Tso Quotes

To conceal resentment against a person, and appear friendly with him;— Tso Ch'iu-ming was ashamed of such conduct.

One of the problems with all of this is that not all narratives are equal. Imagine, to take a silly example, that someone told you story after story extolling the virtues of eating dog shit. You've been told these stories since you were a child. You believe them. You eat dog shit hotdogs, dog shit ice cream, General Tso's dog shit. Sooner or later, if you are exposed to some other foods, you might figure out that dog shit really doesn't taste good. Or if you cling too tightly to these stories (or if your enculturation is so strong that dog shit actually does taste good to you), the diet might make you sick or kill you. To make this example a little less silly, substitute the word pesticides for dog shit. Or, for that matter, substitute Big Mac, Whopper, or Coca Cola.

Clever talk, ingratiating looks, fawning reverence: Tso-ch’iu Ming found that shameful, and so do I. Friendly while harboring resentment: Tso-ch’iu Ming found that shameful, too, and so do I.

Then he explains Chinese food in Manhattan to me: 'See the way it works is, there's one central location out on Long Island where all this stuff is made. Then it's piped into the city through a series of underground pipes that run parallel to the train and subway tracks. The restaurants then just pull a lever. One lever for General Tso's chicken, another for beef with broccoli sauce. It's like beer; it's on tap.' It's amazing how convincing he is when he says this. There's no pause in his description, nowhere for him to stop and think, to make this up as he goes along. It's as though he's simply repeating something he read in the Times yesterday. This makes me love him more than I did just five minutes ago.

Le mie sono le farneticazioni di un maestro di scuola elementare messo a riposo. Una cosa però tienila sempre a mente. Curati. Chiedi aiuto quando serve. Ma lascia il tuo sguardo libero, non farti raccontare il mondo da nessuno.

Come one, come all! Welcome to the world's greatest entertainment since the fall of Rome. Life, death, victims, voyeurs. The best of society, the lowest of plebians. And to keep it all extremely interesting, today's patrons could very easily be tomorrow's entertainment. All compliments of the ultimate showman - Fate. All that's missing is the coliseum.

In any man who dies, there dies with him his first snow and kiss and fight. Not just people die, but worlds die in them.

Lunch started off tense after our heated moment. Thank goodness for Blake. Kai was warm toward him, reserving his coolness for me. I watched, keeping quiet. They fought over the last piece of General Tso’s shrimp, and I had to laugh when the little thing went flying in the air and landed in a wet footprint next to the pool. “You can have it,” Kaidan graciously offered, and Blake shoved him one last time.

That lazy servant next door was sloppy with the Tso family’s nightstool and stunk up the street with their nightsoil,” Mama says. “And Cook!” She allows herself a low hiss of disapproval. “Cook has served us shrimp so old that the smell has made me lose my appetite.” We don’t contradict her, but the odor suffocating us comes not from spilled nightsoil or day-old shrimp but from her. Since we don’t have our servants to keep the air moving in the room, the smell that rises from the blood and pus that seep through the bandages holding Mama’s feet in their tiny shape clings to the back of my throat.

I was always crazy about any Chinese takeout since everything on those long menus is so tempting, but when the craving really hit, the folks at Panda Delight over on Richmond almost knew without asking to pack me up an order of wings, a couple of egg rolls, shrimp dumplings, pork fried rice, and the best General Tso's chicken this side of Hong Kong. When my friend at the shelter, Eileen Silvers, got married at Temple Beth Yeshurum, I had a field day over the roast turkey and lamb and rice and baked salmon and jelly cakes on the reception buffet, and when me and Lyman would go out to Pancho's Cantina for Mexican, nothing would do but to follow up margaritas and a bowl of chunky guacamole and a platter of beef fajitas with a full order of pork carnitas and a few green chile sausages. And don't even ask about the barbecue and links and jalapeño cheese bread and pecan pie at Tinhorn BBQ. Just the thought still makes me drool.

Mariama finished her customer’s hair, sprayed it with sheen, and, after the customer left, she said, “I’m going to get Chinese.” Aisha and Halima told her what they wanted—General Tso’s Chicken Very Spicy, Chicken Wings, Orange Chicken—with the quick ease of people saying what they said every day. “You want anything?” Mariama asked Ifemelu. “No, thanks,” Ifemelu said. “Your hair take long. You need food,” Aisha

Boil boil toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble say good riddance to Drumble!!!

Albert Tso always knew he’d have his heart ripped out. He’d just assumed it was a beautiful woman that would do it. Not some pale-skinned, knock-kneed tourist. But there his heart was, dripping blood, in the palm of the puny stranger standing before him.

Sometimes, it’s better to leave some questions unanswered." (TSoC) - H. El-Tahwagi

She'd discreetly asked a few of her customers today and found out, much to her dismay, that everyone was under the impression Jack was back, and not just for a visit. She let her head fall back and sighed heavily. Damn him. Damn him and my sister both. She knew it wasn't fair to be mad at Jack just for coming home, but she couldn't help it. After everything she'd sacrificed to keep Amanda's secret, it was ready to be blown to bits by his arrival. She was going to drive herself crazy if she didn't stop dwelling on it. Cassie picked up her phone and slid her finger across the screen. With a couple taps on the glass, it was ringing. Time to call in the reinforcements. "Hey girl, what's shaking?" came the sound of Lissa's voice. "Hey." She sat there, unsure what to say to her best friend, just knowing she needed her support. "Uh oh. What's going on?" "Jack came in my shop this morning." "I'll be right there." The line went dead. Cassie smiled. Of course she would. She closed her eyes and rested while she waited. She and Melissa Winters had been through everything side by side, so why should this be any different? Lissa was the only person in the world besides Cassie that knew the secret about Sarah. She had helped her adjust to a new baby, teaching her everything she had learned from growing up the oldest sister of five. It was always in times like those that Cassie wished she had her mother around, but Lissa had stepped up. Caroline Powell would have loved helping with Sarah, but as it was, she often didn't even remember who Sarah was when Cassie would take her for visits to the full-time care facility she lived at in The city. Footsteps on the porch stairs shook her out of her reverie, and she opened her eyes to see Lissa walking up, Chinese takeout bags in hand. "General Tso to the rescue," she proclaimed, dropping into the rocker next to Cassie. "And some sweet and sour chicken for Miss Priss, of course." "Of course," Cassie smiled. "You're the best." They sat in silence for a few moments, Cassie turning her glass round and round in her hands until Lissa couldn't take it any longer. "Okay, spill. You can't drop a bomb on me like that and then just sit there in silence," Lissa chided. "I just don't know what to say. I'm terrified, Liss." "Let's think rationally. There is no reason for him to suspect anything." "He seemed really confused about Sarah. Surprised. He kept asking about her.

Ten ma (bsTan Ma [བསྟན་མ་]). Twelve local female spirits of Tibet who have taken the vow from Guru Padmasambhava to protect the Dharma and its followers: the Four Ten mas of the Dud mo [bDud Mo] type: 1) Tshe ring ma (Tshe Ring Ma [ཚེ་རིང་མ་] or Kun Grags Ma [ཀུན་གྲགས་མ་]), 2) Dor je Ya ma kyong (rDo rje gYa Ma sKyong [རྡོ་རྗེ་གཡ་མ་སྐྱོང་]), 3) Kun zang mo (Kun bZang Mo [ཀུན་བཟང་མོ་] and 4) Geg gyi tso (bGegs Kyi gTso [བགེགས་ཀྱི་གཙོ་]; The Four Ten mas of the Nod jin mo (S. Yakṣasi, T. gNod sByin Mo [གནོད་སྦྱིན་མོ་]) type: 1) Chen chig ma (sPyan gChig Ma [སྤྱན་གཅིག་མ་]), 2) Kha ding Lu mo gyal (mKha' lDing Klu Mo rGyal [མཁའ་ལྡིང་ཀླུ་མོ་རྒྱལ་]), 3) Dor je Khyung tsun ma (rDo rje Khyung bTsun Ma [རྡོ་རྗེ་ཁྱུང་བཙུན་མ་]), and 4) Trag mo gyal (Drag Mo rGyal [དྲག་མོ་རྒྱལ་]); The Four Men Mo (sMan Mo [སྨེན་མོ་]): 1) Pod kham kyong (Bod Khams sKyong [བོད་ཁམས་སྐྱོང་]), 2) Men chig ma (sMan gChig Ma [སྨན་གཅིག་མ་]), 3) Yar mo sil (gYar Mo bSil [གཡར་མོ་བསིལ་]), and 4) Dor je Zu le men (rDo rje Zu Le sMan [རྡོ་རྗེ་གཟུགས་ལེགས་སྨན་]).

Someone knocked. I paused, the chicken halfway to my mouth, and glared at the door. The knocking persisted. It wasn’t Derek. His knock would be careful, almost apologetic. This bastard knocked like he was doing me a favor. I looked at the chicken, glanced to the door, stuffed a whole piece into my mouth, and went to see who dared to make demands on my time. The door swung open, revealing Curran. He wore old jeans a green sweatshirt and carried a brown paper sack. He raised his face and sucked air in through his nostrils in the manner of shapechangers. “Tso’s, seafood delight, and fried rice,” he said. “You’re going to share?” I leaned against the wall. The door was open but the ward still blocked his entrance, affording me a bit of leisure. “Oh, it’s you.” I dug in the container with my fork. “I thought it was somebody important.” Curran stepped forward, brushing against the ward. A flash of carmine rippled through the magic barrier and the lord of shapechangers withdrew. “A ward,” he said. “A good one.” He put his palm against the ward and pushed. Red pulsed from his fingers, spreading through the ward like waves from a pebble tossed into a quiet pond. “I can break it,” Curran said. I raised an eyebrow at him. “Be my guest.

Tsultrim Tso, who possessed all the characteristics of a dakini, like gentle behavior and immense compassion for others,

Loneliness is an orchid by the stream Which I wish to pluck and give to someone Someone is far, far away.

I knew General Tso was a great hero, but what were the details surrounding his fabled fowl? Was he a Von Clausewitz yet chef manqué?

Mr. Tso was benevolent and terrifying in that rich uncle mixture of awe, respect, and hope that one might inherit his collection of Bentleys.