Triangle Fire Quotes

That's it...I'm completely giving up on boys and concentrating on staying alive.

These days, it seems like you can't throw a fish in a bookstore without hitting a high-stakes love triangle--not that I recommend the throwing of fish in bookstores, mind you, as it certainly annoys the booksellers, not to mention the fish...

Every wave is a watersprite who swims in the current, each current is a path which snakes towards my palace, and my palace is fluidly built at the bottom of the lake, in the triangle of earth, fire and water.

Fire, air, earth, and water are bodies and therefore solids, and solids are contained in planes, and plane rectilinear figures are made up of triangles.

Exploration and invention were the two faces on the coin of progress, and progress was the spirit of the age

It was not...a woman's fancy that drove them to it, but an eruption of a long-smolering volcano, an overflow of suffering, abuse and exhaustion.

Maybe you can see from this that I am quite familiar with being in detention. Matter of fact, I feel like I have always been in detention. I am an old veteran of detention, like one of Napoleon's soldiers limping back from the battle of Moscow. No, not like them--they were chumps. More like--one of the girls who died in the Triangle Fire looking out the window and realizing it is too far to jump, then jumping.

As Walsh saw it, Steve Bannon was running the Steve Bannon White House, Jared Kushner was running the Michael Bloomberg White House, and Reince Priebus was running the Paul Ryan White House. It was a 1970s video game, the white ball pinging back and forth in the black triangle.

The young immigrants in the garment factories, alight with a spirit of progress, impatient with the weight of tradition, hungry for improvement in a new land and a new century, organized themselves to demand a more fair and humane society.

We were like a fire triangle, he was the oxygen, I was the flame, and together we made the fuel. All mixed together we were a fire.

From the summer of 1909 to the end of 1911, New York waist makers - young immigrants, mostly women - achieved something profound. They were a catalyst for the forces of change: the drive for women's rights (and other civil rights), the rise of unions, and the use of activist government to address social problems.

There was a stricken conscience of public guilt and we all felt that we had been wrong, that something was wrong with that building which we had accepted or the tragedy never would have happened. Moved by this sense of stricken guilt, we banded ourselves together to find a way by law to prevent this kind of disaster.

Metal is from the earth, he thought as he scrutinized. From below: from that realm which is the lowest, the most dense. Land of trolls and caves, dank, always dark. Yin world, in its most melancholy aspect. World of corpses, decay and collapse. Of feces. All that has died, slipping and disintegrating back down layer by layer. The daemonic world of the immutable; the time-that-was. And yet, in the sunlight, the silver triangle glittered. It reflected light. Fire, Mr. Tagomi thought. Not dank or dark object at all. Not heavy, weary, but pulsing with life. The high realm, aspect of yang: empyrean, ethereal. As befits work of art. Yes, that is artist's job: takes mineral rock from dark silent earth transforms it into shining light-reflecting form from sky. Has brought the dead to life. Corpse turned to fiery display; the past had yielded to the future.

Casiopea, meanwhile, looked at a heavy silver bracelet with black enamel triangles, of the "Aztec" style, which was much in vogue and meant to attract the eye of tourists with its faux pre-Hispanic motifs. It was a new concoction, of the kind that abound in a Mexico happy to invent traditions for mass consumption, eager to forge an identity after the fires of revolution--but it was pretty.

A circle drawn on a blackboard, a right triangle, a rhombus--all these are forms we can fully intuit; Ireneo could do the same with the stormy mane of a young colt, a small herd of cattle on a mountainside, a flickering fire and its uncountable ashes, and the many faces of a dead man at a wake. I have no idea how many stars he saw in the sky.

What if I can't do this, Gregori?" She sounded close to tears. "What if I can never do this?" "No one is making you do anything, ma petite," he replied gently, kissing her stomach. "We are just exploring possibilites." "But,Gregori," she tried to protest, attempting to bring his head back up so that he could see her very real fear for him, for their life together. "If I cannot persaude you otherwise, mon amour, I am not much of a lifemate, now am I?" The words were muffled in the tight silky curls, the intriguing little triangle at the apex of her thighs. "You don't understand,Gregori." Savannah closed her eyes against the waves of fire racing through her. "It's me who is no real lifemate.I don't know how to please you, and I'm so afraid of this." "Relax,bebe." He breathed warm air against her, inhaled her scent. "You please me far more than you will ever know.

Peeta and Finnick and I position ourselves in a triangle, a few yards apart, our backs to one another. My

Because you, my friend, have been dropped right in the middle of a love triangle.

Ms. Morning played in the band with the fox (and the kitten, who played a tiny triangle),

calling his eyes, smile, and voice her Bermuda Triangle. Any three of those could take her off course,

From the ashes of the Triangle Company fire began to rise one of the most dramatic and far-reaching [changes] in American history-one that would...eventually redefine forever the role the government played in the lives of ordinary people.

So back to my question: what are you doing here?” Maia asked. Derek sighed, reached into his pocket and handed her a smartphone. “Viktor wanted me to give you this.” Jack turned livid with anger. “She’s not yet fully recovered,” he said furiously. “It’s barely been 48 hours.” “See, I hate getting caught in the middle of this,” Derek said. “It’s almost like a messed-up love triangle.” Jack’s face grew darker. Maia was controlling a grin. “Viktor is worried that he has no way of contacting you,” Derek continued. “Oh, stop scowling, Jack! You’re with Maia, Viktor comes with the package.” “Like fucking hell!” ~Derek, Maia & Jack

Eva and Anne Morgan, one a niece and the other a daughter of J. P. Morgan, the most powerful financier in U.S. history, used their family’s money to finance women workers who were protesting before and after the Triangle Shirtwaist fire, even putting up a Fifth Avenue mansion as security for bail when those protesters were arrested. The

He could reconstruct all his dreams, all his half-dreams. Two or three times he had reconstructed a whole day; he never hesitated, but each reconstruction had required a whole day. He told me: "I alone have more memories than all mankind has probably had since the world has been the world." And again: "My dreams are like you people's waking hours. And again, toward dawn: "My memory, sir, is like a garbage heap." A circle drawn on a blackboard, a right triangle, a lozenge-all these are forms we can fully and intuitively grasp; Ireneo could do the same with the stormy mane of a pony, with a herd of cattle on a hill, with the changing fire and its innumerable ashes, with the many faces of a dead man throughout a long wake. I don't know how many stars he could see in the sky.

GHOSTBUSTERS I always wanted the reboot of Ghostbusters to be four girl-ghostbusters. Like, four normal, plucky women living in New York City searching for Mr. Right and trying to find jobs—but who also bust ghosts. I’m not an idiot, though. I know the demographic for Ghostbusters is teenage boys, and I know they would kill themselves if two ghostbusters had a makeover at Sephora. I just have always wanted to see a cool girl having her first kiss with a guy she’s had a crush on, and then have to excuse herself to go trap the pissed-off ghosts of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire or something. In my imagination, I am, of course, one of the ghostbusters, with the likes of say, Emily Blunt, Taraji Henson, and Natalie Portman. Even if I’m not the ringleader, I’m definitely the one who gets to say “I ain’t afraid a no ghost.” At least the first time.

Niflheim: the world of primordial darkness, cold, mist, and ice Norns: the three sisters who control the fate of men and women Ormstunga: means serpent’s tongue, from orm (serpent) and stunga (tongue) Prow: the front end of a ship or boat Ragnarök: the final battle between the gods and giants which will bring an end to the gods of Asgard. Sax-knife: a large single-edged knife Skald: a poet, a storyteller Skjaldborg: a shield wall Sleipnir: Odin’s eight-legged horse Snekkja: a viking longship used for battle Stern: the back end of a ship or boat Suðrikaupstefna: Southern Market, from the words suðr (south) and kaupstefna (market) Surtr: a fire giant who leads his kin into battle against the gods of Asgard during Ragnarök Svartalfheim: the world inhabited by the dwarves Tafl: a strategy board game Thrall: a slave Valhalla: Odin’s hall where those who died in battle reside Valknut: a symbol made of three interlocked triangles, also known as Odin’s Knot. It is thought to represent the transition from life to death, Odin, and the power to bind and unbind

There was a fire in the grate, too far away for Lara to feel its heat. Goose bumps rose on her chilled skin. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to obey, taking one step, then another, the fine Aubusson carpet prickling beneath her bare feet. As she came near him, the firelight shone through the transparent black silk. She knew he could see everything, the flashes of ivory skin, the shape of her body, the dark triangle between her legs. Her face burned as she stopped before him. Hunter sat like a statue, his face and hair dappled with light from the dancing flames. "Oh, Lara," he said softly. "You're so damned beautiful, I..." He stopped and swallowed, as if it were difficult for him to speak. His faint smile had died away, and he set aside the wine bottle as if his fingers had become nerveless. He barely seemed to breathe as his gaze swept from her bare feet to her breasts, lingering at the pink tips that strained against the delicate lace. The room no longer seemed cold, but Lara continued to tremble. "I made a promise not to touch you," he said hoarsely, "but I'll be damned if I can keep it.

would go back to the body dump site. The prison interviews helped us see and understand the wide variety of motivation and behavior among serial killers and rapists. But we saw some striking common denominators as well. Most of them come from broken or dysfunctional homes. They’re generally products of some type of abuse, whether it’s physical abuse, sexual abuse, emotional abuse, or a combination. We tend to see at a very early age the formation of what we refer to as the “homicidal triangle” or “homicidal triad.” This includes enuresis—or bed-wetting—at an inappropriate age, starting fires, and cruelty to small animals or other children. Very often, we found, at least two of these three traits were present, if not all three. By the time we see his first serious crime, he’s generally somewhere in his early to mid-twenties. He has low self-esteem and blames the rest of the world for his situation. He already has a bad track record, whether he’s been caught at it or not. It may be breaking and entering, it may have been rape or rape attempts. You may see a dishonorable discharge from the military, since these types tend to have a real problem with any type of authority. Throughout their lives, they believe that they’ve been victims: they’ve been manipulated, they’ve been dominated, they’ve been controlled by others. But here, in this one situation, fueled by fantasy, this inadequate, ineffectual nobody can manipulate and dominate a victim of his own; he can be in control. He can orchestrate whatever he wants to do to the victim. He can decide whether this victim should live or die, how the victim should die. It’s up to him; he’s finally calling the shots.

She glanced down at the triangle of three dots tattooed on the fleshy web between her index finger and thumb. The day she got jumped into Ninth Street, Veto had tattooed the dots into her skin using ink and a pin. Later, he had tattooed the teardrop under her right eye when she got out of Youth Authority Camp. The second teardrop was for her second stay in Youth Authority. She would have gone back a third time for firing a gun, if a lenient judge hadn't sentenced her to do community service work instead. She had fired the gun in frustration when she couldn't stop her homegirls from doing a throw-down. The cops had caught her, but she wouldn't turn rata. She was willing to go back to camp to protect her homegirls. That was the code. But the judge had seen something different in her eyes this time and let her off with community service. Jimena had known about her destiny by then, and she had changed. It amazed her even now, if she thought about it. Who would have thought she was meant for something so important?

They heard Rose Pastor Stokes quote Marx: “Workers, unite! You have nothing to lose but your chains—and you have the world to gain.

Next, the bystanders saw something large and dark fall from one of the windows. “Someone’s in there, all right,” said a voice in the crowd. “He’s trying to save his best cloth.” When the next bundle began falling, the onlookers realized that it was a human being.

Kader was the worst fire in industrial history, taking more lives than the Triangle Shirtwaist Company fire that killed 146 young workers in New York City in 1911. The parallels between Triangle and Kader — separated from each other by half a world, and eighty-two years of so-called development — are chilling: it was as if time hadn't moved forward, but had simply shifted locations.

Plato argued that the material world of visible things was but a shadow of the true reality of eternal forms. He proceeds to explain the nether world of eternal blueprints most completely in the case of the elements of matter: earth, air, fire, and water. These he represents by geometrical solids: the earth by a cube, water by an icosahedron, air by an octahedron, and fire by a tetrahedron. His position is that ultimately the elements are just these solid geometrical shapes not simply that they possess geometrical shapes as one of their properties. The transmutation of elements one into the other is then explained by the merger and dissolution of triangles. This strictly mathematical description characterizes Plato's discussion of many other physical problems, For him, mathematics is a pointer to the ultimate reality of the world of forms that overshadows the visible world of sense data. The better we can grasp it, the closer we can come to true knowledge. Thus, for Plato, mathematics is more fundamental, truer, closer to the eternal forms of which the visible world is an imperfect reflection, than the objects of physical science. Because the world is mathematical at its deepest level, all visible phenomena will have mathematical aspects and be describable by mathematics to a greater or lesser extent, determined by their closeness to their underlying forms.

I wanted to remember what you felt like,’ Kai’s words from earlier that day sank in his mind and rippled in his body, like a rock thrown on a deep lake, stirring up the waters that had remained calm right until that moment. Ren had never forgotten what his past lover felt like. Kai was a breath of fresh air, nourishing the fire within, making Ren burn bright… but Ren had always feared losing control. He feared becoming a flame too big, too dangerous and frightening that could burn Kai to the bone. That was why he had promised himself to keep away from his heart.

Even before women had the right to vote, Farley insisted that their voices were crucial to the democratic experiment, and his protégés endorsed that opinion: Smith had helped Perkins organize a factory investigating commission after the 1911 Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire to look not simply at fire dangers but also at long hours, low wages, child labor, overwork, and “almost everything you could think of that had been in agitation for years,” as Perkins later recalled. When FDR became president, Perkins became the first woman in a presidential cabinet.[4]

Shirt" The back, the yoke, the yardage. Lapped seams, The nearly invisible stitches along the collar Turned in a sweatshop by Koreans or Malaysians Gossiping over tea and noodles on their break Or talking money or politics while one fitted This armpiece with its overseam to the band Of cuff I button at my wrist. The presser, the cutter, The wringer, the mangle. The needle, the union, The treadle, the bobbin. The code. The infamous blaze At the Triangle Factory in nineteen-eleven. One hundred and forty-six died in the flames On the ninth floor, no hydrants, no fire escapes— The witness in a building across the street Who watched how a young man helped a girl to step Up to the windowsill, then held her out Away from the masonry wall and let her drop. And then another. As if he were helping them up To enter a streetcar, and not eternity. A third before he dropped her put her arms Around his neck and kissed him. Then he held Her into space, and dropped her. Almost at once He stepped to the sill himself, his jacket flared And fluttered up from his shirt as he came down, Air filling up the legs of his gray trousers— Like Hart Crane’s Bedlamite, “shrill shirt ballooning.” Wonderful how the pattern matches perfectly Across the placket and over the twin bar-tacked Corners of both pockets, like a strict rhyme Or a major chord. Prints, plaids, checks, Houndstooth, Tattersall, Madras. The clan tartans Invented by mill-owners inspired by the hoax of Ossian, To control their savage Scottish workers, tamed By a fabricated heraldry: MacGregor, Bailey, MacMartin. The kilt, devised for workers To wear among the dusty clattering looms. Weavers, carders, spinners. The loader, The docker, the navvy. The planter, the picker, the sorter Sweating at her machine in a litter of cotton As slaves in calico headrags sweated in fields: George Herbert, your descendant is a Black Lady in South Carolina, her name is Irma And she inspected my shirt. Its color and fit And feel and its clean smell have satisfied Both her and me. We have culled its cost and quality Down to the buttons of simulated bone, The buttonholes, the sizing, the facing, the characters Printed in black on neckband and tail. The shape, The label, the labor, the color, the shade. The shirt.

It’s the dumbest thing in the world, but Steve can’t help but notice what Loki, or his apparition, is wearing. It’s a pink t-shirt with an upside down rainbow triangle on it. Following the direction of Steve’s gaze, Loki says, “Do you like my Bifrost shirt?

She thought of the day that Matthew had asked her out for the very first time and remembered walking home from school, her insides on fire with excitement and pride. She remembered Sarah Shadlock giggling, leaning against him in a pub in Bath, and Matthew frowning slightly and pulling away. She thought of Strike and Elin . . . what have they got to do with anything?

The mansion and its furnishings cost nine million dollars—the equivalent of more than 150 million dollars today. “Extravagance and ostentation marked every social gathering” at Marble House, the New York Times observed, and “the jewels worn at balls were valued in the millions of dollars.

A plume-dominated fire, more commonly known as a fire storm, is this same cycle writ large. In this case the three legs of the fire triangle not only

The cigarette was giving me the best ever headache. We lounged like this in a triangle for a while, in the moan and throb of the music, the thud of branches raining down. I imagined a coven of witches in the woods, moving around the flames of a fire. That probably felt as good as this.

As long as there is sufficient air, fuel, and heat to ignite more fuel, the fire will keep advancing. As long as the fire keeps advancing, the fire triangle remains stable and continues to create the conditions necessary for fire.

International Socialist Review Issue 24, July–August 2002 Stephen Jay Gould: Dialectical Biologist by Phil Gasper Every major newspaper carried an obituary of Gould after his death, praising his scientific accomplishments. But most said nothing about another important aspect of Gould’s life–his radical politics. Gould was a red diaper baby. His maternal grandparents were Jewish immigrants who worked in Manhattan’s garment sweatshops in the early years of the last century, just blocks from the horrific Triangle Shirtwaist fire that killed 146 workers in 1911. "I grew up in a family of Jewish immigrant garment workers," Gould wrote, "and this holocaust (in the literal meaning of a thorough sacrifice by burning)…set their views and helped to define their futures."4 Gould’s parents were New York leftists, probably in or around the Communist Party in the 1930s, and he once boasted that he had learned his Marxism "literally at [my] daddy’s knee.

Recognizing tectonic shifts in New York’s social and physical landscape, Henry James felt dispossessed, uprooted, his past amputated, leaving him with a chill in his heart. His birthplace off Washington Square had vanished, torn down to make way for a nearby factory building that in March 1911 was to be the site of a fire in the Triangle Shirtwaist factory that took the lives of 146 workers, mostly Jewish immigrants. Trinity Church, long a commanding ornament of lower Broadway, cringed in the shadow of a steel-framed, elevator-served, twenty-story office building. Immigration and trade had transformed the town James remembered from his childhood as small, warm, and ingenuous, with some of the feel of a family party.

To fight any wildfire, you have to remove one of the factors of the so-called fire triangle. Heat, oxygen, or fuel.

Maybe the answer isn’t trying to get there by inches. Maybe the answer isn’t HR wheedling employees into changes they’re told are easy. Maybe the real opportunity is to say: We’re going to try something crazy difficult, something really intense. Everybody who steps up to do it is going to feel like they’re about to die, albeit for fifteen minutes, twenty minutes, tops. Strong people and not-so-strong people will see one another’s heroic efforts. And in the end, we’ll be more than faster, more powerful, harder to kill, and generally more useful.7 We’ll be a group of people that knows it can do crazy difficult things. Reebok’s CrossFit logo is a big equilateral triangle pointing up—the Greek letter delta, the mathematical symbol for change. If the wellness nudgers can’t save us, if comfortable solutions won’t make us strong again, maybe intensity—the willingness to get comfortable with discomfort—is the only thing that will really make a difference.

Plato's theory of the elements was drawn from the Pythagoreans. In Timaeus, Plato describes the four elements in terms of the five regular geometric solids that now bear his name, the Platonic Solids. The triangle is the fundamental building block of these solids, which are: the Tetrahedron— Fire, built of three triangles; the Octahedron—Air, made of eight triangles; the Icosahedron—Water, made of twenty triangles; the Cube— Earth, made of twelve triangles or twenty-four triangles; and the Dodecahedron— Space or the Quintessence, made of sixty triangles.

Lower East Side socialism favored the worker over the boss and the group over the individual.