Teo Quotes

No hetero, but damn, Teo, your wings!" Niya circled Teo back onto the boat. "Does this make me a furry?

Where's your binder?" Teo asked. Xio gave him a confused look, his hand automatically moving to his chest. "No, I mean with the trading cards and stuff," Teo corrected.

I’m only good when I’m with you, Teo,” I say, and then, because it’s so pathetically true, I swallow hard. “I’m at my best when I’m with you.

He smiles, and I know that win or lose, Teo Luna and I are made of a strong foundation. What he and I have together is the best thing we’ve ever built.

When Teo didn't respond, Aurelio added, "Or is this some new workout routine I'm not familiar with?" Teo mustered all the energy he had left go alre. "Either help me, or be an ass," Teo wheezed. "Not both.

Người Kinh như con ma rừng, đi đến đâu, nơi ấy vốn đang hay đang đẹp lụi tàn dần hoặc được làm cho "hay" hơn, "đẹp" hơn rồi...chết. Cái hồn rừng hồn núi mộc mạc thật thà teo tóp cả. Chà, người Kinh, cái giống người kinh...hãi của núi rừng

For a long time, Maurice rubbed his shaved head in his palm, until at last he looked up at his student. "Teo, I think you have to let Deu be the God he is, not the god you want him to be.

You know, it’d be a lot easier to hate her if she wasn’t so hot,” Niya huffed. “You say that,” Teo panted, “about everyone.” “It’s not my fault we’re all really hot, Teo!

No hetero, but damn, Teo, your wings!” Niya circled Teo back on the boat. “Does this make me a furry?

I know how syrupy this sounds, how dull, provincial, and possibly whitewashed, but what can I do? Happy childhoods happen

Did I hit a soft spot? Are you mad?" Teo tipped his head to the side and stuck his bottom lip out. "You look mad." Aurelio huffed. "Shut up." Teo grinned. "Make me." In a flash, Teo was thrown backward off his feet once again.

With that, Aurelio followed his sister inside, leaving Teo alone with the mazapan and an ache in his chest. He hadn't noticed how Aurelio's body heat had been keeping him warm until it was gone.

You just have to be careful with Momma for a while," Teo told me. "She's broken. Like a jug with a broken handle that you try to glue back together. It looks all right, and it'll still hold water. It's still a good jug. But you better not ever try to pick it up by the handle. You have to wait for the glue to dry, and even then it might not hold.

Aurora prefirió olvidar. Teo no tuvo elección.

Niya leaned in to whisper in Teo's ear "What's a fortnight?" "I don't fucking know," he whispered back.

Teo had once claimed that human history began with a storm: the interval between lightning and thunder, between flash and rumble felt in the body's core, was primitive man's first experiences of time -- the awakening of consciousness, the birth of the gods.

Inequality, in fact, is a logical outcome of meritocracy. What the education system does when it selects, sorts, and hierarchizes, and when it gives its stamp of approval to those 'at the top,' is that it renders those who succeed through the system as legitimately deserving. Left implicit is that those at the bottom have failed to be deserving.

When the waiter brought the cheese-board, there was a large carrot carved in the shape of a mermaid sitting between the Dolcelatte and the Pecorino. Teo could have sworn that the carrot-mermaid flexed her tail and plunged her little hand inside a smelly Gorgonzola. 'Tyromancy, ye know,' remarked the mermaid. 'The Ancient Art of Divination by Cheese.' Then she pulled her tiny hand out and inspected the green cheese-mold on her tiny fingers. 'Lackaday!' she moaned. 'Stinking! It goes poorly for Venice and Teodora, it do!

Đất nước này vốn dựa vào thần thánh, vào anh hùng mà sống, rồi bỗng dưng hai thứ đó vắng teo.

I was never sure what possessed Guy and Teo, 2 alien princelings to land in Paris that day.

The respect I am accorded are conditional on my participation in society as an economically productive and relatively wealthy person. It has little to do with my inherent right to respect as a human being and member of this society.

Our national discourse emphasizes sacrifice, community, greater good. Our institutions, our everyday lives—they regulate and compel individualism, competition, self-centeredness.

low-income parents find themselves having to do this immensely difficult thing: they have to tell hteir kids to listen to them and yet also send them the message “don’t be like me.” It is difficult to exercise authority under these conditions. To have one’s parenting practices be unintelligible, unacknowledged, deemed less worthy, is a profound form of attack on the self, especially when being a parent is a central part of one’s identity.

Teo propped his chin in his hand. "The Quetzlan priests always made me hot chocolate when I couldn't sleep. We're just feeling a bit homesick, is all." He lifted his shoulder in a shrug and sighed theatrically. Dulce's eyebrows tipped with concern and she clasped her hands. "Aren't we?" He turned to give Niya and Xio a pointed look. "Oh yes, very homesick," Niya agreed, bobbing her head enthusiastically. It took Xio a moment to catch on, but then he nodded, too.

Some people say that we like wolves because they remind us of our dogs, but it is my assertion that we like our dogs because they actually remind us of our ancestral link with wolves, of the freedom that we still carry dormant, deep in our cells.

There is something about picking up a book you've never seen before, reading the blurb on its back cover and knowing that you could possibly enter a whole new fascinating world if you took that book home. And in a bookshop or library, this possibility feels infinite.

No hetero, but damn, Teo, your wings" Niya circled Teo back on the boat. "Does this make me a furry?

Erinevad arvamused kunstiteose kohta näitavad, et teos on uus, keeruline ja eluline. Kui kriitikute arvamused lahku lähevad, siis on kunstnik iseendaga kooskõlas.

Low-income parents do not necessarily make more ‘bad choices’ than parents with higher income, but more of their practices turn out to have negative outcomes. It is more accurate to say that they have bad options for managing the need for money and the need of their kids for care

They allow us to feel like we belong to the groups we care about, that we are rooted in, and that we need respect, acceptance and love from. As the title of (Allison) Pugh’s book suggests – we long for things because we long to belong.

I feel like I’m constantly straddling teo worlds. Too white to be Asian, too Asian to be white. It’s like I’m tricking everyone on both sides, trying to convince them that I belong, when truthfully, I’m not even sure exactly where I fit.

Venčali smo se u aprilu u maloj kancelariji na Juston skveru. Nismo zvali roditelje. Ni Boga. Keti je tražila da ne bude ničeg religioznog. Izrecitovao sam molitvu u sebi tokom ceremonije. Nemo sam Mu zahvalio zbog te neočekivane, nezaslužene sreće. Teo

We who have the power to make choices disproportionately shape outcomes and limit options for people who don’t have the power to make choices. It follows that if we don’t share the power to make choices, we will never see a change to those things we say are bad or unacceptable to our society. When those of us who have the means maximize our own children’s and our own families’ advantages, we are contributing to strengthening norms about achievement, success/failure, that undermine our fellow citizens’ well-being.

His lips fell back against mine and in the blink of an eye, our bathing suits were shed. He fisted my hair and tilted my head off to the side, nibbling down my neck as he sucked marks against my skin. I felt my pussy heating for him. I felt my toes curling as he kissed down the valley of my breasts. He cupped them forcefully, massaging and tweaking my puckered peaks as I moaned and squealed and whimpered. “Teo,” I whispered. He growled. “Already so wet for me.” He slid two fingers inside of my body and my back arched dangerously. He crooked them against that pebbled spot as his thumb slid against my clit, and already I felt my ending approaching. I fisted the bed sheets as he pumped his dexterous fingers, tickling that sweet spot that made my eyes widen and my jaw unhinge with silent pleasure. An unearthly drone bubbled up the back of my throat as my orgasm crashed over me. But, nothing felt even remotely wonderful compared to the feeling of his cock sliding between my legs. “Holy fuck,” he growled. He pinned my wrists above my head and pounded against my body. My tits jumped for his viewing pleasure as he planted his knees into the mattress. My legs locked around him as I opened myself up for his assault. His thick dick, sliding against my walls as they clamped around him. My body, puckering at every movement and every sound he graced me with. All I knew was pleasure. All I understood was his presence. And the only name that came to mind as my second orgasm approached was his name. “Teo! Holy shit!” I exclaimed. He grunted. “Come for me. Squeeze that tight little pussy ar—ound—oh, shit.” He slowed his movements long enough to work me through an ecstasy that crashed so hard against my body that my vision tunneled. My body shook and tensed. Contracted and released. Then finally, my back collapsed to the bed. I felt physically spent until Teo’s dick slid from between my legs. And automatically, I missed him.

There is insufficient attention to the fact that reward and punishment systems are not neutral. Not all qualities, skills, and capacities are equally valued in our society. Inadequate thought is given to the ways in which some of us set the standards against which others are measured.

Teos voi olla uskottava, vaikka se kertoisi kuolleiden ylösnousemuksesta, mutta se ei voi olla uskottava, ellei se tunnusta yksinkertaisia konkreettisia tosiasioita: ihmiselämän ehtojen ja hänen tajuntansa samankaltaisuutta kaikkialla riippumatta rodusta, iästä, sukupuolesta, kansallisuudesta ja älynlahjoista.

Kako je tvoja glava morala da radi, pisao mu je brat Teo, kako si se ti izlozio opasnosti odlazeci do one krajnje tacke gde je vrtoglavica neizbezna... ne valja se upustati u tajanstvene oblasti, koje po svemu sudeci covek nekaznjeno sme samo da okrzne, ali ne i da u njh zadje. A on iz tih "tajanstvenih oblasti" izlazio nije.

Niya took over the interrogation. "How do these Celestials keep finding us?" "Oh, don't know. probably because you're all cosplaying as glowsticks right now?" Xio said sarcastically. The trio looked down at their illuminated suits and then at one another. "Okay," Teo sighed, "That does seem like an obvious one we should've considered sooner.

Men are good to a limit, God is good beyond limits.

„Distanța de la New York pînă la California e ca de la moarte pînă la viața de apoi” (locus amoenus)

What does the anticipation feel like? The sensation of staring into the void, the awareness of an end’s impending arrival? Burning and being extinguished simultaneously?

Ne wonders what it is like to burn, staring at one’s ending right around the corner, and yet not knowing how the end will come, when one will be fully consumed by the void.

What we do & do not do are shaped by our sense of how others are - shared understanding of right & wrong, good & bad, valuable & worthless.

We make meaning through our everyday lives - in small activities and through relationships. These are moments of potential beauty. They are the acts that make us human.

Mobility and immobility are at once spatial and temporal—they are about movement through places and also changes over time.

She became invincibly beautiful: the clarity of her cheeks, her little ankles, and the lucid poetry others projected onto her blank expression.

The wolf carries a galvanizing, yet gentle power.

Like wolves, humans are social beings. But, unlike wolves, we often don’t treat each other with the respect and compassion we all deserve.

It is disingenuous to claim that all tracks are good and all paths valued; if this were the case, and if Singaporeans actually believe this, tuition centers would be out of business.

Matteo didn't lick a woman's pussy because he felt obligated, or at the very least not mine. I might have argued he enjoyed it more than I did if he wasn't so damn good at it. That talented tongue explored every part of me, thrusting in and out until I whimpered. When he turned his attention to my clit, it was so he could slide a finger inside me. I clenched around him on a cry, feeling the way he moaned in response vibrate through me. He withdrew that finger, only to add a second and curl them to stroke that spot inside me that made me quiver. "Teo," I whimpered, and the sound of his name seemed to push him over the edge. He wrapped his lips around the bundle of nerves at the apex of my thigh, sucking gently. My legs tightened around his head; my hand buried in his hair to hold him exactly where I wanted him as I shattered in a blinding orgasm that stole my ability to function. I laid there, panting and trying to regain my ability to move. When I opened my eyes, it was to Matteo shoving his own underwear down his legs and kicking them off. He pulled his fingers free of me and spread my legs wide from where they'd wrapped around his head. Sliding up my body, his hips lined up with mine so he could grind his length against my wet core. His lips found mine in a bruising, claiming kiss that seemed even more primal because he tasted like me. He reached down, sliding himself through my wet and notching his head at my entrance. Pulling away from my lips, he groaned, "Tell me you're mine." Still recovering from my orgasm, I nodded in a daze. "Words, Angel. Give me the words." "Yours," I murmured, cupping his cheek with a delirious smile and tugging him down to kiss him again. He slid inside me slowly, filling me until there wasn't a single inch that couldn't feel him. "Fuck," he groaned against my mouth. He reached down, wrapping my legs around his hips. Our foreheads pressed together; our mouths not quite touching as he started to move inside me. Even without his lips on mine, I could taste him, taste me in his breath on my face. One of his hands grabbed mine, our fingers intertwining while he wrapped his other under my shoulder to hold me where he wanted me. He slid in and out in slow, hard thrusts.

The Berkeley psychologist had called Dev "self-possessed" and at the time, he hadn't been exactly sure what that meant, but as he played chess with Clare, the word suddenly made perfect sense. The same way Teo and Cornelia belonged to Clare, Clare belonged to herself. Clare liked being Clare, the same way that Dev had always (even when he was friendless and invisible) liked being Dev.

Ouch," Teo groaned. Aurelio was at his side in a blink, pulling him to his feet. "Thanks," he grumbled, shaking out his wings. "You're the one I should be thanking," Aurelio replied with a self-conscious quirk of his lips. "OH, FINE! I see how it is!" Niya came stomping down the dock, dripping wet. "Aurelio gets an airlift but I gotta swim?!" she demanded, wringing out her braids. "We've got bigger problems, Niya!" Teo shot back.

Embarrassed, Teo slid down in his seat and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m glaring at him with disdain, I’m not ogling!” he said, much quieter this time, but he knew he wasn’t convincing anyone after that display. Niya laughed. Xio at least had the decency to try to cover his chuckle with a cough. Teo groaned, but when he looked up at Aurelio again, he coud’ve sworn he saw Aurelio glance away, the corners of his lips twitching up.

Miracle is a beautiful word and it is not used often enough in my opinion. It comes from the Latin word for ‘wonder’, and it is a reminder of the higher intelligence and energies that are part of the multi-dimensional world we live in.

with simultaneous wars in Baja, Tamaulipas, and now Michoacán. Keller has to admit that the violence is unprecedented. Even at the height (the depth?) of Barrera’s war against Güero Méndez, back in the ’90s, the fighting was sporadic—brief sudden peaks of violence—not a daily event. And not spread across three broad areas of the country, with multiple and interconnected antagonists. The Alliance fighting Teo Solorzano in Baja. The Alliance fighting the CDG/Zetas in Tamaulipas.

What we do and do not do are shaped by our sense of how others are — shared understandings of right and wrong, good and bad, valuable and worthless. The pathways and practices we end up taking are rendered meaningful by shared scripts and narratives that permeate our society.

Tu sei… un maiale, ecco cosa sei,” ride Teo, dopo essere venuto. “Ma ho anche dei difetti.” “Non ne hai nessuno,” risponde piano, dopo qualche secondo passato a fissarlo. Lo accarezza con un amore e un affetto infiniti. “Non so nemmeno da dove arrivi, sembri uscito da un sogno. Ma sei perfetto.” Davide lo stringe forte a sé e sospira. Sarebbe stupido dirgli che pensa di arrivare dal futuro. Sarebbe sciocco e pericoloso. Matteo potrebbe credere di avere a che fare con un pazzo e… beh, no grazie. “Grazie,” gli risponde e lo bacia, per tenerlo occupato.

Maar neem al diegenen die hun medemens uitbuiten, gemene huisbazen, politici – die duizenden mensen uitbuiten en weten wat ze doen, en het hun hele leven doen, en uitgekiend ook. Dat zijn de echte misdadigers, dat zijn degenen die zich moesten schamen tegenover hun vrouwen en kinderen, hun god. Zo ben jij niet, Ramon. Helemaal niet.’ Ramon liep rusteloos heen en weer, rokend. ‘Daar is een heel eenvoudig antwoord op, Teo. Zulke mensen hebben geen geweten. Anders zouden ze geen oog dicht doen. En dan waren ze algauw dood. De wereld zou veel beter af zijn, dan kan ik je verzekeren!’ Spel voor de levenden

In sociological literature, meritocracy is widely recognized as a system for sorting, selecting, and then differentially rewarding people; it is a system for legitimizing the process and outcomes of sorting, based on narrow notions of what is worth rewarding and what is not. And it works well when there is, what Pierre Bourdieu referred to as “misrecognition.” Misrecognition happens when we think that a system is based on a certain set of principles when it really works on the basis of another, when we think it rewards each individual’s hard work when in reality it rewards economic and cultural capital passed on from parents to children.

En cuanto a los relatos acerca de cómo fue aherrojada Hera por su hijo o cómo, cuando se dispo­nía Hefesto a defender a su madre de los golpes de su pa­dre, fue lanzado por éste al espacio y todas cuantas teo­maquias inventó Homero es posible admitirlas en la ciudad tanto si tienen intención alegórica como si no la tienen. Porque el niño no es capaz de discernir dónde hay alegoría y dónde no y las impresiones recibidas a esa edad difícilmente se borran o desarraigan. Razón por la cual hay que poner, en mi opinión, el máximo empeño en que las primeras fábulas que escuche sean las más hábil­mente dispuestas para exhortar al oyente a la virtud.

Many people are calling Manti Te’o “dumb” or “naïve” because he fell for the “invisible girlfriend” hoax or catfishing but when you think about it. Religion MIGHT be doing the same thing when it tells you that there is a “God” that you cannot see, or meet, that loves you, & “communicates” with you thru a book (bible).Does that make sense?

We make meaning through our everyday lives--in small activities and through relationships. These are moments of potential beauty. They are the acts that make us human. The inclination by class-privileged women and men to reject the domestic realm because we see and know that it is the sphere of less power--it is an inclination that gives up too much and we must claw it back. In the process, we must also work to expand the space for everyone to meet their needs--make real choices, partake in the mundane, live lives, be human. To do this, we need reasonable employment conditions across the class spectrum and social policies that are not class-biased but genuinely supportive of all families. No one should have to be super in order to be human.

for higher-class parents, children are ‘projects.’ They have tightly scheduled lives and coordinated activities; high-income parents spend significant time and energy thinking about how to fulfill their kids’ ‘potentials.’ For the working class and poor, Lareau argues, parenting is more about ‘the accomplishment of natural growth.’ Top priorities in these families are safety and health.

Through the discourse and institutionalization of meritocracy, the narrative of large-scale upward mobility is thereby made concrete at the individual level. The connection between national success and individual merit is a powerful public and private narrative that shapes those who've arrived, those in motion, and those standing still. To return to the two people who quipped about cold showers and bed bugs, we could say that the national narrative of mobility is powerfully grafted onto their individual narratives of worth

I worry where the mynah birds are hiding. I get a sinking dread about their well-being. I open my eyes and peer into Circe's face. She looks calm, almost beautiful. The darkness in her room is inky and tinged with cobalt blue. The air fizzles like television static. Circe mumbles and draws me towards her. She breathes on me, my mouth no more than three inches away from hers. She smells like Kodomo lion toothpaste and Gardenia bread. I know from this moment that these two things will always remind me of her, with a flinch, an ache. And maybe because of this, over time I will learn to avoid them.

Yes, that’s the one. Aaron, I want you to acquire the company tomorrow. Start low, but I want you to end up offering at least fifteen million for it. Actually, how many partners are there?” “I see two registered partners. Michael Teo and Adrian Balakrishnan.” “Okay, bid thirty million.” “Charlie, you can’t be serious? The book value on that company is only—” “No, I’m dead serious,” Charlie cut in. “Start a fake bidding war between some of our subsidiaries if you have to. Now listen carefully. After the deal is done, I want you to vest Michael Teo, the founding partner, with class-A stock options, then I want you to bundle it with that Cupertino start-up we acquired last month and the software developer in Zhongguancun. Then, I want us to do an IPO on the Shanghai Stock Exchange next month.” “Next month?” “Yes, it has to happen very quickly. Put the word out on the street, let your contacts at Bloomberg TV know about it, hell, drop a hint to Henry Blodget if you think it will help drive up the share price. But at the end of the day I want those class-A stock options to be worth at least $250 million. Keep it off the books, and set up a shell corporation in Liechtenstein if you have to. Just make sure there are no links back to me. Never, ever.

Tú eres el único que podría leer este libro, Delante de esa cámara más que visible, «siento por primer vez la tentación de hacerme un autorretrato para ti». Dibujar una imagen de mí mismo como si fuera tú. Drag you. Travestirme en ti. Hacerte volver a la vida a través de la imagen. Ahora ya estáis todos muertos: Amelia, Hervé, Michel, Karen, Jackie, Teo y Tú. ¿Pertenezco yo más a vuestro mundo que al mundo de los vivos? ¿Acaso mi política no es la vuestra, mi casa no es la vuestra, mi cuerpo no es el vuestro? Reencarnaos en mí, tomad mi cuerpo como los extraterrestres tomaban a los americanos para convertirlos en vainas vivientes. Reencárnate en mí, posee mi lengua, mis brazos, mis sexos, mis dildos, mi sangre, mis moléculas, posee a mi chica, mi perra, habítame, vive en mí. Ven. Ven. Please don't leave. Vuelve a la vida. Hold on to my sex. Low, down, dirty. Stay with me. Este libro no tiene razón de ser fuera del margen de incertidumbre que existe entre yo y mis sexos, todos imaginarios, entre tres lenguas que no me pertenecen, entre tú-vivo y tú-muerto, entre mi deseo de portar tu estirpe y la imposibilidad de resucitar tu esperma, entre tus libros eternos y silenciosos y el flujo de palabras que se agolpa para salir a través de mis dedos, entre la testosterona y mi cuerpo, entre V. y mi amor por V.

Amisa was becoming beautiful, even at ten, but she had something cold about her -- everybody could feel it. This coldness was incongruous in the syrupy heat...She had the consciousness and poise of a cute child aware of her own cuteness, which unsettled both adults and peers. There is the same unforgettable alchemy to being dislikeable as to being universally loved.

In the Whampoa Convent of the Eternally Blessed, news like this doesn't just rustle down the grapevine. What we have in place is a virile beanstalk, all errant stems and curling leaves. It's impossible to ignore the whispered-down stories. (p. 100)

power is not a frame of mind but a material condition. People sitting in positions of authority are powerful not because they feel empowered but because they have power.

To be embedded in a consumerist culture without money is to be constantly reminded of her inability to meet her child’s desires.

The inclination by class-privileged women and men to reject the domestic realm because we see and know that it is the sphere of less power – it is an inclination that gives up too much and we must claw it back… we need reasonable employment conditions across the class spectrum and social policies that are not class-biased but genuinely supportive of all families.

A sociologist cannot really begin with the question--is there poverty in contemporary Singapore? The answer to that question, based on what she knows about the world, has to be a yes. But a Singaporean, a Singaporean can hear the question and think, hmm, I'm not sure.

We who have the power to make choices disproportionately shape outcomes and limit options for people who don't have the power to make choices.

No matter what it is we know, and regardless of what empirical truths have informed our knowledge, we retain blindspots. These are remnants of some earlier learning; they are deeply embedded prejudices; and they are ways of seeing (or not seeing) that we share with many others in our society.

When we insist that some behaviours should be rewarded, that is often because we have vested interests rather than because those qualities have inherent human worth.

Through the discourse and institutionalization of meritocracy, the narrative of large-scale upward mobility is thereby made concrete at the individual level. The connection between national success and individual merit is a powerful public and private narrative that shapes those who've arrived, those in motion, and those standing still.

I hated the threat that if I did not appear on television, I would not be released on the 31st day. Why should a television appearance affect the length of my detention? Surely they must decide whether to release me or not according to culpability, not according to whether I agree to a television appearance. What has a television appearance got to do with the security of my country?

[Deputy Superintendent Lim] knew that I was angry. But he also knew that for his career, it was best that I be persuaded to appear on television. I told him to leave me alone but he persisted. I admired his patience, his persistence, his "concern for me." He called me "My Esperanza" (the name of a play performed by the Third Stage). He started to call the woman constable who assisted him, "Soh Lung". He joked about worrying in the night, that because of my refusal to appear on television, he would call my name while hugging his wife! I pitied him. He was pathetic.

Eng Seng was asked how many people were singing on Christmas eve. He replied that it was dark and even though there was light in the sky, he could not see people singing. He said the bible said there were angels singing and he supposed the angels were singing on Christmas eve! ...He was asked who organised the singing. He replied that, like what was stated in the bible, he followed a star and he supposed the others too followed the star. No one organised the singing. On spotting a dead moth on the floor, Eng Seng remarked to the officer partly in Hokkien: "By the way, er, you suay (bad luck) already. Moths die on the floor. You suay, I also suay, got to see you on New Year's Day." The officer asked if he believed in those things and he replied, "Yeah, moths live outside. Why come in to die!" No amount of questioning from the officer could elucidate any intelligent response from my brother! The officer was frustrated...brought him to see his superior. The minute the door to the superior's office was opened, Eng Seng exclaimed: "Wa tua liap liao! (So big shot already!)" The superior officer asked: "Do I know you?" He replied "Tua liap liao, how you know me small fly?" After a few more senseless comments, the superior officer told the officer to take him away. He was allowed home.

Nu-i de-a dreptul inconstient, aproape scandalos, din partea unor parinti ca ai mei, sa ma trimita in vacanta de vara in casa cuiva rau vazut de tot mai calitul teorism palestinian? (...) De altfel, ma impresiona sa-l vad dimineata pe Teo, intr-un costum sifonat (...), varandu-se sub automobil ca sa verifice daca nu erau fixate niste dispozitive explozibile sau daca franele nu-i fusesera stricate, ca si cand ar fi fost vorba despre o operatiune de rutina: pentru ca mai apoi, sa se strecoare afara, sa se curete nitel distrat, sa-si vare pistolul in teaca, sa-mi zambeasca si sa demareze zgomotos spre ziar, lasand in urma o dara prelunga pe asfalt. Ca si cum teama ar fi incetat sa iti mai savarseasca in taina liturghia intunecata, tasnind din tenebrele clandestinitatii spre a deveni substanta organica si luminoasa, lava fierbinte ce se topeste in atmosfera impletindu-se cu parfumul florilor de portocali. Teama ca totul va disparea.

È chiaro che questa società colpevolizza chiunque usi la propria avvenenza per guadagnarsi una posizione. Di qui la teo- ria, rassicurante per tutti i falliti, che le ragazze belle siano stupide. Teoria che, se fossi una ragazza bella, non vedrei l’ora di sfatare. Fosse anche aprendo la bocca in una tele- vendita.

Ricoeur describes forgetting as both an active and a passive act: the individual’s responsibility to keep the event remembered is just as important as the changing political environment that is beyond the individual’s control. Neglect, or an unwillingness to revisit the past, constitutes an active act of forgetting. The responsibility of the individual to give an account (or testimony) of a significant event, and the need to remember and mourn the past, form some of Ricoeur’s ethical concerns in Memory, History, Forgetting.

Mis filmes son una mirada que ve en todas direcciones. Es una mirada esférica que engloba el todo, lo desarticula, mueve, sacude; la materia entera se fusiona al movimiento de la mirada. La mirada se disuelve en la forma e viceversa.

I was born from an articulation, from the meeting of two cultures, two different visions of the world and the language that emerged from an amalgamation of two pasts, two histories. The blood intoxicates the soul. The image of my films is the rhythm of my blood.

...I make a tactile cinema. The gaze is extended by the arms and the hand. My gaze becomes fierce and I tear the body to pieces. I tear it to the last fiber: my gesture is that of a ferocious beast.

Wasn’t a woman badly hurt when a wild boar suddenly charged her from behind?

You know, it’d be a lot easier to hate her if she wasn’t so hot,” Niya huffed. “You say that,” Teo panted, “about everyone.” “It’s not my fault we’re all really hot, Teo!

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people, people in every room: Clare, Viviana, Clare’s new father Gordon, Teo’s parents, my parents, Rose sleeping her fragrant sleep a few feet away. “We’ll get hotel rooms,” everyone had offered, but we told them all, “No. Stay.” Sometimes, I think I would like to have us under one roof, all of us, everybody here, which makes no sense, of course. No house is big enough to hold us, with all of our tensions, all our wariness and histories. But imagine the nights, those separate breathings, everyone within my reach and safe, everyone together. I stand here on this spring day in the center of my life. Chaos, din, and beauty. For a moment, I am still. Then “Cornelia,” cuts across the noise, and because one of them is calling me, I go. Acknowledgments I am so grateful to the following people: Brilliant agent and true friend Jennifer Carlson, whose instincts, heart, and good sense never stop amazing me; My editor, Laurie Chittenden, kind, tenacious, and wise, for making me feel that my books and I were born under a lucky star; Everyone at Morrow, especially Lisa Gallagher, Lynn Grady, Will Hinton, Tavia Kowalchuck, Debbie Stier, Sharyn Rosenblum, Dee Dee DeBartlo, Emily Fink, and Mike Brennan; Susan Davis, Dan Fertel, Annie Pilson (seeker of blooming hydrangeas, mellow light, and the perfect shot), and my sister Kristina de los Santos, the sharp and generous early readers without whom I

Waktu tidak menunggu manusia tetapi kita dapat membingkai waktu dalam foto dan kata, membingkai waktu demi anak cucu kita.

What is it like to burn as the humans do? When one’s existence can be parcelled and measured in the units that the humans use, what was it? Time. Units of time. Ability to calculate, and live through countable units of time in motion. The physicality of time passing, when one’s lifespan is short enough to be able to tangibly experience the passage of time.

Teo awoke with a fright. He’d had a nightmare in which he was chasing Clarice through a dark forest, and the images were still very vivid in his mind. He looked at her on the bed and took her pulse. Clarice was still asleep, indifferent to chases in unfriendly settings. The sheets were laced with her scent. It was delicious, magical. They had spent their first night together. Patricia

Ah… Teo, essa história de amor incondicional… é de uma ingenuidade quase maligna. Porque o amor é natureza viva e, como tudo o que é vivo, tem suas exigências. Não tenho ilusões: é preciso, sim, fazer alguma coisa para sermos amados. Assim como é preciso fazer alguma coisa para sermos odiados. Assim como não fazer nada é, de incerto modo, já estar fazendo alguma coisa.

I was destined to marry someone like Clarissa Teo. Not anyone else.

To confront inequality is to confront this incoherent ideology, & ultimately to confront ourselves, our incoherent selves.

But a writer cannot draw her readers into an uncomfortable conversation if she herself does not carry the discomfort so palpably.

Dignity is like clean air. You do not notice its absence unless it is short supply. You do not realize how much you need it, how important it is to you, until you don't have it. We could also say, idealism is like clean air.

It is about how seeing poverty entails confronting inequality. It is about how acknowledging poverty & inequality leads to uncomfortable revelations about our society & ourselves. And it is about how once we see, we cannot, must not, unsee.

In situating the lives & experiences of a group within the larger social context, the book is an ethnography of inequality rather than a catalog of poverty. Why ethnography? Studies of inequality often treat it primarily as a question of numerical trends. It is that of course, but it is also, importantly, experiential. The everyday experiences of inequality are crucial for shedding light on how it is enacted & the price paid by people low on the social hierarchy.