Ti West Quotes

„Ti si najneverovatnija osoba koju sam ikad upoznao”, prošaputa on. „Pristao bih da budem zatočen stotinu godina ako bih znao da ću na kraju biti s tobom.” Carter West & Allie Sheridan

No quiero que vuelvas a marcharte. No puedo vivir sin ti. No quiero volver a perderte. No quiero volver a oír las palabras «por una temporada». Ni tampoco «quizá». Eso pensé. Dices que, por una temporada, no podemos vernos y entonces desapareces. Pero nadie puede saber si volverás. No tengo ninguna certeza. Tal vez no regreses jamás. Es posible que llegue al fin de mis días sin haberte reencontrado. Y eso me resulta insoportable. Todo cuanto me rodea pierde su sentido

Yong is the outer manifestation of something. Ti is the underlying essence. Technology is a yong associated with a particular ti that is ... Western, and completely alien to us [the Chinese]. For centuries, since the time of the Opium Wars, we have struggled to absorb the yong of technology without importing the Western ti. But it has been impossible. Just as our ancestors could not open our ports to the West without accepting the poison of opium, we could not open our lives to Western technology without taking in the Western ideas, which have been as a plague on our society. The result has been centuries of chaos.

Sa vrha mosta dve vrane posmatrale su reku, grakćući oštro s vremena na vreme kao da nekoga prekorevaju. Ti krici su hladno odzvanjali ogolelom šumom i prelazili reku parajući nam uši.

Jamás me habría cansado de ti. Entre nosotros Había algo muy especial. Lo sé muy bien. No puedo explicarlo con palabras. Pero estaba ahí. Y era algo muy valioso, muy importante. Deberías de saberlo tú también.

No se necesita nada especial para luchar contra el mundo, y todas las cosas que quieren enclaustrarte, oprimirte, limitarte prosperar. Solo tienes que saber que es lo que quieres lograr. Tienes que saber con quien quieres estar y a que renunciarás para conseguirlo. Tienes que permitirte a ti mismo querer lo que quieres tan fuerte como puedas, tan profundo como llegue; incluso si te asusta por completo. Incluso si lo que quieres y necesitas no tiene fondo, no tiene tiempo, y tu miedo es tan grande que es difícil respirar a su alrededor.

Ha egyszer kiszabadul a soviniszta dzsinn a palackból, az nem csak a Nyugat ellen irányulhat. Otthon is találhat célpontokat, mint a nemzeti kisebbségek és a vendégmunkások milliói a mai Oroszországban. Ahogy egy közép-ázsiai nagykövet kérdezte Moszkvában orosz barátjától: - Mit műveltek ti a nektek dolgozó embereinkkel? Harcos iszlamistaként térnek haza...

What the fuck is wrong with Westerns? Westerns are the shit.” “Oh yeah, tell me, why are westerns THE SHIT?” Ti said, air quoting around THE SHIT. “Because back in the old west, the men were real men. They took charge of the situation. They handled their business by earning respect and gunning down anyone who stood in their way. Cowboys were the first guys to have the balls to be lawless and say fuck-all to society.

Tú eres un granjero, imagínatelo, viviendo solo en la tundra siberiana. Día tras día trabajas la tierra. Hasta donde tus ojos pueden ver, nada. Al norte el horizonte, al sur el horizonte, al este igual, al oeste, más de lo mismo. Cada día cuando el sol sale por el este sales a trabajar la tierra, a medio día descansas y cuando se pone en el otro lado vuelves a casa para dormir. Tu eres un grangero, imagínate. Y un día algo se muere dentro de tí. Día tras día ves el sol salir , atravesar el cielo y meterse en el horizonte y un día algo se rompe y se muere dentro de ti. Tú tirás tu azada y con tu cabeza completamente vacía de pensamientos empiezas a caminar hacia el oeste, hacia la tierra que está detras del sol. Como poseído caminas día y noche sin parar, sin comer ni beber, hasta que exhausto caes derrotado y mueres. Esa esa la Histeria Siberiana.

Una volta ho letto, non ricordo più dove, che agli oggetti antichi può legarsi una maledizione, uno scongiuro, un incantesimo, i quali poi vanno a colpire chi si mette in casa e custodisce simili chincaglierie. Sai forse che cosa inneschi, quando richiami con un fischio un cane randagio che ti viene incontro durante una passeggiata serale? Per compassione lo porti al caldo, nella tua stanza, ed ecco che, all'improvviso, dal suo pelo nero fa capolino il diavolo. Io, pronipote di John Dee, sto forse vivendo ciò che accadde un tempo al dottor Faust?

Ma ragazzi, sto pianificando di venire a vivere con voi e non conosco nemmeno i vostri cognomi? A cosa diavolo sto pensando?” “No, non dire così,” replicò Tal. “Io mi chiamo Talise Martin. Possiedo un’impresa di costruzioni, ma lavoro soprattutto per la nostra colonia. Siamo in una trentina e viviamo nei pressi di West Falls. Mi piace mangiare un po’ di tutto, ma vado matto per gli hamburger. Il mio colore preferito è il nero.” “Mi chiamo Dolfoon Hoyer e gestisco la parte amministrativa dell’impresa di Tal. Mi piace la bistecca con le patate e il mio colore preferito è il rosso.” “Mi leggerete anche il vostro curriculum?” “Se ti può aiutare a cavalcarmi meglio, te ne spedirò subito uno.” Restai a bocca aperta. La risata di Tal riecheggiò per la cucina. “Le cose si fanno interessanti. Dovrò iniziare a raccogliere le scommesse su chi di voi due avrà l’ultima parola.” Dolf mi sorrise. “Al vincitore spetta il culo di Tal.” “Ehi!” Sorrisi e feci l’occhiolino a Dolf. “Per me va bene.” “Ehi!” Io e Dolf scoppiammo a ridere e mentre sedevamo a mangiare, ebbi la netta impressione che alla fine avrebbe funzionato.

Osvrnimo se, profesore, oko sebe. Šta vidimo? Šta drugi vide? Da li je prizor privlačan? Da li je, drugim rečima, lako Beograd voleti i poštovati? Sa jedne strane vlasotinačka, lužnička, nišavska, belopalanačka, svrljiška, zaglavska, timočka, rekanska, brsjačka pečalbarska duša jadnika koji će prihvatiti svaki, i najgori rad, ali tek kada ga pritisne ljuta nemaština, kad se više nema kud; ne rad već pečalovina, pečal, potmula patnja, duševna bol i poniženje, nastavak meropaškog i sebarskog, rajetinskog rada, životinjski izdržljivo slaganje pare na paru; sa druge psihoza nesite ćiftanske lakomosti, ćar i profit sa što manje rada, pravljenje »poslova« tako što se posao izbegava, pa nije nimalo neobično što i jedan i drugi, i pečalan i ćiftinski rad, dakle svaki rad, izaziva u Srba samo prezir. Beograd je postao grad u kome ni jedan čovek, ni jedan stari ni novi društveni sloj nije na svom pravom mestu. Studenti služe kao kelneri, penzionisani činovnici prodaju đinđuve i opravljaju kišobrane, ljudi koji ni svoje ime ne umeju valjano potpisati dižu mnogospratne palate, gomilaju se kapitali i imanja za koja niko ne zna odgovora na pitanje: otkud i kako? — a u isto vreme mnogi naučnik, profesor, zanatlija pita se posle petog u mesecu šta će sutra ručati. Sve je u zadihanoj jagmi i jurnjavi da bi se zahvatilo što više sa što manje zasluge i truda. Neobrazovani i nesposobni otimaju mesto kadrima i učenima, čitavo društvo izdeljeno je u grupe koje se uzajamno podržavaju rodbinskim, kumovskim, plemenskim, partijskim vezama, a sve drugo što nije u tom orijentalnom klupčetu ti meni ja tebi, bezobzino se gura u stranu, gde god pogled zaustaviš — Miloševa kurdžonska Srbija potiskuje Mihajlovu, Svetozarevu, Skerlićevu plemenitu težnju ka evropskim načinima mišljenja i ponašanja. Beograd danas liči na neki rašireni prostor, privremeni zbeg, Wild West na koji se sjurila kaza i prikaza da što pre zauzme što bolje mesto, pa najbeskrupulozniji, a ne najsposobniji, zauzimaju najviša. Oni, u osnovici svojoj još palančani, ošamućeni i neuravnoteženi novim i stranim gradom, oslobađaju nesputano biologiju samoodbrane, jagme, nestrpljenja. Atavizmi iz seljačkog vremena, rudimenti iz plemenskog patrijarhalizma, bore se sa poslednjim zapadnjačkim usmerenjima Užičana-Francuza, piroćanskih-Londonaca, Bosanaca-Bečlija.

Elizabeth?” Ian said in a clipped voice. She whirled around, her heart slamming against her ribs, her hand flying to her throat, her knees turning to jelly. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You-you startled me,” she said as he strolled up to her, his expression oddly impassive. “I didn’t expect you to come here,” she added nervously. “Really?” he mocked. “Whom did you expect after that note-the Prince of Wales?” The note! Crazily, her first thought after realizing ti was from him, not Valerie, was that for an articulate man his handwriting verged on the illiterate. Her second thought was that he seemed angry about something. He didn’t keep her long in doubt as to the reason. “Suppose you tell me how, during the entire afternoon we spent together, you neglected to mention that you are Lady Elizabeth?” Elizabeth wondered a little frantically how he’d feel if he knew she was the Countess of Havenhurst, not merely the eldest daughter of some minor noble or knight. “Start talking, love. I’m listening.” Elizabeth backed away a step. “Since you don’t want to talk,” he bit out, reaching for her arms, “is this all you wanted from me?” “No!” she said hastily, backing out of his reach. “I’d rather talk.” He stepped forward, and Elizabeth took another step backward, exclaiming, “I mean, there are so many interesting topics for conversation, are there not?” “Are there?” he asked, moving forward again. “Yes,” she exclaimed, taking two steps back this time. Snatching at the first topic she could think of, she pointed to the table of hyacinths beside her and exclaimed, “A-Aren’t these hyacinths lovely?” “Lovely,” he agreed without looking at them, and he reached for her shoulders, obviously intending to draw her forward. Elizabeth jumped back so swiftly that his fingers merely grazed the gauze fabric of her gown. “Hyacinths,” she babbled with frantic determination as he began stalking her step for step, pas the table of potted pansies, past the table of potted lilies, “are part of genus Hyacinthus, although the cultivated variety, which we have here, is commonly called the Dutch hyacinth, which is part of H. orientalis-“ “Elizabeth,” he interrupted silkily, “I’m not interested in flowers.” He reached for her again, and Elizabeth, in a frantic attempt to evade his grasp, snatched up a pot of hyacinths and dumped it into his outstretched hands. “There is a mythological background to hyacinths that you may find more interesting than the flower itself,” she continued fiercely, and an indescribable expression of disbelief, amusement, and fascination suddenly seemed to flicker across his face. “You see, the hyacinth is actually named for a handsome Spartan youth-Hyacinthus-who was loved by Apollo and by Zephyrus, god of the west wind. One day Zephyrus was teaching Hyacinthus to throw the discus, and he accidentally killed him. It is said that Hyacinthus’s blood caused a flower to spring up, and each petal was inscribed with the Greek exclamation of sorrow.” Her voice trembled a little as he purposefully set the pot of hyacinths on the table. “A-Actually, the flower that sprang up would have been the iris or larkspur, not the modern hyacinth, but that is how it earned its name.” “Fascinating.” His unfathomable eyes locked onto hers. Elizabeth knew he was referring to her and not the history of the hyacinth, and though she commanded herself to move out of his reach, her legs refused to budge.

Brother Anansi, the Spider, that great cultural hero of West Africa who is personated in Haiti by Ti Malice and in the United States by Brer Rabbit.

No puedes controlar a nadie más que a ti.

Basta una decisione sbagliata, il flash di una fotocamera, e il lato positivo e perfetto della tua giovinezza è finito. Poi, però, sei tu che decidi. Ti guardi intorno, passi al setaccio le macerie e fai le tue scelte. Ti armi di amore, amici, sapere. Capisci chi sei. Quello che vuoi. Lo capisci, e poi lo persegui con tutte le tue forze.

Poi, però, sei tu che decidi. Ti guardi intorno, passi al setaccio le macerie e fai le tue scelte. Ti armi di amore, amici, sapere. Capisci chi sei. Quello che vuoi. Lo capisci, e poi lo persegui con tutte le tue forze

Confucius and Lao-Tse were living in China, all the schools of Chinese philosophy came into being, including those of Mo Ti, Chuang Tse, Lieh Tzu and a host of others; India produced the Upanishads and Buddha and, like China, ran the whole gamut of philosophical possibilities down to materialism, scepticism and nihilism; in Iran, Zarathustra taught a challenging view of the world as a struggle between good and evil; in Palestine the prophets made their appearance from Elijah by way of Isaiah and Jeremiah to Deutero-Isaiah; Greece witnessed the appearance of Homer, of the philosophers—Parmenides, Heraclitus and Plato,—of the tragedians, of Thucydides and Archimedes. Everything implied by these names developed during these few centuries almost simultaneously in China, India and the West.

Peníze ti nutně nezaručí moc, ale moc ti vždycky přinese peníze.

Come si fa a organizzare una marcia politica credibile, e gridare nelle strade che i tuoi diritti umani sono stati violati perché non riesci a trovare una gonna che ti va bene?

Today, when philosophizing is so barbarous, so much like a St. Vitus' dance, as perhaps in no other period in the cultural history of the West, and when nevertheless the resurrection of metaphysics is hawked up and down all the streets, what Aristotle says in one of his most important investigations in the Metaphysics has been completely forgotten. Kai de kai to palai te kai nun kai aei zetoumenon kai aei aporoumenon, ti to on, touto esti tis he ousia. "That which has been sought for from old and now and in the future and constantly, and that on which inquiry founders over and over again, is the problem What is being?" If philosophy is the science of being, then the first and last and basic problem of philosophy must be, What does being signify? Whence can something like being in general be understood? How is understanding of being at all possible?

Soy ese ser invisible. Soy tú y soy yo. Un eco imprevisible. A veces voy detrás, a veces delante. Siempre junto a ti, tu compañía constante.

Look north, he said, In the middle of that vast plain is a single lonely peak. In the light of the setting sun you can just make out the ruins of A-fang-kung, the palace of the great Ch'in Shih-huang, among the weeds and the high grass. Look west. The wind is rustling the woods where the gray mountain mist hides Mou-ling, the tomb of Emperor Han Wu-ti. In the east you can see the white wall reflecting the green hills where a red rooftop pierces the sky and the pale moon comes and goes. No one leans on the on the jade balustrades at Huang-ch'ing-kung where Emperor Hsuan Tsung frolicked with his ill-fated concubine Yang Kue-fei. Those three emperors were for ten millennia the heroes of our history. Where are they now? [Fenkl translation]

Who can know what he's doing when he doesn't even know why he does it? Bless the bright Cromagnon for inventing the bow and damn him for inventing missile warfare. Bless the stubby little Sumerians for miracles in gold and lapis lazuli and damn them for burying a dead queen's hand-maidens living in her tomb. Bless Shih Hwang-Ti for building the Great Wall between northern barbarism and southern culture, and damn him for burning every book in China. Bless King Minos for the ease of Cnossian flush toilets and damn him for his yearly tribute of Greek sacrificial victims. Bless Pharaoh for peace and damn him for slavery. Bless the Greeks for restricting population so the well-fed few could kindle a watch-tower in the west, and damn the prostitution and sodomy and wars of colonization by which they did it. Bless the Romans for their strength to smash down every wall that hemmed their building genius, and damn them for their weakness that never broke the bloody grip of Etruscan savagery on their minds. Bless the Jews who discovered the fatherhood of God and damn them who limited it to the survivors of a surgical operation. Bless the Christians who abolished the surgical preliminaries and damn them who substituted a thousand cerebral quibbles. Bless Justinian for the Code of Law and damn him for his countless treacheries that were the prototype of the wretched Byzantine millenium. Bless the churchmen for teaching and preaching, and damn, them for drawing a line beyond which they could only teach and preach in peril of the stake.

- Quando ti guardo, a volte mi sembra di vedere una stella lontana, - dissi. - Sembra che brilli, ma è una luca di decine di migliaia di anni fa. Forse è la luce di un astro che ora non esiste più, ma a volte sembra piú reale di tutto il resto. Shinamoto rimase in silenzio.