Tut Quotes

Tut, tut, child!" said the Duchess. "Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it.

Tut, Tut, looks like rain

Tut, tut — fame clearly isn't everything.

You're thinking about something, my dear, and that makes you forget to talk. I can't tell you just now what the moral of that is, but I shall remember it in a bit." "Perhaps it hasn't one," Alice ventured to remark. "Tut, tut, child!" said the Duchess. "Everything's got a moral, if only you can find it.

You want to know how Egyptians pulled the brains out of mummies. or built the pyramids, or cursed King Tut's tomb? My dad's your man.

Our problems started in Dallas, when the fire-breathing sheep destroyed the King Tut exhibit.

Have you tried to drive a harpoon through a body? No? Tut, tut, my dear sir, you must really pay attention to these details.

I spin around and give him the finger down low, hoping Monsieur Boutin can't see. St. Clair responds by grinning and giving me the British version, the V-sign with his first two fingers. Monsieur Boutin tuts behind me with good nature. I pay for my meal and take the seat next to St. Clair. "Thanks. I forgot how to flip off the English. I'll use the correct hand gesture next time." "My pleasure. Always happy to educate.

[about suicide] And why is it the biggest sin of all? All your life you're told that you'll be going to this marvellous place when you pass on. And the one thing you can do to get you there a bit quicker is something that stops you getting there at all. Oh, I can see that it's a kind of queue­jumping. But if someone jumps the queue at the Post Office, people tut. Or sometimes they say, “Excuse me, I was here first.” They don't say, “You will be consumed by hellfire for all eternity.” That would be a bit strong.

That girl,' tutted Alsana as her front door slammed, 'swallowed an encyclopedia and a gutter at the same time.

What about King Tut’s tomb?” I protested. “That boy king?” Zia rolled her eyes. “Boring. You should see some of the good tombs.

Basil Stag Hare tut-tutted severely as he remarked to Ambrose Spike, 'Tch, tch. Dreadful table manners. Just look at those three wallahs, kicking up a hullaballoo like that! Eating's a serious business.

Poor innocent baby, about to get fleeced. "Tut-tut, gorgeous. You know when you play poker with a man behind closed doors, there is only one acceptable currency.

Ignoring Gray Porter is like ignoring an elephant in a tut. A really hot elephant in a tutu... a very manly tutu." -Jess

We are suffering today from a species of Christianity as dry as dust, as cold as ice, as pale as a corpse, and as dead as King Tut. We are suffering not from a lack of correct heads but of consumed hearts.

So, Mr. Digence, home to visit the family?" "That's right. My mother's folks are from Killarney." "Oh, really?" "O'Reilly, actually. But what's a vowel between friends?" "Very good. You should be on the stage." "It's funny you should mention that." The passport officer groaned. Ten more minutes and his shift would have been over. "I was being sarcastic, actually. . ." "Because my friend, Mr. McGuire, and I are also doing a stint in the Christmas pantomime. It's Snow White. I'm Doc, and he's Dopey." The passport officer forced a smile. "Very good. Next." Mulch spoke for the entire line to hear. "Of course, Mr. McGuire there was born to play Dopey, if you catch my drift." Loafers lost it right there in the terminal. "You little freak!" he screamed. "I'll kill you! You'll be my next tattoo! You'll be my next tattoo!" Much tutted as Loafers disappeared beneath half a dozen security guards. "Actors," he said. "Highly strung.

Es gibt nichts Gutes, außer man tut es. (Actions speak louder than words.)

Düştüm,düşmüşlüğüm kimsenin değil benim yanılgımın eseri.Düştüm.Düşenin dostu Allah.Tut elimden kaldır beni.

Tut-tut, it looks like rain.

There is entirely too much tut-tutting in this realm, if you ask me. All these kings would do a deal better if they put down their swords and listened to their mothers.

Pepy was six feet tall, with shoulders

Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty.

Es tut mir leid, Spence", murmelte ich an seiner Brust. "Was denn?" Ich schluckte schwer. "Das ich so bin, wie ich bin." Er stütze das Kinn auf meinem Kopf ab und kraulte mir weiter den Nacken. "Dafür brauchst du dich nicht zu entschuldigen, Süße. Niemals.

Daphne,” he tuts. “Daphne, Daphne, Daphne.” “Let me guess: I’m a clueless fool,” I say. He starts the car. “No, just a sweet, naive, beautiful little innocent, raised in captivity by a man who loves wheatgrass.

What was she thinking?” muttered Alexander, closing his eyes and imagining his Tania. “She was determined. It was like some kind of a personal crusade with her,” Ina said. “She gave the doctor a liter of blood for you—” “Where did she get it from?” “Herself, of course.” Ina smiled. “Lucky for you, Major, our Nurse Metanova is a universal donor.” Of course she is, thought Alexander, keeping his eyes tightly shut. Ina continued. “The doctor told her she couldn’t give any more, and she said a liter wasn’t enough, and he said, ‘Yes, but you don’t have more to give,’ and she said, ‘I’ll make more,’ and he said, ‘No,’ and she said, ‘Yes,’ and in four hours, she gave him another half-liter of blood.” Alexander lay on his stomach and listened intently while Ina wrapped fresh gauze on his wound. He was barely breathing. “The doctor told her, ‘Tania, you’re wasting your time. Look at his burn. It’s going to get infected.’ There wasn’t enough penicillin to give to you, especially since your blood count was so low.” Alexander heard Ina chuckle in disbelief. “So I’m making my rounds late that night, and who do I find next to your bed? Tatiana. She’s sitting with a syringe in her arm, hooked up to a catheter, and I watch her, and I swear to God, you won’t believe it when I tell you, Major, but I see that the catheter is attached to the entry drip in your IV.” Ina’s eyes bulged. “I watch her draining blood from the radial artery in her arm into your IV. I ran in and said, ‘Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind? You’re siphoning blood from yourself into him?’ She said to me in her calm, I-won’t-stand-for-any-argument voice, ‘Ina, if I don’t, he will die.’ I yelled at her. I said, ‘There are thirty soldiers in the critical wing who need sutures and bandages and their wounds cleaned. Why don’t you take care of them and let God take care of the dead?’ And she said, ‘He’s not dead. He is still alive, and while he is alive, he is mine.’ Can you believe it, Major? But that’s what she said. ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I said to her. ‘Fine, die yourself. I don’t care.’ But the next morning I went to complain to Dr. Sayers that she wasn’t following procedure, told him what she had done, and he ran to yell at her.” Ina lowered her voice to a sibilant, incredulous whisper. “We found her unconscious on the floor by your bed. She was in a dead faint, but you had taken a turn for the better. All your vital signs were up. And Tatiana got up from the floor, white as death itself, and said to the doctor coldly, ‘Maybe now you can give him the penicillin he needs?’ I could see the doctor was stunned. But he did. Gave you penicillin and more plasma and extra morphine. Then he operated on you, to get bits of the shell fragment out of you, and saved your kidney. And stitched you. And all that time she never left his side, or yours. He told her your bandages needed to be changed every three hours to help with drainage, to prevent infection. We had only two nurses in the terminal wing, me and her. I had to take care of all the other patients, while all she did was take care of you. For fifteen days and nights she unwrapped you and cleaned you and changed your dressings. Every three hours. She was a ghost by the end. But you made it. That’s when we moved you to critical care. I said to her, ‘Tania, this man ought to marry you for what you did for him,’ and she said, ‘You think so?’ ” Ina tutted again. Paused. “Are you all right, Major? Why are you crying?

Weißt du, die Leute lügen, wenn sie sagen, nichts sei so stark wie die Liebe. Das ist eine der größten und gemeinsten Lügen überhaupt. Liebe ist nicht stark. Sie ist so verletzlich wie nur irgendwas. Und wenn wir nicht achtgeben, dann zerbricht sie wie Glas." "Aber du liebst ihn noch immer. Sogar heute noch." "Und, hilft mir das weiter? Macht mich das stärker?" Sie schüttelte den Kopf. "Es tut nur weh, das ist alles. Es tut furchtbar weh, jeden Tag und jede Nacht. Es ist auch nicht wahr, dass die Zeit alle Wunden heilt. Sie macht es schlimmer. Die Zeit macht es immer nur noch schlimmer.

Weil die Wahrheit dessen, was man redet, das ist, was man tut, kann man das Reden auch lassen.

Verrücktheiten können ganz normal sein, solange man sie selbst tut; beobachtet man einen anderen dabei, rümpft man die Nase, dreht sich rasch um und geht davon.

I suspect people are suckers for a prick. I suspect folks just naturally go belly-up for a snob. Folks figure if a guy acts like he’s King Tut and everybody else is donkey shit, he must be an aristocrat.

Evening. The dead sheathed in the earth's crust and turning the slow diurnal of the earth's wheel, at peace with eclipse, asteroid, the dusty novae, their bones brindled with mold and the celled marrow going to frail stone, turning, their fingers laced with root, at one with Tut and Agamemnon, with the seed and the unborn.

Mein Leben tut weh! Wünsche verschwinden auf nimmerwiedersehen. Meine Träume stehen mit kaputten Rücken an Wänden. Und die Liebe ist ein Massengrab.

Das Schreiben ist kein Genuss. Es ist das Quälende. Etwas, was man tut, wie Kotzen. Man muss es tun, obwohl man es eigentlich nicht will.

Once clean, he dressed in Rhy’s chosen attire, willing to humor his brother. It was the least he could do—though Kell wondered, as he slipped on the tunic, how long Rhy would be calling in this payment. He could picture the prince a decade from now, telling Kell to fetch him tea. “Get it yourself,” he would say, and Rhy would tut and answer, “Remember Kamerov?

I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall; I'll slay more gazers than the basalisks; I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Decieve more slily that Ulysses could, And like a Sinon, take another Troy. I can add colors to the chameleon, Change shapes with Proteus for advantages And set the murderous Machiavel to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? Tut! were it further off, I'll pluck it down.

Art thou not sorry for these heinous deeds? AARON. Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. Even now I curse the day- and yet, I think, Few come within the compass of my curse- Wherein I did not some notorious ill; As kill a man, or else devise his death; Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it; Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself; Set deadly enmity between two friends; Make poor men's cattle break their necks; Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night, And bid the owners quench them with their tears. Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves, And set them upright at their dear friends' door Even when their sorrows almost was forgot, And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, Have with my knife carved in Roman letters 'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.' Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things As willingly as one would kill a fly; And nothing grieves me heartily indeed But that I cannot do ten thousand more.

All the tut-tutters out there will say: She should have just left, bundled up what remained of her dignity. Take the high road! Two wrongs don't make a right! All those things that spineless women say, confusing their weakness with morality.

Tut, tut, child!’ said the Duchess. ‘Everything’s got a moral, if only you can find it.’ And she squeezed herself up closer to Alice’s side as she spoke.

What sad, short lives humans live! Each life a short pamphlet written by an idiot! Tut-tut, and all that.

The king tut masks flew off the penguins, revealing them to be -gasp- penguins.

Ich kenne Menschen, in denen steckt ein ganzes Universum, unermeßlich. Aber herauskriegen tut man es nicht. Ums Verrecken nicht. Das am Rande.

Natürlich, es ist das Ende, und wir sterben. Aber das heißt nicht, dass wir nicht noch lange da sein, andere Menschen finden, spazierengehen, nachts träumen und alles erledigen können, was eine Marionette so tut.

Ay, that I had not done a thousand more. Even now I curse the day—and yet, I think, Few come within the compass of my curse,— Wherein I did not some notorious ill, As kill a man, or else devise his death, Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it, Accuse some innocent and forswear myself, Set deadly enmity between two friends, Make poor men's cattle break their necks; Set fire on barns and hay-stacks in the night, And bid the owners quench them with their tears. Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves, And set them upright at their dear friends' doors, Even when their sorrows almost were forgot; And on their skins, as on the bark of trees, Have with my knife carved in Roman letters, 'Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.' Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things As willingly as one would kill a fly, And nothing grieves me heartily indeed But that I cannot do ten thousand more.

So . . . how are we getting out of here? Do I still have to?" "Yes. That thing over there"-he points as he unhooks my coat from the hanger-"is an elevator. You've been in it before. With me, in fact. I'll step you through the process." "What if someone sees us?" "You say that now? Lucinda, you're priceless." I slap my keyboard to lock my computer, snatch my handbag and clatter after him. I try to tug my coat from his arm but he shakes his head and tuts. The elevator doors open and he tugs me in, his hand at my waist. I turn to see Helene, leaning on her doorframe, her posture one of casual amusement. She then throws her head back and laughs in delight, clapping her hands together. He waves to Helene as the doors close.

I am at my wit's end.' 'Tut, tut, we have solved some worse problems. At least we have plenty of material, if we can only use it.

There is entirely too much tut-tutting in this realm, if you ask me.

so if you go to a King Tut exhibit someday and notice cracks or burn marks on the artifacts, or maybe a statue with its head glued on backward-well, sorry. that was probably our fault

If you cannot understand my argument, and declare "It's Greek to me", you are quoting Shakespeare; if you claim to be more sinned against than sinning, you are quoting Shakespeare; if you recall your salad days, you are quoting Shakespeare; if you act more in sorrow than in anger; if your wish is farther to the thought; if your lost property has vanished into thin air, you are quoting Shakespeare; if you have ever refused to budge an inch or suffered from green-eyed jealousy, if you have played fast and loose, if you have been tongue-tied, a tower of strength, hoodwinked or in a pickle, if you have knitted your brows, made a virtue of necessity, insisted on fair play, slept not one wink, stood on ceremony, danced attendance (on your lord and master), laughed yourself into stitches, had short shrift, cold comfort or too much of a good thing, if you have seen better days or lived in a fool's paradise -why, be that as it may, the more fool you , for it is a foregone conclusion that you are (as good luck would have it) quoting Shakespeare; if you think it is early days and clear out bag and baggage, if you think it is high time and that that is the long and short of it, if you believe that the game is up and that truth will out even if it involves your own flesh and blood, if you lie low till the crack of doom because you suspect foul play, if you have your teeth set on edge (at one fell swoop) without rhyme or reason, then - to give the devil his due - if the truth were known (for surely you have a tongue in your head) you are quoting Shakespeare; even if you bid me good riddance and send me packing, if you wish I was dead as a door-nail, if you think I am an eyesore, a laughing stock, the devil incarnate, a stony-hearted villain, bloody-minded or a blinking idiot, then - by Jove! O Lord! Tut tut! For goodness' sake! What the dickens! But me no buts! - it is all one to me, for you are quoting Shakespeare.

Kinder sind Wachs in den Händen der Welt. Offene Bücher mit leeren Seiten, die von uns Erwachsenen beschrieben werden. Was in den ersten Kapiteln steht, kriegst du den Rest deines Lebens nicht mehr aus der Wäsche. [...] Dort schrieb sie ins uns: Seid stark und wehrt euch. Wer euch verletzt, dem tut doppelt weh oder geht aus dem Weg, aber lasst euch nie vorschreiben, wie ihr zu leben habt. Ich liebe euch wie ihr seid.

And what? What's the other choice? To passively let things happen and then say: "Tut-tut, what at botch that was"? Don't we all manipulate people? Even if we openly ask them to make a choice, don't we try to frame it so they'll chose as we think they should?

Tut, tut. We can't let mere sentiment intrude. This is Science.

Tut, tut! I have often admonished my pupils to count ten before speaking. Were I you, Mr. Philander, I should count at least a thousand, and then maintain a discreet silence.

»Du hast dir selber eins übergebraten! Kannst du dich noch daran erinnern, wie gemein du deswegen zu mir warst?« Gideon grinste schwach. »Ja, kann ich. Und es tut mir ehrlich leid. Aber wer rechnet denn auch mit so was? Jetzt komm schon! Bevor der Blödmann wieder aufwacht.

Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word: If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho!

Are you prepared to be the complete Watson?" he asked. "Watson?" "Do-you-follow-me-Watson; that one. Are you prepared to have quite obvious things explained to you, to ask futile questions, to give me chances of scoring off you, to make brilliant discoveries of your own two or three days after I have made them myself all that kind of thing? Because it all helps." "My dear Tony," said Bill delightedly, "need you ask?" Antony said nothing, and Bill went on happily to himself, "I perceive from the strawberry-mark on your shirt-front that you had strawberries for dessert. Holmes, you astonish me. Tut, tut, you know my methods. Where is the tobacco? The tobacco is in the Persian slipper. Can I leave my practice for a week? I can.

Über die Ferne der finsteren Fluren hebt mich mein Stern in dein schwärmendes Blut. Nicht mehr am Weh, das wir beide erfuhren, rätselt, der leicht in der Dämmerung ruht. Wie soll er, Süße, dich betten und wiegen, daß seine Seele das Schlummerlied krönt? Nirgends, wo Traum ist und Liebende liegen, hat je ein Schweigen so seltsam getönt. Nun, wenn nur Wimpern die Stunden begrenzen, tut sich das Leben der Dunkelheit kund. Schließe, Geliebte, die Augen, die glänzen. Nichts mehr sei Welt als dein schimmernder Mund.

Kann man Selbstbewusstsein eigentlich irgendwo in einer Dose kaufen? Du scheinst das ja zu löffeln wie andere Nutella.” “Klar, haben sie jetzt drüben bei Wal-Mart. Aber nur für Kunden über 1,60. Tut mir leid, knapp verpasst.

I place a palm at his chest. His heartbeat knocks rapidly against my skin. "I never would have guessed." "What's that?" he asks on a hoarse whisper. "That you're one of those netherlings who has a rare penchant for kindness and courage." "Tut." He presses his glove over my hand. "Only when there's fringe benefits." Smiling, I rise to my toes, grip his lapels, and kiss each one of his jewels until they change to a captivating dark purple—the color of passion fruit. I ease back to the balls of my feet. "So beautiful," I whisper, tapping one of the sparkling gems. Morpheus catches my palm and kisses the scars there. "I couldn't agree more."

Tut!' I said. 'What did you say?' 'I said "Tut!"' 'Say it once again, and I'll biff you where you stand. I've enough to endure without being tutted at.

Was man nicht versteht, sollte man nicht hassen. Wenn man es trotzdem tut, begeht man eine Sünde, auch wenn man den Glauben längst verloren hat.

Alles, was der Mensch tut, unvollkommen ist. Aber wer will sich schon seine Unvollkommenheit eingestehen?

Die Zeit ist unaufhaltsam und fließt immer weiter. Das tut sie nicht nur, damit man ihr nachtrauert, sondern damit man einen schönen Augenblick nach dem anderen erhaschen kann.

Mrs Morton’s knitting needles tutting against each other in disapproval.

Tut! Tut!' cried Sherlock Holmes. 'You must act, man, or you are lost. Nothing but energy can save you. This is no time for despair.

Hat man sein Warum des Lebens, so verträgt man sich fast mit jedem Wie. Der Mensch strebt nicht nach Glück; nur der Engländer tut das.

Das tolle am Internet ist, dass endlich jeder der ganzen Welt seine Meinung mitteilen kann. Das Furchtbare ist, dass es auch jeder tut.

I tutted. “That’s cold, Nate.” “Hey—” He pointed his finger at me. “I’m not a complete shit. I realized later that night that it was a stupid bloody idea and I felt awful.” “Felt awful?” Nathan harrumphed. “You cried your eyes out.” I pinched my lips together to keep from laughing. Nate scowled. “Manly tears. Manly tears of regret.” Young, Samantha (2014-01-07). Before Jamaica Lane (On Dublin Street Book 3) (Kindle Locations 2913-2916). Penguin Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.

You still read fairy tales?" "Every part of the human condition is packaged neatly in fairy tales. Every bit of culture that makes us who we are." She tutted at him. "When I was a girl, such things were regarded with respect." "I've always had trouble with that," he replied dryly. Rina scoffed and settled down on the floor. "I know. But one day you'll learn it. All virtues not granted at birth are taught to you by life, one way or another. My mother told me that.

I hope you learn how to slow down and not let your life pass you by while you're watching the idiot box. Life's short, and one day you'll wake up and look in the mirror and realize you look like King Tut.

Es gibt nur Epikureer, und zwar grobe und feine, Christus war der feinste; das ist der einzige Unterschied, den ich zwischen den Menschen herausbringen kann. Jeder handelt seiner Natur gemäß, d.h. er tut, was ihm wohltut.

Marianne se tut brusquement, songeant que l'amour conjugal pouvait croître non seulement sans l'aide des époux, mais malgré eux, malgré les querelles, les déceptions et les trahisons, croître par sa propre vertu, comme un enfant.

Warum, fragte Kaspar sich, tut der Holzgeruch so gut? Weil wir Menschen in Holz wohnten, ehe wir Häuser aus Stein bauten? Weil unsere ersten Gerätschaften aus Holz waren? Weil Holz lebendig ist, wächst und altert, wie wir wachsen und altern?

Bugün yalnızca aşka odaklanmanı istiyorum. Çayımı içerken yalnız aşk düşüneceğim. Sen de bardağa bakarken aynı şekilde düşün lütfen

Tief im Regenwald tat es das, was es im Regenwald normalerweise tut, nämlich regnen: daher der Name.

[Lydia tut-tutted on seeing the grocer's apostrophe]

Jeder Mensch kommt auf die Welt mit Kräften für die unerhörtesten Erlebnisse. Die Gesetze binden ihn nicht. Aber dann lässt ihn das Leben immer zwischen zwei Möglichkeiten wählen, und immer fühlt er: eine ist nicht darunter; immer eine, die unerfundene dritte Möglichkeit. Und man tut alles, was man will, und hat nie getan, was man gewollt hat. Schließlich wird man talentlos.

Sie sind hier, weil Sie keine Entscheidungen treffen. Und das ist schlecht. Denn wenn Sie es nicht tun, dann tut’s das Leben für Sie. Und das Leben trifft oft die schlechteren Entscheidungen, weil es Schwäche und Zögern bestraft. Die Welt ist für die Mutigen gemacht, der Rest schwimmt nur mit, die meisten gehen dabei unter. Die Frage ist also: Sind Sie wenigstens ein guter Schwimmer?

Abominable business this MacAuley affair,’ said Peters to no one in particular. ‘Absolutely dreadful,’ tutted Mrs Tebbit. ‘It makes you wonder if any of us are safe in our beds.’ I could have pointed out that MacAuley hadn’t been murdered in his bed, but five miles away in an alley behind a whore house.

The old clock on the kitchen wall still clicked its minutes with fussy punctuality. A life had come and gone and nature had not paused a second for it. The machine of time and space grinds on, and people are fed through it like grist through the mill. Isabel had managed to sit up a little against the wall, and she sobbed at the sight of the diminutive form, which she had dared to imagine as bigger, as stronger – as a child of this world. ‘My baby my baby my baby my baby,’ she whispered like a magic incantation that might resuscitate him. The face of the creature was solemn, a monk in deep prayer, eyes closed, mouth sealed shut: already back in that world from which he had apparently been reluctant to stray. Still the officious hands of the clock tutted their way around. Half an hour had passed and Isabel had said nothing.

“You laid it on a little thick out there.” Morpheus clucks his tongue. “I performed masterfully,” he answers, at last managing to claim his hat from Chessie. “Right,” Jeb scoffs. “Pretty sure my mistreatment wouldn’t have sent you into hysterics, drama queen.” Morpheus smirks. “Fair enough. On the other hand, your portrayal of a brainless wind-up numbskull was spot on.” Jeb’s lips quiver, as if he’s fighting a smile himself. “You know, I still have enough paint to make that flyswatter.” “Tut. No need for violence.” Morpheus taps the dust from his hat and places it on his head. “I’m simply giving credit where it’s due.”

So good to see you again, little luv. How I've missed you." Gasping, I fall to my knees. The Caterpillar and the moth and the winged guy. They are all one and the same. They have been all along... "I've seen that bug," Jeb says. "In your car. On the mirror." He drops the backpack and grips my shoulders, trying to drag me to my feet. My legs won't cooperate. "Tut-tut. You are never to bow to me, lovely Alyssa." The voice drifts from the moth's proboscis on gray puffs of smoke. His attention shifts to Jeb. "You, on the other hand, will bow to her.

Little Mr. Bowley, who had rooms in the Albany and was sealed with wax over the deeper sources of life but could be unsealed suddenly, inappropriately, sentimentally, by this sort of thing––poor women waiting to see the Queen go past––poor women, nice little children, orphans, widows, the War––tut tut––actually had tears in his eyes.

In short order, I became America’s foremost “irregardless” apologist. I recorded a short video for Merriam-Webster’s website refuting the notion that “irregardless” wasn’t a word; I took to Twitter and Facebook and booed naysayers who set “irregardless” up as the straw man for the demise of English. I continued to find evidence of the emphatic “irregardless” in all sorts of places—even in the oral arguments of a Supreme Court case. One incredulous e-mail response to my video continued to claim “irregardless” wasn’t a real word. “It’s a made-up word that made it into the dictionary through constant use!” the correspondent said, and I cackled gleefully before responding. Of course “irregardless” is a made-up word that was entered into the dictionary through constant use; that’s pretty much how this racket works. All words are made-up: Do you think we find them fully formed on the ocean floor, or mine for them in some remote part of Wales? I began telling correspondents that “irregardless” was much more complex than people thought, and it deserved a little respectful respite, even if it still was not part of Standard English. My mother was duly horrified. “Oh, Kory,” she tutted. “So much for that college education.” —

Ich glaube, ich hab's jetzt verstanden... ich bin nicht nur eine Sache. Ich bin tausend Sachen. Ich bin eine Tochter und ich bin Alex' Freundin. Und eine Vertraute. Und eine Schwester. Ich bin launisch, und ich bin loyal. Und ich bin achtzehn. Und ich bin verliebt. Ich bin ein guter Mensch, der manchmal dumme Dinge tut. Ich mache Fehler, und manchmal mache ich sie wieder gut. Ich bin kompliziert, und ich bin einfach. Ich bin Sophie. Und das Flittchen. Und Papas Motte. Ich bin einfach ich. Und ich bin lesbisch. Und ich bin nicht lesbisch. Und ich bin unsicher. Und ich bin selbstsicher. All das bin ich. Ich bin nicht nur eine Sache. Ich bin das alles. Und das ist erst der Anfang.

Ständig ist unter irgendeinem Vorwand irgendetwas los. Es bedarf nur einer minimalen Idee, die an die große Glocke gehängt wird, und die Massen strömen dumpf und ergeben herbei, staunen auf Bestellung, glauben und genießen, bewundern, verehren und bejahen. [...] Man zelebriert ein Minimum von Ereignis und tut so, als ob es ein Maximum wäre.

Der Bibliomane", fuhr er fort, "verkörpert in Buchhaim eine der am liebsten gesehenen Kategorien des Biblionismus. Er ist von dem Wunsch beseelt, möglichst viele Bücher zu erwerben und mit nach Hause zu nehmen. Ein durchschnittlicher Büchersammler also. Sofern er dies im Rahmen der gesetzlichen Vorschriften tut und die Bücher nicht klaut, ist der Bibliomane der willkommenste Gast der Stadt - wir alle leben von ihm. Die Gruppe der Bibliomanen ist eine sehr große.

Ако жените поискат, пролетта идва рано.

Vielleicht hat sich doch alles geändert. Vielleicht gibt es hinter der gedruckten Geschichte eine andere, viel grössere Geschichte, die sich ebenso wandelt, wie unsere Welt es tut? Und die Buchstaben verraten uns darüber gerade so viel wie ein Blick durch ein Schlüsselloch. Vielleicht sind sie nicht mehr als der Deckel zu einem Topf, der viel mehr enthält als wir lesen können.

-Aklına her geleni söyleme. Hayatın boyunca bunu yaptın zaten. Ben sana ne derdim, her zaman? -Cahil ile lak lak edeceğine, alim ile taş taşı. -Sen ne yaptın peki? Alim ile taş taşırken bile lak lak ettin, durmadı o çenen. Bir de kendince bahane bulmuşsun gevezeliğine 'Ben sesli düşünüyorum, kafamdan geçenleri içimde tutamıyorum,' diye. Tut! İçinde-kıçında nerende tutarsan tut, ama tut. Beyin ishali olmuş gibi vır vır vır... Hayatta bir ağırlığın olsun. Bir de yazan-çizen adamım diye dolanıyorsun. Yazık! Çok yazık!

You ate something that disagreed with you last night, didn't you?' I said, by way of giving him a chance to slide out of it if he wanted to. But he wouldn't have it at any price. 'No!' he replied firmly. 'I didn't do anything of the kind. I drank too much. Much too much. Lots and lots too much. And, what's more, I'm going to do it again. I'm going to do it every night. If ever you see me sober, old top,' he said, with a kind of holy exaltation, 'tap me on the shoulder and say "Tut! Tut!" and I'll apologise and remedythe defect.

bir düşün kaç kişiyiz bildirilerde şimdilik kaç paralığız hele akşam olunca bunca sütsüzün kahrını çektik düşün ki gene de soluğumuz bir orman yangını sanılır oralarda buralarda ezildik gerçi ama horlanmadık bunu hatırlarsın mutlaka hatırlarsın bunu tut ki enver bırakır tehdidini ethem başlar

Von außen – und erst recht von innen – sieht der Prozess wissenschaftlicher Forschung ungeordnet und verwirrend aus. Man ist versucht zu glauben, Wissenschaftler seien selber unordentlich und verwirrt. In gewisser Hinsicht sind sie es – das gehört zur Forschung. Wenn man wüsste, was man tut, wäre es keine Forschung

A torch for me: let wantons light of heart Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels, For I am proverb’d with a grandsire phrase; I’ll be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was ne’er so fair, and I am done. MERCUTIO: Tut, dun’s the mouse, the constable’s own word: If thou art dun, we’ll draw thee from the mire Of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick’st Up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho! ROMEO: Nay, that’s not so. MERCUTIO: I mean, sir, in delay We waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgement sits Five times in that ere once in our five wits. ROMEO: And we mean well in going to this mask; But ’tis no wit to go. MERCUTIO: Why, may one ask? ROMEO: I dream’d a dream to-night. MERCUTIO: And so did I. ROMEO: Well, what was yours? MERCUTIO: That dreamers often lie. ROMEO: In bed asleep, while they do dream things true. MERCUTIO: O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes.

Grandpa, in his male armchair, deaf aid occasionally whistling and pipe making a hubble-bubble noise as he sucked on it, would shake his head over DAILY EXPRESS, which described to him a world where truth and justice were constantly imperilled by the Communist Threat. In her softer, female armchair - in the red corner - Grandma would tut-tut away over DAILY WORKER, which described to her a world where truth and justice, in their updated versions, were constantly imperilled by Capitalism and Imperialism.

Es ist übrigens bekannt, daß jemand, der auch nur ein einziges Mal in Gesellschaft etwas mehr als gewöhnlich und lebhaft oder gar witzig, interessant oder anregend gesprochen hat, ab da auf die Forderung aller anderen stößt, es nun wieder zu tun und sie also zu unterhalten. Tut er's dann nicht, wird man ihn geradezu befragen: „Nun, Herr X., Sie sind heute aber still?!“ […]. (Aus diesem einzigen und keinem anderen Grunde bleibt es ja immer eine Dummheit, in Gesellschaft etwas anderes als äußerste Langeweile darzubieten.)

Könnte man die Sprünge der Aufmerksamkeit messen, die Leistungen der Augenmuskeln, die Pendelbewegungen der Seele und alle die Anstrengungen, die ein Mensch vollbringen muß, um sich im Fluß einer Straße aufrecht zu halten, es käme vermutlich - so hatte er gedacht und spielend das Unmögliche zu berechnen versucht - eine Größe heraus, mit der verglichen die Kraft, die Atlas braucht, um die Welt zu stemmen, gering ist, und man könnte ermessen, welche ungeheure Leistung heute schon ein Mensch vollbringt, der gar nichts tut.

Why then I do but dream on sovereignty, Like one that stands upon a promontory And spies a far-off shore where he would tread, Wishing his foot were equal with his eye, And chides the sea that sunders him from thence, Saying, he'll lade it dry to have his way: So do I wish the crown, being so far off, And so I chide the means that keeps me from it, And so, I say, I'll cut the causes off, Flattering me with impossibilities, My eye's too quick, my hear o'erweens too much, Unless my hand and strength could equal them. Well, say there is no kingdom then for Richard; What other pleasure can the world afford? I'll make my heaven in a lady's lap, And deck my body in gay ornaments, And witch sweet ladies with my words and looks. O miserable thought! and more unlikely Than to accomplish twenty golden crowns! Why, love forswore me in my mother's womb; And for I should not deal in her soft laws, She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe, To shrink mine arm up like a wither'd shrub, To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits deformity to mock my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size, To disproportion me in every part, Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp That carries no impression like the dam. And am I then a man to be belov'd? O monstrous fault, to harbor such a thought! Then since this earth affords no joy to me But to command, to check, to o'erbear such As are of better person than myself, I'll make my heaven to dream upon the crown, And whiles I live, t' account this world but hell, Until my misshap'd trunk that bears this head Be round impaled with a glorious crown. And yet I know not how to get the crown, For many lives stand between me and home; And I - like one lost in a thorny wood, That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns, Seeking a way, and straying from the way, Not knowing how to find the open air, But toiling desperately to find it out - Torment myself to catch the English crown; And from that torment I will free myself, Or hew my way out with a bloody axe. Why, I can smile, and murther whiles I smile, And cry "Content" to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions. I'll drown more sailors than the mermaid shall, I'll slay more gazers than the basilisk, I'll play the orator as well as Nestor, Deceive more slily than Ulysses could, And like a Simon, take another Troy. I can add colors to the chameleon, Change shapes with Proteus for advantages, And set the murtherous Machevil to school. Can I do this, and cannot get a crown? Tut, were it farther off, I'll pluck it down.

Ebenso hilft es der Seele nichts, wenn der Leib heilige Kleider anlegt, wie's die Priester und Geistlichen tun, auch nicht, wenn er sich in Kirchen und heiligen Stätten befindet; auch nicht, wenn er sich mit heiligen Dingen befaßt; auch nicht, wenn er leiblich betet, fastet, wallfahrtet und alle guten Werke tut, die in alle Ewigkeit durch und in dem Leib geschehen können. Es muß allemal noch etwas anderes sein, was der Seele Rechtschaffenheit und Freiheit bringen und geben kann. Denn alle diese genannten Dinge, Werke und Weisen kann auch ein böser Mensch, ein Gleißner und Heuchler an sich haben und ausüben, und durch so etwas entsteht auch kein anderes Volk als lauter Gleißner.

We are gathered here, friends,” he said, “to honor lo Hoon-yera Mora-toorz tut Zamoo-cratz-ya, children dead, all dead, all murdered in war. It is customary on days like this to call such lost children men. I am unable to call them men for this simple reason: that in the same war in which lo Hoon-yera Mora-toorz tut Zamoo-cratz-ya died, my own son died. “My soul insists that I mourn not a man but a child. “I do not say that children at war do not die like men, if they have to die. To their everlasting honor and our everlasting shame, they do die like men, thus making possible the manly jubilation of patriotic holidays. “But they are murdered children all the same. “And I propose to you that if we are to pay our sincere respects to the hundred lost children of San Lorenzo, that we might best spend the day despising what killed them; which is to say, the stupidity and viciousness of all mankind. “Perhaps, when we remember wars, we should take off our clothes and paint ourselves blue and go on all fours all day long and grunt like pigs. That would surely be more appropriate than noble oratory and shows of flags and well-oiled guns. “I do not mean to be ungrateful for the fine, martial show we are about to see—and a thrilling show it really will be . . .” He looked each of us in the eye, and then he commented very softly, throwing it away, “And hooray say I for thrilling shows.” We had to strain our ears to hear what Minton said next. “But if today is really in honor of a hundred children murdered in war,” he said, “is today a day for a thrilling show? “The answer is yes, on one condition: that we, the celebrants, are working consciously and tirelessly to reduce the stupidity and viciousness of ourselves and of all mankind.

I'm talking about your lovely long arms and your perfectly shaped legs... I find I am quite jealous of those stockings for knowing the feel of you, the warmth of you." She shifted, unable to keep still beneath the onslaught of his words. "I'm talking about that corset that hugs you where you are lovely and soft... is it uncomfortable?" She hesitated. "Not usually." "And now?" She heard the knowledge in the question. She nodded once. "It's rather- constricting." He tutted once, and she opened her eyes, instantly meeting his, hot and focused on her. "Poor Pippa. Tell me, with your knowledge of the human body, why do you think that is?" She swallowed, tried for a deep breath. Failed. "It's because my heart is threatening to beat out of my chest." The smile again. "Have you overexerted yourself?" She shook her head. "No." "What, then?" She was not a fool. He was pushing her. Attempting to see how far she would go. She told the truth. "I think it is you." He closed his eyes then, hands fisting again, and pressed his head back against the side of the desk, exposing the long column of his neck and his tightly clenched jaw. Her mouth went dry at the movement, at the way the tendons there bunched and rippled, and she was quite desperate to touch him. When he returned his gaze to hers, there was something wild in those pewter depths... something she was at once consumed and terrified by. "You shouldn't be so quick with the truth," he said. "Why?" "It gives me too much control." "I trust you." "You shouldn't." He leaned forward, bracing his arm against his raised knee. "You are not safe with me." She had never once felt unsafe with him. "I don't think that's correct." He laughed, low and dark, and the sound rippled through her, a wave of pleasure and temptation. "You have no idea what I could do to you, Philippa Marbury. The ways I could touch you. The wonders I could show you. I could ruin you without thought, sink with you into the depths of sin and not once regret it. I could lead you right into temptation and never ever look back." The words stole her breath. She wanted it. Every bit of it.

The pressure is on. They've teased me all week, because I've avoided anything that requires ordering. I've made excuses (I'm allergic to beef," "Nothing tastes better than bread," Ravioli is overrated"), but I can't avoid it forever.Monsieur Boutin is working the counter again. I grab a tray and take a deep breath. "Bonjour, uh...soup? Sopa? S'il vous plait?" "Hello" and "please." I've learned the polite words first, in hopes that the French will forgive me for butchering the remainder of their beautiful language. I point to the vat of orangey-red soup. Butternut squash, I think. The smell is extraordinary, like sage and autumn. It's early September, and the weather is still warm. When does fall come to Paris? "Ah! soupe.I mean,oui. Oui!" My cheeks burn. "And,um, the uh-chicken-salad-green-bean thingy?" Monsieur Boutin laughs. It's a jolly, bowl-full-of-jelly, Santa Claus laugh. "Chicken and haricots verts, oui. You know,you may speek Ingleesh to me. I understand eet vairy well." My blush deepends. Of course he'd speak English in an American school. And I've been living on stupid pears and baquettes for five days. He hands me a bowl of soup and a small plate of chicken salad, and my stomach rumbles at the sight of hot food. "Merci," I say. "De rien.You're welcome. And I 'ope you don't skeep meals to avoid me anymore!" He places his hand on his chest, as if brokenhearted. I smile and shake my head no. I can do this. I can do this. I can- "NOW THAT WASN'T SO TERRIBLE, WAS IT, ANNA?" St. Clair hollers from the other side of the cafeteria. I spin around and give him the finger down low, hoping Monsieur Boutin can't see. St. Clair responds by grinning and giving me the British version, the V-sign with his first two fingers. Monsieur Boutin tuts behind me with good nature. I pay for my meal and take the seat next to St. Clair. "Thanks. I forgot how to flip off the English. I'll use the correct hand gesture next time." "My pleasure. Always happy to educate." He's wearing the same clothing as yesterday, jeans and a ratty T-shirt with Napolean's silhouette on it.When I asked him about it,he said Napolean was his hero. "Not because he was a decent bloke, mind you.He was an arse. But he was a short arse,like meself." I wonder if he slept at Ellie's. That's probably why he hasn't changed his clothes. He rides the metro to her college every night, and they hang out there. Rashmi and Mer have been worked up, like maybe Ellie thinks she's too good for them now. "You know,Anna," Rashmi says, "most Parisians understand English. You don't have to be so shy." Yeah.Thanks for pointing that out now.