Toto Quotes

Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.

Toto did not really care whether he was in Kansas or the Land of Oz so long as Dorothy was with him; but he knew the little girl was unhappy, and that made him unhappy too.

Caine tried to roll to his feet, but something was jabbing him in the crouch. He shook off the stars and saw Edilio standing over him. Edilio had the business end of his automatic rifle in a very sensitive place. "If you move, Caine, I will shoot your balls off," Edilio said. "Toto?" "He will," Toto said, "Although he's not sure it will be just your balls.

He is my dog, Toto," answered Dorothy. "Is he made of tin, or stuffed?" asked the Lion. "Neither. He's a-- a-- a meat dog," said the girl.

I think our job--maybe even our 'duty'--is to--To bear the burden of the mystery with as much grace as we can.

To know what this world could look like, what humanity could be, if only we all chose to do our best, to help others, to...to be, well, heroes.

We don’t need to play her witch’s games. They always want to get you and your little dog, too." "I knew I never should have let you watch The Wizard of Oz." "Toto didn’t deserve that kind of trauma. He was so tiny.

It was Toto that made Dorothy laugh, and saved her from growing as gray as her other surroundings. Toto was not gray; he was a little black dog, with long silky hair and small black eyes that twinkled merrily on either side of his funny, wee nose. Toto played all day long, and Dorothy played with him, and loved him dearly.

I wasn't saying you were heartbroken." I sound like English is a new language for me, the way I stutter out the words. "I just meant it was hard for me to...to watch." He neither confirms nor denies that he might or might not have been even a teeny bit heartbroken.

Remember…you always have a choice to be better. You always have a choice to…to pick the right path.” She smiled sadly. “Even if that choice comes a little late.

Who sent you?” O’Ryan asked. “What was your purpose here?” “To...to tell you...” The words didn’t sound nearly as furious coming out of my mouth as they did in my head. The camp controller leaned forward, eyes narrowing into slits. “To go...fuck yourself.

What the fuck is that?” Thomas asked. “Oh! It’s Toto! I’m babysittin’,

No, when the time comes, I’m sure I’ll kill just like everybody else. I can’t go down without a fight. Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to…to show the Capitol they don’t own me.

So Oz finally became home; the imagined world became the actual world, as it does for us all, because the truth is that once we have left our childhood places and started out to make our own lives, armed only with what we have and are, we understand that the real secret of the ruby slippers is not that "there's no place like home," but rather that there is no longer such a place as home: except, of course, for the homes we make, or the homes that are made for us, in Oz, which is anywhere and everywhere, except the place from which we began. In the place from which I began, after all, I watched the film from the child's - Dorothy's point of view. I experienced, with her, the frustration of being brushed aside by Uncle Henry and Auntie Em, busy with their dull grown-up counting. Like all adults, they couldn't focus on what was really important to Dorothy: namely, the threat to Toto. I ran away with Dorothy and then ran back. Even the shock of discovering that the Wizard was a humbug was a shock I felt as a child, a shock to the child's faith in adults. Perhaps, too, I felt something deeper, something I couldn't articulate; perhaps some half-formed suspicion about grown-ups was being confirmed. Now, as I look at the movie again, I have become the fallible adult. Now I am a member of the tribe of imperfect parents who cannot listen to their children's voices. I, who no longer have a father, have become a father instead, and now it is my fate to be unable to satisfy the longings of a child. This is the last and most terrible lesson of the film: that there is one final, unexpected rite of passage. In the end, ceasing to be children, we all become magicians without magic, exposed conjurers, with only our simply humanity to get us through. We are the humbugs now.

Aiden smirked. "Wonder what this one is called?" The hellhound's ears twitched as the massive body lowered preparing for attack. I slid my hand to the middle of the blade, feeling my heart pound and the adrenaline kick my system into overdrive. In the pit of my stomach, the cord started to unravel. I swallowed. "Let's call this one... Toto." Three mouths opened in a growl that sent a cold chill down my spine, and a wave of hot, fetid breath smacked into us. Bile burned the back of my throat. "I guess it doesn't like the name," I said, moving slowly to the right. Aiden's powerful body tensed. "Here, Toto..." One head snapped in his direction. "That's a good Toto." I slipped around the ancient cross, creeping up on the hellhound from the right. The middle and left head focused on me, snapping and growlying. Aiden clucked his tongue. "Come on, Toto, I'm pretty tasty.

Things had changed between them nevertheless. They were children of a time and culture which mistrusted love, 'in love', romantic love, romance in toto, and which nevertheless in revenge proliferated sexual language, linguistic sexuality, analysis, dissection, deconstruction, exposure. They were theoretically knowing: they knew about phallocracy and penisneid, punctuation, puncturing and penetration, about polymorphous and polysemous perversity, orality, good and bad breasts, clitoral tumescence, vesicle persecution, the fluids, the solids, the metaphors for these, the systems of desire and damage, infantile greed and oppression and transgression, the iconography of the cervix and the imagery of the expanding and contracting Body, desired, attacked, consumed, feared.

Thanks for staying with me last night,” I said, stroking Toto’s soft fur. “You didn’t have to sleep on the bathroom floor.” “Last night was one of the best nights of my life.” I turned to see his expression. When I saw that he was serious, I shot him a dubious look. “Sleeping in between the toilet and the tub on a cold, hard tile floor with a vomiting idiot was one of your best nights? That’s sad, Trav.” “No, sitting up with you when you’re sick, and you falling asleep in my lap was one of my best nights. It wasn’t comfortable, I didn’t sleep worth a shit, but I brought in your nineteenth birthday with you, and you’re actually pretty sweet when you’re drunk.” “I’m sure between the heaving and purging I was very charming.” He pulled me close, patting Toto who was snuggled up to my neck. “You’re the only woman I know that still looks incredible with your head in the toilet. That’s saying something.

Even though the place looked like Kansas, I didn´t need to tell Toto that my Facebook Places status wasnñt anywhere on the planet Earth, much less Kansas.

From the Land of Oz,” said Dorothy, gravely. “And here is Toto, too. And oh, Aunt Em! I’m so glad to be at home again!

People must do what they must do. We all don't think alike or act alike and it's wrong to–to judge others by ourselves.

His accensa super, iactatos aequore toto Troas, reliquias Danaum atque immitis Achilli, arcebat longe Latio, multosque per annos errabant, acti fatis, maria omnia circum. Tantae molis erat Romanam condere gentem!

I've lived here ... my whole life. It's where I lost all my baby teeth. Where tiny hamster, gerbil, and bird skeletons lie in rotted-out cardboard coffins beneath the oak tree in our backyard. Also where, if some future archaeologist goes digging, they'll find the remains of a plush toy: a gray terrier named Toto I buried after the accident.

The only permanent thing in this world is change.

Tum vero Teucri incumbunt, et litore celsas deducunt toto naves:  natat uncta carina; frondentisque ferunt remos et robora silvis infabricata, fugae studio.

Toto was not gray; he was a little black dog, with long silky hair and small black eyes that twinkled merrily on either side of his funny, wee nose.

I hate him.” “You   hate   everyone you don’t like,” Toto reminded him.

The number seven is magical, they say. Seven years ’til our cells completely regenerate. Seven years ’til Jacob possesses Rachel, no, Leah, and seven more for Rachel. Seven days in a week. Post traumatic stress often resolves itself in toto only after seven full years have passed. Such is the case for some brain trauma patients too. Seven. It’s a number worth remembering.

When the power goes out, we jump up to...To what? It's weird. We're so used to electricity, when it's gone, we don't know what to do. So we jump up or squeal or start jabbering like idiots. We panic. It's like someone cut off our oxygen.

I don't know how to say it exactly. Only... I want to die as myself. I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not. I keep wishing I could think of a way to...to show the Capitol that they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games

was not gray; he was a little black dog, with long silky hair and small black eyes that twinkled merrily on either side of his funny, wee nose. Toto played all day long, and Dorothy played with him, and loved him dearly.

Mary looked at her gratefully. “Well, that’s what I think. I mean, I couldn’t bear to—to just stop doing things and do nothing. You might as well die now and get it over.” Moira nodded. “If what they say is right, we’re none of us going to have time to do all that we planned to do. But we can keep on doing it as long as we can.

People used to think that learning to read evidenced human progress; they still celebrate the decline of illiteracy as a great victory; they condemn countries with a large proportion of illiterates; they think that reading is a road to freedom. All this is debatable, for the important thing is not to be able to read, but to understand what one reads, to reflect on and judge what one reads. Outside of that, reading has no meaning (and even destroys certain automatic qualities of memory and observation). But to talk about critical faculties and discernment is to talk about something far above primary education and to consider a very small minority. The vast majority of people, perhaps 90 percent, know how to read, but do not exercise their intelligence beyond this. They attribute authority and eminent value to the printed word, or, conversely, reject it altogether. As these people do not possess enough knowledge to reflect and discern, they believe—or disbelieve—in toto what they read. And as such people, moreover, will select the easiest, not the hardest, reading matter, they are precisely on the level at which the printed word can seize and convince them without opposition. They are perfectly adapted to propaganda.

As soon as forever is through, I'll be over you.

Toto did not like this addition to the party at first. He smelled around the stuffed man as if he suspected there might be a nest

there, barking loudly; but Dorothy sat quite still on the floor and waited to see what would happen. Once Toto got too near the open trap door, and fell in; and at

With Poppy, it was too easy to forget who I really was. It was too easy to lose myself in her, let go of all the nasty shit that had brought me to her. It was too damn easy to…to live right alongside Poppy. And, gods, I wanted that. Badly.

She was awakened by a shock, so sudden and severe that if Dorothy had not been lying on the soft bed she might have been hurt. As it was, the jar made her catch her breath and wonder what had happened; and Toto put his cold little nose into her face and whined dismally. Dorothy sat up and noticed that the house was not moving; nor was it dark, for the bright sunshine came in at the window, flooding the little room. She sprang from her bed and with Toto at her heels ran and opened the door.

Magic carpet rides, rune magic, Ali Baba and visions of the Holy Mother, astral travel and the future in the dregs of a glass of red wine. Buddha. Frodo's journey into Mordor. The transubstantiation of the sacrament. Dorothy and Toto. The Easter Bunny. Space aliens. The Thing in the closet. The Resur-rection and the Life at the turn of a card ... I've believed them all at one time or another. Or pretended to. Or pretended not to. And now? What do I believe right now? 'I believe that being happy is the only important thing,' I told him at last. Happiness. Simple as a glass of chocolate or tortuous as the hear. Bitter. Sweet. Alive.

I endorse Hillary Clinton for president. She is the second-worst thing that could happen to America. Dorothy and Toto’s house fell on Hillary. I endorse her. Munchkins endorse her. Donald Trump is a flying monkey. Except that what the flying monkeys have to say—“oreoreoreo”—makes more sense than Trump’s pronouncements.

I didn’t want to … to have to ask him to defend me.” He stared at her, his face blank with incomprehension. He shook his head slowly, not taking his eyes away from her. “What in God’s name d’ye think a man is for?” he asked at last.

I couldn’t bear to—to just stop doing things and do nothing. You might as well die now and get it over.

Neither. He's a—a—a meat dog.

All you people with the power to help, to do anything, and what do you do instead? Spend all your time backstabbing one another.

You’d be amazed how fast people’s bigotry turns flexible when it’s in their interests.

Didn't he come to—to ask you for some magic?" "No, he came to enjoy the view of the Wood," the Dragon said. "Of course he came for magic, and I sent him about his business, which is hacking at enemy knights and not meddling in things he scarcely understands.

Membangun ekosistem belajar jauh lebih penting daripada sibuk dengan teknik-teknik belajar yang kini marak sebagai komoditi sekolah bagi para siswa dan orang tua yang keblinger pada dorongan 'kesuksesan'.

She only did—did what she felt she had to do. And our men did what they felt they had to do. People must do what they must do. We don’t all think alike or act alike and it’s wrong to—to judge others by ourselves.

Mr Mowett,' called Stephen in the pause while the table was clearing to make room for the pudding, and pudding-wine—in this case Frontignan and Canary—was handing about, 'you were telling me about your publishers.'    'Yes, sir: I was about to say that they were the most hellish procrastinators—'    'Oh how dreadful,' cried Fanny. 'Do they go to—to special houses, or do they ...'    'He means they delay,' said Babbington.    'Oh.

I just don’t know what to do.” “For starters, you keep scratching my ear. Next, you can embrace this for what it is: an adventure. Let’s see how far we can get.” “I strive to be as unbothered as you, Toto.” He chuffed happily, leaning into my petting. “Everyone should strive to be more like me.

It took Caine a few beats to get it. “No. Go kill yourself. Eat your own gun. No. No no no.” “You’re happy here counting fish and nagging kids to work?” Edilio asked. “He’s not,” Virtue said, beating Toto to the punch and earning an annoyed glance from Caine. “He’s only done it for two days since the battle, and he’s already bored.

life s too short so make the best of everyday you live

But look after yourself - there will be great dangers on the way. Remember, the right road is never the easy road.

Tiga tahap dalam pendidikan dasar: pertama, mengalami sebab akibat; kedua, memahami sebab akibat; dan ketiga, merancang sebab akibat.

When in doubt, cause chaos. That’s the motto of terriers everywhere, and it’s always served us well.

Why?” I asked, “What are you looking for?” There was a short silence. And Toto softly said, “I want to see if people like me.

Je skutečností, že Bůh dal každému muži a ženě svobodu, aby mu odpověděli ve svém svědomí. Toto je kořenem všech ostatních svobod.

We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,

Yeah, and we're not in Kansas, and I'm not Toto, so just drop your pants and let me blow you like a tornado.

They have eighties sing-alongs after breakfast. Toto and Hall & Oates.” “In that case,” the Fireman said, “I think I’d rather burn alive.

Toto jumped away from him in alarm and tipped over the screen that stood in a corner.

Guess we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,

You were the one who left for London. You were the one who decided to-to tup another woman. You were the one who turned away from me. From us. Who is the greater sinner? I will no longer—urp!

24. Home Again Aunt Em had just come out of the house to water the cabbages when she looked up and saw Dorothy running toward her. "My darling child!" she cried, folding the little girl in her arms and covering her face with kisses. "Where in the world did you come from?" "From the Land of Oz," said Dorothy gravely. "And here is Toto, too. And oh, Aunt Em! I'm so glad to be at home again!

Pero miniaturizar es también ocultar. Duchamp, por ejemplo, se sintió también atraído siempre por lo extremadamente pequeño, es decir, por todo lo que exigiera ser descifrado: emblemas, manuscritos, anagramas. Para él, miniaturizar significaba también hacer inservible: «Lo que está reducido se halla en cierto modo liberado de su significado. Su pequeñez es, al mismo tiempo, un toto y un fragmento [...]»

Popular authors do not and apparently cannot appreciate the fact that true art is obtainable only by rejecting normality and conventionality in toto, and approaching a theme purged utterly of any usual or preconceived point of view.

I have a small, tattered clipping that I sometimes carry with me and pull out for purposes of private amusement. It’s a weather forecast from the Western Daily Mail and it says, in toto, “Outlook: Dry and warm, but cooler with some rain.

I was wondering—I mean—could there be some mistake? Because nobody called me and Scrubb, you know. It was we who asked to come here. Scrubb said we were to call to—to Somebody—it was a name I wouldn’t know—and perhaps the Somebody would let us in. And we did, and then we found the door open.” “You would not have called to me unless I had been calling to you,

The income-tax law in toto has virtually no defenders, even though most fair-minded students of the subject agree that its effect over the half century that it has been in force has been to bring about a huge and healthy redistribution of wealth.

All the same, without being morbid, and giving way to—to memories and so on, I must confess that there does seem to me something sad in life. It is hard to say what it is. I don’t mean the sorrow that we all know, like illness and poverty and death. No, it is something different. It is there, deep down, deep down, part of one, like one’s breathing. However hard I work and tire myself I have only to stop to know it is there, waiting. I often wonder if everybody feels the same. One can never know. But isn’t it extraordinary that under his sweet, joyful little singing it was just this—sadness?—Ah, what is it?—that I heard.

Aestus erat, mediamque dies exegerat horam; adposui medio membra levanda toro. pars adaperta fuit, pars altera clausa fenestrae; quale fere silvae lumen habere solent, qualia sublucent fugiente crepuscula Phoebo, aut ubi nox abiit, nec tamen orta dies. illa verecundis lux est praebenda puellis, qua timidus latebras speret habere pudor. ecce, Corinna venit, tunica velata recincta, candida dividua colla tegente coma— qualiter in thalamos famosa Semiramis isse dicitur, et multis Lais amata viris. Deripui tunicam—nec multum rara nocebat; pugnabat tunica sed tamen illa tegi. quae cum ita pugnaret, tamquam quae vincere nollet, victa est non aegre proditione sua. ut stetit ante oculos posito velamine nostros, in toto nusquam corpore menda fuit. quos umeros, quales vidi tetigique lacertos! forma papillarum quam fuit apta premi! quam castigato planus sub pectore venter! quantum et quale latus! quam iuvenale femur! Singula quid referam? nil non laudabile vidi et nudam pressi corpus ad usque meum. Cetera quis nescit? lassi requievimus ambo. proveniant medii sic mihi saepe dies!

If you can feel it on your face, it’s about three to five. Leaves in constant motion, six to eight or so. Small tree branches in constant motion, about ten. Large branches in constant motion, twelve to fifteen. Dorothy and Toto hurtling past thirty feet off the ground, time to go home.

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Yes. All the worth-while things in life. All mixed up. Rooms in candle-light. Leisure. Colour. Travel. Books. Music. Pictures. People—all kinds of people. Work that you love. And growth—growth and watching people grow. Feeling very strongly about things and then developing that feeling to—to make

Nikdo dohodnuté listiny nepodepisoval s iluzí, že by snad prováděl něco víc než prosazování vlastního zájmu a prestiže. Paradoxně však právě toto všeobecné vyčerpání a cynismus účastníkům umožnily transformovat praktické prostředky k ukončení jedné konkrétní války v obecnou koncepci světového uspořádání.

Toto sits up, holding tight to the bar and staring out at the world. He drops a new toy that came with the pram and starts crying. Jimmy picks it up and crouches, looking into his caramel eyes. ‘I’m Jimmy,’ he whispers, ‘and you’re the first thing I’ve ever sort of owned and I don’t want to get this wrong.

if one keeps climbing upward in the chain of command within the brain, one finds at the very top those over-all organizational forces and dynamic properties of the large patterns of cerebral excitation that are correlated with mental states or psychic activity…. Near the apex of this command system in the brain…. we find ideas. Man over the chimpanzee has ideas and ideals. In the brain model proposed here, the causal potency of an idea, or an ideal, becomes just as real as that of a molecule, a cell, or a nerve impulse. Ideas cause ideas and help evolve new ideas. They interact with each other and with other mental forces in the same brain, in neighboring brains, and, thanks to global communication, in far distant, foreign brains. And they also interact with the external surroundings to produce in toto a burst-wise advance in evolution that is far beyond anything to hit the evolutionary scene yet, including the emergence of the living cell. Who

For rough practical purposes, pleasures may be divided into those that have their primary basis in the senses, and those that are mainly of the mind. The traditional moralist praises the latter at the expense of the former; or rather, he tolerates the latter because he does not recognise them as pleasures. His classification is, of course, not scientifically defensible, and in many cases he is himself in doubt. Do the pleasures of art belong to the senses or to the mind? If he is really stern, he will condemn art in toto, like Plato and the Fathers: if he is more or less latitudinarian, he will tolerate art if it has a ‘spiritual purpose’, which generally means that it is bad art.

We went back to her place on Handy and before I could really put a hurt on her she stopped everything, dragged me up from her toto by my ears. Why is this the face I can't seem to forget, even now, after all these years? Tired from working, swollen from lack of sleep, a crazy mixture of ferocity and vulnerability that was and shall ever be Lola.

Nemohol som povedať, že som šťastný. Nebolo to také jednoduché ako šťastie. Bol som len prítomný, azda prvý raz za svoju dospelosť. Tá chvíľa nebola ničím výnimočná. Ale mal som tu chvíľu a mal som ju úplne. Prebývala vo mne. Uvedomil som si, že aj keď umriem, aspoň som spoznal toto:spojenie s vlastným životom, s jeho chybami a ironickými úspechmi.

Harap maklum, sekali lagi, terutama dalam rangka membuat orang tersenyum dan tertawa itulah maksud utama buku kecil ini disajikan ke hadapan anda semua. Kalau ada banyak di antara pembaca nanti yang menyelewengkan, sengaja atau tidak sengaja, maksud utama itu –misalnya saja anda lantas berkerut dahi sambil mengangguk-angguk dan berkhayal bahwa memang ada sesuatu yang tidak beres dengan dunia pendidikan kita, lantas anda berencana melakukan sesuatu untuk merombaknya habis-habisan– maka itu menjadi tanggungjawab anda sendiri.

HAMM: And yet I hesitate, I hesitate to...to end. Yes, there it is, it's time it ended and yet I hesitate to - [he yawns] - to end.

Think Upside Down Live Rightside Up

It is so beautiful but home is home, and home is best.

Magic obeys only the heart of the one who uses it. Your magic would always be a kind magic, because you are kind, I can tell. Please stay and help us.

You know something, you never know what lonely is until you are really alone, alone all day, alone all night, with no one to talk to.

He really doesn’t. He thinks of me as his. He likes to…to make sure everyone knows I’m his. But he doesn’t want me damaged.” He’d

I want to be both for you: simple and a spectacle. I want to—to put on a show. But I need you to see me underneath. Whatever I wear or do or say, I want you to see me.

I cannot allow any man to—to criticize my private conduct!’ she exclaimed. ‘Nor will I for a minute.

I never cry at the theatre. It seems to me that I feel things far too deeply, too deep down in my heart, to---to splash on top!

That’s the other thing people do when the power goes out. They jump up to…To what? It’s weird. We’re so used to electricity, when it’s gone, we don’t know what to do. So

They got too much to lose by upsetting the status quo.” Crow shook his head. “Better to just chop off the head and start anew.

Some of the best people I know are creatures, and most of the worst think they are not.

They seemed perfectly polite when we met them. If a little…Do you guys have Young Republicans around here?

She echoed him, taking a step too. “No! But I’m also no fool to…to blindly do your bidding.” “I do not consider you a fool, although you do raise your voice louder than an angry macaw,

As for my own answers to any of this? I have none. I'm far more confused than before I first went. I've had no great epiphanies, no profound realisations, but since returning home I've resigned myself to this one thing: that, putting the economics and politics of it all aside - naive as that may be - what it all boils down to is individuals. It's a simple interaction between just two people: one, a person with opportunities and choices, and who could get a flight out tomorrow should they choose; the other, a person with few options - if any. If nothing else, it's a gesture. An attempt. Food and a tent for Toto. Burns dressing for Jose. A little operating theatre with car batteries and boiled instruments, where Roberto can ply his trade. Free HIV treatment for Elizabeth, who'll never be cured and will always live in a hut anyway, but who'll have a longer, healthier life because of it. And sometimes it's little more than a bed in which to die peacefully, attended to by family and health workers... but hey, that's no small thing in some parts. My head says it's futile. My heart knows differently.

if the woman, however injured, however irreproachable, has appearances in the least degree against her, has exposed herself by any unconventional action to—to offensive insinuations—’’ She

The war was not won by any single individual, be it Abraham Lincoln or Ulysses S. Grant. The Union, as a whole, triumphed. The national army, fielding over two million men in toto, led by legions of staff, company, field, and general officers; a correspondingly potent navy; and a far more powerful economy than its adversary were all needed to ultimately subdue the Confederacy.

L’Ur-Fascismo si basa su un “populismo qualitativo”. In una democrazia i cittadini godono di diritti individuali, ma l’insieme dei cittadini è dotato di un impatto politico solo dal punto di vista quantitativo (si seguono le decisioni della maggioranza). Per l’Ur-Fascismo gli individui in quanto individui non hanno diritti, e il “popolo” è concepito come una qualità, un’entità monolitica che esprime la “volontà comune”. Dal momento che nessuna quantità di esseri umani può possedere una volontà comune, il leader pretende di essere il loro interprete. Avendo perduto il loro potere di delega, i cittadini non agiscono, sono solo chiamati pars pro toto, a giocare il ruolo del popolo. Il popolo è così solo una finzione teatrale. Per avere un buon esempio di populismo qualitativo, non abbiamo più bisogno di Piazza Venezia o dello stadio di Norimberga. Nel nostro futuro si profila un populismo qualitativo TV o Internet, in cui la risposta emotiva di un gruppo selezionato di cittadini può venire presentata e accettata come la “voce del popolo”. A ragione del suo populismo qualitativo, l’Ur-Fascismo deve opporsi ai “putridi” governi parlamentari.

My emotions threaten to consume me. I went from having no one who cared about me, aside from a social worker who was paid to—to having two men desperate to keep me safe and secure in their home.

The clerks at the bank who turned over our information. The fake attorney. The man who gave me free hot chocolate at Hertzoon’s fake office. I destroyed them all, one by one, brick by brick. And Rollins will be the last. These things don’t wash away with prayer, Wraith. There is no peace waiting for me, no forgiveness, not in this life, not in the next.” Inej shook her head. How could she still look at him with kindness in her eyes? “You don’t ask for forgiveness, Kaz. You earn it.” “Is that what you intend to do? By hunting slavers?” “By hunting slavers. By rooting out the merchers and Barrel bosses who profit off of them. By being something more than just the next Pekka Rollins.” It was impossible. There was nothing more. He could see the truth even if she couldn’t. Inej was stronger than he would ever be. She’d kept her faith, her goodness, even when the world tried to take it from her with greedy hands. His eyes scanned her face as they always had, closely, hungrily, snatching at the details of her like the thief he was—the even set of her dark brows, the rich brown of her eyes, the upward tilt of her lips. He didn’t deserve peace and he didn’t deserve forgiveness, but if he was going to die today, maybe the one thing he’d earned was the memory of her—brighter than anything he would ever have a right to—to take with him to the other side.

Go on from here, Ada, please. (She). Billions of boys. Take one fairly decent decade. A billion of Bills, good, gifted, tender and passionate, not only spiritually but physically well-meaning Billions, have bared the jillions of their no less tender and brilliant Jills during that decade, at stations and under conditions that have to be controlled and specified by the worker, lest the entire report be choked up by the weeds of statistics and waist-high generalizations. No point would there be, if we left out, for example, the little matter of prodigious individual awareness and young genius, which makes, in some cases, of this or that particular gasp an unprecedented and unrepeatable event in the continuum of life or at least a thematic anthemia of such events in a work of art, or a denouncer’s article. The details that shine through or shade through: the local leaf through the hyaline skin, the green sun in the brown humid eye, tout ceci, vsyo eto, in tit and toto, must be taken into account, now prepare to take over (no, Ada, go on, ya zaslushalsya: I’m all enchantment and ears), if we wish to convey the fact, the fact, the fact—that among those billions of brilliant couples in one cross section of what you will allow me to call spacetime (for the convenience of reasoning), one couple is a unique super-imperial couple, sverhimperator-skaya cheta, in consequence of which (to be inquired into, to be painted, to be denounced, to be put to music, or to the question and death, if the decade has a scorpion tail after all), the particularities of their love-making influence in a special unique way two long lives and a few readers, those pensive reeds, and their pens and mental paintbrushes. Natural history indeed! Unnatural history—because that precision of senses and sense must seem unpleasantly peculiar to peasants, and because the detail is all: The song of a Tuscan Firecrest or a Sitka Kinglet in a cemetery cypress; a minty whiff of Summer Savory or Yerba Buena on a coastal slope; the dancing flitter of a Holly Blue or an Echo Azure—combined with other birds, flowers and butterflies: that has to be heard, smelled and seen through the transparency of death and ardent beauty. And the most difficult: beauty itself as perceived through the there and then. The males of the firefly (now it’s really your turn, Van).

On one hand, I’d like a man who makes a good living and wants a family someday. On the other, I’d like to be manhandled once in a while. Just sort of thrown down and told who is boss, you know? Is that so much to ask? But on the three occasions I’ve dated a man long enough to…to do…it, they insisted on treating me with respect in bed. It was incredibly disappointing. Zero stars. Would not recommend.

No one who lives in a frickin’ crystal compound is going to know a thing about the working-class struggle, no matter what lip service they want to give about what their pop-pop did before making it big.

Popular authors do not and apparently cannot appreciate the fact that true art is obtainable only by rejecting normality and conventionality in toto, and approaching a theme purged utterly of any usual or preconceived point of view. Wild and “different” as they may consider their quasi-weird products, it remains a fact that the bizarrerie is on the surface alone; and that basically they reiterate the same old conventional values and motives and perspectives. Good and evil, teleological illusion, sugary sentiment, anthropocentric psychology—the usual superficial stock in trade, and all shot through with the eternal and inescapable commonplace…. Who ever wrote a story from the point of view that man is a blemish on the cosmos, who ought to be eradicated? As an example—a young man I know lately told me that he means to write a story about a scientist who wishes to dominate the earth, and who to accomplish his ends trains and overdevelops germs … and leads armies of them in the manner of the Egyptian plagues. I told him that although this theme has promise, it is made utterly commonplace by assigning the scientist a normal motive. There is nothing outré about wanting to conquer the earth; Alexander, Napoleon, and Wilhelm II wanted to do that. Instead, I told my friend, he should conceive a man with a morbid, frantic, shuddering hatred of the life-principle itself, who wishes to extirpate from the planet every trace of biological organism, animal and vegetable alike, including himself. That would be tolerably original. But after all, originality lies with the author. One can’t write a weird story of real power without perfect psychological detachment from the human scene, and a magic prism of imagination which suffuses theme and style alike with that grotesquerie and disquieting distortion characteristic of morbid vision. Only a cynic can create horror—for behind every masterpiece of the sort must reside a driving demonic force that despises the human race and its illusions, and longs to pull them to pieces and mock them.

If you need to fall apart, then do it. If you want to be angry, then yell at me.” She shook her head. “I know it’s been a shit day for you, and I’m sorry that you have to…to see my old life, but this is my life now. Please don’t be upset about this.” “I’m not.” She wasn’t. And at the same time,she was. She didn’t have a clue what she was supposed to feel anymore. “Then don’t shut down on me now. Don’t walk away

I need you to know that. I want to…to… show you how much this is forever….” Matt’s expression went from concerned to amused to a sweet reddening on his cheeks that Evan found to be his favorite reaction, ever.

The giant advanced and—hell no, I was not going down like this. I was not getting chopped to pieces hiding in a teenage human’s bosom as she cried. No, no, thank you, we are in our Bad Dog era, heck this all to poop.

How strange and beautiful—it must be one of the few real reasons for remaining alive, of desiring to—to dance with your daughter, your son, and your wife; touching, really digging it, laughing, and keeping the beat, free

I am fully done with other people telling me what to do with my history. My past made me who I am. There is no way to wipe it clean. I am the evidence. If you look at me and see track marks and too-skinny arms and hands that know how to hold a gun and a brain that is sharper and faster than yours, then that is not my problem. Do you hear me? I have regrets, and I have made mistakes, but I am who I am. I’m done pretending that I’ve wholly remade myself, that I’m going to…to hide myself away in some lecture hall for the next four years to make you all comfortable. If you want to stop seeing it, you’ll have to stop seeing me, and I am not going to disappear.

Gadis Peminta-minta Setiap kali bertemu, gadis kecil berkaleng kecil Senyummu terlalu kekal untuk kenal duka Tengadah padaku, pada bulan merah jambu Tapi kotaku jadi hilang, tanpa jiwa Ingin aku ikut, gadis kecil berkaleng kecil Pulang ke bawah jembatan yang melulur sosok Hidup dari kehidupan angan-angan yang gemerlapan Gembira dari kemayaan riang Duniamu yang lebih tinggi dari menara katedral Melintas-lintas di atas air kotor, tapi yang begitu kau hafal Jiwa begitu murni, terlalu murni Untuk bisa membagi dukaku Kalau kau mati, gadis kecil berkaleng kecil Bulan di atas itu, tak ada yang punya Dan kotaku, ah kotaku Hidupnya tak lagi punya tanda

Don’t mind Toto,” said Dorothy, to her new friend; “he never bites.” “Oh, I’m not afraid,” replied the Scarecrow, “he can’t hurt the straw. Do let me carry that basket for you. I shall not mind it, for I can’t get tired. I’ll tell you a secret,” he continued, as he walked along; “there is only one thing in the world I am afraid of.” “What is that?” asked Dorothy; “the Munchkin farmer who made you?” “No,” answered the Scarecrow; “it’s a lighted match.

He didn’t deserve peace and he didn’t deserve forgiveness, but if he was going to die today, maybe the one thing he’d earned was the memory of her—brighter than anything he would ever have a right to—to take with him to the other side.

The British claim that this tea has a negligible amount of caffeine. Don't you believe it. A couple of months after moving to London, convinced I was having panic attacks, I realized it was simply overcaffeination at the hands of generous friends and colleagues. Every cup of tea I was offered, I took–it seemed rude not to–to the tune of five of seven per day. The cumulative effects were heart-pounding, hand-sweating jitters that abated as soon as I learned my limits.

...that we should look out of the window, choose a star, and make a last wish before we went to sleep, and she told us we should wish the best, not just for each of ourselves, but more for each other, because we were all the best of friends.

Please, what task, Sir?' said Jill. 'The task for which I called you and him here out of your own world.' This puzzled Jill very much. 'It's mistaking me for someone else,' she thought. She didn't dare to tell the Lion this, though she felt things would get into a dreadful muddle unless she did. 'Speak your thought, Human Child,' said the Lion. 'I was wondering—I mean—could there be some mistake? Because nobody called me and Scrubb, you know. It was we who asked to come here. Scrubb said we were to call to—to Somebody—it was a name I wouldn't know—and perhaps the Somebody would let us in. And we did, and then we found the door open.' 'You would not have called to me unless I had been calling to you,' said the Lion.

Pravda mužského principu je logická (Když A rovná se B a B rovná se C, pak se A musí rovnat C) a lineární. To například znamená, že muž, když jednou zalhal, považuje s přibývajícím časem toto své pochybení za stále méně relevantní. Pravda ženského principu je pocitová (ale já to teď tak cítím) a cyklická. To například znamená, že dostane-li se ženský princip do podobné situace, vyvolají se tím i dávno „zapomenuté“ pocity, jako kdyby k události (např. k mužovu zalhání) došlo včera.

I know-that things exist beyond our reasoning. They DO exist. We may not understand them but that doesn't mean they can't BE. You find people so ready to-to scoff at anything they can't figure out, can't reason, and those same people will turn straight round and tell you that they believe in God. Is HE understandable? Is that belief backed up by reasoning, scientific logic? We live with mysteries all day long, all our lives, but because they're familiar mysteries, we accept them. Well, you'd have to-or go mad. Who understands LIFE? Yet we live it. We hang on to it. We accept it just as we accept the inevitability of death. Life and death: the only two absolute certainties we're aware of, but we can't even BEGIN to explain them.

Náboženské symboly jsou fenomény života, prostě skutečnostmi, nikoli názory. Když církev po takovou a takovou dobu lpí na tom, že Slunce obíhá kolem Země, ale v 19. století toto hledisko opouští, pak se může v tomto ohledu odvolat na psychologickou pravdu, že pro miliony lidí vskutku Slunce obíhalo kolem Země a teprve v 19. století dosáhlo větší množství lidí takové jistoty intelektuální funkce, že mohli uznat důkazy o planetární povaze Země. Bohužel neexistuje žádná pravda bez lidí, kteří ji chápou.

Nemuseli "uzavírat přátelství" jako jejich vrstevníci při směšných a slavnostních obradech, s důležitou vášnivostí, jako když se mezi lidmi ohlásí vášeň, nevědomky a zmrzačená, kdy člověk poprvé chce odejmout světu tělo a duši jiného člověka, aby patřili jemu, pouze jemu. Toto je smysl lásky a přátelství. Jejich přátelství bylo tak vážné a mlčenlivé jako všechny velké city na celý život. A jako v každém velkém citu i v tomto byla cudnost a vědomí viny. Člověk nemůže beztrestně vzít někoho ostatným lidem.

I love you … I’ve always loved you but I love you and I had to-to-“ “I know, Emme. I love you too.” “Like I’m your wife?” I asked. “Is that how you love me?” “You are my wife,” he said, his voice like sandpaper. “And that’s the only way I ever want to love you.

All I wanted was to return to—to the people around me. I wanted it badly enough I didn’t have room for fear. The worst had happened, and the darkness was calm and quiet. It did not seem like a bad thing to fade into. But I wanted to go home. So I followed the bond home.

VERY careless and forgetful person has left his door-scraper lying about in the middle of the Wild Wood, JUST where it’s SURE to trip EVERYBODY up. Very thoughtless of him, I call it. When I get home I shall go and complain about it to—to somebody or other, see if I don’t!

Worse yet, he blundered from the start, asking her why she felt she needed to be hurt. “Why are people gay?” she shot back, suddenly unshy. “Why does anyone have a foot fetish? One of my earlier memories is of looking up words related to—to this, in the dictionary. It just happens, you know?

There it is, Toto.' Anna was pointing. [...] 'The Statue of Liberty.' There was hardly any need to move to the rail. The mighty statue towered over them. Its upraised arm, torch in hand, seemed to scrape the sky. Salvatore gazed up in silence. So this was America. [...] ...as the Mediterranean boy looked up, he understood what he saw. Power. The colossal, pale green, pagan god rose alone on its huge pedestal above the waters. Hundreds of feet up, under its mighty diadem, the blank, heroic face stared with Olympian indifference across the clear blue sky, while its upraised arm signaled: Victory.

Yes. All the worth-while things in life. All mixed up. Rooms in candle-light. Leisure. Colour. Travel. Books. Music. Pictures. People—all kinds of people. Work that you love. And growth—growth and watching people grow. Feeling very strongly about things and then developing that feeling to—to make something fine come of it.

Revolution and youth are closely allied. What can a revolution promise to adults? To some it brings disgrace, to others favor. But even that favor is questionable, for it affects only the worse half of life, and in addition to advantages it also entails uncertainty, exhausting activity and upheaval of settled habits. Youth is substantially better off: it is not burdened by guilt, and the revolution can accept young people in toto. The uncertainty of revolutionary times is an advantage for youth, because it is the world of the fathers that is challenged. How exciting to enter into the age of maturity over the shattered ramparts of the adult world!

Imagine the fear the first men must have felt when they saw the sun setting on the horizon and the dark night beginning to rise—They must have felt such hopelessness within their hearts as the darkness descended, only for it to spark back to life as the stars began to shine through. However, the stars do not burn like the sun, do they? They provide little light for the land, which makes one wonder, that perhaps conquering the dark was not their purpose. Maybe the creators of the world intended when they made them, not to bring light into the world, but instead for them to serve as something else. That is the great mystery of our world, is it not? Why would the creators, the gods who shaped the land and the heavens with their hands, forge something so stunning, so dazzling, only to then hide them away during the day and allow men to gaze upon their beauty only when darkness is present—this must mean something, right? Maybe that was their intention all along. Perhaps they knew they could not eliminate the darkness of the night, so instead, they created these beautiful glowing lights in the sky—a small light for the people to cling to—to serve as a constant reminder to all that looked up, that no matter how dark the world seemed, there would always be light. Maybe that is why they created you as well

In every tomorrow I had imagined, this was never one of them. There were never any prospects beyond the life of a scholarly old maid, but that was a fate I had looked forward to—to live among parchments and sink into the compressed universes stitched into lines and lines of writing. To answer to no one. There was another sorrow, tucked beneath my surprise. Although I had never envisioned marriage, I had thought of love. Not the furtive love I heard muffled in the corners or rooms of some of the harem wives. What I wanted was a connection, a shared heartbeat that kept rhythm across oceans and worlds. Not some alliance cobbled out of war. I didn’t want the prince from the folktales or some milk-skinned, honey-eyed youth who said his greetings and proclaimed his love in the same breath. I wanted a love thick with time, as inscrutable as if a lathe had carved it from night and as familiar as the marrow in my bones. I wanted the impossible, which made it that much easier to push out of my mind.

The loudness of tone in Jane Eyre is undoubtedly effective in communicating tension and frustration, but the style does of course have its related limitations. It precludes the use of the small suggestive detail or the quiet but telling observation that Mrs Gaskell and George Eliot are so good at. In such a fortissimo performance as this, the pianissimo gets drowned out, or noted only as an incongruity (which helps to account for the book's moments of unintended comic bathos). Again, it makes the whole question of modulation of tone a difficult one,6 and it is also hard to manage irony elegantly, as the Brocklehurst and Ingram portraits show. There is unconscious ambiguity but little deliberate irony in Jane Eyre. Hence the remarkable unity of critical interpretation of the book—the reader knows all too well what he is meant to think about the heroine and the subsidiary characters. The novel does not merely request our judicious sympathy for the heroine, it demands that we see with her eyes, think in her terms, and hate her enemies, not just intermittently (as in David Copperfield) but in toto. It was, incidentally, because James Joyce recognised the similar tendency of Stephen Hero that he reshaped his autobiographical material as A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, retaining the 'first-person effect' but building in stylistic and structural irony that would guard against the appearance of wholesale authorial endorsement of Stephen.

I’m sure of one thing,” she said earnestly. “It hurts to—to let go of anything beautiful. But something will come to take its place, something different, of course, but better. The future’s always better than we can possibly think it will be . . . We ought to live confidently. Because whatever’s ahead, it’s going to be better than we’ve had.” Rose Wilder Lane Diverging Roads

Pahlawan Tak Dikenal Sepuluh tahun yang lalu dia terbaring Tetapi bukan tidur, sayang Sebuah lubang peluru bundar di dadanya Senyum bekunya mau berkata, kita sedang perang Dia tidak ingat bilamana dia datang Kedua lengannya memeluk senapan Dia tidak tahu untuk siapa dia datang Kemudian dia terbaring, tapi bukan tidur sayang Wajah sunyi setengah tengadah Menangkap sepi padang senja Dunia tambah beku di tengah derap dan suara menderu Dia masih sangat muda Hari itu 10 November, hujan pun mulai turun Orang-orang ingin kembali memandangnya Sambil merangkai karangan bunga Tapi yang nampak, wajah-wajahnya sendiri yang tak dikenalnya Sepuluh tahun yang lalu dia terbaring Tetapi bukan tidur, sayang Sebuah lubang peluru bundar di dadanya Senyum bekunya mau berkata: aku sangat muda

The other approach, taken by survivors of the old Madrasa i-Rahimiyya, was to reject the West in toto and to attempt to return to what they regarded as pure Islamic roots. For this reason, disillusioned pupils of the school of Shah Waliullah, such as Maulana Muhammad Qasim Nanautawi – who in 1857 had briefly established an independent Islamic state north of Meerut at Shamli in the Doab – founded an influential but depressingly narrow-minded Wahhabi-like madrasa at Deoband, 100 miles north of the former Mughal capital. With their backs to the wall, they reacted against what the founders saw as the degenerate and rotten ways of the old Mughal elite. The Deoband madrasa therefore went back to Koranic basics and rigorously stripped out anything Hindu or European from the curriculum.

I-I would have wanted to-to court you first. To take you driving, with a chaperon.' 'A chaperon?' Tessa laughed despite herself. He went on determinedly. 'To tell you my feelings first, before I showed them. To write poetry for you-' 'You don't even like poetry,' Tessa said, her voice catching on a half laugh of relief. 'No. But you make me want to write it. Does that not count for anything?

I'm so angry,' she said. 'I was all right until you came back. I'd given up. So many terrible things. Relatives, neighbors disappearing. Opa. The bloody Germans coming to...to strip us bare. Oma's silence. Bam, bam, bam. Like being punched over and over again. You get numb. It doesn't hurt anymore. Unless you start to hope. That's the trick, you see: you can take anything unless you start to hope.

You use more than thirty pounds of ATP during a one-hour walk and more than your entire body weight of ATP over the course of a typical day—an obviously impossible amount to lug around in reserve.15 Consequently, a human body stores in toto only about a hundred grams of ATPs at any given moment.16 Fortunately, before our first few steps deplete the leg muscles’ scant supply of ATPs, they quickly tap into another ATP-like molecule known as creatine phosphate that also binds to phosphates and stores energy.17 Unfortunately, those creatine phosphate reserves are also limited, becoming 60 percent depleted after ten seconds of sprinting and exhausted after thirty seconds.18 Even so, the precious short burst of fuel they provide gives muscles time to fire up a second energy recharging process: breaking down sugar.

Člověk se přirozeně nemůže od dětství osvobodit, aniž by se jím podrobně nezabýval, jak již dlouho víme z Freudových výzkumů. Čistě intelektuálním věděním přitom nelze ničeho dosáhnout. Účinné je pouze rozpomenutí se, které je zároveň znovuprožitím. Mnohé zůstane nevyřešené díky rychlému plynutí let a přemáhajícímu proudu věmů z právě odhalovaného světa. Od toho se člověk neosvobodil, nýbrž jenom vzdálil. Vrátí-li se tedy z pozdějších let zpátky k dětským vzpomínkám, nalezne tam ještě živé části vlastní osobnosti, které se ho pevně chytí, připojí se k němu a prosytí jej znovu pocitem dřívějších let. Tyto části jsou ale dosud ve stavu dětství, a proto silné a bezprostřední. Pouze jsou-li opět spojeny s dospělým vědomím, mohou pozbýt svůj infantilní apekt a mohou být upraveny. Vždy musí být nejprve prozkoumáno toto "osobní nevědomí", to znamená musí dojít k jeho uvědomění, jinak nelze otevřít vstup ke kolektivnímu nevědomí.

Instead, to deal with complex future conflicts, we’re going to need something more like a unified field theory: an approach that is framed around the common features of all types of threats (rather than optimized for the particular characteristics of any one type of threat) and considers the environment in toto as a single unified system. We’ll need to acknowledge that many security challenges in the future environment will be “threats without enemies,” which, by definition, are just not amenable to military solutions. And we’ll need to recognize that even when there’s an identifiable adversary—usually, but not always, a nonstate armed group—there are still no purely military solutions to many of the challenges we will encounter, meaning that disciplines such as law enforcement, urban planning, city administration, systems design, public health, and international development are likely to play a key part in any future theory of conflict.

Love pushes us beyond duty, rather than stopping there, and acts when we don’t know for sure what the ethical thing to do is. If the ethical question is, “What must be done?” love adds, “I will do more.” If our ethical compass is not able to give us a clear direction to travel, love sets out anyway. The way of love provides a way when ethical demands have had their say or do not know what to say. Is this not what Jesus was calling us to?—to live beyond the law so as to fulfill it.

Eddie: Why do police lieutenants wear belts? The lights in the Barony coach began to flicker. An odd thing was happening to the walls, as well; they began to fade in and out of true, lunging toward transparency, perhaps, and then opaquing again. Seeing this phenomenon even out of the corner of his eye made Eddie feel a bit whoopsie. Eddie: Blaine? Answer. Roland: (agreeably) Answer. Answer, or I declare the contest at an end and hold you to your promise. Blaine: TO...TO HOLD UP THEIR PANTS? (repeating as a statement) TO HOLD UP THEIR PANTS. A RIDDLE BASED UPON THE EXAGGERATED SIMPLICITY OF-- Eddie: Right. Good one, Blaine, but never mind trying to kill time--it won't work. Next-- Blaine: I INSIST YOU STOP ASKING THESE SILLY-- Eddie: Then stop the mono. If you're that upset, stop right here, and I will. Blaine: NO. Eddie: Okay, then, on we go. What's Irish and stays out in back of the house, even in the rain? Blaine: (clicking his tongue deafeningly and gratingly; a long pause) PADDY O'FURNITURE.

But your friends are fewer now. Some have drifted off somewhere or submerged themselves in their work. You no longer see as many as you did at meetings or gatherings. Informal groups become smaller; attendance drops off in little organizations, and the organizations themselves wither. Now, in small gatherings of your oldest friends, you feel that you are talking to yourselves, that you are isolated from the reality of things. This weakens your confidence still further and serves as a further deterrent to—to what? It is clearer all the time that, if you are going to do anything, you must make an occasion to do it, and then you are obviously a troublemaker. So you wait, and you wait. “But the one great shocking occasion, when tens or hundreds or thousands will join with you, never comes. That’s the difficulty. If the last and worst act of the whole regime had come immediately after the first and smallest, thousands, yes, millions would have been sufficiently shocked—if, let us say, the gassing of the Jews in ’43 had come immediately after the ‘German Firm’ stickers on the windows of non-Jewish shops in ’33. But of course this isn’t the way it happens. In between come all the hundreds of little steps, some of them imperceptible, each of them preparing you not to be shocked by the next. Step C is not so much worse than Step B, and, if you did not make a stand at Step B, why should you at Step C? And so on to Step D. “And one day, too late, your principles, if you were ever sensible of them, all rush in upon you. The burden of self-deception has grown too heavy, and some minor incident, in my case my little boy, hardly more than a baby, saying ‘Jew swine,’ collapses it all at once, and you see that everything, everything, has changed and changed completely under your nose. The world you live in—your nation, your people—is not the world you were born in at all. The forms are all there, all untouched, all reassuring, the houses, the shops, the jobs, the mealtimes, the visits, the concerts, the cinema, the holidays. But the spirit, which you never noticed because you made the lifelong mistake of identifying it with the forms, is changed. Now you live in a world of hate and fear, and the people who hate and fear do not even know it themselves; when everyone is transformed, no one is transformed. Now you live in a system which rules without responsibility even to God. The system itself could not have intended this in the beginning, but in order to sustain itself it was compelled to go all the way.

Lidstvo v každé době plodí ďábelské šílence a svůdné představy útisku. Úkolem státnictví je zabránit tomu, aby se vyšvihli k moci, a udržet funkční mezinárodní uspořádání, které je může – pokud se k moci dostanou – zastrašit. Toxická směs povrchního pacifismu, geopolitické nerovnováhy a nejednoty spojenců však těmto silám v meziválečném období dala volnou ruku. Evropa poučená třemi sty lety konfliktu vybudovala mezinárodní řád – a pak ho odhodila, protože její vůdcové nerozuměli při vstupu do první světové války důsledkům svého počínání, a i když nyní chápali, jaký by byl dopad další hromadné katastrofy, zalekli se závěrů, k nimž je toto nahlédnutí mělo přimět. Kolaps mezinárodního pořádku, k němuž v této době došlo, byl v zásadě rezignací či přímo sebevraždou. Evropa opustila zásady vestfálského urovnání, zdráhala se uplatnit sílu, jež by byla nezbytná k obhajobě deklarované morální alternativy, a nyní ji stravovala nová válka, jejíž konec s sebou znovu přinesl nutnost nově pojmout uspořádání kontinentu.

Our respect for the individual as a unique phenomenon, not to be suppressed in his idiosyncrasies, but to be cultivated and brought to fulfillment as a gift to the world such as never before was seen on earth, nor will ever appear again, is contrary, toto caelo, to the spirit not only of Oriental art but also of Oriental life. And in keeping with this turn of mind, the individual is expected not to innovate or invent, but to perfect himself in the knowledge and rendition of norms. Accordingly, the Oriental artist must not only address himself to standard themes, but also have no interest in any such thing as we understand by self-expression. Accounts, such as abound in the biographies of Western masters, of an artist’s solitary agony in long quest of his own special language to bring forward his personal message, we shall search for long and in vain in the annals of Oriental art. Such ego-oriented thinking is alien completely to Eastern life, thought, and religiosity, which are concerned, on the contrary, precisely with the quenching of ego and of all interest in this evanescent thing that is merely the “I” of a passing dream.

Ona věta „To je vaše vina!“ může znamenat: Jste odpovědni za činy režimu, který jste trpěli - zde jde o naši politickou vinu. Je vaše vina, že jste nadto tento režim podporovali a pomáhali jej vytvářet – v tom spočívá naše morální vina. Je vaše vina, že jste nečinně přihlíželi, když se páchaly zločiny – zde se naznačuje metafyzická vina. Tyto tři věty pokládám za pravdivé, třebaže jen první z nich - větu o politické odpovědnosti – lze vyslovit bez okolků a třebaže jen ona je zcela správna, zatímco druhá a třetí – věty o morální a metafyzické vině - se v juristické podobě stávají jako výpovědi, které jsou bez lásky, nepravdivými. len jste se na oněch zločinech, tedy jste sami zločinci. Věta „To je vaše vina“ může dále znamenat: Podíleli jste se na oněch zločinech, tedy jste sami zločinci. To je, pokud jde o převážnou většinu Němců, zřejmě mylné. Konečně může tato věta znamenat: Jste jako národ méněcenní, bez důstojnosti, zločinní, jste vyvrhelové lidstva, lišíte se od všech ostatních národů. – To je myšlení a hodnocení v pojmech kolektivů, které svou subsumací každého jedince pod toto všeobecné jsou radikálně falešné a samy o sobě nelidské, ať už se děje v dobrém, nebo špatném smyslu.

I heard a great deal about freedom in the sense of freedom to—to talk on your cellphone as you drove a car, to pick up a drive-in daiquiri with a straw on the side, to walk about with a loaded gun. But there was almost no talk about freedom from such things as gun violence, car accidents, or toxic pollution. General Honoré was no nervous nelly, but he was mindful of the vulnerable communities around the "self-regulated" plants. "Part of the psychological program is that people think they're free when they're not," he said. "A company may be free to pollute, but that means the people aren't free to swim.

Pokud v člověku dominuje materialistický pohled na svět, jeho vědomí je omezeno a chybí v něm duchovní Znalosti, pak ve vědomí dochází k mnoha změnám. To znamená, že Osobnost využije sílu ne pro duchovní rozvoj, ale pro realizaci svých materiálních přání. Síla jediného duchovního pocitu se ve vědomí rozmělňuje na velké množství přání Materiální podstaty. Ve výsledku je to tak, že člověk místo toho, aby toužil po Věčnosti, začíná se jí panicky bát a považovat trojrozměrný svět za jedinou realitu svého bytí. Vyčerpává síly svého života na to, aby v materiálním světě dosáhl uspokojení svého vlastního Ega, aby získal moc nad sobě podobnými, aby nahromadil pozemské bohatství. Ale se smrtí těla člověk toto všechno ztrácí a ze svého bývalého života mu v jeho posmrtném osudu zbývá jen shluk negativní energie, který mu pak přináší trápení a neklid. Ale pokud v člověku dominuje duchovní pohled na svět, a on nejen že má Znalosti o světě a o sobě samém, ale také je cíleně, podle jejich určení využívá a pracuje na sobě, tak se kvalitativně mění. Pohybuje se po duchovním vektoru svého života díky hlubokým pocitům vycházejícím z jeho Duše. Pro duchovně zralého člověka znamená fyzická smrt v podstatě vysvobození. Je to pouze přechod do kvalitativně jiného stavu, stavu opravdové svobody ve Věčnosti.

build it had to be carried by wagon many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof, which made one room; and this room contained a rusty looking cookstove, a cupboard for the dishes, a table, three or four chairs, and the beds. Uncle Henry and Aunt Em had a big bed in one corner, and Dorothy a little bed in another corner. There was no garret at all, and no cellar--except a small hole dug in the ground, called a cyclone cellar, where the family could go in case one of those great whirlwinds arose, mighty enough to crush any building in its path. It was reached by a trap door in the middle of the floor, from which a ladder led down into the small, dark hole. When Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she could see nothing but the great gray prairie on every side. Not a tree nor a house broke the broad sweep of flat country that reached to the edge of the sky in all directions. The sun had baked the plowed land into a gray mass, with little cracks running through it. Even the grass was not green, for the sun had burned the tops of the long blades until they were the same gray color to be seen everywhere. Once the house had been painted, but the sun blistered the paint and the rains washed it away, and now the house was as dull and gray as everything else. When Aunt Em came there to live she was a young, pretty wife. The sun and wind had changed her, too. They had taken the sparkle from her eyes and left them a sober gray; they had taken the red from her cheeks and lips, and they were gray also. She was thin and gaunt, and never smiled now. When Dorothy, who was an orphan, first came to her, Aunt Em had been so startled by the child's laughter that she would scream and press her hand upon her heart whenever Dorothy's merry voice reached her ears; and she still looked at the little girl with wonder that she could find anything to laugh at. Uncle Henry never laughed. He worked hard from morning till night and did not know what joy was. He was gray also, from his long beard to his rough boots, and he looked stern and solemn, and rarely spoke. It was Toto that made Dorothy laugh, and saved her from growing as gray as her other surroundings. Toto was not gray; he was a little black dog, with long silky hair and small black eyes that twinkled merrily on either side of his funny, wee nose. Toto played all day long, and Dorothy played with him, and loved him dearly. Today, however, they were not playing. Uncle Henry sat upon the doorstep and looked anxiously at the sky, which was even grayer than usual. Dorothy stood in the door with Toto in her arms, and looked at the sky too. Aunt Em was washing the

Having experimented in both poetry and prose, I can say that the two are such loaded words. But neither are quite as weighted as the word “poet”. I think some people can write poetry their whole lives, and never truly BE a “poet”. Whereas I see poets in the wanderers I encounter, the baristas who serve me, and the truckers I, so, love to talk to.To be a poet in my humble opinion is to be a muse of the human experience. I love that I love the idea, that anything can be poetry, it can’t be defined. It’s a feeling, like punk rock. I’m not one for form or structure. I say if your words are visceral and honest, it’s poetry. If you see the beauty of the world and humanity, and you preach it, you’re a poet.

Hey, Sam,” Drake shouted. “I thought you’d like to know this isn’t my whole army.” Sam didn’t doubt it. “Your girl Brianna tried to stop us.” Drake waved a bowie knife in the air. “I took this from her. I whipped her, Sam.” He snapped his whip hand. The crack was like a pistol shot. “I broke her legs so she couldn’t run. Then . . .” Dekka was halfway over the side, ready to swim ashore. Jack grabbed her and held her. “Let me go!” Dekka yelled. “Hold her,” Sam ordered Jack. “Don’t be stupid, Dekka. He wants us to come rushing at him.” “I can beat him,” Jack said. “Dekka and me together, we can kill him.” Sam registered the fact that Jack was actually making a physical threat. He didn’t remember ever hearing that kind of thing from Jack. But Dekka was Sam’s greater concern. “I’m going to kill him,” Dekka said in a voice so deep in her throat she sounded like an animal. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him.” Then she shouted, “I’m going to kill you, Drake. I’m going to kill you!” Drake grinned. “I think she liked it. She was screaming, but she liked it.” “He’s lying,” Toto said. “Who?” Sam snapped. “Him.” He pointed at Drake. “He hasn’t killed that girl or hurt her.” Dekka relaxed and Sam and Jack let go of her. “Truth-teller Toto,” Sam whispered. “He can tell when people are lying.” “I just decided I like you,” Dekka said to Toto. “You might be useful.” Toto frowned. “It’s true: you just decided you like me.

Tento střed jsem označil jako bytostné Já. Intelektuálně není bytostné Já nic než psychologický pojem, konstrukce, která má vyjádřit nám nepoznatelné jsoucno, jež jako takové nemůžeme pochopit, protože přesahuje možnosti našeho chápání, jak to vyplývá z jeho definice. Stejně tak dobře by mohlo být označeno „Bůh v nás“. Zdá se, že začátky celého našeho duševního života vyvěrají nerozuzlitelně z tohoto bodu, a zdá se, že k němu směřují všechny nejvyšší a poslední cíle. Tento paradox je nevyhnutelný jako vždy, když se snažíme označit něco, co leží mimo schopnost našeho rozumu. Doufám, že pozornému čtenáři bylo dostatečně objasněno, že toto bytostné Já má společného s já právě tolik jako Slunce se Zemí. Obojí se nedá zaměnit. Stejně tak málo tu jde o zbožšťování člověka anebo o snižování Boha. Co leží mimo náš lidský rozum, je pro něj i tak nedosažitelné. Když tedy použijeme pojem Bůh, tak tím prostě formulujeme jen určitou psychologickou skutečnost, totiž nezávislost a převahu jistých psychických obsahů, skutečnost, která se projevuje v jejich schopnosti mařit vůli, posednout vědomí a ovlivňovat nálady a jednání. Zajisté je možno pohoršit se nad tím, že by nevysvětlitelná nálada, nervózní rozrušení, nebo dokonce neovladatelná neřest byly do jisté míry manifestací Boha. Byla by však právě pro náboženskou zkušenost nenahraditelná ztráta, kdyby se takové, snad i zlé věci měly uměle oddělovat od řady autonomních psychických obsahů.

Tell me something else instead. Tell me what you’re looking forward to most about going to school here.” “You go first. What are you most excited about?” Right away, Peter says, “That’s easy. Streaking the lawn with you.” “That’s what you’re looking forward to more than anything? Running around naked?” Hastily I add, “I’m never doing that, by the way.” He laughs. “It’s a UVA tradition. I thought you were all about UVA traditions.” “Peter!” “I’m just kidding.” He leans forward and puts his arms around my shoulders, rubbing his nose in my neck the way he likes to do. “Your turn.” I let myself dream about it for a minute. If I get in, what am I most looking forward to? There are so many things, I can hardly name them all. I’m looking forward to eating waffles every day with Peter in the dining hall. To us sledding down O-Hill when it snows. To picnics when it’s warm. To staying up all night talking and then waking up and talking some more. To late-night laundry and last-minute road trips. To…everything. Finally I say, “I don’t want to jinx it.” “Come on!” “Okay, okay…I guess I’m most looking forward to…to going to the McGregor Room whenever I want.” People call it the Harry Potter room, because of the rugs and chandeliers and leather chairs and the portraits on the wall. The bookshelves go from the floor to the ceiling, and all of the books are behind metal grates, protected like the precious objects they are. It’s a room from a different time. It’s very hushed--reverential, even. There was this one summer--I must have been five or six, because it was before Kitty was born--my mom took a class at UVA, and she used to study in the McGregor Room. Margot and I would color, or read. My mom called it the magic library, because Margot and I never fought inside of it. We were both quiet as church mice; we were so in awe of all the books, and of the older kids studying. Peter looks disappointed. I’m sure it’s because he thought I would name something having to do with him. With us. But for some reason, I want to keep those hopes just for me for now. “You can come with me to the McGregor Room,” I say. “But you have to promise to be quiet.” Affectionately Peter says, “Lara Jean, only you would look forward to hanging out in a library.

Today, each of you will make a decision,” Caine said. “To go with Sam, or to stay here. I won’t try to stop anyone, and I won’t hold it against anyone.” He placed his hand over his heart. “For those who choose to stay, let me be very clear: I will be in charge. Not as a mayor, but as a king. My word will be law. My decisions will be final.” That caused some murmuring, most of it unhappy. “But I’ll also do everything I can to leave each of you alone. Quinn, if he chooses to stay, can still fish. Albert, if he chooses to stay, will still run his business. Freaks and normals will be treated equally.” He seemed about to add something else but caught himself after a sidelong look at Toto. The silence lengthened and Sam knew it was time for him to speak. In the past he’d always had Astrid at his side for things like this. He was not much of a speaker. And in any case, he didn’t have much to say. “Anyone who goes with me has a vote in how we do stuff. I guess I’ll be more or less in charge, but we’ll probably choose some other people, create a council like . . . Well, hopefully better than we had before. And, um . . .” He was tempted to laugh at his own pitiful performance. “Look, people, if you want someone, some . . . king, good grief, to tell you what to do, stay here. If you want to make more of your own decisions, well, come with me.” He hadn’t said enough to even cause Toto to comment. “You know which side I’m on, people,” Brianna yelled. “Sam’s been carrying the load since day one.” “It was Caine that saved us,” a voice cried out. “Where was Sam?” The crowd seemed undecided. Caine was beaming confidence, but Sam noticed that his jaw clenched, his smile was forced, and he was worried.

Kat sighed. “Well, the first thing you’re going to need to do is keep in contact with both of them. Touch them a lot—and I do mean a lot—or you’re going to start getting sick.” “What? But I can’t,” Becca protested. “That’s what got me into this in the first place. And besides, every time I touch them, especially together, I keep wanting to…to…” She broke off, blushing. “Get down and dirty again?” Kat said sympathetically. “Yeah, I get it. Your body wants the full bonding experience. In fact, that’s probably what you ought to do.” “I don’t want to,” Becca said stubbornly. “I mean, Truth is on board with it and Far has always wanted the three of us together. But what happens when I have to tell my parents?” “Ask yourself this—who would you rather spend the rest of your life with?” Kat said. “Your parents or your guys? If you’d really rather move back home and never see Truth and Far again…” “No, I…” Becca put a hand to her throat. “I couldn’t. That…that would be awful.” “See?” Kat said. “Your heart knows who to choose even if your brain doesn’t.

The 'glad game'?" asked the man. "Oh, yes; she told me of that." "Oh, she did! Well, I guess she has told it generally ter most folks. But ye see, now she—she can't play it herself, an' it worries her. She says she can't think of a thing—not a thing about this not walkin' again, ter be glad about." "Well, why should she?" retorted the man, almost savagely. Nancy shifted her feet uneasily. "That's the way I felt, too—till I happened ter think—it WOULD be easier if she could find somethin', ye know. So I tried to—to remind her." "To remind her! Of what?" John Pendleton's voice was still angrily impatient. "Of—of how she told others ter play it Mis' Snow, and the rest, ye know—and what she said for them ter do. But the poor little lamb just cries, an' says it don't seem the same, somehow. She says it's easy ter TELL lifelong invalids how ter be glad, but 'tain't the same thing when you're the lifelong invalid yerself, an' have ter try ter do it. She says she's told herself over an' over again how glad she is that other folks ain't like her; but that all the time she's sayin' it, she ain't really THINKIN' of anythin' only how she can't ever walk again.

I guess you won’t stop this time,” she heard herself saying. The words were meant to be bitter but they came out breathless instead. “If I…when I ask you to…to finish it.” Baird nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “I promised not to bond you during our bathing week but when I come back all bets are off. Sorry, Lilenta, but I need you too damn much. Need to be able to hold you and protect you. So yes, if you ask for it, I’m damn well going to give it to you.” “Baird…” She didn’t know what to say. None of her arguments worked on him. “I…” She shook her head helplessly. “You’re going to be late.” “Damn it.” He let her go to look at the chronometer on his wrist and Liv sank back down on the bed. “I guess I’ll see you when I get back. Should I even bother to wear clothes?” “Lilenta…” He dropped to his knees before her and took her hands. “Please, it doesn’t have to be like this.” Liv lifted her chin. “Yes, it does. I told you before, I’m not giving up without a fight. Now go. I’ll see you later.” He sighed. “I’ll be thinking of you every moment I’m away. Be well and be safe, Lilenta.” He cupped her cheek and kissed her once more—this time a gentle brush of lips on lips—before rising. Liv

My dear, dear ladies,” Sir Francis effused as he hastened forward, “what a long-awaited delight this is!” Courtesy demanded that he acknowledge the older lady first, and so he turned to her. Picking up Berta’s limp hand from her side, he presed his lips to it and said, “Permit me to introduce myself. I am Sir Francis Belhaven.” Lady Berta curtsied, her fear-widened eyes fastened on his face, and continued to press her handkerchief to her lips. To his astonishment, she did not acknowledge him at all; she did not say she was charmed to meet him or inquire after his health. Instead, the woman curtsied again. And once again. “There’s hardly a need for all that,” he said, covering his puzzlement with forced jovially. “I’m only a knight, you know. Not a duke or even an earl.” Lady Berta curtsied again, and Elizabeth nudged her sharply with her elbow. “How do!” burst out the plump lady. “My aunt is a trifle-er-shy with strangers,” Elizabeth managed weakly. The sound of Elizabeth Cameron’s soft, musical voice made Sir Francis’s blood sing. He turned with unhidden eagerness to his future bride and realized that it was a bust of himself that Elizabeth was clutching so protectively, so very affectionately to her bosom. He could scarcely contain his delight. “I knew it would be this way between us-no pretense, no maidenly shyness,” he burst out, beaming at her blank, wary expression as he gently took the bust of himself from Elizabeth’s arms. “But, my lovely, there’s no need for you to caress a hunk of clay when I am here in the flesh.” Momentarily struck dumb, Elizabeth gaped at the bust she’d been holding as he first set it gently upon its stand, then turned expectantly to her, leaving her with the horrifying-and accurate-thought that he now expected her to reach out and draw his balding head to her bosom. She stared at him, her mind in paralyzed chaos. “I-I would ask a favor of you, Sir Francis,” she burst out finally. “Anything, my dear,” he said huskily. “I would like to-to rest before supper.” He stepped back, looking disappointed, but then he recalled his manners and reluctantly nodded. “We don’t keep country hours. Supper is at eight-thirty.” For the first time he took a moment to really look at her. His memories of her exquisite face and delicious body had been so strong, so clear, that until then he’d been seeing the Lady Elizabeth Cameron he’d met long ago. Now he belatedly registered the stark, unattractive gown she wore and the severe way her hair was dressed. His gaze dropped to the ugly iron cross that hung about her neck, and he recoiled in shock. “Oh, and my dear, I’ve invited a few guests,” he added pointedly, his eyes on her unattractive gown. “I thought you would want to know, in order to attire yourself more appropriately.” Elizabeth suffered that insult with the same numb paralysis she’d felt since she set eyes on him. Not until the door closed behind him did she feel able to move. “Berta,” she burst out, flopping disconsolately onto the chair beside her, “how could you curtsy like that-he’ll know you for a lady’s maid before the night is out! We’ll never pull this off.” “Well!” Berta exclaimed, hurt and indignant. “Twasn’t I who was clutching his head to my bosom when he came in.” “We’ll do better after this,” Elizabeth vowed with an apologetic glance over her shoulder, and the trepidation was gone from her voice, replaced by steely determination and urgency. “We have to do better. I want us both out of here tomorrow. The day after at the very latest.” “The butler stared at my bosom,” Berta complained. “I saw him!” Elizabeth sent her a wry, mirthless smile. “The footman stared at mine. No woman is safe in this place. We only had a bit of-of stage fright just now. We’re new to playacting, but tonight I’ll carry it off. You’ll see. No matter what if takes, I’ll do it.

Much struck by the idea of a man--this man--bent on doing himself to death, were he able, I asked, "Do you mean, Doctor, that Mr. Penfold desires to...to bleed himself to death? Or do we speak of carnivorous intent?" I'd adopted the doctor's habit of distancing the very present patient, only to be brought up short by Mr. Penfold himself:- "May I respond to that, Dr. Stewart?" This, uttered in tones appropriate to any London parlour. Dr. Stewart said nothing, and so Mr. Penfold spoke on:- "What I wish, sir," said he to me, "is simply to die. Rather, I no longer wish to live. And, as no other means of suicide avails itself to me in this cushioned cell--neither utensil nor tool, not even a hardened corner on which to dash the brains from my head--the doctor speaks true: I would, yes, if able, tear and rend my flesh with fingers and teeth. Not with carnivorous intent, no, but rather to rid myself, my body, of its blood; for the blood, sir, is the life, and, as I have said, I have had done with life. The blood is the life. Whence did those words come? Forthwith I was informed, by Penfold himself:- "So it says in Deuteronomy 12:23, where the interdiction is, and I quote, 'Only be sure that thou eat not the blood: for the blood is the life.' But of course I do not wish to drink my own blood, Mr. Stoker. I would, however, see it spilled. I would watch with increasing relief, yes, if the red of life were to run from me.

Peter Hargraves asked me to…to be his wife last night. And I agreed.” A stunned expression spread over his face before anger replaced it. Planting his hands on either side of her hips, he bent his head until his face was inches from hers. “He’s not one of my crew. Is that why you accepted his proposal—because he’s not one of my men? Or do you claim to have some feeling for him?” He sneered the last words, and shame spread through her. It would be hard to claim she had feelings for Petey when she’d just been on the verge of giving herself to Gideon. But that was the only answer that would put him off. Her hands trembled against his immovable chest. “I…I like him, yes.” “The way you ‘like’ me?” When she glanced away, uncertain what to say to that, he caught her chin and forced her to look at him. Despite the dim light, she could tell that desire still held him. And when he spoke again, his voice was edged with the tension of his need. “I don’t care what you agreed to last night. Everything has changed. You can’t possibly still want to marry him after the way you just responded to my touch.” “That was a mistake,” she whispered, steeling herself to ignore the flare of anger in his eyes. “Petey and I are well suited. I knew him from before, from the Chastity. I know he’s an honorable man, which is why I still intend to marry him.” A muscle ticked in Gideon’s jaw. “He’s not a bully, you mean. He’s not a wicked pirate like me, out to ‘rape and pillage.’” He pushed away from the trunk with an oath, then spun toward the steps. “Well, he’s not for you, Sara, no matter what you may think. And I’m going to put a stop to his courtship of you right now!

As Eragon spoke, an idea occurred to him, one that resonated within him too strongly to ignore. He explained it to Saphira, and once again she granted him her permission, although somewhat more reluctantly than before. Must you? she asked. Yes. Then do as you will, but only if she agrees. When they finished speaking of Vroengard, he looked Arya in the eyes and said, “Would you like to hear my true name? I would like to share it with you.” The offer seemed to shock her. “No! You shouldn’t tell it to me or anyone else. Especially not when we’re so close to Galbatorix. He might steal it from my mind. Besides, you should only give your true name to…to one whom you trust above all others.” “I trust you.” “Eragon, even when we elves exchange our true names, we do not do so until we have known each other for many, many, years. The knowledge they provide is too personal, too intimate, to bandy about, and there is no greater risk than sharing it. When you teach someone your true name, you place everything you are in their hands.” “I know, but I may never have the chance again. This is the only thing I have to give, and I would give it to you.” “Eragon, what you are proposing…It is the most precious thing one person can give another.” “I know.” A shiver ran through Arya, and then she seemed to withdraw within herself. After a time, she said, “No one has ever offered me such a gift before…I’m honored by your trust, Eragon, and I understand how much this means to you, but no, I must decline. It would be wrong for you to do this and wrong for me to accept just because tomorrow we may be killed or enslaved. Danger is no reason to act foolishly, no matter how great our peril.” Eragon inclined his head. Her reasons were good reasons, and he would respect her choice. “Very well, as you wish,” he said.

Obraz boha, který vzniká ze spontánního tvůrčího aktu, je živou postavou, bytostí, která existuje ve svém vlastním právu, a proto autonomně stojí proti svému údajnému stvořiteli. Na důkaz této skutečnosti budiž uvedeno, že vztah mezi stvořitelem a stvořeným je dialektický a že člověk, jak zkušenost ukazuje, bývá nezřídka tím osloveným. Právem či neprávem z toho naivní rozum usuzuje na to, že vzniklý útvar existuje o sobě a pro sebe, a má sklon se domnívat, že jej nevytvořil sám, ale že se v něm tento útvar zobrazil - kteroužto možnost nemůže žádná kritika popřít, poněvadž vznik a vývoj tohoto útvaru (postavy) je finálně orientovaný přirozený proces, v němž příčina anticipuje cíl. Protože jde o přirozený jev, zůstává nerozhodnuto, zda je obraz boha vytvářen, nebo zda se tvoří sám. Naivní duch nemůže jinak, než vzít v úvahu jeho samostatnost a prakticky rozvinout jeho dialektickou vztaženost. To se projevuje v tom, že ve všech obtížných nebo nebezpečných situacích se tato účastná přítomnost vzývá za účelem, aby se obtížila nesnesitelně se jevícími těžkostmi a očekávala se od ní pomoc. V psychologické oblasti to znamená, že komplexy, které zatěžují duši, jsou vědomě "přeneseny" na obraz boha, což představuje pozoruhodným způsobem přímý opak aktu potlačení. Při potlačení, respektive vytěsnění jsou komplexy přenechávány nevědomé instanci tím, že člověk preferuje to, aby je zapomněl. U náboženského cvičení má však právě velký dosah to, že si zůstáváme svých potíží, tj. "hříchů" vědomi. Výborným prostředkem k tomu je vzájemné vyznávání hříchů (Jakub 5, 16), které člověku účinně brání, aby se stal nevědomým. Tato opatření směřují k udržení konfliktů ve vědomí, což je také conditio sine qua non psychoterapeutického postupu. Tak jako lékařské ošetření zapojuje osobu lékaře, tak křesťanské cvičení zapojuje Spasitele; neboť, jak se praví, "V něm jsme vykoupeni jeho obětí a naše hříchy jsou nám odpuštěny". On je ten, jenž nás zbavil naší viny a zpětně nás z ní vykoupil; Bůh, jenž stojí nad hříchem, "On hřichu neučinil a v jeho ústech nebyla nalezena lest"; "On ,na svém těle vzal naše hříchy' na kříž..." "...tak i Kristus byl jen jednou obětován, aby na sebe vzal hříchy mnohých..." Tento Bůh je charakterizován jako sám bez viny a jako ten, jenž se sám obětuje. Vědomá projekce, ke které směřuje křesťanská výchova, tím přináší dvojnásobné psychické dobrodiní. Za prvé si člověk udržuje vědomí existence konfliktu dvou protikladných tendencí a zabraňuje tím tomu, aby se potlačením, respektive vytěsněním a zapomněním stalo ze známého utrpení neznámé, a tím o to mučivější; a za druhé si člověk ulehčuje břímě tím, že je odevzdává Bohu, který zná všechna řešení. Božská postava je však nejprve psychickým obrazem, komplexem představ archetypické povahy, jež je vírou kladen jako identický s metafyzickým ens. Věda nemá žádnou kompetenci toto kladení posuzovat. Musí se naopak pokoušet provést své vysvětlení bez tohoto hypostazování. Může proto jen konstatovat, že na místo nějakého objektivního člověka nastupuje nějaká zdánlivě subjektivní postava, tj. komplex představ. Tento komplex má, jak ukazuje zkušenost, určitou funkční autonomii a projevuje se jako psychická existence. S ní má co do činění v první řadě psychologická zkušenost, a až potud může být tento zážitek také předmětem vědy. Ta může zjistit jen existenci psychických faktorů, a pokud nepřesahujeme přes tuto mez nějakou vírou, jsme ve všech takzvaných metafyzických otázkách konfrontováni výlučně s psychickými existencemi. Tyto jsou, jak právě odpovídá jejich psychické povaze, nejtěsněji spojeny s individuální osobností, a proto vystaveny všem možným variacím v protikladu k postulátu víry, jejíž stejnotvárnost a stálost je zaručena tradičně a institucionálně.

We may have to mask your scent.” He looked at her soberly. “Did Olivia tell you anything about scent marking?” “Scent marking?” Sophie wracked her brain, trying to remember. It seemed vaguely familiar though she couldn’t remember exactly what it involved. Still, how bad could it be? “Oh, uh, sure. Scent marking.” She nodded. “Good. Because in the last extremity, if I hear the sniffers around this cabin, I may have to scent mark you—to mask your scent with my own.” “Can you do that? I mean, is your scent that much stronger than mine, especially when they’re focused on me?” Sylvan looked down at his hands. “Normally it isn’t but right now…ever since the trip we took in the transport tube…” Sophie thought of the warm, spicy scent that seemed to go to her head, the way it made her react to him… “It’s your mating scent, isn’t it?” she asked in a low voice, not daring to look at him. “Yes.” He sounded ashamed. “But why…” She risked a sidelong glance at him. “Why is it coming out now? I, uh, thought it only happened during the claiming period. But you’re not, um, claiming me or anything. I mean, we’re not… you know.” “I know.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand what’s going on either. We haven’t even been dream sharing. Well, that is, I mean…” He cleared his throat. “I’ve had a few dreams of you. But nothing out of the ordinary.” He glanced at her. “Have you…had any strange dreams?” “No.” Sophie shook her head and a look of mingled disappointment and relief passed over his stern features. “I have been, uh, having problems with my art, though,” she admitted in a low voice. “Problems with your art?” He frowned. “What do you mean?” “I paint,” Sophie explained. “You know—with a paintbrush and easel?” She made a painting motion in the air and his eyes widened. “That was what I dreamed. That you were painting a picture of…of me.” Sophie nearly choked. “But I have been! You’re all I’ve been able to paint lately. Even when I try not to, you always sneak in there. It’s so annoying.” Then she realized what she’d said. “Uh, I mean—” “It doesn’t matter.” Sylvan cut her off, shaking his head. “So we have been dream sharing, in a way.” Sophie felt herself go cold all over. “Does…does that mean you’re going to try to…to claim me? The way Baird claimed Liv?” Oh my God, if he does, if he claims me, then he’ll want to bite me! That’s the way his people do it. She had horror-movie visions of being held down under his muscular bulk, held down and pierced multiple times and in multiple ways. God, his teeth in my throat at the same time he’s inside me, filling me, holding me down and biting and thrusting. He’s so big, so strong—I’d never be able to get away. The horror she felt must have showed on her face, because Sylvan’s voice was rough when he spoke. “Don’t worry, Sophia. Even if I wanted to claim you, I couldn’t.” “Oh right.” She felt a small measure of relief. “Your vow.” “My vow,” he agreed. “Sylvan,

I hate like hell to go, especially with things still so up in the air between us.” Liv was watching him from the bed. “Nothing’s up in the air. You’re determined to keep me and I’m determined to go.” His face darkened. “You’re not so damn determined when I have you in the bathing pool.” Liv felt a heated blush creep into her cheeks but she refused to back down. “Be that as it may, what I say or do in the, uh, in the heat of passion doesn’t change how I feel.” A look that was almost despair crossed over his chiseled features. “Damn it, Olivia, can’t you admit to yourself that you feel for me what I feel for you? Can’t you just try to imagine having a life here with me on the ship?” “I could…if I didn’t already have a life waiting for me back on Earth.” She sighed. “Look, let’s not fight about this right now. You have to go, fine. I’ll manage okay on my own here.” To be honest she was looking forward to a reprieve from the constant lust she felt while being cooped up with him in close quarters. He frowned. “I shouldn’t be leavin’ you alone during our claiming period. If I hadn’t had a direct order from my CO—” “It’s okay, really. I’ll find something to keep me occupied. I’ll try the translator and read one of your books. And I can work the wave well enough to make my own lunch without burning a finger off now.” “All right, fine.” He looked slightly mollified. “But whatever you do, stay in the suite. Don’t leave for any reason.” “Yes, sir!” She gave him a mocking salute. “To hear is to obey, oh my lord and master.” “Lilenta…” He sighed. “This is for your safety. I’m not trying to order you around for the hell of it.” “No, you just want to make my decisions for me. Stay here, don’t go there. Live the rest of your life on the ship instead of ever seeing your loved ones on Earth again. Why should this be any different?” Liv knew an edge of bitterness had crept into her voice but she couldn’t seem to help it. Baird scowled. “In time you’ll see that this is best. The only way I can protect you is to keep you close to me.” “Funny how much being protected feels like being owned.” “I thought you didn’t want to fight.” “You started it.” Liv knew it sounded childish but she didn’t care. He ran a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Olivia…” Then he shook his head, as though sensing the futility of any argument. He pointed a finger at her instead. “I’m going but I’ll be back tonight in time for the start of our tasting week.” “You…I’m surprised you want to…to do anything at all.” Liv worked hard to keep the tremble out of her voice but didn’t quite succeed. He raised an eyebrow. “You mean with you trying to pick a fight at every opportunity and generally resisting me every step of the way? I have news for you, Lilenta, none of that affects the way I feel for you—the way I need you—one bit.” He walked over to the bed where she was sitting on the edge and pulled her to her feet. “I still want you more than any other woman I’ve ever seen. Still need to be inside you, bonding you to me, making you mine,” he growled softly, pulling her close. “Baird, stop it!” She wanted to beat against his broad chest in protest but she somehow found herself melting against him instead. “Don’t you want to give me a kiss goodbye?” There was a flicker of bitter amusement in his golden eyes. “No, I guess you don’t. Too bad.” Leaning down, he took her lips in a rough yet tender kiss that took Liv’s breath away.

I don’t…believe you,” she lied, her blood running wild through her veins. His gleaming gaze impaled her. “Then believe this.” And suddenly his mouth was on hers. This was not what she’d set out to get from him. But oh, the joy of it. The heat of it. His mouth covered hers, seeking, coaxing. Without breaking the kiss, he pushed her back against the wall, and she grabbed for his shoulders, his surprisingly broad and muscular shoulders. As he sent her plummeting into unfamiliar territory, she held on for dear life. Time rewound to when they were in her uncle’s garden, sneaking a moment alone. But this time there was no hesitation, no fear of being caught. Glorying in that, she slid her hands about his neck to bring him closer. He groaned, and his kiss turned intimate. He used lips and tongue, delving inside her mouth in a tender exploration that stunned her. Enchanted her. Confused her. Something both sweet and alien pooled in her belly, a kind of yearning she’d never felt with Edwin. With any man but Dom. As if he sensed it, he pulled back to look at her, his eyes searching hers, full of surprise. “My God, Jane,” he said hoarsely, turning her name into a prayer. Or a curse? She had no time to figure out which before he clasped her head to hold her for another darkly ravishing kiss. Only this one was greedier, needier. His mouth consumed hers with all the boldness of Viking raiders of yore. His tongue drove repeatedly inside in a rhythm that made her feel all trembly and hot, and his thumbs caressed her throat, rousing the pulse there. Thank heaven there was a wall to hold her up, or she was quite sure she would dissolve into a puddle at his feet. Because after all these years apart, he was riding roughshod over her life again. And she was letting him. How could she not? His scent of leather and bergamot engulfed her, made her dizzy with the pleasure of it. He roused urges she’d never known she had, sparked fires in places she’d thought were frozen. Then his hands swept down her possessively as if to memorize her body…or mark it as belonging to him. Belonging to him. Oh, Lord! She shoved him away. How could she have fallen for his kisses after what he’d done? How could she have let him slip that far under her guard? Never again, curse him! Never! For a moment, he looked as stunned by what had flared between them as she. Then he reached for her, and she slipped from between him and the wall, panic rising in her chest. “You do not have the right to kiss me anymore,” she hissed. “I’m engaged, for pity’s sake!” As soon as her words registered, his eyes went cold. “It certainly took you long enough to remember it.” She gaped at him. “You have the audacity to…to…” She stabbed his shoulder with one finger. “You have no business criticizing me! You threw me away years ago, and now you want to just…just take me up again, as if nothing ever happened between us?” A shadow crossed his face. “I did not throw you away. You jilted me, remember?” That was the last straw. “Right. I jilted you.” Turning on her heel, she stalked back toward the road. “Just keep telling yourself that, since you’re obviously determined to believe your own fiction.” “Fiction?” He hurried after her. “What are you talking about?” “Oh, why can’t you just admit what you really did and be done with it?” Grabbing her by the arm, he forced her to stop just short of the street. He stared into her face, and she could see when awareness dawned in his eyes. “Good God. You know the truth. You know what really happened in the library that night.” “That you manufactured that dalliance between you and Nancy to force me into jilting you?” She snatched her arm free. “Yes, I know.” Then she strode out of the alley, leaving him to stew in his own juices.

going. We were told to ask

queen opened the gate, and she and Arthur crossed to the hut. Guinevere knocked on the door. A moment later, an old woman wrapped in a shawl stood in the doorway. She had a long white braid and luminous skin worn smooth by weather and time, like an ancient stone. The woman’s eyes were closed. With a start, Jack realized Cafelle was blind. At her side was a tall white dog with light blue eyes. Oki didn’t bark or whine. The peaceful gaze of the white dog seemed to keep him calm. “Greetings, Cafelle. We have come to—to seek your help,” rasped King Arthur. Cafelle bowed her head. “Welcome, Your Majesty,” she said. “And the queen has come with you this time,

I think a wish—a real wish—must be for something impossible. Something unthinkable. Otherwise it’s just you looking for an easy way to—to wherever it is you think you want to go.

...perché la parola “fascismo" divenne una sineddoche, una denominazione pars pro toto per movimenti totalitari diversi. (...) Al contrario, il fascismo non possedeva alcuna quintessenza, e neppure una singola essenza. Il fascismo era un totalitarismo fuzzy. Si può forse concepire un movimento totalitario che riesca a mettere insieme monarchia e rivoluzione, esercito regio e milizia personale di Mussolini, i privilegi concessi alla chiesa e una educazione statale che esaltava la violenza, il controllo assoluto e il libero mercato? Il partito fascista era nato proclamando il suo nuovo ordine rivoluzionario ma era finanziato dai proprietari terrieri più conservatori, che si aspettavano una controrivoluzione.

Deinde pervenimus in Boemiam, de qua absens fueramus undecim annis. Invenimus autem, quod aliquot annis ante mater nostra dicta Elyzabeth mortua erat. Ipsa vero vivente soror nostra secundogenita, filia sua, nomine Guta, missa erat in Franciam et copulata Iohanni, filio primogenito Philippi, regis Franciae, cuius sororem, nomine Blancam, habebamus in uxorem. Tertia vero soror nostra et ultima nomine Anna erat apud dictam sororem nostram in Francia temporibus illis. et sic cum venissemus in Bohemiam, non invenimus nec patrem nec matrem nec fratrem nec sorores nec aliquem notum. Idioma quoque Bohemicum ex toto oblivioni tradideramus, quod post redicimus, ut loqueremur et intellegeremus ut alter Bohemus. Et divina autem gratia non solum Boemicum, sed Gallicum, Lombardicum, Teutonicum et Latinum ita loqui, scribere et legere scivimus, ut una lingua istarum sicut altera ad scribendum, legendum, loquendum et intelligendum nobis erat apta. Tunc pater noster procedens versus comitatum Luczemburgensem propter quandam guerram, quam gerebat cum duce Bravancie ipse et college sui, videlicet Leodiensis episcopus, Juliacensis marchio, Gerlenensis comes et quam plures alii, commisit nobis auctoritatem suam temporibus absencie sue in Boemia. Quod regnum invenimus ita desolatum, quod nec unum castrum invenimus liberum, quod non esset obligatum cum omnibus bonis regalibus, ita quod non habebamus ubi manere, nisi in domibus civitatum sicut alter civis. Castrum vero Pragense ita desolatum, destructum ac comminutum fuit, quod a tempore Ottogari regis totum prostratum fuit usque ad terram. Ubi de novo palatium magnum et pulchrum cum magnis sumptibus aedificari procuravimus, prout hodierna die apparet intuentibus.

Toto has fallen asleep in his arms and he absently strokes at her blonde curls. She clutches onto her favored Veggie Tales stuffed animal, Larry the Cucumber.

We’re not in Kansas any more, Toto. Or maybe we are, the USA has highly questionable gun laws.

Konstruovat nějaký objekt pomocí téhož objektu je osvědčený postup, který si už vysloužil svůj vlastní název. V angličtině se mu říká bootstrapping a z toho také vzniklo bootování počítačů, protože při něm operační systém zavádí do paměti sám sebe. Kde se toto slovo vzalo? Bootstrap znamená česky štruple – to je takové to očko na patě boty, které usnadňuje nazouvání. A v jednom z příběhů o baronu Prášilovi slyšíme barona vyprávět, jak se uvíznuv v bažině zachránil tím, že se vytáhl za štruple. Krásný popis bootování, není-liž pravda?

Có mắt mà không nhìn thấy vẻ đẹp, có tai mà không thấy điều hay, có trái tim mà không thấy chân lý, chưa cảm kích thì chưa thể cháy hết mình.

If the sovereign is truly the one to whom the juridical order grants the power of proclaiming a state of exception and, therefore, of suspending the order's own validity, then "the sovereign stands outside the juridical order and, nevertheless, belongs to it, since it is up to him to decide if the constitution is to be suspended in toto.

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Toto

Siempre me ha parecido que el rasgo distintivo de nuestra familia es el recato. Llevamos el pudor a extremos increíbles, tanto en nuestra manera de vestirnos y de comer como en la forma de expresarnos y de subir a los tranvías. Los sobrenombres, por ejemplo, que se adjudican tan desaprensivamente en el barrio de Pacífico, son para nosotros motivo de cuidado, de reflexión y hasta de inquietud. Nos parece que no se puede atribuir un apodo cualquiera a alguien que deberá absorberlo y sufrirlo como un atributo durante toda su vida. Las señoras de la calle Humboldt llaman Toto, Coco o Cacho a sus hijos, y Negra o Beba a las chicas, pero en nuestra familia ese tipo corriente de sobrenombre no existe, y mucho menos otros rebuscados y espamentosos como Chirola, Cachuzo o Matagatos, que abundan por el lado de Paraguay y Godoy Cruz. Como ejemplo del cuidado que tenemos en estas cosas bastará citar el caso de mi tía la segunda. Visiblemente dotada de un trasero de imponentes dimensiones, jamás nos hubiéramos permitido ceder a la fácil tentación de los sobrenombres habituales; así, en vez de darle el apodo brutal de Ánfora Etrusca, estuvimos de acuerdo en el más decente y familiar de la Culona.

I lied—to cover what I’d done. So none could know. To escape the Prison, I made myself mortal. Immortal as you are, but … mortal compared to—to what I was. And what I was … I did not feel, the way you do. The way I do now. Some things—loyalty and wrath and curiosity—but not the full spectrum.” Again, that faraway look. “I was perfect, according to some. I did not regret, did not mourn—and pain … I did not experience it. And yet … yet I wound up here, because I was not quite like the others. Even as—as what I was, I was different. Too curious. Too questioning. The day the rip appeared in the sky … it was curiosity that drove me. My brothers and sisters fled. Upon the orders of our ruler, we had just laid waste to twin cities, smote them wholly into rubble on the plain, and yet they fled from that rip in the world. But I wanted to look. I wanted. I was not built or bred to feel such selfish things as want. I’d seen what happened to those of my kind who strayed, who learned to place their needs first. Who developed … feeling. But I went through the tear in the sky. And here I am.” “And you gave all that up to get out of the Prison?” Mor asked softly. “I yielded my grace—my perfect immortality. I knew that once I did … I would feel pain. And regret. I would want, and I would burn with it. I would … fall. But I was—the time locked away down there … I didn’t care. I had not felt the wind on my face, had not smelled the rain … I did not even remember what they felt like. I did not remember sunlight.

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Zatvára oči, len jedna červená sukňa a obyčajná fošňa ju unáša ako sane, ako koč, nekonečným kopcom letela, má v každej ruke diamant, dýcha si do dlaní a potom prstom do mokrého snehu píše: radujem sa zo života! Neustále sa stráca, čo napísala, vždy po tom niekto prejde sánkami, takže znova: kým dýcha, má diamanty v oboch skrehnutých mokrých dlaniach, a je aj toto: radujem sa!

In a way I’m glad they won’t. It’s always been too easy for Toto to flee to her family. Perhaps it’s a sign that she’s growing up.

He saw a man looking for redemption, both for not preventing the loss of Toto’s first baby (even though every doctor had concurred that it was an act of God) and for something greater: his whole mess of a life, which had begun so promisingly when he was a young surgeon and made such a happy, spectacular marriage, but which had somehow gone awry. This was his chance to amend all that. It was a fresh start.

A message from Toto the Terrible (listed in my phone as Fucking Crazy Father-In-Law, courtesy of Alessandro) popped up.

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I don’t want to…to give out a piece of me, knowing I can’t have it back, to someone who won’t treat it with respect at the very least. I don’t want to invest my emotions in something, something that’s not even guaranteed.

Animal Durant un cours de biologie animale, le professeur demande à ses élèves : dites-moi comment appelle-t-on la femelle du hamster ? Toto lève le doigt : Monsieur, c’est Hamster Damme

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Hell, Ellie, I moved on, that’s all. Not because I wanted to but because I had to—to keep from going crazy. But I never got over you, and never will. You were the one I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. How does anyone get over that?

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This just in…movies from the ’30s, ’40s, and ’50s reflect the values of their respective eras, and not those of twenty-first century America.

Humanity, in toto, and those who compose it as identifiable people deserve some sympathy for the appalling burden under which the human individual genuinely staggers; some sympathy for subjugation to mortal vulnerability, tyranny of the state, and the depredations of nature.

The everyday practice of what is right is not derived from a rule, not only because the custom is inarticulable /in toto/, but also because a rule not summoned from custom cannot anticipate the unknowable local circumstances under which it might conflict with another rule subsumed within the larger community practice of what is right (69).

v uplynulém roce u nás vzniklo asi 2 700 článků na toto téma. Odhady ztrát České republiky vinou úniků do daňových rájů se pohybují mezi patnácti až padesáti miliardami korun ročně — to znamená jeden článek na šest až dvacet pět milionů, o něž Česko touto cestou přichází.

What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. They may try to tear our hearts apart…” She strokes at Toto’s hair and looks fondly at her. “But they don’t understand, our hearts are made of steel. Women like us are unbreakable. Even when we’re shattered into a thousand bits. We just find a way to gather up what’s left, walk into the fire otherwise known as life, and weld our most precious piece back together again.” Mom kisses Mason’s forehead before leveling her gaze at Brie. “This is life, baby. And you’re going to conquer it.

Un ospite che fa self check-in a un chiosco non è solo il consumatore del servizio, ma ne è anche l’erogante. Se, e quando l’auto check-in diventerà la regola in hotel, la responsabilità del servizio si trasferirà in toto dall’operatore al front office all’ospite stesso (e, per proprietà transitiva, alla tecnologia utilizzata).

Un mutamento d’opinione è iniziato dopo la pandemia di COVID-19. Anche i più tecnofobici, durante quegli interminabili mesi di quarantena del 2020, hanno dovuto scendere a patti con la tecnologia, fino alle scelte (prima di allora impensabili) di imprenditori storicamente tradizionalisti che hanno deciso abbandonare in toto gli uffici fisici per lo smart working, finalmente convinti dalle evidenze dei fatti della liceità del modello.

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Nothing was more powerful than having a dream to hold on to—to fight for. Dreams ignite passion. Passion burns to purpose. Purpose serves as the catalyst to victory. Those with the courage to dream can change the world.

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