Thai Quotes

Keep driving," said a soft voice in my ear. "She will not bite if you keep driving." Fuck that. Fuck that idea like the fucking Captain of the Thai Fuck Team fucking at the fucking Tour de Fuck.

RAK MAK MAK

I’ve heard 14 year old meth addicted thai prostitutes say more prescient things than the woman that was supposedly a “professor

They do it in Thai restaurants in London. You ask for a drink, and it comes in a glass with loads of seaweed and pebbles in it like a scene from Finding Nemo.

I'd sit around dreaming that the boys I saw at shows or at work - the boys with silver earrings and big boots - would tell me I was beautiful, take me home and feed me Thai food or omelets and undress me and make love to me all night with the palm trees whispering windsongs about a tortured gleaming city and the moonlight like flame melting our candle bodies.

It's not right, man,” Jay said, following my stare. “Some guys have all the luck.” “What?” I finally broke my trance to look at Jay. “That guy, the drummer? Get this. He's a killer musician, he gets tons of chicks, his dad's loaded, and as if that wasn't enough, he's got a friggin' English accent!” I had to smile at Jay's mix of envy and admiration. “What's his name?” I hollered as the third song started. “Kaidan Rowe. Oh, and that's another thing. A cool name! Bastard.” “How do you spell it?” I asked. It sounded like Ky-den. Jay spelled it for me. “It's A-I, like Thai food,” he explained. Kai, like Thai, only yummier. Gah! Who was this girl invading my brain?

อนาตะ โอ อาอิชิ มาสุ ฉันรักคุณค่ะ โกโบริ อย่าถามนะคะว่ามันมากแค่ไหน คุณเป็นคนได้มันไปเป็นคนแรกและคนสุดท้าย การที่เรารักใครสักคน ถึงแม้จะทนทรมานเพราะคิดว่าไม่สมหวัง ก็ยังดีกว่าพยายามที่จะไม่รักคนอื่นที่เรารักเขามากเหลือเกิน ความทุกข์จากการได้รักไม่เท่าความทุกข์จากการพยายามไม่รัก...

May you always look as beautiful as this last time I saw you.

If she had learnt any lesson today it was that men were stupid, helpless creatures made needlessly cruel by their terror of showing their feelings.

They became desperate for an antidote, such as coziness & color. They tried to bury the obligatory white sofas under Thai-silk throw pillows of every rebellious, iridescent shade of Magenta, pink, and tropical green imaginable. But the architect returned, as he always does, like the conscience of a Calvinist, and he lectured them and hectored them and chucked the shimmering little sweet things out.

I missed the anonymity-the ability to run to the market without running into my third-grade teacher. I missed the nightlife-the knowledge that if I wanted to, there was always an occasion to get dressed up and head out for dinner and drinks. I missed the restaurants-the Asian, the Thai, the Italian the Indian. I was already tired of mashed potatoes and canned green beans. I missed the culture- the security that comes from being on the touring schedule of the major Broadway musicals. I missed the shopping-the funky boutiques, the eclectic shops, the browsing. I missed the city.

หัวใจมนุษย์เปลี่ยนไม่ได้ แต่ความคิดเห็นที่เปลี่ยนไปทำให้มนุษย์เราต้องยอมรับในสิ่งใหม่เข้ามา ความรักของมนุษย์ก็เหมือนกับดวงเทียน แม้จะมีดวงเก่าให้ความสว่างอยู่แล้ว เราก็จะต่อเชื้อจุดใหม่ได้เรื่อยไปคนจุดได้รับแสงสว่างเพิ่มขึ้น แต่ดวงเทียนถูกความร้อนเผาจนมอดไม้สลายตัวไปเอง

I wrote about the Thai sex industry and people ask me how many bar-girls I slept with. I've just completed a short story about a High School shooting but nobody thinks I shot anyone.

If you write about the Asian culture, be accurate between what is the difference between Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Malaysian, Thai, Taiwanese, Indonesian, and many individual Asian countries' cultures. While there are many similarities, the differences in cultures will set your novel apart from what is an authentic portrayal to what is a westernized version. - Kailin Gow on Asian Portrayals through Literature and Media

Satya anubhuti no visaya chhe. Nahitar aakhi Geeta sambhadya pachhi Arjun Krishna na thai jaat! To aevi ghatana kyanthi aavat?Aane Arjune ne Krishna ae Anugeeta kem sanbhadavi padat pachhi guidebook tarike.

Grief is a lake of perilously thin ice. You never know when you'll fall through it, or when you will fight your way back to the surface.

What’s your favorite food?” “Pad Thai,” he says. “Yours?” “Sushi. They’re almost the same thing.” “Not even close,” he says. “They’re both Asian food.

The trains [in a country] contain the essential paraphernalia of the culture: Thai trains have the shower jar with the glazed dragon on its side, Ceylonese ones the car reserved for Buddhist monks, Indian ones a vegetarian kitchen and six classes, Iranian ones prayer mats, Malaysian ones a noodle stall, Vietnamese ones bulletproof glass on the locomotive, and on every carriage of a Russian train there is a samovar. The railway bazaar with its gadgets and passengers represented the society so completely that to board it was to be challenged by the national character. At times it was like a leisurely seminar, but I also felt on some occasions that it was like being jailed and then assaulted by the monstrously typical.

Well, I started Tae Kwon Do pretty early before moving into Muay Thai—” “What’s that?” “Muay Thai? It’s this Thai kickboxing style where you use your whole body to put force into kicks and strikes.” “Oh, like the way I eat pizza.

The day you stop learning is the day you stop living...

Yes, I’d still have Sonia. And Zia. And so many other things that Karim no longer had. I’d still have the Arabian Sea and Sindhri mangoes, and crabbing with Captain Saleem, who had the most popular boat of all because his business card promoted ‘Garunteed no cockroach’, and, yes, there’s still be those bottles of creamy, flavored milk from Rahat Milk Corner and drives to the airport for coffee and warm sand at the beach and Thai soup at Yuan Tung; yes, Burns Road nihari; yes, student biryani; oh, yes, yes, yes, and all that, and all that again. So why complain? Why contemplate words like ‘longing’?

Fuck that. Fuck that idea like the fucking captain of the Thai Fuck Team fucking at the fucking Tour de Fuck.

Pad thai without peanuts is like buying a balloon and just getting the air.

I wonder if you can inherit evil.' 'Maybe. Or maybe it's not something you inherit, but something that runs through you, another person's trauma, their violence. It sits below the skin until you name it. And you root it out like a cancer.

The Purdey was not a Purdey but a straight-stocked long-barreled Scott live-pigeon full choke in both barrels thai I had bought from a lot of shotguns a dealer had brought down fron Udine to the Kechlers' villa in Codroipo.

I like having plans. I like keeping them. Even if said plan is to spend an uninterrupted hour watching Friday Night Lights. If I pass the day excited about solo time on the couch with a glass of wine, pad thai, and Tim Riggins, it's hard to shift gears and muster up enthusiasm for an invitation when it comes my way.

Hombres necios que acusáis a la mujer sin razón, sin ver que sois la ocasión de lo mismo que culpáis: si con ansia sin igual solicitáis su desdén, ¿por qué queréis que obren bien si las incitáis al mal? Cambatís su resistencia y luego, con gravedad, decís que fue liviandad lo que hizo la diligencia. Parecer quiere el denuedo de vuestro parecer loco el niño que pone el coco y luego le tiene miedo. Queréis, con presunción necia, hallar a la que buscáis, para pretendida, Thais, y en la posesión, Lucrecia. ¿Qué humor puede ser más raro que el que, falto de consejo, él mismo empaña el espejo, y siente que no esté claro? Con el favor y desdén tenéis condición igual, quejándoos, si os tratan mal, burlándoos, si os quieren bien. Siempre tan necios andáis que, con desigual nivel, a una culpáis por crüel y a otra por fácil culpáis. ¿Pues como ha de estar templada la que vuestro amor pretende, si la que es ingrata, ofende, y la que es fácil, enfada? Mas, entre el enfado y pena que vuestro gusto refiere, bien haya la que no os quiere y quejaos en hora buena. Dan vuestras amantes penas a sus libertades alas, y después de hacerlas malas las queréis hallar muy buenas. ¿Cuál mayor culpa ha tenido en una pasión errada: la que cae de rogada, o el que ruega de caído? ¿O cuál es más de culpar, aunque cualquiera mal haga: la que peca por la paga, o el que paga por pecar? Pues ¿para qué os espantáis de la culpa que tenéis? Queredlas cual las hacéis o hacedlas cual las buscáis. Dejad de solicitar, y después, con más razón, acusaréis la afición de la que os fuere a rogar. Bien con muchas armas fundo que lidia vuestra arrogancia, pues en promesa e instancia juntáis diablo, carne y mundo.

In the aftermath of the Edsa Revolution, Thai protesters filled the streets of Bangkok. Another man stood before another tank at Tiananmen Square. The Berlin Wall fell, with Germany thanking the Philippines for showing them the way. Once upon a time, we were heroes.

Thai Pasta

How do you spell it?” I asked. It sounded like Ky-den. Jay spelled it for me. “It’s A-I, like Thai food,” he explained.

Lotus of Siam," Shepard says. "It sounds like a temple. "It might be code," Baz says. Penny's on her phone. "It's a Thai restaurant...in a strip mall.

Bangkok is one of the world's great cities, all of which own red-light districts that find their ways into the pages of novels from time to time. The sex industry in Thailand is smaller per capita because the Thais are less coy about it than many other people. Most visitors to the kingdom enjoy wonderful vacations without coming across any evidence of sleaze at all

There is an old Thai proverb to the effect that it is worthwhile to try and help an elephant that is trying to stand up, but perfectly useless to help one that happens to be falling down.

Thai culture, while rare in its distrust of thinking, is not unique. The Inuit frown upon thinking. It indicates someone is either crazy or fiercely stubborn, neither of which is desirable.

I think there's something so heartbreakingly beautiful about boys -- their softness, their vulnerability, before the world tells them that they must be something else. What could the men who hurt us have been, had they been loved enough?

—Je porte dans mon coeur des villes innombrables et des déserts illimités. Et le mal, le mal et la mort, étendus sur cette immensité, la couvrent comme la nuit couvre la terre. Je suis à moi seul un univers de pensées mauvaises. Il parlait ainsi parce que le désir de la femme était en lui.

What I want is Ceres Station or Earth or Mars. You know what they have in New York? All-night diners with greasy food and crap coffee. I want to live on a world with all-night diners. And racetracks. And instant-delivery Thai food made from something I haven’t already eaten seven times in the last month.

What is beauty? why do we admire it? why do we endeavor to create it? [...] [B]eauty is any quality by which an object or a form pleases a beholder. Primarily and originally the object does not please the beholder because it is beautiful, but rather he calls it beautiful because it pleases him. Any object that satisfies desire will seem beautiful: food is beautiful - Thai's is not beautiful - to a starving man.

Thinking about anything interesting?” I shrug and force my brain to stay with safer topics. “I didn’t know you could feed a baby Thai food.” Babydoll shovels a handful of shredded food into her mouth and swings her legs happily. She talks with her mouth full and half falls out. “Ah-da-da-da-da-da.” There’s a noodle in her hair, and Kristin reaches out to pull it free. Geoff scoops some coconut rice onto his plate and tops it with a third serving of beef. “What do you think they feed babies in Thailand?” I aim a chopstick in his direction. “Point.” Rev smiles. “Some kid in Bangkok is probably watching his mom tear up a hamburger, saying ‘I didn’t know you could feed a baby American food.’” “Well,” says Geoff. “Culturally—” “It was a joke

And so this is why the whole world has suddenly taken an interest in whether Thai poultry workers get their flu shots: because the world wants to ensure that H5N1 stays as far away as possible from ordinary flu viruses.

Where the hell is your guard?" She shouts. Damn if she doesn't sound like Haley. "I'm tired." "Do I look like I care? You're getting the hell pounded out of you. If you want to tap out, then tap out, but don't stand there and let him win.

I let the silence stand, let the truth sink in, but then I hear my daughter's giant heaving cries. My heart feels as if it's getting grated, pink flesh littering the ground. Is there any pain larger than the echo of your child's heartbreak?

คนที่รักเราอย่างแท้จริงนั้น เขาสามารถจัดหลีกความใฝ่ฝันอย่างอื่นเพื่อเราได้เสมอ

We bar girls don't cheat on wives, we are just the rope that cheating husbands hang themselves with.

ចូរចងចាំថា ភាពល្អល្អិតល្អង ភាពប្រណិត កើតឡើងមកពីចំណុចតូចៗ ។ មនុស្សខ្វល់តែរឿងធំៗ មិនឆ្កឹះ មិនខាត់ចំណុចតូចៗឲ្យល្អ ដល់ទីបំផុតលទ្ធផលមិនជាទីគាប់ចិត្ត ។

For lunches he rode the elevator to the fourth-floor food court and ate Thai Town or Subway at a table tucked among potted tropicals, gazing past milling teenagers to the little penny-choked fountain where a copper salmon spat water into a chlorinated pool.

Indeed, there was a difference, one that any Thai person could spot instantly but not most foreigners. What the Thais know instinctively is that a smile, a real smile, is not located in the lips or any other part of the mouth. A real smile is in the eyes. To be precise, the orbicularis oculi muscles that surround each eye. We cannot fool these tiny muscles. They spring to life only for a genuine smile.

Willingness to take risks and reactions to failure differ dramatically around the world. In some cultures the downside for failure is so high that individuals are allergic to taking any risks at all. These cultures associate shame with any type of failure, and from a young age people are taught to follow a prescribed path with a well-defined chance of success, as opposed to trying anything that might lead to disappointment. In some places, such as Thailand, someone who has failed repeatedly might even choose to take on a brand-new name in an attempt to reboot his or her entire life. In fact, in the 2008 Olympics, a Thai weight lifter attributed her victory to changing her name before the games.

A lot of us are living like this, right? Taking cabs and ordering takeout Thai on payday, then walking the three blocks to work from the train with a bologna sandwich in our bags a week or so later? How does anyone do anything? Or, better than that, how does anyone do both the shit

Afghanistan doesn’t have the oil of the Khazars, he said, and we’re not ready to prostitute our women like the Thais. Unlike the Westerner’s, ours is not a spiritual poverty but a material one. When our needs in that area are met, we will not have the dilemma or crisis of Western man.

Les vierges entonnaient le cantique de Zacharie: -- Béni soit le Seigneur, le dieu d'Israël. Brusquement la voix s'arrêta dans leur gorge. Elles avaient vu la face du moine et elles fuyaient d'épouvante en criant: -- Un vampire! un vampire! Il était devenu si hideux qu'en passant la main sur son visage, il sentit sa laideur.

Nơi người đàn bà, tất cả đều là ẩn ngữ: nhưng ẩn ngữ bí mật ấy có một lời giải đáp: sự hoài thai. Đàn ông là một phương tiện cho đàn bà: mục tiêu đàn bà nhắm tới luôn luôn là đứa con. Nhưng đàn bà là cái gì đối với đàn ông? Người mang dòng máu đàn ông đích thực có hai khát vọng: sự nguy hiểm và trò chơi. Chính vì thế hắn thèm muốn người đàn bà như một món đồ chơi nguy hiểm nhất. Đàn ông nuôi dưỡng cho chiến chinh, và đàn bà, cho sự giải trí của chiến sĩ; mọi điều khác đều là điên rồ, ngu xuẩn.

I briefly dated a software developer. We went to this wonderful restaurant a couple of times and had this delicious chicken with these diverse, tangy sauces—artichoke garlic aioli, Thai sweet chili—and we talked about whatever while I ate this chicken and dipped the pieces into the otherworldly sauces. Meanwhile I thought, God, I think I really like him. Then we went back again and had the same chicken and sauces—and I thought, God, I feel like I’m really falling for him. Then we went on a third date to a different restaurant and I suddenly realized—now that the chicken and sauces had been removed—he was kind of boring and it was just the tasty chicken that I loved. I looooooooooove chicken.

A Philippine-brothel-owning member of the House of Lords was staying at the house of a Spanish Chief Inspector of Police. The Lord was being watched by an American CIA operative who was staying at the house of an English convicted sex offender. The CIA operative was sharing accommodation with an IRA terrorist. The IRA terrorist was discussing a Moroccan hashish deal with a Georgian pilot of Colombia's Medellín Cartel. Organising these scenarios was an ex-MI6 agent, currently supervising the sale of thirty tons of Thai weed in Canada and at whose house could be found Pakistan's major supplier of hashish. Attempting to understand the scenarios was a solitary DEA agent. The stage was set for something.

Lembre-se de que o segredo de toda execução é a revisão. É importante revisar a agenda toda noite antes de dormir para tomar conhecimento de como será o dia seguinte.

Our lives slid together like tectonic plates, ever so infinitesimally, until we couldn't picture them apart.

In Thai, to say sorry was to ask for punishment that wouldn't ordinarily be meted out.

Now that we know that Spring Roll is a girl, we should probably think about setting up her room. Gabriel kept his eyes on the road as he drove the Volvo one Saturday morning in May. We should also talk about names. That sounds good. Maybe you should think about what you want and we can go shopping. Julia turned to look at him. Now? I said I'd take you to lunch, and we can do that. But afterward, we need to start thinking about Spring Roll's room. We want it to be attractive, but functional. Something comfortable for you and for her, but not juvenile. She's a baby, Gabriel. Her stuff is going to be juvenile. You know what I mean. I want it to be elegant and not look like a preschool. Good grief. Julia fought a grin as she began imagining what the Professor would design. (Argyle patterns, dark wood, and chocolate brown leather immediately came to mind.) He cleared his throat. I might have done some searching on the Internet. Oh, really? From where? Restoration Hardware? Of course not. He bristled. Their things wouldn't be appropriate for a baby's room. So where then? He gazed at her triumphantly. Pottery Barn Kids. Julia groaned. We've become yuppies. Gabriel stared at her in mock horror. Why do you say that? We're driving a Volvo and talking about shopping at Pottery Barn. First of all, Volvos have an excellent safety rating and they're more attractive than a minivan. Secondly, Pottery Barn's furniture happens to be both functional and aesthetically pleasing. I'd like to take you to one their stores so you can see for yourself. As long as we get Thai food first. Now it was Gabriel's turn to roll his eyes. Fine. But we're ordering takeout and taking it to the park for a picnic. And I'm having Indian food, instead. If I see another plate of pad Thai, I'm going to lose it. Julia burst into peals of laughter.

It means something, I think, when Thai people learn how to cook Vietnamese noodles for Hong Kongborn teenagers, and as big a fan as I am of authenticity, it probably means something good.

He had come home late with take-out Thai and slammed into the sofa and tried to watch a movie, but kept drifting from it to the screen of his laptop. This was part of Corporation 9592’s strategy; they had hired psychologists, invested millions in a project to sabotage movies—yes, the entire medium of cinema—to get their customers/players/addicts into a state of mind where they simply could not focus on a two-hour-long chunk of filmed entertainment without alarm bells going off in their medullas telling them that they needed to log on to T’Rain and see what they were missing.

I have stress. Of course I have stress. But there are some situations we can’t control. You can’t change things outside yourself, so you change your attitude. I think that approach works for the Thai people. Like when you’re pissed at someone, and you can’t do anything about it. You feel you want to hit them, but you can’t, so you take a deep breath and let it go. Otherwise, it will ruin your day.

Back in my hotel room, nestled in the middle of the bed with a takeout carton of chicken pad Thai in my lap, I could have cried tears of relief. There were no people and no police and no beeping hospital equipment.

This, I realize, is what life is like for most Thais. They are not in control of their fates. A terrifying thought, yes, but also a liberating one. For if nothing you do matters, then life suddenly feels a lot less heavy. It’s just one big game. And as any ten-year-old will tell you, the best games are the ones where everyone gets to play. And where you can play again and again, for free. Lots of cool special effects are nice, too.

He was really quite addicted to her face, and yet for the longest time he could not remember it at all, it being so much brighter than sunlight on a pool of water that he could only recall that blinding brightness; then after awhile, since she refused to give him her photograph, he began to practice looking away for a moment when he was still with her, striving to uphold in his inner vision what he had just seen (her pale, serious, smooth and slender face, oh, her dark hair, her dark hair), so that after immense effort he began to retain something of her likeness although the likeness was necessarily softened by his fallibility into a grainy, washed-out photograph of some bygone court beauty, the hair a solid mass of black except for parallel streaks of sunlight as distinct as the tines of a comb, the hand-tinted costume sweetly faded, the eyes looking sadly, gently through him, the entire image cob-webbed by a sheet of semitranslucent Thai paper whose white fibers twisted in the lacquered space between her and him like gorgeous worms; in other words, she remained eternally elsewhere.

Oddly, they were never sanguine about their own combat prowess. Most of them, officers and men, felt a deep respect for, and almost an inferiority before, the various professionals that comprised the other U.N. troops in Korea. Their praise of the allies—the French, Thais, Turks, and Abyssinians—was far removed from the grousing about allies that had marked most previous wars. Most Americans, privately, would admit the U.N. troops were better than they were.

...Quả thật vậy, khuya, sau khi tắt đèn, vừa nhắm mắt lại chú đã thấy mình ở một nơi xa lạ. Mọi thứ đều sáng choang. “Chào anh, anh đến rồi à!” Ai gọi mình thế nhỉ? Chú quay lưng lại. Ồ, một cô gái xinh đẹp. Nụ cười của nàng tươi như hoa. “Vâng, chào cô. Cô ơi, đây là đâu?” “Còn ở đâu nữa, anh!” Chú nhìn quanh quất một hồi mới đập vào mắt tấm biển to đùng trên cao đề mấy chữ: “Câu lạc bộ Những tâm hồn đồng điệu”. A ha! Chú reo lên. Đúng như mình nghĩ. Nhưng chú cứ vờ vĩnh: “Hôm nay chưa phải là chủ nhật mà…” “Đã gọi là đồng điệu thì không cần “đến hẹn lại lên”, anh ạ!” Ôi tuyệt vời! Trúng y boong ý chú! Cơ mặt chú dãn duỗi hẳn ra, thoải mái như ở nhà. “Đúng đúng! Thế những người khác đâu rồi cô nhỉ?” Nàng lại nở nụ cười, ánh mắt hướng vào bên trong. Khung cảnh sáng đến lóa mắt dần dịu đi, nhường chỗ cho nào bàn nào ghế. Và vô số con người có mặt ở đây tự lúc nào. Chú bước chậm rãi qua cánh cửa lớn, ôi chao bầu không khí gì thế này? Ập vào chú là cảm giác hết sức vui vẻ gần gũi. Bên tai phảng phất điệu nhạc du dương cùng những tiếng trò chuyện nói cười hoan hỉ khoan thai. “Chào người anh em!” Một anh chàng vừa trông thấy chú đã vội chạy ra tay bắt mặt mừng. “Xin chào! Ở đây đông vui quá. Thế mà tôi không biết.” “Tất nhiên rồi. Chắc chắn anh sẽ rất vui khi tham gia câu lạc bộ này.” Anh ta kéo chú vào một bàn có ba bốn người đang bàn luận sôi nổi vấn đề gì đấy. Mấy người kia trông thấy chú liền reo lên: “Ôi lâu quá không gặp, ngồi xuống đi bạn hiền của tôi!” Bạn hiền của tôi? Lâu quá không gặp? Quái, chú đã gặp họ bao giờ đâu mà bảo lâu với chẳng nhanh. Đang nghĩ nghĩ ngợi ngợi thì anh chàng kia đã lên tiếng: “Anh không phải băn khoăn. Ở đây chúng tôi đón tiếp người mới đều như thế cả.” Thích thật, chú cười toe toét, ngồi vào bàn cùng với họ. “Anh có thích hát không?” “Không!” – Chú lắc đầu quầy quậy. “Vậy anh thích nhảy không?” “Cũng không!” – Chú nhún vai. Mấy người trong bàn hết nhìn chú lại quay sang nhìn nhau. Nhưng rất nhanh để một người nữa nêu thêm câu hỏi: “Thế ắt hẳn anh rất mê đọc sách, và tất nhiên là văn chương?” “Không!” “A thôi tôi biết rồi! Anh rất đam mê hội họa!” – Tiếng nói khác vang lên. “Thưa, không đâu…” Mất chú ít thời giờ nữa trước khi họ đồng thanh reo to: “Lần này đảm bảo chính xác! Anh tôn thờ sắc đẹp, anh thích phụ nữ, trúng phóc rồi chứ gì!” Ý họ nói chú mê gái. Chú cũng chẳng rõ nữa. Có thể có hoặc có thể không. Chỉ biết từ lâu lắm rồi chú ở mãi một mình. Không hẹn hò, không cặp bồ cặp bịch, không yêu ai, quen ai, gặp ai… Sắc mặt chú xụ xuống trông thấy, mấy người kia hoảng quá vội vã trấn an. “Ôi ông anh ơi, đã đến đây là phải vui vẻ chứ. Vui lên đi nào, đời có là bao nhiêu. Tôi dắt anh sang chỗ đám các cô trẻ đẹp nhé!” Lặng lẽ bước theo người dẫn đường, đầu óc chú mông lung, mắt chắm chúi theo từng bước chân mình. Chú chẳng nghĩ được lâu hơn khi giọng nói ngọt ngào thân quen từ đâu rót tuột vào tai, vội vã ngẩng đầu lên. “Anh không thoải mái à?” Chính là cô gái ban nãy ở ngoài cửa. Lạ thật, hẳn là chú đã từng gặp nàng đâu đó rồi, đoan chắc nhưng vắt óc mãi không nhớ ra. “Không! Tôi thích lắm…” - Chú lúng túng. “Vậy anh ngồi xuống đây, thư giãn nào…” Nàng kéo chú ngồi xuống ghế, nháy mắt với anh chàng kia. Anh ta vẫy tay rồi nhanh chóng mất hút vào đám đông chộn rộn. “Thế nhé. Tôi giao ma mới này cho cô đấy.” Còn lại chú và nàng. Không gian bây giờ cảm tưởng như chỉ có hai người. Thật lạ lùng, đám đông dường như đang dạt đi, ra xa, xa mãi, xa tít. Nàng tiếp tục nở nụ cười tươi như hoa: “Sao anh lại muốn tham gia câu lạc bộ này?” Câu hỏi đến với chú bất ngờ. Tại sao? Ừ nhỉ, tại sao thế? Tại sao chú không mảy may chút xíu đắn đo tức tốc gọi điện đăng ký tham gia vào chốn đây. Chú còn nhớ tâm trạng mình đã hết sức mừng rỡ như vớ được vàng khi biết được trên đời tồn tại một nơi tuyệt vời thế này. “Bởi vì… từ lâu tôi cứ ngỡ… chẳng bao giờ có cái gọi là câu lạc bộ Những tâm hồn đồng điệu…” – Giọng chú chùng hẳn xuống, cổ họng thấy nghèn nghẹn...

Look, I know love has nothing to do with your background or career, but seriously, when a director of marketing starts considering dates from janitors, something is wrong.” An electrician who works out regularly, loves to read, and enjoys Thai food—her favorite.

Mesoamerica would deserve its place in the human pantheon if its inhabitants had only created maize, in terms of harvest weight the world’s most important crop. But the inhabitants of Mexico and northern Central America also developed tomatoes, now basic to Italian cuisine; peppers, essential to Thai and Indian food; all the world’s squashes (except for a few domesticated in the United States); and many of the beans on dinner plates around the world. One writer has estimated that Indians developed three-fifths of the crops now in cultivation, most of them in Mesoamerica. Having secured their food supply, Mesoamerican societies turned to intellectual pursuits. In a millennium or less, a comparatively short time, they invented their own writing, astronomy, and mathematics, including the zero.

After her mother died and Adrienne and her father took up with wanderlust, Adrienne became exposed to new foods. For two years they lived in Maine, where in the summertime they ate lobster and white corn and small wild blueberries. They moved to Iowa for Adrienne's senior year of high school and they ate pork tenderloin fixed seventeen different ways. Adrienne did her first two years of college at Indiana University in Bloomington, where she lived above a Mexican cantina, which inspired a love of tamales and anything doused with habanero sauce. Then she transferred to Vanderbilt in Nashville, where she ate the best fried chicken she'd ever had in her life. And so on, and so on. Pad thai in Bangkok, stone crabs in Palm Beach, buffalo meat in Aspen. As she sat listening to Thatcher, she realized that though she knew nothing about restaurants, at least she knew something about food.

The Thai people are pathologically shy. Combine that with a reluctance to lose face by giving a wrong answer, and it makes for a painfully long [ESL] class. Usually I ask the students to work on exercises in small groups, and then I move around and check their progress. But for days like today, when I'm grading on participation, speaking up in public is a necessary evil. "Jao," I say to a man in my class. "You own a pet store, and you want to convince Jaidee to buy a pet." I turn to a second man. "Jaidee, you do not want to buy that pet. Let's hear your conversation." They stand up, clutching their papers. "This dog is reccommended," Jao begins. "I have one already," Jaidee replies. "Good job!" I encourage. "Jao, give him a reason why he should buy your dog." "This dog is alive," Jao adds. Jaidee shrugs. "Not everyone wants a pet that is alive." Well, not all days are successes...

Maybe then she would understand how love cannot possibly be simple, or easy, despite all the adages to the contrary. When we chose to chisel pieces of our heart away to offer to another person, we must always make decisions. What flaws will we life to the light? And which will we bury, in the hopes of protecting ourselves and others?

Love can cast a light like no other.

Then I think: Maybe that’s the root of all my problems. With men, with life. I’m always asking what they see in me, and never considering what I see in myself.

For him and so many men, violence was a birthright.

Embarrassment? You know nothing about what it’s like to feel shame until you have a child that defies you. You stupid fucking

the only thing he’s tweeted was from over a month ago: Does anyone get weird looks when they ask for “real spicy, not just white people spicy” at Indian restaurants? (This got three likes, and the following response from one RichardBurns08: Me too. Been with my Thai wife for three years now, and they still think this gaijin can’t handle it. Love to prove them wrong!)

Her love is not flawless, a solitaire sparkling from a smooth hand. Rather it reminds me of a geode - rough and worn by time yet cracked, occasionally, to reveal a vibrant cluster of crystals.

Why are you so mad at me?" Norris shouted back. The neighbors could definitely hear them now. His throat dry, but he didn't care. "I'm sorry if I interrupted one of your dates, or whatever, but I DID NOT DO ANYTHING! Ground me for leaving prom, ground me for drinking, but I didn't drive, I didn't have unprotected sex, I didn't even get high! You know that! You're supposed to be on my side here, Mom!" "NO!" she hurled back. "Not on this, Norris" I can't be!" "Why the hell not?!" "You know damn well! Trayvon Martin," she began. "Tamir Rice, Cameron Tillman, so many others that I can't remember all their names anymore!" Norris knew too well. It was almost a ritual, even back in Canada. They would sit as a family and watch quietly. "Be smart out there," Felix used to say. "You're not a handsome blue-eyed little Ken doll who's going to get a slap on the wrist every time he messes up. That, tonight?" she said, pointing to the door. "Do you know what that was? Do you?!" "I-" "That was a fucking coin flip, Norris. That was the coin landing heads." Her finger dug into his chest, punctuating every other word she was saying, spittle flying at his face. "Heads. A good one. Officer Miller, who has four sons, and luckily, mercifully, thank Jesus saw someone else's kid back-talking him tonight." She exhaled, her breath Thai-food hot against his face. "Tails." Her voice broke. "Tails, and I would be at the morgue right now identifying you! With some man lecturing me about our blood alcohol level and belligerent language and how you had it coming.

As he spoke these words, a giant wave, just like the one in Katsushika Hokusai’s, “The Great Wave off Kanagawa,” rippled in below the lofty ledge. Chaiya saw a thousand images in a second. “Brothers!” he shouted. “Brothers! Brothers! Brothers!…” His voice echoed and vibrated through their hearts. They were all wide awake. “The presence in the cave will swallow us up,” Chaiya thought.

Nada acontece como milagre. Imaginar um resultado desejado e preencher o tempo e o espaço que existe entre quem você é hoje e o resultado que você quer atingir demanda foco, disciplina, planejamento.

Imagine that the brain and the genitals are a couple of friends on vacation together, wandering down the street deciding where to have dinner. If they're women, it goes like this: The genitals notice any restaurant they pass, whether it's Thai food or pub grub, fast food or gourmet (while ignoring all the museums and shops),and say, "This is a restaurant. We could eat here." She has no strong opinion, she's just good at spotting restaurants. Meanwhile, the brain is assessing all the contextual factors [...] to decide whether she wants to try a place. "This place isn't delicious smelling enough," or "This place isn't clean enough," or "I'm not in the mood for pizza." The genitals might even notice a pet store and say, "There's pet food in here, I guess..." and the brain rolls her eyes and keeps walking. [...] Now, if the friends are men, it goes like this: The genitals notice only specific restaurants -- diners, say -- and don't notice any restaurants that aren't diners. Once they find a diner, the brain says, "A diner! I love diners," and the genitals agree, "This is a restaurant, we could eat here," unless there's some pretty compelling reason not to, like a bunch of drunks brawling outside.

1. Identify the meaning you give to a situation. 2. Express using the following: “When _____________________________ (insert the situation) happened, I interpreted it to mean ______________________________ (insert the meaning you gave to it), and I felt ___________________________________ (insert the emotion you experienced).” 3. Identify what you need from your loved one and the strategy they can use to meet that need better. 4. Express using the following: “I need you to _____________________________ (insert what you need). You can do this by ___________________________________ (insert the “how”/strategy they can use).

Once you have conquered one challenge, you begin to wonder: What else have you told yourself is impossible? What else is there that you believed you could not overcome? Maybe the idea of impossible is only in your mind.

On the basis of an offhand comment Aida made about curry, I spent weeks reconstructing a recipe by the world's best Indian chef, twenty-two spices compressed into a thumb-sized cookie that liquefied against the roof of the mouth. I candied summer's last fruits and presented them, tournéed to jewel-like facets, on a length of velvet. I was all night tinkering with a pad thai, wanting Aida to experience, as I had in an alley of old Bangkok, this precise magic of sugar and lime, that species of anchovy.

Everything feels half written. Like a storybook with invisible ink. It disappears before I figure out what I want the future to look like.' 'Not all stories have to be neat. Some can be messy and unfinished, and we can let other people pick up the line for us.

Perhaps I can't face the safe, because it is Bà Ngoai's final gift, and like the last bite of ice cream, I draw out the anticipation, prolonging the pleasure. Except in this case, I know the discovery will be a mix of joy and grief. As everything is these days.

ultimately, most of us would choose a rich and meaningful life over an empty, happy one, if such a thing is even possible. “Misery serves a purpose,” says psychologist David Myers. He’s right. Misery alerts us to dangers. It’s what spurs our imagination. As Iceland proves, misery has its own tasty appeal. A headline on the BBC’s website caught my eye the other day. It read: “Dirt Exposure Boosts Happiness.” Researchers at Bristol University in Britain treated lung-cancer patients with “friendly” bacteria found in soil, otherwise known as dirt. The patients reported feeling happier and had an improved quality of life. The research, while far from conclusive, points to an essential truth: We thrive on messiness. “The good life . . . cannot be mere indulgence. It must contain a measure of grit and truth,” observed geographer Yi-Fu Tuan. Tuan is the great unheralded geographer of our time and a man whose writing has accompanied me throughout my journeys. He called one chapter of his autobiography “Salvation by Geography.” The title is tongue-in-cheek, but only slightly, for geography can be our salvation. We are shaped by our environment and, if you take this Taoist belief one step further, you might say we are our environment. Out there. In here. No difference. Viewed that way, life seems a lot less lonely. The word “utopia” has two meanings. It means both “good place” and “nowhere.” That’s the way it should be. The happiest places, I think, are the ones that reside just this side of paradise. The perfect person would be insufferable to live with; likewise, we wouldn’t want to live in the perfect place, either. “A lifetime of happiness! No man could bear it: It would be hell on Earth,” wrote George Bernard Shaw, in his play Man and Superman. Ruut Veenhoven, keeper of the database, got it right when he said: “Happiness requires livable conditions, but not paradise.” We humans are imminently adaptable. We survived an Ice Age. We can survive anything. We find happiness in a variety of places and, as the residents of frumpy Slough demonstrated, places can change. Any atlas of bliss must be etched in pencil. My passport is tucked into my desk drawer again. I am relearning the pleasures of home. The simple joys of waking up in the same bed each morning. The pleasant realization that familiarity breeds contentment and not only contempt. Every now and then, though, my travels resurface and in unexpected ways. My iPod crashed the other day. I lost my entire music collection, nearly two thousand songs. In the past, I would have gone through the roof with rage. This time, though, my anger dissipated like a summer thunderstorm and, to my surprise, I found the Thai words mai pen lai on my lips. Never mind. Let it go. I am more aware of the corrosive nature of envy and try my best to squelch it before it grows. I don’t take my failures quite so hard anymore. I see beauty in a dark winter sky. I can recognize a genuine smile from twenty yards. I have a newfound appreciation for fresh fruits and vegetables. Of all the places I visited, of all the people I met, one keeps coming back to me again and again: Karma Ura,

Look for a wave shaped like an A. An A. Hmm. I saw Zs and H's and Vs. I saw the Hindi alphabet and the Thai alphabet. I saw Arabic script. I saw no As. Finally I gave up, and chose the next wave that would have me, which turned out to be a poor move. There is a moment, shortly after one accepts the imminence of one's demise, when it occurs that you could be elsewhere: that if you simply left the house a little later, or lingered over a Mai Tai, you would not be here now confronting your mortality. This moment occurred just as I encountered a very large (from my perspective), rare and surprising wave. A wave that was pitching and howling, and it really had no business being where it was - underneath me. The demon wave picked me up, and after that I have only a a vague recollection of spinning limbs, a weaponized surf board, and chaotic white water, churning together over a reef. I decided surfing was not for me. I generally no longer engage in adrenaline rush activities that carry with them a strong likely hood of life-altering injury. (p. 138)

Kinh Từ Bi Karaṇīyamettasutta Hiền nhân cầu an lạc Nên huân tu pháp lành Có nghị lực chơn chất Ngay thẳng và nhu thuận Hiền hoà không kiêu mạn Sống dễ dàng tri túc Thanh đạm không rộn ràng Lục căn luôn trong sáng Trí tuệ càng hiển minh Tự trọng không quyến niệm Không làm việc ác nhỏ Mà bậc trí hiền chê Nguyện thái bình an lạc Nguyện tất cả sanh linh Tràn đầy muôn hạnh phúc Với muôn loài chúng sanh Không phân phàm hay thánh Lớn nhỏ hoặc trung bình Thấp cao hay dài ngắn Tế thô không đồng đẳng Hữu hình hoặc vô hình Ðã sanh hoặc chưa sanh Gần xa không kể xiết Nguyện tất cả sanh linh Tràn đầy muôn hạnh phúc Ðừng làm hại lẫn nhau Chớ khinh rẻ người nào Ở bất cứ nơi đâu Ðừng vì niệm sân si Hoặc hiềm hận trong lòng Mà mong người đau khổ Hãy mở rộng tình thương Hy sinh như từ mẫu Suốt đời lo che chở Ðứa con một của mình Hãy phát tâm vô lượng Ðến tất cả sanh linh Từ bi gieo cùng khắp Cả thế gian khổ hải Trên dưới và quanh mình Không hẹp hòi oan trái Không hờn giận căm thù Khi đi đứng ngồi nằm Bao giờ còn tỉnh thức An trú chánh niệm nầy Phạm hạnh chính là đây Ai từ bỏ kiến chấp Khéo nghiêm trì giới hạnh Thành tựu được chánh trí Không ái nhiễm dục trần Không còn thai sanh nữa.

Soba noodles with eggplant and mango This dish has become my mother’s ultimate cook-to-impress fare. And she is not the only one, as I have been informed by many readers. It is the refreshing nature of the cold buckwheat noodles the sweet sharpness of the dressing and the muskiness of mango that make it so pleasing. Serve this as a substantial starter or turn it into a light main course by adding some fried firm tofu. Serves 6 1/2 cup rice vinegar 3 tbsp sugar 1/2 tsp salt 2 garlic cloves, crushed 1/2 fresh red chile, finely chopped 1 tsp toasted sesame oil grated zest and juice of 1 lime 1 cup sunflower oil 2 eggplants, cut into 3/4-inch dice 8 to 9 oz soba noodles 1 large ripe mango, cut into 3/8-inch dice or into 1/4-inch-thick strips 12/3 cup basil leaves, chopped (if you can get some use Thai basil, but much less of it) 21/2 cups cilantro leaves, chopped 1/2 red onion, very thinly sliced In a small saucepan gently warm the vinegar, sugar and salt for up to 1 minute, just until the sugar dissolves. Remove from the heat and add the garlic, chile and sesame oil. Allow to cool, then add the lime zest and juice. Heat up the sunflower oil in a large pan and shallow-fry the eggplant in three or four batches. Once golden brown remove to a colander, sprinkle liberally with salt and leave there to drain. Cook the noodles in plenty of boiling salted water, stirring occasionally. They should take 5 to 8 minutes to become tender but still al dente. Drain and rinse well under running cold water. Shake off as much of the excess water as possible, then leave to dry on a dish towel. In a mixing bowl toss the noodles with the dressing, mango, eggplant, half of the herbs and the onion. You can now leave this aside for 1 to 2 hours. When ready to serve add the rest of the herbs and mix well, then pile on a plate or in a bowl.

Each side of the sign depicted an anthropomorphized brown foot. “Sad Foot” had a Band-Aid on its big toe, bloodshot eyes, a mouth gaping in pain, crutches, hands and feet. “Happy Foot” was miraculously healed through the power of podiatry: two thumbs up, a manic smile, and the feet of the foot in pristine white high-tops. The sign was suspended high above the parking lot of a Comfort Inn, whose ground floor contained a Thai vegetarian restaurant and the podiatrist in question. The sign pirouetted slowly, making approximately one revolution every twelve seconds. Legend—though perhaps this was too grand a word for a spinning sign over a budget hotel—had it that whichever side of the sign you saw first would determine how the rest of your day went.

WHENEVER I WOKE UP, night or day, I’d shuffle through the bright marble foyer of my building and go up the block and around the corner where there was a bodega that never closed. I’d get two large coffees with cream and six sugars each, chug the first one in the elevator on the way back up to my apartment, then sip the second one slowly while I watched movies and ate animal crackers and took trazodone and Ambien and Nembutal until I fell asleep again. I lost track of time in this way. Days passed. Weeks. A few months went by. When I thought of it, I ordered delivery from the Thai restaurant across the street, or a tuna salad platter from the diner on First Avenue. I’d wake up to find voice messages on my cell phone from salons or spas confirming appointments I’d booked in my sleep. I always called back to

That mental strength under pressure is absolutely critical for the long, deep dives that Rick and John tackle. When you are hundreds of yards into a sump, you are so isolated from the basic needs of survival that you may as well be on the surface of the moon. It’s no wonder, then, that sump divers seem to possess the same qualities as astronauts: the ability to prepare thoroughly, solve problems quickly, and keep cool in an emergency.

I ordered Pad See Ew from the Thai place, ate half of it, watched the 1995 remake of Sabrina starring Harrison Ford, took another shower, downed the last of my Ambien, and found the porn channel again. I turned the volume down low, shifted my body away from the screen so that the grunts and moans could lull me. Still, I didn’t sleep. Life could go on forever like this, I thought. Life would, if I didn’t take action. I fingered myself on the sofa under the blanket, came twice, then turned the TV off. I got up and raised the blinds and sat in a daze for a while and watched the sun go down—was it possible?—then I rewound Sabrina and watched it again and ate the rest of the Pad See Ew. I watched Driving Miss Daisy and Sling Blade. I took a Nembutal and drank half a bottle of Robitussin. I watched The World According to Garp and Stargate and A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors and Moonstruck and Flashdance, then Dirty Dancing and Ghost, then Pretty Woman.

Tuy rằng chẳng ai lại hoàn toàn thật thà với ai bao giờ, điều ấy thì ai cũng thừa biết, vậy mà người nào cũng cứ ao ước sẽ có kẻ thật thà với mình thì có lạ không. Khôi hài nhất là khi ta thấy ai có vẻ hơi thật thà với ta, chỉ hơi hơi thôi, ta cũng lấy làm sung sướng lắm! Những kẻ đương lăn lóc trong tình trường cũng vẫn có cái ảo tưởng là đôi bên hoàn toàn thật thà với nhau... tựa hồ sự thực làm cho ta sung sướng như ta trúng số độc đắc! Này, các anh, thôi đừng ai nên để cái lòng thật thà của người ta yêu đi kèm với hạnh phúc! Nó tai hại lắm. Nó chỉ phá hoại chớ chẳng kiến thiết bao giờ. Nghe đến đây, Lê Văn Thư, một người lúc nào cũng lạc quan, bèn nổi giận mà rằng: - Chà! Một người đàn bà như Giao Đài mà lại để ở miệng thốt ra những lời lẽ đáng buồn đến như thế nữa ư? Này, chị Giao Đài, coi chừng kẻo mà chị sẽ trở nên một thứ quái vật! Giao Đài chỉ cười nhạt, lại khoan thai nói thêm: - Nghĩa là cũng như mọi người, phải không, các anh? Người ta ai không là một thứ quái vật?

As I finished my rice, I sketched out the plot of a pornographic adventure film called The Massage Room. Sirien, a young girl from northern Thailand, falls hopelessly in love with Bob, an American student who winds up in the massage parlor by accident, dragged there by his buddies after a fatefully boozy evening. Bob doesn't touch her, he's happy just to look at her with his lovely, pale-blue eyes and tell her about his hometown - in North Carolina, or somewhere like that. They see each other several more times, whenever Sirien isn't working, but, sadly, Bob must leave to finish his senior year at Yale. Ellipsis. Sirien waits expectantly while continuing to satisfy the needs of her numerous clients. Though pure at heart, she fervently jerks off and sucks paunchy, mustached Frenchmen (supporting role for Gerard Jugnot), corpulent, bald Germans (supporting role for some German actor). Finally, Bob returns and tries to free her from her hell - but the Chinese mafia doesn't see things in quite the same light. Bob persuades the American ambassador and the president of some humanitarian organization opposed to the exploitation of young girls to intervene (supporting role for Jane Fonda). What with the Chinese mafia (hint at the Triads) and the collusion of Thai generals (political angle, appeal to democratic values), there would be a lot of fight scenes and chase sequences through the streets of Bangkok. At the end of the day, Bob carries her off. But in the penultimate scene, Sirien gives, for the first time, an honest account of the extent of her sexual experience. All the cocks she has sucked as a humble massage parlor employee, she has sucked in the anticipation, in the hope of sucking Bob's cock, into which all the others were subsumed - well, I'd have to work on the dialogue. Cross fade between the two rivers (the Chao Phraya, the Delaware). Closing credits. For the European market, I already had line in mind, along the lines of "If you liked The Music Room, you'll love The Massage Room.

The secret—to being you, to being Happy?” “Just keep on smiling. Even when you’re sad. Keep on smiling.” Not the most profound advice, admittedly. But Happy is wise, for only a fool or a philosopher would make sweeping generalizations about the nature of happiness. I am no philosopher, so here goes: Money matters, but less than we think and not in the way that we think. Family is important. So are friends. Envy is toxic. So is excessive thinking. Beaches are optional. Trust is not. Neither is gratitude. To venture any further, though, is to enter treacherous waters. A slippery seal, happiness is. On the road, I encountered bushels of inconsistencies. The Swiss are uptight and happy. The Thais are laid-back and happy. Icelanders find joy in their binge drinking, Moldovans only misery. Maybe an Indian mind can digest these contradictions, but mine can’t. Exasperated, I call one of the leading happiness researchers, John Helliwell. Perhaps he has some answers. “It’s simple,” he says. “There’s more than one path to happiness.” Of course. How could I have missed it? Tolstoy turned on his head. All miserable countries are alike; happy ones are happy in their own ways. It’s worth considering carbon. We wouldn’t be here without it. Carbon is the basis of all life, happy and otherwise. Carbon is also a chameleon atom. Assemble it one way—in tight, interlocking rows—and you have a diamond. Assemble it another way—a disorganized jumble—and you have a handful of soot. The arranging makes all the difference. Places are the same. It’s not the elements that matter so much as how they’re arranged and in which proportions. Arrange them one way, and you have Switzerland. Arrange them another way, and you have Moldova. Getting the balance right is important. Qatar has too much money and not enough culture. It has no way of absorbing all that cash. And then there is Iceland: a country that has no right to be happy yet is. Iceland gets the balance right. A small country but a cosmopolitan one. Dark and light. Efficient and laid-back. American gumption married to European social responsibility. A perfect, happy arrangement. The glue that holds the entire enterprise together is culture. It makes all the difference. I have some nagging doubts about my journey. I didn’t make it everywhere. Yet my doubts extend beyond matters of itinerary. I wonder if happiness is really the highest good, as Aristotle believed. Maybe Guru-ji, Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, is right. Maybe love is more important than happiness. Certainly, there are times when happiness seems beside the point. Ask a single, working mother if she is happy, and she’s likely to reply, “You’re not asking the right question.” Yes, we want to be happy but for the right reasons, and,

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We came to the city because we wished to live haphazardly, to reach for only the least realistic of our desires, and to see if we could not learn what our failures had to teach, and not, when we came to live, discover that we had never died. We wanted to dig deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to be overworked and reduced to our last wit. And if our bosses proved mean, why then we’d evoke their whole and genuine meanness afterward over vodka cranberries and small batch bourbons. And if our drinking companions proved to be sublime then we would stagger home at dawn over the Old City cobblestones, into hot showers and clean shirts, and press onward until dusk fell again. For the rest of the world, it seemed to us, had somewhat hastily concluded that it was the chief end of man to thank God it was Friday and pray that Netflix would never forsake them. Still we lived frantically, like hummingbirds; though our HR departments told us that our commitments were valuable and our feedback was appreciated, our raises would be held back another year. Like gnats we pestered Management— who didn’t know how to use the Internet, whose only use for us was to set up Facebook accounts so they could spy on their children, or to sync their iPhones to their Outlooks, or to explain what tweets were and more importantly, why— which even we didn’t know. Retire! we wanted to shout. We ha Get out of the way with your big thumbs and your senior moments and your nostalgia for 1976! We hated them; we wanted them to love us. We wanted to be them; we wanted to never, ever become them. Complexity, complexity, complexity! We said let our affairs be endless and convoluted; let our bank accounts be overdrawn and our benefits be reduced. Take our Social Security contributions and let it go bankrupt. We’d been bankrupt since we’d left home: we’d secure our own society. Retirement was an afterlife we didn’t believe in and that we expected yesterday. Instead of three meals a day, we’d drink coffee for breakfast and scavenge from empty conference rooms for lunch. We had plans for dinner. We’d go out and buy gummy pad thai and throat-scorching chicken vindaloo and bento boxes in chintzy, dark restaurants that were always about to go out of business. Those who were a little flush would cover those who were a little short, and we would promise them coffees in repayment. We still owed someone for a movie ticket last summer; they hadn’t forgotten. Complexity, complexity. In holiday seasons we gave each other spider plants in badly decoupaged pots and scarves we’d just learned how to knit and cuff links purchased with employee discounts. We followed the instructions on food and wine Web sites, but our soufflés sank and our baked bries burned and our basil ice creams froze solid. We called our mothers to get recipes for old favorites, but they never came out the same. We missed our families; we were sad to be rid of them. Why shouldn’t we live with such hurry and waste of life? We were determined to be starved before we were hungry. We were determined to be starved before we were hungry. We were determined to decrypt our neighbors’ Wi-Fi passwords and to never turn on the air-conditioning. We vowed to fall in love: headboard-clutching, desperate-texting, hearts-in-esophagi love. On the subways and at the park and on our fire escapes and in the break rooms, we turned pages, resolved to get to the ends of whatever we were reading. A couple of minutes were the day’s most valuable commodity. If only we could make more time, more money, more patience; have better sex, better coffee, boots that didn’t leak, umbrellas that didn’t involute at the slightest gust of wind. We were determined to make stupid bets. We were determined to be promoted or else to set the building on fire on our way out. We were determined to be out of our minds.

As Hamas’s rocket stockpiles dwindled, it reduced the number of rockets launched nightly but increased the range to Tel Aviv and beyond. Several of my conversations with Obama were interrupted by sirens. “Sorry, Barack,” I’d say. “I’m afraid we’ll have to resume our conversation in a few minutes.” With the rest of the staff I had forty-five seconds to go into underground shelters, returning after getting the all-clear sign. These live interruptions strengthened my argument for taking increasingly powerful actions against Hamas. And so we did. The IAF destroyed more and more enemy targets. Hamas panicked and became careless. Our intelligence identified the locations of their commanders. We targeted them and delivered painful blows to their hierarchy. Hamas then shifted their command posts to high-rises, believing they would be immune to our strikes. Using a technique called “knock on roof,” the air force fired nonlethal warning shots on the roofs of the buildings. Along with phone calls to the building occupants, these warnings enabled them to leave the premises unharmed. The IDF flattened several high-rise buildings with no civilian casualties. The sight of these collapsing towers sent Hamas a powerful message of demoralization and fear. This was literally “you can climb but you can’t hide.” Desperation was seeping through Hamas ranks. Arguments began to flare between Mashal in Qatar and the ground command in Gaza, which was suffering the brunt of our attacks. Eventually they caved. In the talks with Egypt they rescinded all their demands and agreed to an unconditional cease-fire that went into effect on August 26, 2014. After fifty days, Protective Edge was over. Sixty-seven IDF soldiers, five Israeli civilians, including one child, and a Thai civilian working in Israel lost their lives in the war. There were 4,564 rockets and mortars fired at Israel from Gaza, nearly all from civilian neighborhoods. The Iron Dome system intercepted 86 percent of them.4 The IDF killed 2,125 Gazans,5 roughly two-thirds of whom were members of Hamas, Palestinian Islamic Jihad and other Palestinian terrorist groups. A third were civilians who were often used by the terrorists as human shields. Colonel Richard Kemp, the commander of British forces in Afghanistan, said that “the IDF took measures to limit civilian casualties never taken by any Western army in similar situations.” At least twenty-three Palestinian civilians were executed by Hamas over false accusations of colluding with Israel. In reality many had simply criticized the devastation of Gaza brought about by Hamas’s aggression against Israel.6 Hamas leaders emerged from their bunkers. Surveying the rubble, they predictably declared victory. This is what all dictatorships do. They are not accountable to the facts or to their people. Less predictably, Palestinian Authority chairman Mahmoud Abbas admitted that Hamas was severely weakened and achieved none of its demands.7 With the