single tenant or family moving out of a tenement or a town

People told you to say no. They never said how. They made it very clear that the world wouldn’t stop for you and that it was your responsibility to make it slow down, but no one ever gave instructions beyond that. No one told you how to look into the eyes of the person you love and say you want to stop.

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war,   How to divide the conquest of thy sight;   Mine eye my heart thy picture's sight would bar,   My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.   My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie,—   A closet never pierc'd with crystal eyes—   But the defendant doth that plea deny,   And says in him thy fair appearance lies.   To side this title is impannelled   A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart;   And by their verdict is determined   The clear eye's moiety, and the dear heart's part:     As thus; mine eye's due is thy outward part,     And my heart's right, thy inward love of heart.

When I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind - and that of the minds of the ones who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists say it is the end; the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single tenant or family moving out of a tenement or a town.

Max raised the mallet. He stared into her face and wished he could say he was sorry, that he didn't want to do it. When he slammed the mallet down, with an echoing bang, he heard a high, piercing scream and almost screamed himself, believing for an instant it was her, still somehow alive; then realized it was Rudy. Max was powerfully built, with his, deep water-buffalo chest and Dutch farmer's shoulders. With the first blow he had driven the stake over two-thirds of the way in. He only needed to bring the mallet down once more. The blood that squelched up around the wood was cold and had a sticky, viscous consistency. Max swayed, his head light. His father took his arm. 'Goot,' Abraham whispered into his ear, his arms around him, squeezing him so tightly his ribs creaked. Max felt a little thrill of pleasure - an automatic reaction to the intense, unmistakable affection of his father's embrace - and was sickened by it. 'To do offense to the house of the human spirit, even after its tenant depart, is no easy thing, I know.' ("Abraham's Boys")

I beg your pardon, Mrs. Graham - but you get on too fast. I have not yet said that a boy should be taught to rush into the snares of life, - or even wilfully to seek temptation for the sake of exercising his virtue by overcoming it; - I only say that it is better to arm and strengthen your hero, than to disarm and enfeeble the foe; - and if you were to rear an oak sapling in a hothouse, tending it carefully night and day, and shielding it from every breath of wind, you could not expect it to become a hardy tree, like that which has grown up on the mountain-side, exposed to all the action of the elements, and not even sheltered from the shock of the tempest.' 'Granted; - but would you use the same argument with regard to a girl?' 'Certainly not.' 'No; you would have her to be tenderly and delicately nurtured, like a hot-house plant - taught to cling to others for direction and support, and guarded, as much as possible, from the very knowledge of evil. But will you be so good as to inform me why you make this distinction? Is it that you think she has no virtue?' 'Assuredly not.' 'Well, but you affirm that virtue is only elicited by temptation; - and you think that a woman cannot be too little exposed to temptation, or too little acquainted with vice, or anything connected therewith. It must be either that you think she is essentially so vicious, or so feeble-minded, that she cannot withstand temptation, - and though she may be pure and innocent as long as she is kept in ignorance and restraint, yet, being destitute of real virtue, to teach her how to sin is at once to make her a sinner, and the greater her knowledge, the wider her liberty, the deeper will be her depravity, - whereas, in the nobler sex, there is a natural tendency to goodness, guarded by a superior fortitude, which, the more it is exercised by trials and dangers, is only the further developed - ' 'Heaven forbid that I should think so!' I interrupted her at last." 'Well, then, it must be that you think they are both weak and prone to err, and the slightest error, the merest shadow of pollution, will ruin the one, while the character of the other will be strengthened and embellished - his education properly finished by a little practical acquaintance with forbidden things. Such experience, to him (to use a trite simile), will be like the storm to the oak, which, though it may scatter the leaves, and snap the smaller branches, serves but to rivet the roots, and to harden and condense the fibres of the tree. You would have us encourage our sons to prove all things by their own experience, while our daughters must not even profit by the experience of others. Now I would have both so to benefit by the experience of others, and the precepts of a higher authority, that they should know beforehand to refuse the evil and choose the good, and require no experimental proofs to teach them the evil of transgression. I would not send a poor girl into the world, unarmed against her foes, and ignorant of the snares that beset her path; nor would I watch and guard her, till, deprived of self-respect and self-reliance, she lost the power or the will to watch and guard herself; - and as for my son - if I thought he would grow up to be what you call a man of the world - one that has "seen life," and glories in his experience, even though he should so far profit by it as to sober down, at length, into a useful and respected member of society - I would rather that he died to-morrow! - rather a thousand times!' she earnestly repeated, pressing her darling to her side and kissing his forehead with intense affection. He had already left his new companion, and been standing for some time beside his mother's knee, looking up into her face, and listening in silent wonder to her incomprehensible discourse. Anne Bronte, "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall" (24,25)

Oh, you know,’ I said. ‘You say to yourself I’ll spend next week on Christmas shopping and then the week before Christmas on writing letters and going round the tenants and I’ll just be able to fit it all in, and then you look at your diary and you realize that next week is the week before Christmas which means there’s exactly half as much time as you thought there was and you haven’t a hope in hell.

It seemed to calm me, getting anything that might be chaotic behind the eyes onto the page in front of me where it could do me less harm. Along the lines of the saying, "Better out than in," though that refers to vomit. Maybe more like, "Better an empty house than an unhappy tenant." Not that writing on my notepads managed to actually empty my mind—though some would argue—but I was grateful to relieve the overflow.

Because sometimes saying it—where only you can hear it, but forcing yourself to find the actual words—is helpful. Or at least it has been for some of my tenants. Not all of them, of course; all of you are different individuals. But some found it helpful—almost as if saying it out loud was an exorcism. It released the words instead of allowing them to remain trapped in their thoughts, wearing deeper and deeper grooves.

That impulse took hold of me so powerfully, from my whole body, not by thought, that I caught myself from doing it exactly and as scarcely as you snatch yourself from jumping from a sheer height: here, with the realization that it would have frightened them still worse (to say nothing of me) and would have been still less explicable; so that I stood and looked into their eyes and loved them, and wished to God I was dead.

I only say that it is better to arm and strengthen your hero than to disarm and enfeeble the foe; and if you were to rear an oak sapling in a hothouse, tending it carefully night and day, and shielding it from every breath of wind, you could not expect it to become a hardy tree like that which has grown up in the mountain-side, exposed to all the action of the elements, and not even sheltered from the shock of the tempest.

You would say, I should have been superior to circumstances; so I should — so I should; but you see I was not. When fate wronged me, I had not the wisdom to remain cool: I turned desperate; then I degenerated. Now, when any vicious simpleton excites my disgust by his paltry ribaldry, I cannot flatter myself that I am better than he: I am forced to confess that he and I are on a level. I wish I had stood firm — God knows I do! Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the poison of life.

Firmly grounded in the divine dream of Israel’s Torah, the Bible’s prophetic vision insists that God demands the fair and equitable sharing of God’s world among all of God’s people. In Israel’s Torah, God says, “The land is mine; with me you are but aliens and tenants” (Lev. 25:23). We are all tenant farmers and resident aliens in a land and on an earth not our own. The prophets speak in continuity with that radical vision of the earth’s divine ownership. They repeatedly proclaim it with two words in poetic parallelism. “The Lord is exalted,” proclaims Isaiah. “He dwells on high; he filled Zion with justice and righteousness” (33:5). “I am the Lord,” announces Jeremiah in the name of God. “I act with steadfast love, justice, and righteousness in the earth, for in these things I delight” (9:24). And those qualities must flow from God to us, from heaven to earth. “Thus says the Lord,” continues Jeremiah. “Act with justice and righteousness, and deliver from the hand of the oppressor anyone who has been robbed. And do no wrong or violence to the alien, the orphan, and the widow, or shed innocent blood in this place” (22:3). “Justice and righteousness” is how the Bible, as if in a slogan, summarizes the character and spirit of God the Creator and, therefore, the destiny and future of God’s created earth. It points to distributive justice as the Bible’s radical vision of God. “Ah, you who join house to house, who add field to field,” mourns the prophet Isaiah, “until there is room for no one but you, and you are left to live alone in the midst of the land” (5:8). But that landgrab is against the dream of God and the hope of Israel. Covenant with a God of distributive justice who owns the earth necessarily involves, the prophets insist, the exercise of distributive justice in God’s world and on God’s earth. All God’s people must receive a fair share of God’s earth.

I knew now what my earlier passion for Harry had hidden from me. That although I had bedded him as a free woman I was as bound as if I were the slave. For it was not a free choice. I had wanted him because he was the Squire, not for himself.... And it was no free choice, because I could not choose to say "No." My safety and security on the land meant I had to keep my special, costly hold on its owner. I paid him rent as surely as the tenants who came to my round rent table with their coins tied up in a scrap of cloth. When I lay on my back, or strode round the room threatening him with every imaginable, ridiculous torment, I was paying my dues. And the knowledge galled me.

April 26 MORNING “This do in remembrance of Me.” — 1 Corinthians 11:24 IT seems then, that Christians may forget Christ! There could be no need for this loving exhortation, if there were not a fearful supposition that our memories might prove treacherous. Nor is this a bare supposition: it is, alas! too well confirmed in our experience, not as a possibility, but as a lamentable fact. It appears almost impossible that those who have been redeemed by the blood of the dying Lamb, and loved with an everlasting love by the eternal Son of God, should forget that gracious Saviour; but, if startling to the ear, it is, alas! too apparent to the eye to allow us to deny the crime. Forget Him who never forgot us! Forget Him who poured His blood forth for our sins! Forget Him who loved us even to the death! Can it be possible? Yes, it is not only possible, but conscience confesses that it is too sadly a fault with all of us, that we suffer Him to be as a wayfaring man tarrying but for a night. He whom we should make the abiding tenant of our memories is but a visitor therein. The cross where one would think that memory would linger, and unmindfulness would be an unknown intruder, is desecrated by the feet of forgetfulness. Does not your conscience say that this is true? Do you not find yourselves forgetful of Jesus? Some creature steals away your heart, and you are unmindful of Him upon whom your affection ought to be set. Some earthly business engrosses your attention when you should fix your eye steadily upon the cross. It is the incessant turmoil of the world, the constant attraction of earthly things which takes away the soul from Christ. While memory too well preserves a poisonous weed, it suffereth the rose of Sharon to wither. Let us charge ourselves to bind a heavenly forget-me-not about our hearts for Jesus our Beloved, and, whatever else we let slip, let us hold fast to Him.

You would say, I should have been superior to circumstances; so I should — so I should; but you see I was not. When fate wronged me, I had not the wisdom to remain cool: I turned desperate; then I degenerated. Now, when any vicious simpleton excites my disgust by his paltry ribaldry, I cannot flatter myself that I am better than he: I am forced to confess that he and I are on a level. I wish I had stood firm — God knows I do! Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the poison of life.” “Repentance is said to be its cure, sir.” “It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure; and I could reform — I have strength yet for that — if — but where is the use of thinking of it, hampered, burdened, cursed as I am? Besides, since happiness is irrevocably denied me, I have a right to get pleasure out of life: and I will get it, cost what it may.” “Then you will degenerate still more, sir.” “Possibly: yet why should I, if I can get sweet, fresh pleasure? And I may get it as sweet and fresh as the wild honey the bee gathers on the moor.

Hareton, with a streaming face, dug green sods, and laid them over the brown mould himself: at present it is as smooth and verdant as its companion mounds—and I hope its tenant sleeps as soundly. But the country folks, if you ask them, would swear on the Bible that he walks: there are those who speak to having met him near the church, and on the moor, and even within this house. Idle tales, you’ll say, and so say I. Yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two figures looking out of his chamber window on every rainy night since his death:—and an odd thing happened to me about a month ago. I was going to the Grange one evening—a dark evening, threatening thunder—and, just at the turn of the Heights, I encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him; he was crying terribly; and I supposed the lambs were skittish, and would not be guided. “What is the matter, my little man?” I asked. “There’s Heathcliff and a woman there under the hill,” he blubbered, “an’ I daren't pass ’em.” I saw nothing; but neither the sheep nor he would go on, so I bid him take the road lower down.

Did you ever see such art?’ whispered Eliza, who was my nearest neighbour.  ‘Would you not say they were perfect strangers?’ ‘Almost; but what then?’ ‘What then; why, you can’t pretend to be ignorant?’ ‘Ignorant of what?’ demanded I, so sharply that she started and replied,— ‘Oh, hush! don’t speak so loud.’ ‘Well, tell me then,’ I answered in a lower tone, ‘what is it you mean?  I hate enigmas.’ ‘Well, you know, I don’t vouch for the truth of it—indeed, far from it—but haven’t you heard—?’ ‘I’ve heard nothing, except from you.’ ‘You must be wilfully deaf then, for anyone will tell you that; but I shall only anger you by repeating it, I see, so I had better hold my tongue.’ She closed her lips and folded her hands before her, with an air of injured meekness. ‘If you had wished not to anger me, you should have held your tongue from the beginning, or else spoken out plainly and honestly all you had to say.’ She turned aside her face, pulled out her handkerchief, rose, and went to the window, where she stood for some time, evidently dissolved in tears.  I was astounded, provoked, ashamed—not so much of my harshness as for her childish weakness.

But how am I to get over the ten or twelve days that must yet elapse before they go? Yet why so long for their departure? When they are gone how shall I get through the months or years of my future life, in company with that man—my greatest enemy—for none could injure me as he has done? Oh! when I think how fondly, how foolishly I have loved him, how madly I have trusted him, how constantly I have laboured, and studied, and prayed, and struggled for his advantage; and how cruelly he has trampled on my love, betrayed my trust, scorned my prayers and tears, and efforts for his preservation—crushed my hopes, destroyed my youth's best feelings, and doomed me to a life of hopeless misery—as far as man can do it—it is not enough to say that I no longer love my husband—I hate him! The word stares me in the face like a guilty confession, but it is true: I hate him—I hate him!—But God have mercy on his miserable soul!—and make him see and feel his guilt—I ask no other vengeance! if he could but fully know and truly feel my wrongs, I should be well avenged; and I could freely pardon all; but he is so lost, so hardened in his heartless depravity that, in this life, I believe he never will.

I know it well; therefore I proceed almost as freely as if I were writing my thoughts in a diary. You would say, I should have been superior to circumstances; so I should — so I should; but you see I was not. When fate wronged me, I had not the wisdom to remain cool: I turned desperate; then I degenerated. Now, when any vicious simpleton excites my disgust by his paltry ribaldry, I cannot flatter myself that I am better than he: I am forced to confess that he and I are on a level. I wish I had stood firm — God knows I do! Dread remorse when you are tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the poison of life.” “Repentance is said to be its cure, sir.” “It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure; and I could reform — I have strength yet for that — if — but where is the use of thinking of it, hampered, burdened, cursed as I am? Besides, since happiness is irrevocably denied me, I have a right to get pleasure out of life: and I will get it, cost what it may.” “Then you will degenerate still more, sir.” “Possibly: yet why should I, if I can get sweet, fresh pleasure? And I may get it as sweet and fresh as the wild honey the bee gathers on the moor.” “It will sting — it will taste bitter, sir.

Mr. Ravenel, if you are to spend a fortnight here, you will conduct yourself like a gentleman, or I will have you forcibly taken to Alton and tossed onto the first railway car that stops at the station.” West blinked and looked at her, clearly wondering if she was serious. “Those girls are the most important thing in the world to me,” Kathleen said. “I will not allow them to be harmed.” “I have no intention of harming anyone,” West said, offended. “I’m here at the earl’s behest to talk to a set of clodhoppers about their turnip planting. As soon as that’s concluded, I can promise you that I’ll return to London with all possible haste.” Clodhoppers? Kathleen drew in a sharp breath, thinking of the tenant families and the way they worked and persevered and endured the hardships of farming…all to put food on the table of men such as this, who looked down his nose at them. “The families who live here,” she managed to say, “are worthy of your respect. Generations of tenant farmers built this estate--and precious little reward they’ve received in return. Go into their cottages, and see the conditions in which they live, and contrast it with your own circumstances. And then perhaps you might ask yourself if you’re worthy of their respect.” “Good God,” West muttered, “my brother was right. You do have the temperament of a baited badger.” They exchanged glances of mutual loathing and walked away from each other.

This estate supports hundreds of people. Without it, many of them won’t survive. Tell me you’d be willing to stand face-to-face with one of the tenants and tell him that he has to move his family to Manchester so they can all work in a filthy factory.” “How can the factory be any worse than living on a muddy scrap of farmland?” “Considering urban diseases, crime, slum alleys, and abject poverty,” Devon said acidly, “I’d say it’s considerably worse. And if my tenants and servants all leave, what of the consequences to the village of Eversby itself? What will become of the merchants and businesses once the estate is gone? I have to make a go of this, West.” His brother stared at him as if he were a stranger. “Your tenants and servants.” Devon scowled. “Yes. Who else’s are they?” West’s lips curled in a derisive sneer. “Tell me this, oh lordly one…what do you expect will happen when you fail?” “I can’t think about failure. If I do, I’ll be doomed from the start.” “You’re already doomed. You’ll preen and posture as lord of the manor while the roof caves in and the tenants starve, and I’m damned if I’ll have any part of your narcissistic folly.” “I wouldn’t ask you to,” Davon retorted, heading for the door. “Since you’re usually as drunk as a boiled owl, you’re of no use to me.” “Who the hell do you think you are?” West called after him. Pausing at the threshold, Devon gave him a cold glance. “I’m the Earl of Trenear,” he said, and left the room.

Psychologically, the difference it makes is almost inexpressible. Once you own your home, free and clear, what is there left for anyone--landlords, employers, banks--to threaten you with? What hold does anyone have over you? One can do without practically anything else, if necessary. We would always be able to scrape together enough money for food, between us, and there is no other material fear as primal or as paralyzing as the thought of losing one's home. With that fear eliminated, we would be free. I'm not saying that owning a house makes life into some kind of blissful paradise; simply that it makes the difference between freedom and enslavement." He must have read the look on my face. "We're in Ireland, for heaven's sake," he said, with a touch of impatience. "If you know any history at all, what could possibly be clearer? The one crucial thing the British did was to claim the land as their own, to turn the Irish from owners into tenants. Once that was done, then everything else followed naturally: confiscation of crops, abuse of tenants, eviction, emigration, famine, the whole litany of wretchedness and serfdom, all inflicted casually and unstoppably because the dispossessed had no solid ground on which to stand and fight. I'm sure my own family was as guilty as any. There may well be an element of poetic justice in the fact that I found myself looking at the other side of the coin. But I didn't feel the need simply to accept it as my just deserts.

How is he, Amelia?” she finally brought herself to whisper. There was no need for Amelia to ask who “he” was. “Merripen has changed,” she said cautiously, “nearly as much as you and Leo. Cam says what Merripen has accomplished with the estate is no less than astounding. It requires a broad array of skills to direct builders, craftsmen, and groundsmen, and also to repair the tenant farms. And Merripen has done it all. When necessary, he’ll strip off his coat and lend his own back to a task. He’s earned the respect of the workers—they never dare to question his authority.” “I’m not surprised, of course,” Win said, while a bittersweet feeling came over her. “He has always been a very capable man. But when you say he has changed, what do you mean?” “He has become rather … hard.” “Hard-hearted? Stubborn?” “Yes, and remote. He seems to take no satisfaction in his success, nor does he exhibit any real pleasure in life. Oh, he has learned a great deal, and he wields authority effectively, and he dresses better to befit his new position. But oddly, he seems less civilized than ever. I think …” An uncomfortable pause. “Perhaps it may help him to see you again. You were always a good influence.” Win eased her hands away and glowered down at her own lap. “I doubt that. I doubt I have any influence on Merripen whatsoever. He has made his lack of interest very clear.” “Lack of interest?” Amelia repeated, and gave a strange little laugh. “No, Win, I wouldn’t say that at all. Any mention of you earns his closest attention.” “One may judge a man’s feelings by his actions.” Win sighed and rubbed her weary eyes. “At first I was hurt by the way he ignored my letters. Then I was angry. Now I merely feel foolish.

November 22   |   Matthew 21:33–44 In a parable, Jesus tells the story of a landowner who plants a vineyard, leases it to tenants, and then goes to another country. After a time, he sends servants to the vineyard to collect the fruit. Rather than give the master his profit, the tenants beat one servant, stone another, and kill a third. In response, the landowner sends more servants, only to see the same thing happen to them. Finally, thinking surely they will respect his son, the landowner sends his heir to the vineyard. Believing they will be able to keep the vineyard for themselves, the tenants kill the son. At that point, Jesus asks the Pharisees what the landowner will do in this situation. The Pharisees say what we would all say; they suggest doing what we would all want to do: “He will put those wretches to a miserable death” (v. 41 ESV). In other words, he’s going to turn that place into an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie: no survivors. You see, the Pharisees, like us, are tuned in to the law. They’re thinking in terms of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. They can’t see Jesus’s underlying point: they’re the tenants. Jesus quotes them Psalm 118, saying that the stone the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone. The son sent to the vineyard was rejected by the tenants … but that’s not the end of our story. Jesus says that anyone who comes into contact with this stone will be broken. All of our efforts, whether aimed at rebellion or at righteousness, will cease. The chief cornerstone will break us. There’s one important difference between the heir in the parable and Jesus. Jesus didn’t stay dead! And because Jesus was raised to new life and has given that new life to us, we can leave all our striving behind.

In Andhra, farmers fear Naidu’s land pool will sink their fortunes Prasad Nichenametla,Hindustan Times | 480 words The state festival tag added colour to Sankranti in Andhra Pradesh this time. But the hue of happiness was missing in 29 villages along river Krishna in Guntur district. The villagers knew it was their last Sankranti, a harvest festival celebrated to seek agricultural prosperity. For in two months, more than 30,000 acres of fertile farmland would be acquired for a brand new capital planned in collaboration with Singapore. The Nara Chandrababu Naidu government went about the capital project by setting aside the Centre’s land acquisition act and drawing up a compensation package for land-owning and tenant farmers and labourers. Many are opposed to it, and are not keen on snapping their centuries-old bond with their land and livelihood. In Penumaka village, Nageshwara Rao, 50, fears the future as he does not possess a tenancy certificate that could have brought some relief under the compensation package. “The entire village is against land-pooling but we hear the government is adamant,” Rao says, referring to municipal minister P Narayana’s alleged assertion that land would be taken with or without the farmers’ consent. Narayana is supervising the land-pooling process. “Naidu says he would give us Rs 50,000 per year in lieu of annual crops. We earn that much in a month here,” villager Meka Koti Reddy says. To drive home the point, locals in Undavalli village nearby have put up a board asking officials to keep off their lands that produce three crops a year. Unlike other parts of Andhra Pradesh, the water-rich land here is highly productive yielding 200 varieties of crops. Some farmers are also suspicious about the compensation because Naidu is yet to deliver on the loan-waiver promise. They are now weighing legal options besides seeking Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s intervention to retain their land. While the villagers opposing land-pooling are allegedly being backed by Jaganmohan Reddy’s YSR Congress Party, those belonging to the Kamma community — the support base for Naidu’s Telugu Desam Party — are said to be cooperative.  It is also believed that Naidu chose this location over others suggested by experts to primarily benefit the Kamma industrialists who own large swathes of land in Krishna and Guntur districts. But even the pro-project villagers cannot help feel insecure. “We are clueless about where our developed area would be. What if the project is not executed within Naidu’s tenure? Is there a legal recourse?” Idupulapati Rambabu of Mandadam says. This is despite Naidu’s assurance on January 1 at nearby Thulluru, where he launched the land-pooling process, asking farmers to give land without any apprehension. He said the deal in its present form would make them richer than him in a decade. “We are not building a mere city but a hub of economic activity loaded with superior infrastructure that is aimed at generating wealth. This would be a win-win situation for all,” Naidu tells HT. As of now, villages like Nelapadu struggling with low soil fertility seem to be winning from the package.

No; my heart tells me it is not. I might have thought so once, but now, I say, give me the girl I love, and I will swear eternal constancy to her and her alone, through summer and winter, through youth and age, and life and death! if age and death must come.

if you weren’t raised as an observant tenant of rabbinic Judaism, it is incredibly burdensome.  Even if you were raised that way, it can be very difficult.  And we were never meant to have such burdens enforced on us as though they were laws from the mouth of God.  But we see that, and we assume it is Biblical, and indeed we were taught that it was Biblical, and so it can be a very bad witness as to what the laws of God, as written down by Moses in our Bibles, really do and do not say. It comes down to tradition, and most of what people think of when they think of Jewish observances boil down to traditions of men and not commands from the mouth of God.  But we often don’t know the difference, we just assume that all those things they do are God’s will when truly, in comparison, what is written requires very little of us.

Yet Jesus Christ says he is standing knocking at the door of our lives, waiting. Notice that he is standing at the door, not pushing it; speaking to us, not shouting. This is all the more remarkable when we reflect that the house is his in any case. He is the architect; he designed it. He is the builder; he made it. He is the landlord; he bought it with his own blood. So it is his by right of plan, construction, and purchase. We are only tenants in a house that does not belong to us. He could put his shoulder to the door; he prefers to put his hand on the knocker. He could command us to open to him; instead, he merely invites us to do so. He will not force an entry to anybody's life. He says (verse 18) 'I counsel you.' He could issue orders; he is content to give advice. This is the nature of his humility and the extent of the freedom he has given us.

We’re still poor,” Amelia had told her brother after poring over the solicitor’s letter describing the estate and its affairs. “The estate is small, the servants and most of the tenants have left, the house is shabby, and the title is apparently cursed. Which makes the inheritance a white elephant, to say the least. However, we have a distant cousin who may arguably be in line before you—we can try to throw it all off on him. There is a possibility that our great-great-great-grandfather may not have been legitimate issue, which would allow us to apply for forfeiture of the title on the grounds of—” “I’ll take the title,” Leo had said decisively. “Because you don’t believe in curses any more than I do?” “Because I’m already so damned cursed, another one won’t matter.

There are bills and supermarket flyers. Also a magazine addressed to a former tenant. The cover promises tips for helping depressive people. What to say: I’m sorry that you’re in so much pain. I am not going to leave you. I am going to take care of myself, so you don’t need to worry that your pain might hurt me.

You know the story about the writer and the pauper? A writer is a writer, and he will not spoil only what he has not written. Well, one day the writer meets a pauper who is all alone in the world; he's in the street, blowing into his hands, with no place to go. The writer offers him a place in one of his stories. He offers to let him live there, at least temporarily, because, he says, he's got a large room and plenty of food in his story; he says: Of course, it's snowing there now and it's cold, but there's a stove and wood, you can warm yourself, he says, to your heart's content. The writer says his piece, his glasses trembling with emotion. The pauper says nothing, his beard merely glowing. It is red and ablaze; he could light a pipe on it. With no place to go or nothing to do, the pauper jumps at even this: to a poor man, he says, even lunch in a dream is a godsend. And so he moves. On his first day in the story all he does is sleep. On the second day all he does is eat, and on the third day he starts calling on the other tenants, the heroes of the story. They see that he doesn't quite belong there, but he hangs around as if he were the main character. On the fourth day he begins asking for loans of money; otherwise, he says, he'll ruin the whole train of events. And they begin to give him a penny here, two there, just to get the wretch off their backs. He doesn't return the money, and on the fifth day he starts pestering and blackmailing the women in the story. His evil eye on them, he paws and ogles them with a gaze that ferments like potatoes. And bit by bit he becomes emboldened. On the sixth day he makes babies, and on the seventh, as soon as he sees that he has grown rich in the story, he immediately moves out, drops in the right places a few words about the heroine, quickly prospers, becomes mayor, bans the story, accuses the writer of having dreamed such-and-such gad dream (recorded in the report), and takes him to court.

Cash Flow & Loan Paydown Let’s talk briefly on how mortgages work. A mortgage is just a fancy word for “loan on a property.” An owner-occupied mortgage is that same loan, but requires you to live there for a more favorable price or terms. With house hacking, you are likely going to obtain an owner-occupied loan. For the purposes of this discussion, let’s say that you are getting a 3.5 percent FHA loan. If you purchase a property for $100,000, you will be responsible for putting $3,500 down in exchange for a $96,500 loan to be paid back monthly over the next thirty years. Assuming a 5.25 percent interest rate, the monthly payments would be $532.88 per month. Each monthly payment will be a combination of principal and interest. The principal is the actual balance of the loan the bank gives you—in this case $96,500. The interest payment is the amount that you are paying the bank for lending you money. In the first month, the concentration of interest payment will be highest, and as you continue to pay down the mortgage every month, an increasing amount of that $532.88 payment will be applied toward the principal. Take a look at the amortization schedule below to see how each payment over the next twelve months is comprised. Do you see how the interest portion of the payment decreased over time, but the amount applied to the principal increases? When you are paying down your principal, you are building equity in the property by paying back the balance of the loan. The best part about house hacking is that you are not actually paying the loan: Your tenants are! Not only are you living for free, and maybe even cash flowing, you own more and more of your house each month.

At any rate, there were no women in my apartment." "Porn?" I question with a snort. "Figures." "Non, it was an actress I asked to do me a favor. A phone call. It was my way to get you back for spilling wine on my duvet and all your stomping around." "Oh my god," I say, sitting back in my chair, shaking my head with disbelief. After I got over the initial shock of his deception, my lips twist into an awkward smile. "So, the other night---" "I just placed my iPhone by the vent---" "She's a really good actress," I say with a snort. "Really good.

For example, your tenant in a wheelchair wants to widen the doorways, lower the bathroom and kitchen countertops, and perhaps install a ramp. The ADA pretty much says you must allow your tenant to make these changes at their expense, providing they return your unit to its original condition when they move out.

Sherrena took a breath. There were worse houses on the block, but Sherrena knew her place on Thirteenth Street wasn’t up to code. She would say almost no house in the city was, a commentary on the mismatch between Milwaukee’s worn-out housing stock and its exacting building code. Thanks to the tenant’s mother, an inspector would arrive in a few days. He would jiggle the stair banister, photograph the hole in the window, shimmy the unhinged front door. Every code violation would cost Sherrena money.

I do,” I said, laughing. “ I had enough dirt at the boarding-house to last me all my life.” “ She’ll want a bedside table and a lamp. If you come downstairs I’ll give them to you … and an eiderdown quilt. We must make her comfortable, you know. We don’t want her to say it’s a pig-sty and whisk you away.” “ I won’t let her whisk me away.” “ I’d be sorry. You and I get on pretty well together. The other tenants are not my style, I’ve nothing in common with them.

Lesson learned: People seldom change. Now if a tenant has an eviction, we just say “no.

1.  Be respectful. Your tenants are people, just like you. Treat them how you would want to be treated, no matter how you personally feel about them. 2.  Be responsive. Don’t be difficult to get in touch with, and don’t make the tenant wait too long before you take action or communicate what action is being taken. Do what you say you are going to do, when you say you are going to do it, and keep them in the loop.

As famed business leader Jim Rohn says, “You are the average of the five people you associate with the most.

The first thing you hear is often an indication (though not proof) of the kind of tenant they might be. If the first words you hear after saying “hello” is a voice yelling into the phone, “How much do I have to have to move in?” you can assume the tenant might not be a great fit. (We get these calls weekly!) After all, they are more concerned with getting in anywhere than even asking to look at the property.

According to analysts, 666 Fifth Avenue had about a 30 percent vacancy rate and only generated about half of its annual mortgage. It was rumored that the largest tenant was planning to move out. A Canadian company named Brookfield Property Partners took a ninety-nine-year lease on 666 Fifth Avenue. Brookfield paid the rent for the entire century-long lease, upfront, which amounted to about $1.1 billion—removing Kushner’s biggest financial headache (a $1.4 billion mortgage on the office portion of the tower due in February 2019). Brookfield got its financing for this deal from a $750 million mortgage from ING Group, a Dutch multinational and financial services corporation, and a $300 million mezzanine loan from Apollo Global Management.9 However, the Qatar Investment Authority, the government-run agency that made decisions about the nations’ financial investments, bought a $1.8 billion stake in Brookfield Property Partners. As the second largest shareholder, they had a lot to say about what should be purchased; in this instance, they apparently used Brookfield to bail out 666 Fifth Ave. This investment was a godsend to Kushner, who was now out of debt just as Qatar was suddenly no longer blockaded by Mohammad bin Salman bin Abdulaziz Al Saud, crown prince of Saudi Arabia (known colloquially as MBS), and his allies.

tenant mentions a shrub needs to be trimmed, so you say you will get to it when you come by next time. When you stop by a few days later, you notice that the shrub is not really overgrown. Trim it anyway. You have said you would, and the larger issue is not the shrub, but the trust. If you leave it undone, it will serve as a daily reminder of something you said you’d do but didn’t.

I looked this up for the police. Eight years, give or take. Some people would say she made the best kind of tenant. Never here, never a nuisance. But I kind of missed having her around. Like I said, we were friendly in the beginning.

Roommates ...the door opened and the most improbable trio walked in: a tiny dark-haired man, a very tall and big-nosed guy with long hair like a rock star, and a girl in a white nightgown with a toilet seat around her neck. They were Edmondo Zanolini, Michael Laub, and a fifteen-year-old girl named Brigitte—an Italian, a Belgian, and a Swede— and they were the performance-art trio who called themselves Maniac Productions. They gave themselves this name because, among other things, they would enlist people from their own families to do strange things. For instance, Edmondo’s grandfather was a pyromaniac. And since he was also a bit senile, he was very dangerous—he had set his house on fire a number of times. His family was very careful to keep matches out of his reach at all times, except when Maniac Productions was performing. Then Edmondo would invite his grandfather to the theater and give him a big box of matches; the grandfather would wander around the theater lighting fires while the group performed and pretended not to notice him. This was his maniac thing. It was very original theater, and very satisfying to Edmondo’s grandfather. He didn’t care if the audience was looking at him or not, because he had his box of matches. Edmondo and Brigitte moved into our flat. Michael came from a family of diamond merchants in Brussels and stayed in five-star hotels. Another tenant was Piotr from Poland. Piotr had a book of logic—I think it was Wittgenstein translated into Polish—and for reasons best known to himself, he kept it in the freezer. This book was his favorite thing in the world. And every morning he would wake up with this imbecilic smile on his face, take his book out of the freezer, wait patiently until the page he wanted to read unfroze, read to us from it in Polish, then turn the page and put the book back in the freezer for the next day. Brigitte’s father had started the pornography industry in Sweden—a very big deal; the porn revolution really began there—and she hated her father; she hated everybody. She was a deeply depressed person: she literally never spoke a word. All of us in the flat ate all our meals together, and she would just sit there, completely silent. Then in the middle of the night one night, Edmondo knocked on our door. I opened it and said, “What’s wrong?” “She talks, she talks!” he said. “What did she say?” I asked. “She said, ‘Boo,’ ” he said. “That’s not much,” I said. The next morning, she packed and left. (...) “I’m so happy,” Michael told us one day, about his pair of girlfriends. “The two of them complement each other perfectly.” Marinka and Ulla knew (and liked) each other, and knew (but didn’t like) the arrangement. Then Ulla got pregnant—not only pregnant, but pregnant with twins. When Michael told Marinka about it, she moved to Australia. And Piotr followed her there, and committed suicide on her birthday.

The structures that allow carriers to pressure drivers into team are essentially the same as the structures that keep drivers trapped across the system. “This is not far from sharecropping,” Desiree says. “It’s debt bondage. It’s sharecropping where instead of the field they are tenants on wheels.

For example, let’s say you bought a rental house five years ago for $300,000 and rented it for three years. When your tenant moved out, you and your spouse moved in and stayed there for two years. You just sold the house for $400,000, a $100,000 capital gain. You can exclude two-fifths of that gain ($40,000) from taxes.

It took a certain skill to make a living off the city’s poorest trailer park, a certain kind of initiative. Tobin’s strategy was simple. He would walk right up to a drug addict or a metal scrapper or a disabled grandmother and say, “I want my money.” He would pound on the door until a tenant answered. It was almost impossible to hide the fact that you were home. It was hard to hide much of anything. Office Susie knew when your check arrived; she put it in your mailbox. And Lenny could plainly see if you had enough money to buy cigarettes or beer or a new bike for your kid but not enough to pay the rent. When a tenant opened the door, Tobin would thrust out his hand and say, “You got something for me?” Sometimes he knocked for several minutes. Sometimes he walked around the trailer, slapping the aluminum siding. Sometimes he asked Lenny or another tenant to rap on the back door while he assailed the front. He called tenants at work, even talking to their supervisors. When caseworkers or ministers would call and say “Please” or “Wait just a minute,” Tobin would reply, “Pay me the rent.

For a protest movement to arise out of [the] traumas of daily life,” the sociologists Frances Fox Piven and Richard Cloward have observed, “the social arrangements that are ordinarily perceived as just and immutable must come to seem both unjust and mutable.”4 This usually happened during extraordinary times, when large-scale social transformations or economic disturbances—the postwar housing shortage, say—profoundly upset the status quo. But it was not enough simply to perceive injustice. Mass resistance was possible only when people believed they had the collective capacity to change things. For poor people, this required identifying with the oppressed, and counting yourself among them—which was something most trailer park residents were absolutely unwilling to do. During rent strikes, tenants believed they had a moral obligation to one another.5 If tenants resisted excessive rent hikes or unwarranted evictions, it was because they invested in their homes and neighborhoods. They felt they belonged there. In the trailer park, that sentiment was almost dead. For most residents, Scott among them, the goal was to leave, not to plant roots and change things. Some residents described themselves as “just passing through,” even if they had been passing through nearly all their life.

Or as some of my tenants say, what you gain on the swings, you lose on the roundabouts.” What in the Light was a roundabout? A great help that was!

FAKE NEWS People say that heretofore I kept Black tenants from my door Using legal trickery, But fake news doesn’t bother me. They say that falsifying facts is How I skirted all my taxes. People call it larceny, But fake news doesn’t bother me. Constantly I’m found at fault, Charged with sexual assault, Harassment, and adultery, But fake news doesn’t bother me. Starving students, people say, Had their futures ripped away By Dumpty University, But fake news doesn’t bother me. They smear me with the vilest things Like payoffs for my casual flings From the campaign treasury, But fake news doesn’t bother me. People say I monetize All my presidential ties, Boosting my prosperity, But fake news doesn’t bother me. They say my meddling in Ukraine Left an ignominious stain Tantamount to treachery, But fake news doesn’t bother me. They say in days coronaviral I propelled our downward spiral Through my imbecility, But fake news doesn’t bother me. Notwithstanding crimes like these, I’ll continue as I please. Fake news doesn’t bother me. I’ll just rewrite history. Among other allegations, Donald Trump is said to have discriminated against African Americans as a New York real estate developer; committed tax fraud to avoid paying income tax on $50 million; engaged in sexual misconduct toward more than twenty-five women; endorsed Trump University’s fraudulent scheme to target the uneducated and the elderly; used the power of his office to attempt blackmail in Ukraine; and mishandled the government’s early response to the coronavirus pandemic.

We all say things, right? In the heat of the moment. Things we don’t mean. Things we regret. He runs after her, I decide. He runs after his daughter.

People told you to say no. They never said how.

Look at it,” I say. “Surveying his domain. Hunting for prey. He’s so beautiful.

His fist slams against the dashboard. “That bitch,” he says in a voice I don’t recognize. “I should have killed her a long time ago.

People say friendship but they mean love. It’s all love at the end of the day.

Better an empty house than a bad tenant’ and ‘something is better than nothing’- these proverbs are contradictory! 1st one says, ‘it is better not to have something than having something’ but 2nd one says, ‘it is better to have something than not having something’! If the tenant is bad, then he is rejectable as per 1st proverb but acceptable as per 2nd one. The two proverbs are balanced if we say, ‘something good is better than nothing’!

Love is the luckiest tenant in the world, living in the hearts of men and women rent free.

We could talk about it.” “Talk about what?” “Why you look like someone shot your dog. Shelby, I assume.” “Nah,” Luke said, taking a drink. “That’s not serious.” “I guess that has nothing to do with your sleeplessness or your mood then. Trouble with the cabins? The town? Your tenant/helper?” “Aiden, there’s nothing bothering me, except maybe that I’ve been working my ass off for three months getting a house and six cabins rebuilt and furnished.” Aiden took a sip of his drink. “Twenty-five, so Sean and Mom say. And gorgeous.” “Sean’s an idiot who can’t mind his own business. She’s just a girl.” “She’s just a girl who has you looking a little uptight.” “Thanks,” he said, standing. “You don’t look that great yourself—I’m going to bed.” He threw back the rest of his drink. “Nah, don’t,” Aiden said. “Fix another one. Give me ten minutes, huh? I can just ask a couple of questions, right? I’m not like Sean, I’m not going to get up your ass about this. But you haven’t talked about it much and I’m a little curious.” Luke thought about that for a second and against his better judgment, he went into the kitchen and poured himself a short shot. He went back and sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees. “What?” he asked abruptly. Aiden chuckled. “Okay. Relax. Just a girl? Not serious?” “That’s right. A town girl, sort of. She’s visiting her family and she’ll be leaving pretty soon.” “Ah—I didn’t know that. I guess I thought she lived there.” “Long visit,” Luke said. “Her mother died last spring. She’s spending a few months with her uncle until she gets on with things—like where she wants to live. College and travel and stuff. This is temporary, that’s all.” “But—if you felt serious, there isn’t any reason you wouldn’t let it…you know…evolve…?” “I don’t feel serious,” he said, his mouth in a firm line. “Okay, I get that. Does she? Feel serious?” “She has plans. I didn’t trap her, Aiden. I made sure she knew—I’m not interested in being a family man. I told her she could do better, I’m just not built that way. But when I’m with a woman, I know how to treat her right. If she needed something permanent, she was in the wrong place. That’s how it is.” “Never?” “What do you mean, never? No one in this family is interested in that.” “Bullshit. I am. Sean says he’s having too much fun, but the truth is he has the attention span of a cabbage. But me? I’d like a wife, a family.” “Didn’t you already try that once?” Luke asked, sitting back in his chair, relaxing a little bit since the attention had shifted to Aiden’s life. “Oh, yeah—I tried hard. Next time I try, I’m going to see if I can find a woman who’s not certifiable and off her meds.” He grinned. “Really, that’s what happens when you ignore all the symptoms because she’s such a friggin’ miracle in bed, it causes brain damage.” He shrugged. “I’m on the lookout for that.” Luke grinned. “She was hot.” “Oh, yeah.” “She was worse than nuts.” “Nightmare nuts,” Aiden agreed.

Trump explained how the government had just filed suit, “saying we discriminated against blacks in some of our housing developments.” Trump said he didn’t discriminate, and he didn’t want the government forcing him to rent to welfare recipients. “What do you think I should do?” “My view is tell them to go to hell and fight the thing in court and let them prove that you discriminated. . . . I don’t think you have any obligation to rent to tenants who would be undesirable, white or black, and the government doesn’t have a right to tell you how to run your business.

I can remember how when I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind—and that of the minds of the ones who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists say it is the end; the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single tenant or family moving out of a tenement or town.

The tenants' association broke up, and nobody else bothered trying to make our building look good. What's the point? You can't do nothing when the folks around you just don't care. Mama says people who have nothing of their own don't know how to take care of other people's things. Maybe that's so. I think people are just selfish. They got no problem making a mess of the train or the schoolyard of this building, but they wouldn't scribble on the walls or throw trash all over their own apartment. Mama says, don't be so sure. I think sometimes people want to own something so bad that they just can't help themselves. I know kids at school who carry markers with them wherever they go just so they can leave their tag someplace. To show that they've been there, or maybe to pretend that that space is theirs.

How do you like leasing at this building? Are there any issues that you would like to discuss? If and when we close escrow, is there anything we can do to improve your stay here? How is business? Would you say your company’s finances are improving? Are your company’s finances weaker or stabilized over the past two years? When your lease expires in ______, will you be renewing? _______________ Don’t expect to be able to interview every tenant; for commercial properties you should focus on interviewing the major tenants, the ones that comprise the largest percentages of the property’s rent/lease revenues. Also prioritize interviews with tenants who are coming up for renewal in the next six months. In addition to any property issues (such as elevator problems or a disruptive tenant in the building) that you might discover in these interviews, you will be looking for anything that is at odds with what you know to be the projected tenant rollover.

It was an incredible speech,” Mortenson says. “And by the time Syed Abbas had finished he had the entire crowd in tears. I wish all the Americans who think ‘Muslim’ is just another way of saying ‘terrorist’ could have been there that day. The true core tenants of Islam are justice, tolerance, and charity, and Syed Abbas represented the moderate center of Muslim faith eloquently.

One incident from Yasuko’s days in the village elementary school was indelibly etched in her memory. She was the head of her class for two or three years in a row, including the time when it happened. Just before graduation the principal asked the pupils how many would go on to attend middle school. Of the twenty pupils from Sunada and Tsukigata only three were able to do so. Those three raised their hands. The other pupils—children of poor tenant farmers, small-time candy store owners, and barkeepers—turned around to look at them, their faces vivid with envy. With everyone’s eyes focused on them the three blushed a little but, as might be expected, they looked proud. Not only was each of the three inferior to Yasuko in grades, they—except for the assistant class leader—were from the bottom half of the class. At that moment Yasuko was assailed by a strange and incomprehensible feeling. She felt she could not bear to explain it away convincingly even within her own heart. Pupils who were much, much worse than she were going on to a higher school! She understood of course that it was because their families had “money,” but understanding alone was not enough to make Yasuko accept it. Similar things had happened a number of times. For instance, when a Hokkaido government director came to inspect their school it was really Yasuko who as head of the class should have delivered the congratulatory address. However, since she did not even have a different kimono to change into, a rich child took her place. The lack of clothes and money also led to her being absent from athletic meets and excursions. But at such times Yasuko, unlike Okei, assumed a scornful expression. She smiled faintly while listening to the rich child read the congratulatory address; and said that only those with nothing better to do wanted to take part in excursions and athletic meets. Unlike Yasuko, Okei often cried at such times, saying it was a terribly cruel and unfair way to treat fellow schoolmates.

Has anybody died?” Pablo asked. “No. I guess those chickens would have been all right.” “Perhaps you bought a little wine with the money from those chickens?” Pilon suggested. Danny smiled cynically at him. “Mrs. Morales did, and I went to her house last night. That is a pretty woman in some lights, and not so old either.” The alarm came back to Pablo and Pilon. “My Cousin Weelie says she is fifty years old,” Pilon said excitedly. Danny spread his hands. “What is it how old in years she is?” he observed philosophically. “She is lively, that one. She owns her house and has two hundred dollars in the bank.” Then Danny became a little embarrassed. “I would like to make a present to Mrs. Morales.” Pilon and Pablo regarded their feet and tried by strenuous mental effort to ward off what was coming. But their effort had no value. “If I had a little money,” said Danny, “I would buy her a box of big candy.” He looked meaningly at his tenants, but neither one answered him. “I would need only a dollar or two,” he suggested.

I worked myself to death to harvest five dàn of grain. Meanwhile you took four dàn in rent,” a man said to Da Ge. “We ate the husks of rice, the husks of wheat, the husks of millet. My children have been hungry from the day they were born. But what are your tenants to you? Nothing but fertilizer!” “I gave you fair terms,” Da Ge began but he was immediately drowned out. “Fair?” The man laughed bitterly. “Pay your debts! Everyone must pay their debts!” “If you don’t settle with them now,” one of the strangers said calmly, “these landowners will wait until we’re gone, and then they will wipe you out one by one. You cannot make half a revolution.” Scorn and contempt were heaped on the landlords. The agitation increased. Another family was brought in and there were more crimes and more denunciations. Together, their stories made a claim that no one could deny. “Aren’t these your countrymen?

The dying mall has attracted some odd tenants, such as a satellite branch of the public library and an office of the State Attorney General's Child Predator Unit. As malls die across the country, we'll see many kinds of creative repurposing. Already, there are churches and casinos inside half-dead malls, so why not massage parlors, detox centers, transient hotels, haunted houses, prisons, petting zoos or putt-putt golf courses (covering the entire mall)? Leaving Santee, Chuck and I wandered into the food court, where only three of twelve restaurant slots were still occupied. On the back wall of this forlorn and silent space was a mural put up by Boscov, the mall's main tenant. Titled "B part of your community", it reads: KINDNESS COUNTS / PLANT A TREE / MAKE A DONATION / HELP A NEIGHBOR / VISIT THE ELDERLY / HOPE / ADOPT A PET / DRIVE A HYBRID / PICK UP THE TRASH / VOLUNTEER / CONSERVE ENERGY / RECYCLE / JOIN SOMETHING / PAINT A MURAL / HUG SOMEONE / SMILE / DRINK FILTERED WATER / GIVE YOUR TIME / USE SOLAR ENERGY / FEED THE HUNGRY / ORGANIZE A FUNDRAISER / CREATE AWARENESS / FIX A PLAYGROUND/ START A CLUB / BABYSIT These empty recommendations are about as effective as "Just Say No", I'm afraid. As the CIA pushed drugs, the first lady chirped, "Just say no!". And since everything in the culture, car, iPad, iPhone, television, internet, Facebook, Twitter and shopping mall, etc., is designed to remove you from your immediate surroundings, it will take more than cutesy suggestions on walls to rebuild communities. Also, the worse the neighborhoods or contexts, the more hopeful and positive the slogans. Starved of solutions, we shall eat slogans.

Jones had a dog; it had a chain; Not often worn, not causing pain; But, as the I.K.L. had passed Their 'Unleashed Cousins Act’ at last, Inspectors took the chain away; Whereat the canine barked ‘Hooray!’ At which, of course, the S.P.U. (Whose Nervous Motorists’ Bill was through) Were forced to give the dog in charge For being Audibly at Large. None, you will say, were now annoyed, Save, haply, Jones - the yard was void. But something being in the lease About ‘alarms to aid the police,’ The U.S.U. annexed the yard For having no sufficient guard. Now if there’s one condition The C.C.P. are strong upon It is that every house one buys Must have a yard for exercise; So Jones, as tenant, was unfit, His state of health was proof of it. Two doctors of the T.T.U.'s Told him his legs, from long disuse, Were atrophied; and saying ‘So From step to higher step we go Till everything is New and True.’ They cut his legs off and withdrew. You know the E.T.S.T.'s views Are stronger than the T.T.U.'s: And soon (as one may say) took wing The Arms, though not the Man, I sing. To see him sitting limbless there Was more than the K.K. could bear. 'In mercy silence with all speed That mouth there are no hands to feed; What cruel sentimentalist, O Jones, would doom thee to exist - Clinging to selfish Selfhood yet? Weak one! Such reasoning might upset The Pump Act, and the accumulation Of all constructive legislation; Let us construct you up a bit ­­- ' The head fell off when it was hit: Then words did rise and honest doubt, And four Commissioners sat about Whether the slash that left him dead Cut off his body or his head. An author in the Isle of Wight Observed with unconcealed delight A land of just and old renown Where Freedom slowly broadened down From Precedent to Precedent. And this, I think, was what he meant.

I’ve already asked you to marry me, Rose. This may simply hasten our wedding.” But then Iain sat down and drew up a chair for her to sit across from him. “Have you an answer for me?” She wanted to say yes, but was afraid of all the obstacles between them. “You still don’t think I’m strong enough to endure Ireland, do you?” “No. You would not be happy at Ashton as it stands now. But I could marry you and let you stay here, in England. At least until it’s safer for you to join me, or until I’ve restored order to our lands.” His offer was meant to protect her, she was certain. And yet, she didn’t feel it was right to live apart. “How long do you imagine that would be?” He shook his head, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “I cannot say, Rose. All I know is that the thought of watching you wed another man is something I can’t endure. And if I tried to wed an heiress for her money, I would regret every moment. It’s not fair to her. Or to you.” Iain removed her glove, edging her palm with his thumb. The caress echoed through her body, and she warmed to his touch. His green eyes locked on hers, and he knelt down before her. “Marry me, Rose.” “I do care about you Iain,” she murmured. “But there are many decisions we need to discuss. Like how you will get food for your tenants when you have no money. I don’t even know how much money our family has or if I have a dowry at all.” Every time she’d tried to speak with her mother, Lady Penford could give her no answers. Lily had written to their land steward but had no more information than before. “Cain Sinclair has offered to donate some food and supplies. We also spoke of other ways to restore Ashton.” Though his response should have reassured her, she hadn’t missed the uncertainty in his tone. And though she did want to be with Iain, she worried about their future. He rose from his knees and sat down across from her. “If you are asking all these questions, I can only assume you are considering it.” She was, but she couldn’t quite dispel her fears. “I might.” With a daring smile, she added, “Perhaps you should convince me.” He pulled his chair closer so that their knees touched. Then he cupped her face and kissed her softly. Yearning awakened within her, and she responded, kissing him back with all her unspoken feelings. She did love this man and wanted to be with him. But never did she want him to look upon her with regret. Her

I can remember how when I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind—and that of the minds of the ones who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists say it is the end; the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single tenant or family moving out of a tenement or a town.

I can remember how when I was young I believed death to be a phenomenon of the body; now I know it to be merely a function of the mind--and that of the minds of the ones who suffer the bereavement. The nihilists say it is the end; the fundamentalists, the beginning; when in reality it is no more than a single tenant or family moving out of a tenement or a town.

The pressure to accumulate, the understanding that poverty is shameful, the double shame of being black and poor, the constant refrain of materialism coming from every facet of popular culture, the empty fridge, the disconnected electricity, the insecurity of being a tenant with eviction always just a few missed paycheques away, the stress and anger of your parents that trickles down far better than any capital accumulation, the naked injustices that you now know to be reality and the growing belief that one is indeed all of the negative stereotypes that the people with the power say you are. These are the factors that aided my own ego in turning me from a wannabe Max Planck to a wannabe gangster. I ultimately take responsibility for my own actions, but there is still a story there and being treated like and presumed to be a criminal for years before I ever contemplated actually carrying a knife is part of that story.

She didn’t usually have to work Sundays, but the landlord needed a couple of floors cleaned because prospective new tenants were coming in for a viewing and the landlord’s works contractors had left the premises in a messy state. Sita was called in to do two hours’ work. She would spend more time travelling to reach the building but had no ability of saying no to that job. She knew before she went that her only chance of getting home after midnight would be for a boss or colleague to give her a ride. The other alternative, unless it was a Friday night with the late buses, was waiting at Wellington station until dawn when the trains started running again.

I'm here at the earl's behest to talk to a set of clodhoppers about their turnip planting. As soon as that's concluded, I can promise you that I'll return to London with all possible haste." Clodhoppers? Kathleen drew in a sharp breath, thinking of the tenant families and the way they worked and persevered and endured the hardships of farming... all to put food on the table of men such as this, who looked down his nose at them. "The families who live here," she managed to say, "are worthy of your respect. Generations of tenant farmers built this estate- and precious little reward they've received in return. Go into their cottages, and see the conditions in which they live, and contrast it with your own circumstances. And then perhaps you might ask yourself if you're worthy of their respect." "Good God," West muttered, "my brother was right. You do have the temperance of a baited badger." They exchanged glances of mutual loathing and walked away from each other.

A title is nothing without an estate.” “You can’t afford the estate.” “Then I’ll have to find a way.” “How? You have no bloody idea how to manage complex finances. As for farming, you’ve never planted so much as a single turnip seed. Whatever you’re qualified for, which isn’t much, it’s certainly not running a place like this.” Oddly, the more that his brother echoed the doubts that were already in his mind, the more stubborn Devon became. “If Theo was qualified, I’ll be damned if I can’t learn to do it.” West shook his head incredulously. “Is that where this nonsense is coming from? You’re trying to compete with our dead cousin?” “Don’t be an idiot,” Devon snapped. “Isn’t it obvious there’s far more at stake than that? Look around you, for God’s sake. This estate supports hundreds of people. Without it, many of them won’t survive. Tell me you’d be willing to stand face-to-face with one of the tenants and tell him that he has to move his family to Manchester so they can all work in a filthy factory.” “How can the factory be any worse than living on a muddy scrap of farmland?” “Considering urban diseases, crime, slum alleys, and abject poverty,” Devon said acidly, “I’d say it’s considerably worse.

Lady Trenear,” the land agent exclaimed with relief. “Perhaps you would be able to talk sense into this half-wit.” “Indeed.” Without expression, she took hold of West’s arm, digging her fingers in as she felt him resist. “Come outside with me, Mr. Ravenel.” “My lady,” the land agent said uncomfortably, “I was referring to the head groom--” “John is not the half-wit,” Kathleen said curtly. “As for you, Carlow…you may attend to your other responsibilities. Mr. Ravenel will be indisposed for the rest of the day.” “Yes, my lady.” “What the devil is going on?” West spluttered as Kathleen towed him outside and around to the side of the stables. “I dressed and came to the stables at the crack of dawn--” “The crack of dawn was four hours ago.” When they had reached a relatively secluded place behind an equipment shed, West shook his arm free of Kathleen’s grip and glared at her. “What is the matter?” “You stink of spirits.” “I always begin the day with brandied coffee.” “How do you expect to ride when you’re not steady on your feet?” “The same way I always ride--badly. Your concern for my welfare is misplaced.” “My concern is not for your welfare. It’s for the horse you intended to ride, and the tenants you’re supposed to visit. They have enough hardship to contend with--they don’t need to be subjected to the company of a drunken fool.” West gave her a baleful glance. “I’m leaving.” “Don’t you dare take one step away.” Discovering that she was still clutching the riding crop, Kathleen brandished it meaningfully. “Or I’ll trash you.” West’s incredulous gaze went to the crop. With startling speed, he reached out and wrenched the crop from her, and tossed it to the ground. The effect was ruined, however, as he staggered to regain his balance. “Go on and say your piece,” he snapped.

How do you usually celebrate Christmas, cousin?” He hesitated before replying, seeming to ponder whether to answer truthfully. Honesty won out. “On Christmas Day I visit friends in a parasitical fashion, going from house to house and drinking until I finally fall unconscious in someone’s parlor. Then someone pours me into a carriage and sends me home, and my servants put me to bed.” “That doesn’t sound very merry,” Cassandra said. “Beginning this year,” Devon said, “I intend for us all to do the holiday justice. In fact, I’ve invited a friend to share Christmas with us at Eversby Priory.” The table fell silent, everyone staring at him in collective surprise. “Who?” Kathleen asked suspiciously. For his sake, she hoped it wasn’t one of those railway men plotting to destroy tenant farms. “Mr. Winterborne himself.” Amid the girls’ gasping and squealing, Kathleen scowled at Devon. Damn him, he knew it wasn’t right to invite a stranger to a house of mourning. “The owner of a department store?” she asked. “No doubt accompanied by a crowd of fashionable friends and hangers-on? My lord, surely you haven’t forgotten that we’re all in mourning!” “How could I?” he parried with a pointed glance that incensed her. “Winterborne will come alone, as a matter of fact. I doubt it will burden my household unduly to set one extra plate at the table on Christmas Eve.” “A gentleman of Mr. Winterborne’s influence must already have a thousand invitations for the holiday. Why must he come here?” Devon’s eyes glinted with enjoyment at her barely contained fury. “Winterborne is a private man. I suppose the idea of a quiet holiday in the country appeals to him. For his sake, I would like to have a proper Christmas feast. And perhaps a few carols could be sung.” The girls chimed in at once. “Oh, do say yes, Kathleen!” “That would be splendicious!” Even Helen murmured something to the effect that she couldn’t see how it would do any harm. “Why stop there?” Kathleen asked sarcastically, giving Devon a look of open animosity. “Why not have musicians and dancing, and a great tall tree lit with candles?” “What excellent suggestions,” came Devon’s silky reply. “Yes, let’s have all of that.” Infuriated to the point of speechlessness, Kathleen glared at him while Helen discreetly pried the butter knife from her clenched fingers.

It’s not like we’re a couple.” “My dick was inside you three hours ago,” he replied, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know what that makes us, but it’s fair to say we’ve moved past landlord and tenant.