Tyres Quotes

I love you John Tyree, and I'm going to hold you to the promise you once made me. If you come back, I'll marry you. If you break your promise, you'll break my heart.

When people are happy they have a reserve upon which to draw, whereas she was like a wheel without a tyre

sometime hate is just confused love!

Meeting you has been the best thing that's ever happened to me. - John Tyree

It is new, indeed, for I made it last night in a dream of strange cities; and dreams are older than brooding Tyre, or the contemplative Sphinx, or garden-girdled Babylon.

A floorboard cracked; knuckles tapped once on the open door. Adam looked up to see Niall Lynch standing in the doorway. No, it was Ronan, face lit bright on one side, in stark shadow on the other, looking powerful and at ease with his thumbs tucked in the pockets of his jeans, leather bracelets looped over his wrist, feet bare. He wordlessly crossed the floor and sat beside Adam on the mattress. When he held out his hand, Adam put the model into it. “This old thing,” Ronan said. He turned the front tyre, and again the music played out of it. They sat like that for a few minutes, as Ronan examined the car and turned each wheel to play a different tune. Adam watched how intently Ronan studied the seams, his eyelashes low over his light eyes. Ronan let out a breath, put the model down on the bed beside him, and kissed Adam. Once, when Adam had still lived in the trailer park, he had been pushing the lawn mower around the scraggly side yard when he realized that it was raining a mile away. He could smell it, the earthy scent of rain on dirt, but also the electric, restless smell of ozone. And he could see it: a hazy gray sheet of water blocking his view of the mountains. He could track the line of rain travelling across the vast dry field towards him. It was heavy and dark, and he knew he would get drenched if he stayed outside. It was coming from so far away that he had plenty of time to put the mower away and get under cover. Instead, though, he just stood there and watched it approach. Even at the last minute, as he heard the rain pounding the grass flat, he just stood there. He closed his eyes and let the storm soak him. That was this kiss. They kissed again. Adam felt it in more than his lips. Ronan sat back, his eyes closed, swallowing. Adam watched his chest rise and fall, his eyebrows furrow. He felt as bright and dreamy and imaginary as the light through the window. He did not understand anything. It was a long moment before Ronan opened his eyes, and when he did, his expression was complicated. He stood up. He was still looking at Adam, and Adam was looking back, but neither said anything. Probably Ronan wanted something from him, but Adam didn’t know what to say. He was a magician, Persephone had said, and his magic was making connections between disparate things. Only now he was too full of white, fuzzy light to make any sort of logical connections. He knew that of all the options in the world, Ronan Lynch was the most difficult version of any of them. He knew that Ronan was not a thing to be experimented with. He knew his mouth still felt warm. He knew he had started his entire time at Aglionby certain that all he wanted to do was get as far away from this state and everything in it as possible. He was pretty sure he had just been Ronan’s first kiss. “I’m gonna go downstairs,” Ronan said.

The only real difficulty with becoming disciplined is when you buy into the notion that happiness comes at the price of sacrifice. The reality is this: Discipline becomes freedom when you are doing what you love.

She's a charming middle-aged lady with a face like a bucket of mud and if she has washed her hair since Coolidge's second term I'll eat my spare tyre, rim and all.

What is our life? A play of passion. Our mirth the music of division. Our mother's wombs the tyring houses be, Where we are drest for this short Comedy. Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is, That sits and marks still who doth act amiss, Our graves that hide us from the searching sun, Are like drawn curtains when the play is done. Thus march we playing to our latest rest, Only we die in earnest, that's no jest.

I sold the collection because I finally understood what true love really meant. Tim had told me-and shown me-that love meant that you care for another person's happiness more than your own, no matter how painful the choices you face might be." - John Tyree

Take care of your car in the garage, and the car will take care of you on the road.

Whoo-eeee!” From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Peter. He was on the road to the side, probably waiting to ensure she’d managed to negotiate the first part of the track. She didn’t stop, her adrenaline pumping. He’d catch up. “Come get me!” she yelled, making a slight counter-direction turn in the air to help her blow into the berm on the other side of the road. The trail crossed a short flat, a marked rock garden, a beam over a bog, another rock drop and berm, a zigzag around massive trees, roots and rocks that kicked the bike’s tyres this way and that and tested her balance, more air over another drop – this one caused by a massive log – enough air for her to do a back flip from a kicker over another part of the forestry trail, steep to the left. The first wall appeared. She took it fast, skidded around to slam into the side of a berm and round off on to another gully crossing. “Whoo-eeee!

The music cuts out and suddenly my breathing sounds really loud. It also seems to amplify his whole nakedness. I stare at him. Actually I try not to stare at him but it’s kind of hard not to. I mean, he’s standing there topless in front of me and his stomach looks like it just walked out of an Abercrombie catalogue. Sweat has darkened the waistband of his jeans. He’s holding a spanner in one hand, the tyre in the other.

Ne raste te tilla, ajo behej mjaft e bukur. Syte, qe gjer atehere kishin ndjekur tymin e cigares, i dritesoheshin mallengjyeshem. Mollezat, gjithashtu. I binte ne ato caste nje hir qe te trembte,te rrezonte. Te rrezonte? C'do te thoshte kjo? Nuk di ta shpjegoj. Desha te them, nje bukuri qe te kepuste ne mes, sic i thone fjales. Ai, gjithashtu dukej sikur permendej. Porosiste nje whiskey tjeter. Pastaj vazhdonin te flisnin prape ne gjuhen e tyre, gjer pas mesnates, atehere kur ngriheshin per t'u ngjitur me lart, ne kat.

Dela, të gjitha ngjarjet e mëdha të jetës paskan stacionet e tyre.Mos e harro kurrë këtë!

Skulduggery: You won't want to move any sudden moves until we reach the road - I'll know if you crazy kids disturbs the air around the nice bag of explosives Valkyrie: Blow it up Skulduggery: Can't do that Valkyrie: Why not? Skulduggery: Not a bomb. It's a bag with collapsible jacks; for changin tyres Valkryie: What about the remote? Skulduggery: It opens my garage door. Don't tell them, but it doesn't even have any batteries in it

It’s evident that we are always obtaining knowledge in this life, but learning requires rapid action. You could watch someone change a car tyre twenty times over, but unless you get down and do it, your knowledge is never tested, nor will you learn.

Në çdo humbje që pësonin popujt, gratë dhe vajzat kishin gjithmonë pjesën e tyre. Herë e padukshme, herë gjysmë e tillë, e shpesh e padukshme, vetë drama e femrave kishte një lidhje me atë të artit. Në vitin e fundit të mijëvjeçarit të dytë brenda disa javësh, vajzat dhe gratë e reja të Kosovës do të mbanin mbi pjesët më intime të tyre, gjithë peshen dhe mizorinë e ndoshta një mijë vjetëve. Përdhunime, gjinj të shqyer, dhe buzë të njoma po ashtu.

If you want to know what are the events which cast their shadow over the hell of time of King Lear, Othello, Hamlet, Troilus and Cressida, look to see when and how the shadow lifts. What softens the heart of a man, shipwrecked in storms dire, Tried, like another Ulysses, Pericles, prince of Tyre?

Dad always said there were three types of workers. The ones who stood there saying "Is there anything I can do " and did nothing. Most of our city guests were like that. The ones who said "Tell me what you want done and I'll do it" and did. Most of our workers over the years had been like that. And the ones who didn't say anything but were always a jump or two ahead of you. When you were changing a flat tyre and you took the old one off and turned to pick up the new one they'd already have it in their hands and they'd move in and put it on from your left while you were still turning round to the right. Dad reckoned one of those was worth two or the second type and five of the first type.

Përndryshe, në qoftë se shtëpitë botuese mjaftohen të shesin vepra të përkthyera, të cilat janë seleksionuar gjetiu, atëherë kthehemi te muhabeti i free riders; meqë ashtu shtëpitë botuese heqin dorë nga roli i tyre kulturor, duke u mjaftuar me shitjen e qofteve.

[Hugh] winced as I squealed the tyres, but after all, it wasn't his motorcar. Holmes did more than wince before we were out of Oxford, but I didn't hit anybody, and only brushed the farm cart slightly. It wasn't his automobile either, and what do men know about driving?

Bad attitudes are truly like four flat tyres under a sparked vehicle; You say "I want to get a hell out of here" and bad attitudes say, "sorry, we won't allow that shit"!

Grate besojne se, tradhtia e burrave, nuk eshte tregues i suksesit, por shprehje e mediokritetit te tyre.

The Stasi had used radiation to mark people and objects it wanted to track. It developed a range of radioactive tags including irradiated pins it could surreptitiously insert into a person’s clothing, radioactive magnets to place on cars, and radioactive pellets to shoot into tyres.

What's the latest beast in your collection, I wonder?" "Me." Metal clanged as Gabriel flipped the helmet's visor. "I'm her latest beast." The Irving sisters choked on their laughter, then swallowed it hard. He took a clanking step forward, towering over them. "Let me tell you, Lady Penelope has her hands full. I'm vicious. Untamed. I won't come to heel." He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a growl. "And I bite." He turned, and- confronted with the wall of hedges- stormed through it like the Ottomans breaching the walls of Tyre. Once he'd cleared a path with his armored body, he extended a gauntlet, inviting Penny to follow. She put her gloved hand in his shining one. Rather than leading her through, he pulled her to him, slid his hand to her backside, and lifted her off her feet, keeping her slippers free of the trampled shrubs. Her beast in shining armor. As he carried her through the hedge, she waved farewell to the bug-eyed Irving sisters. "It's been lovely seeing you.

He wordlessly crossed the floor and sat beside Adam on the mattress. When he held out his hand, Adam put the model into it. “This old thing,” Ronan said. He turned the front tyre, and again the music played out of it. They sat like that for a few minutes, as Ronan examined the car and turned each wheel to play a different tune. Adam watched how intently Ronan studied the seams, his eyelashes low over his light eyes. Ronan let out a breath, put the model down on the bed beside him, and kissed Adam. Once, when Adam had still lived in the trailer park, he had been pushing the lawn mower around the scraggly side yard when he realized that it was raining a mile away. He could smell it, the earthy scent of rain on dirt, but also the electric, restless smell of ozone. And he could see it: a hazy gray sheet of water blocking his view of the mountains. He could track the line of rain travelling across the vast dry field towards him. It was heavy and dark, and he knew he would get drenched if he stayed outside. It was coming from so far away that he had plenty of time to put the mower away and get under cover. Instead, though, he just stood there and watched it approach. Even at the last minute, as he heard the rain pounding the grass flat, he just stood there. He closed his eyes and let the storm soak him. That was this kiss. They kissed again. Adam felt it in more than his lips. Ronan sat back, his eyes closed, swallowing. Adam watched his chest rise and fall, his eyebrows furrow. He felt as bright and dreamy and imaginary as the light through the window. He did not understand anything. It was a long moment before Ronan opened his eyes, and when he did, his expression was complicated. He stood up. He was still looking at Adam, and Adam was looking back, but neither said anything. Probably Ronan wanted something from him, but Adam didn’t know what to say. He was a magician, Persephone had said, and his magic was making connections between disparate things. Only now he was too full of white, fuzzy light to make any sort of logical connections. He knew that of all the options in the world, Ronan Lynch was the most difficult version of any of them. He knew that Ronan was not a thing to be experimented with. He knew his mouth still felt warm. He knew he had started his entire time at Aglionby certain that all he wanted to do was get as far away from this state and everything in it as possible. He was pretty sure he had just been Ronan’s first kiss.

Life itself is an art form.

Being brave was tiring. No wonder everybody in Conley Holler looked faded and worn out.

Outside, overgrown grass lapped dew on Ronan’s boots, and mist curled around the tyres of the charcoal BMW. The sky over Monmouth Manufacturing was the colour of a muddy lake. It was cold, but Ronan’s gasoline heart was firing. He settled into the car, letting it become his skin. The night air was still coiled beneath the seats and lurking in the door pockets; he shivered as he tethered his raven to the seat belt fastener in the passenger seat. Not the fanciest setup, but effective for keeping a corvid from flapping around one’s sports car. Chainsaw bit him, but not as hard as the early morning cold.

The drive rose sharply to the left of the steps to a circle of flat ground where her maroon Buick was parked under an umbrella pine. It looked preposterous, stretched out on its white-walled tyres against the terraced vines and olive groves behind it, but to Eleanor her car was like a consulate in a strange city, and she moved towards it with the urgency of a robbed tourist.

Nowadays people stood outside their newly refurbished houses and boasted as if they’d built them with their own bare hands, even though they hadn’t so much as lifted a screwdriver. And they weren’t even trying to pretend that it was any other way. They boasted about it! Apparently there was no longer any value in being able to lay your own floorboards or refurbish a room with rising damp or change the winter tyres. And if you could just go and buy everything, what was the value of it? What was the value of a man?

At thirty-nine, I learned how to change a tyre, how to shovel snow, how to stack wood. I learned how to meet a deadline without a shoulder to whine on. I became obsessed with firewood. If only there was alsways a fire in the fireplace, I knew that everything would be all right. (Prometheus must have been a women. I reverted to my ancient nature: inventing fire all day, having my liver plucked out all night.)

When you travel by road in the west you travel with a cohort of dust which streams up from your tyres and rolls away in a disintegrating funnel, defining the currents of air your vehicle sets in motion … And the heat is unthinkable, no matter how widely the windows are open, and the sweat streams off your body and into your socks, and if there are a number of people in the car their body stenches mingle disagreeably

The great expanding centre of ‘inner Britain’, London, did not build ships but it built aeroplanes, it did not mine coal but it made electrical equipment, it did not grow food but it did process it – into beer, refined sugar, Horlicks and Mars bars. It made tyres, Hoovers, films.

And as you see, poor Idris was...persuaded,shall we say? Yes,persuaded to tell me about Tyre and his own route back to Al-Kal'as from there. Faysal, reveal to her his pain." The Captain of the Guard dragged Idris forward. Faysal then ripped away his shirt, and Aminah gasped. Angry scars laced his bare chest, some of the burns still crusted and weeping. Tears tumbled down Aminah's face, but Idris did not raise his head to see them. "Forgive me" he mumered.

Max: I don't know what to do. I've been walking around campus, wracking my brain, tyring to figure out what to do. Because I want to get better, realy. I know we have to get better. I know the dreams have to stop. But I also don't want to lose you. I can't lose you, Alice. Alice: You will never lose me. I'm right here.

It's one of the things I love about motorsports - you're always learning, always having to adapt. It's not like tennis, where the rackets might change a bit but everything else stays the same. If you're in motorsport, the formulas are always changing. The regulations, the tyres, the power, the type of engine. It keeps you excited.

It's one of the things I love about motorsports - you're always learning, always having to adapt and develop. It's not like tennis, where the rackets might change a bit but everything else stays the same. If you're in motorsport, the formulas are always changing. The regulations, the tyres, the power, the type of engine. It keeps you excited.

Those palates who, not yet two summers younger, must have inventions to delight the taste, would now be glad of bread, and beg for it.

The screech of tyres, an almighty bang and a car exploded through the playground wall like a high-velocity bullet through a watermelon.

Në të gjitha kohët më janë gjendur njerëz të mirë, për të më ndihmuar. Mirënjohja ndaj tyre më është kthyer në ves!

We may rifle the treasures of antiquity and make the heathen contribute to the gospel even as Hiram of Tyre served under Solomon's direction for the building of the Temple.

of  x Tyre,         and it shall devour

Then he returned from the region of Tyre and went through Sidon to  bthe Sea of Galilee, in the region of the  cDecapolis

Përsosmëritë që kërkojmë nga njëri-tjetri në tërësinë e tyre janë kaq të tmerrshme, saqë vetëm gënjeshtrat mund të na ndihmojnë që t'i ruajmë ato.

Gratë bien në dashuri me burrat, që të matin frikën e tyre dhe pë të neutralizuar varësinë e tyre të supozuar ose faktike.

Njerëzit e mëdhenj i drejtohen botës në gjuhën e tyre.

Ata që shpenzojnë paret e tyre për tu eksituar me mënyra të dorës së dytë, janë nevrikë si dukeshat që nuk e gjejnë dot banjën

Just making sure that giant rat isn't tyring to eat my jeans

When people are happy they have a reserve, she had told Elizabeth, upon which to draw, whereas she was like a wheel without a tyre (she was fond of such metaphors), jolted by every pebble.

read somewhere that victory goes to the man who is most prepared to win. Well, I’m prepared to win. But I can’t speak for these other guys. You know what I mean? Let each man speak for himself.

Then, with all my being I felt I was wildly, desperately in love. Not only with Maya and her dark locks flying in the wind as she ran. But also with the plants that swayed as she passed, and with that grey, sad sky and the air that smelled of rain. I was even in love with that old piece of farm machinery with flat tyres, sensing that it was quite essential to the harmony that had just been created before my eyes …

As they passed through the exit, Indrani pulled Zarina’s stole over her head, covering half of her face. The two words—not guilty—had changed Zarina’s stature in minutes, from a relentless human rights activist to someone running for cover. They climbed down the stairs and rushed to the parking lot. Zarina’s car was in a pathetic condition—smashed windscreen, deflated tyres, broken rear view mirrors and torn upholstery. An exasperated Zarina raised her hands in utter disgust. Mob fury. Idiots, if they have won the case, let them celebrate their victory; why smash my car? The fighter in her forced Zarina to take out her cell phone and click pictures of her car from different angles.

I would say to housewives, be not daunted by one failure, nor by twenty. Resolve that you will have good bread, and never cease striving after this result till you have effected it. If persons without brains can accomplish this, why cannot you?

The Nephilim (Aldebaran’s extraterrestrials in Maria’s messages) who survived the great deluge returned to Phoenicia; the Bible made reference to their return. They lived with the Phoenicians for 33 years and 33 days in Tyre, Sidon, Byblos, and Baalbeck. The number 33.33 represents the period of the Tana-wir or Tanwir, which means enlightenment. The number 33.33 became the most important and the most secret number in Phoenician occultism, architecture, and numerology, because it refers to their place of origin, Jabal Haramoun (Mt. Hermon in Lebanon) which is located exactly at 33.33° East and 33.33° North.)   The number 33 is equally important in the Masonic rite King Hiram created with the assistance of King Solomon. This number is closely related to the compass and square, which were given to the Phoenicians as a gift from the Anunnaki lords. This explains how and why the early Phoenicians excelled in building ships, navigation and land-seas maps making, and surpassed their neighbors in these fields, beyond belief! Worth mentioning here, that the Egyptian Sphinx was built some 11,000 years ago, before the Biblical Great Flood by the early Phoenicians, the Nephilim and an army of Djinns created by the Anunnaki.

Shqiptarët, megjithëse në pjesën më të madhe myslimanë, nuk e kanë konsideruar veten kurrë turq. Në të kundërtën, ata kishin një nocion të qartë për individualitetin e tyre dhe një hendek i thellë i pengonte ata të ngatërroheshin me racën e pushtuesve.

I should be in Beirut, I thought, working as a journalist, but another part of me was so wary of that old life of guns and misery. I did not want to see Tyre again, or Qana, or Baghdad. I wanted to do nothing more than move dirt from one place to another.

A sea-green sky: lamps blossoming white. This is marginal land: fields of strung wire, of treadless tyres in ditches, fridges dead on their backs, and starving ponies cropping the mud. It is a landscape running with outcasts and escapees, with Afghans, Turks and Kurds: with scapegoats, scarred with bottle and burn marks, limping from the cities with broken ribs. The life forms here are rejects, or anomalies: the cats tipped from speeding cars, and the Heathrow sheep, their fleece clotted with the stench of aviation fuel.

He prudently declined the tribunal of his enemies; despised the summons of the synod of Caesarea; and, after a long and artful delay, submitted to the peremptory commands of the emperor, who threatened to punish his criminal disobedience if he refused to appear in the council of Tyre. ^104 Before Athanasius, at the head of fifty Egyptian prelates, sailed from Alexandria, he had wisely secured the alliance of the Meletians; and Arsenius himself, his imaginary victim, and his secret friend, was privately concealed in his train.

My only reply was a barking dog, and a puzzled look from the two lovers, jumping up suddenly from behind a stack of rusty oil drums. The three of us looked at each other in confusion. The dog cocked its leg and pissed against a tractor tyre. The ocean boomed its indifference.

There was a scream of tortured rubber as the tyres caught the boulevard in a harsh left-handed turn, the deafening echo of a Citroën’s exhaust in second gear, a crash into top, then a swiftly diminishing crackle as the car hared off between the shops on the main street towards the coast-road.

20Then Jesus began to denounce the towns in which most of his miracles had been performed, because they did not repent. 21“Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! For if the miracles that were performed in you had been performed in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago in sackcloth and ashes.

Teachers were not allowed to beat children as they did in the past, although, Mma Ramotswe reflected, there were some boys-and indeed some young men-who might have been greatly improved by moderate physical correction. The apprentices, for example: would it help if Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni resorted to physical chastisement-nothing severe, of course-but just an occasional kick in the seat of the pants while they were bending over to change a tyre or something like that? The thought made her smile. She would even offer to administer the kick herself, which she imagined might be oddly satisfying, as one of the apprentices, the one who still kept on about girls, had a largeish bottom which she thought would be quite comfortable to kick. How enjoyable it would be to creep up behind him and kick him when he was least expecting it, and then to say: Let that be a lesson! That was all one would have to say, but it would be a blow for women everywhere.

- E di c'me vajti ne mendje atje ne teater? Qe fjala 'art' me siguri vjen nga fjala 'artificial'. Ose e kunderta...kjo s'ka rendesi, rendesi ka, qe te dyja fjalet jane te lidhura mes tyre. Kjo do te thote se, sipas perkufizimit arti duhet te jete i shkeputur nga jeta, duhet te zere vend diku jashte caqeve te saj. Duhet te jete maksimalisht i larguar prej saj. - Pa shiko,- verejti Milla. -Une nuk mbaj mend kur kam bere per here te fundit biseda te tilla. - Pse, biseda te gabuara jane?- nuk e kuptova une. - Jo, ne te kundert. Te gjithe njerezit perreth vetem per rutinen, per te perditshmen llomotitin. Makinat, restorantet, lejet, pushimet, pija, sherbimet jashte shtetit...Keto i kane ne maje te gjuhes burrat. Kurse grate flasin edhe per veshjet, natyrisht edhe per meshkujt, per kozmetiken. Ne rastin me te mire, per ndonje film. Zakonisht te vjen frike se mos mbytesh, se mos te merret fryma. Kurse me ty eshte ndryshe, me ty ndihesh e fresket.

The synod of Tyre was conducted by Eusebius of Caesarea, with more passion, and with less art, than his learning and experience might promise; his numerous faction repeated the names of homicide and tyrant; and their clamors were encouraged by the seeming patience of Athanasius, who expected the decisive moment to produce Arsenius alive and unhurt in the midst of the assembly. The nature of the other charges did not admit of such clear and satisfactory replies; yet the archbishop was able to prove, that in the village, where he was accused of breaking a consecrated chalice, neither church nor altar nor chalice could really exist.

Bagpipe Music' It's no go the merrygoround, it's no go the rickshaw, All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow. Their knickers are made of crêpe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python, Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with heads of bison. John MacDonald found a corpse, put it under the sofa, Waited till it came to life and hit it with a poker, Sold its eyes for souvenirs, sold its blood for whiskey, Kept its bones for dumb-bells to use when he was fifty. It's no go the Yogi-Man, it's no go Blavatsky, All we want is a bank balance and a bit of skirt in a taxi. Annie MacDougall went to milk, caught her foot in the heather, Woke to hear a dance record playing of Old Vienna. It's no go your maidenheads, it's no go your culture, All we want is a Dunlop tyre and the devil mend the puncture. The Laird o' Phelps spent Hogmanay declaring he was sober, Counted his feet to prove the fact and found he had one foot over. Mrs Carmichael had her fifth, looked at the job with repulsion, Said to the midwife 'Take it away; I'm through with overproduction'. It's no go the gossip column, it's no go the Ceilidh, All we want is a mother's help and a sugar-stick for the baby. Willie Murray cut his thumb, couldn't count the damage, Took the hide of an Ayrshire cow and used it for a bandage. His brother caught three hundred cran when the seas were lavish, Threw the bleeders back in the sea and went upon the parish. It's no go the Herring Board, it's no go the Bible, All we want is a packet of fags when our hands are idle. It's no go the picture palace, it's no go the stadium, It's no go the country cot with a pot of pink geraniums, It's no go the Government grants, it's no go the elections, Sit on your arse for fifty years and hang your hat on a pension. It's no go my honey love, it's no go my poppet; Work your hands from day to day, the winds will blow the profit. The glass is falling hour by hour, the glass will fall for ever, But if you break the bloody glass you won't hold up the weather.

Now, Watson," said he, "we have picked up two clues this morning. One is the bicycle with the Palmer tyre, and we see what that has led to. The other is the bicycle with the patched Dunlop. Before we start to investigate that, let us try to realize what we do know, so as to make the most of it, and to separate the essential from the accidental.

A bicycle, certainly, but not the bicycle “ said he. “I am familiar with forty-two different impressions left by tyres. This as you perceive, is a Dunlop, with a patch upon the outer cover. Heidegger’s tyres were Palmer’s, leaving longitudinal stripes. Aveling, the mathematical master, was sure upon the point. Therefore, it is not Heidegger’s track.

As most young candidates for the pains and penalties of whaling stop at this same New Bedford, thence to embark on their voyage, it may as well be related that I, for one, had no idea of so doing. For my mind was made up to sail in no other than a Nantucket craft, because there was a fine, boisterous something about everything connected with that famous old island, which amazingly pleased me. Besides though New Bedford has of late been gradually monopolizing the business of whaling, and though in this matter poor old Nantucket is now much behind her, yet Nantucket was her great original— the Tyre of this Carthage;—the place where the first dead American whale was stranded. Where else but from Nantucket did those aboriginal whalemen, the Red-Men, first sally out in canoes to give chase to the Leviathan? And where but from Nantucket, too, did that first adventurous little sloop put forth, partly laden with imported cobblestones—so goes the story— to throw at the whales, in order to discover when they were nigh enough to risk a harpoon from the bowsprit?

The cross represents, not light, but hope. The hope that one day, when we actually do perish, we will be taken into the light.

Amen.

The car vibrated violently as the tyres bounced over the old cobbled road. Brennan and Renton found it difficult to remain seated. “This is not helping my undercarriage,” Renton grumbled. He gave his boss a fleeting glance before his head hit the car roof again. Brennan looked down at her nether regions. “If it’s any consolation, it’s not doing mine much good either.

All of this seemed equally trifling to him now. And when he thought again about the world of free people, the difference between it and the miseries and joys of this place seemed minimal. If three tiny fragments of tea leaf chanced to fall into a prisoner's battered cup, he relished them. In Leningrad during the interval at the opera a woman sipped champagne with the same pleasure. Their sufferings were also comparable. Both the prisoner and the woman had painful shoes. Hers were narrow evening shoes which she took off during the performance. The prisoner suffered from what they wore in the camp, section of tyres into which you thrust your foot wrapped in rags and fastened with string. The woman at the opera knew that somewhere in the world there were millions of beings transformed into gaunt animals, their faces blackened by the polar winds. But this did not stop her drinking her glass of wine amid the glittering of the great mirrors. The prisoner knew that a warm and brilliant life was lived elsewhere in tranquility but this did not spoil his pleasure as he chewed those fragments of tea leaf....

Plotinus was also the most relentlessly antimaterialist thinker in history. He taught his disciples that everything we see or imagine to be real is actually only a series of faded images of a higher realm of pure ideas and pure spirit, intelligible only to the soul. According to his student Porphyry of Tyre, he was even sorry that his soul had to live inside a physical body.

22But I tell you, it will be more bearable for Tyre and Sidon on the day of judgment than for you. 23And you, Capernaum, will you be lifted to the heavens? No, you will go down to Hades.[47] For if the miracles that were performed in you had been performed in Sodom, it would have remained to this day. 24But I tell you that it will be more bearable for Sodom on the day of judgment than for you.

Kombësia jonë zuri të humbasë kur u ngjall Greqia. Gjer atëherë, shqiptarët e krishterë rronin vëllazërisht me të tjerët; por pasi fitoi pavarësinë Greqia, nga njëra anë shqiptarët myslimanë u shtrënguan t’i lidhen më fort Turqisë, nga tjetra anë të krishterët shqiptarë iu afruan shtetit të vogël të krishterë, gjer sa u bënë fare, fare grekër. Në këtë mënyrë, Greqia e ngjallur prej shqiptarëve, u bë shkak për vdekjen e tyre.

Su initiated Phooli and Chilki into computer games, while they taught her how to play hoola-hoop with a discarded cycle tyre, how to catch raindrops in her mouth and the secret art of taming a goat. Su listened to them with absolute, unwavering concentration. Her eyes wide open, almost unblinking. The bartering also included swapping Toblerones with brightly coloured candy bought from a Kacchi Basti vendor at a bargain price.

Poetët bëjnë dashuri ndryshe nga ne, komplet ndryshe plako. Kanë ngjyra të tjera në kokë, bile dhe seksi i tyre është më i hijshëm. Bëjnë dashuri në krevate librash mbushur me petale vargjesh; në kokën e tyre të sëmurë krijojnë aktin e parë. Poetët qeshin pa hapur gojën dhe e mbyllin me sy mbyllur për të puthur më mirë, sepse nuk janë si ne. Poetët nuk të prekin, por përkedhelin format e trupit në flokët e tu të ashpër, një krijesë e zhdukur e ndonjë pylli të errët është në krevat me ta. Të mbulojnë me frymën e tyre derisa ndihesh i sigurt. Përshpërisin fjalë që nuk njihje, e je i lumtur, sepse duket qartë që do të mësosh diçka të re. Do kesh një fron në një mbretëri tjetër dhe lëpin buzët nga kënaqësia, sepse ajo që po dëgjon është Zgjidhja e të gjitha problemeve. Buzëqesh sepse ke prekur gjithçka duhet të prekje dhe ke shlyer borxhin tënd me veten e tashmë je i lirë në një mënyrë të re. Zbulon me habi që dy njerëz nën një batanije kanë më shumë hapësirë se sa kishe menduar ndonjëherë. Të vjen keq që ka aq shumë vend bosh, e ti vendin do ta përdorësh, do ta mbushësh. Dhe vendos që aty mund të fusim një fëmijë, këtu një divan, këtu një shëtitje të dielën e s'ke frikë, sepse poeti të bërtet fjalë të sigurta në kokë e ti ndihesh mirë. Pastaj... pastaj, poetët të braktisin, për herë të parë e të fundit.

Motërzimi femëror i "Këngës së Urës së Qabesë" Ka ca kohë që shtysa për diçka të tillë më vjen si detyrim, trokitje në ndërgjegjje, për të mos thënë në trajtë pengese (Pengesë e çuditshme që s'të lë të shkruash tjetër gjë, pa e shlyer detyrimin e hershëm.). A janë borxh kombet e botës ndaj vajzave dhe grave të tyre? A është në detyrim të tillë kombi shqiptar, krijuesi i "Këngës së Urës së Qabesë"? Ja motërzimi për vajzat e sotme shqiptare, ato që në heshtje dhe pikëllim durojnë atë që meshkujve u qëllon më rrallë. Mbeta, moj vajza, kësaj ane Në trotuare, n'Itali. Në Western Union merrni dollarët Se unë vetë nuk do vij. Në pyette nëna, ç'fat më doli, I thoni se një burrë kam marrë. Im atë në pyettë, i tregoni Se u martova me një varr. Në pyettë shoku i shkollës, Bledi, Nga klasa fqinje, "E treta B", I thoni se një peng më mbeti, Që nuk u putha dot me të. Më pas vinte vazhdimi me krushqit apo korbat që shkojnë në dasmë a në varrim, e padurueshme zakonisht. Në pyettë se ç'krushq i vanë Policë belgë a italianë...

I. Carthage. 900–200 B.C. In the third century B.C., Rome and Carthage divided the power of the Mediterranean world. Rome was first on land, Carthage first at sea. Intolerant of powerful neighbors, Rome quarreled with Carthage, and in the First Punic War brought her to her knees. The Carthaginians were of Phœnician origin, one of the early settlements of Tyre. By their energy and intelligence they succeeded in acquiring the hegemony of all the Phœnician colonies on the Mediterranean, as Tyre had done at home. The government was an aristocracy of capitalists, controlled by a senate. This “London of antiquity” gradually extended her conquests all around the western Mediterranean. The city was strongly walled and beautifully built; and in addition possessed vast commercial works, harbors and arsenals. Agriculture was as highly esteemed and practiced as commerce, and the land was worked by rich planters. The prosperity of the city was equally indebted to either art. Carthage was really the capital of a great North African empire, as Rome was of the Italian peninsula.

A e merrni dot me mend dilemën e shkrimtarit kur librat e tij botoheshin në perëndim pa emrin e përkthyesit?! Ai e dinte se kjo ndodhte rëndomë në vendin e tij, në shtetin e tij diktaturë. Kënetat, bje fjala, thaheshin prej të burgosurve të regjimit, me punë të papaguar të tyre, por mos përmendja për arësye biografike e emrit të përkthyesit të tij, jo vetëm në vendlindje por edhe në botimet në Perëndim, dhimbte shumë. Shumë më shumë… Më dhimbshëm se heshtja për Nobelin e pa-uruar për Nënë Terezën, më rëndë… Janë plagë që s’mbyllen as në trupin e të vdekurit këto…

The wrecked town of Gaza lay silent and empty. It had once been among the finest cities of the Near East: a stopping point on the coastal road from Syria through Palestine to Egypt, made rich by a thriving market and renowned for its mosques, churches and massive airy houses built in marble.1 But in 1149 only its natural wells and reservoirs remained to indicate that this was once a place where people of many religions had thrived. War had swept through the elegant streets and emptied Gaza, seemingly for good. ‘It was now in ruins’, wrote William of Tyre, ‘and entirely uninhabited.

PSALM 83 O God, do not keep silence;    do not hold your peace or be still, O God! 2For behold, your enemies make an uproar;    those who hate you have raised their heads. 3They lay crafty plans against your people;    they consult together against your treasured ones. 4They say, “Come, let us wipe them out as a nation;    let the name of Israel be remembered no more!” 5For they conspire with one accord;    against you they make a covenant— 6the tents of Edom and the Ishmaelites,    Moab and the Hagrites, 7Gebal and Ammon and Amalek,    Philistia with the inhabitants of Tyre; 8Asshur also has joined them;    they are the strong arm of the children of Lot.

Pastroj zërin, ul kokën për t'u treguar akoma më qartë që për mua opinioni i tyre është komplet i panevojshëm dhe lexoj. - Ju lutem, më lejoni të prezantoj veten time. Nëse historia na ka mësuar diçka kjo është që... e harrova çfarë. Po ja, ideja ishte që me të rinjtë mund të ndryshosh situatën, të shpëtosh shtetin, të ngresh kombin, të formosh kombëtare të fortë fizikisht, aq sa të paktën të marrim ndonjë barazim. Bo, bo, i tmerrshëm jam, edhe i fortë, edhe humorist, edhe idealist. Më shikoni e lini sytë, se jam i riu shqiptar. Jam e ardhmja, përuluni, më nderoni, më masakroni, po vij. Ah, po, jam shumë evropian, jam i majtë, po më punon babi në një firmë private dhe ndonjëherë bëhem i djathtë. Copë-copë i kam duart, brohoras sa andej-këtej se na thanë që do të na japin fushë për të luajtur futboll. Jam shumë i pavarur, shumë "indipendent", po këto kohët e fundit, çoç varem pak, se e pashë që s'ma varte njeri ashtu. Po jam edhe shumë i zgjuar, jam diplomuar jashtë, por këta s'më bëjnë kryeministër edhe pse unë jam i zgjuar se kam mbaruar shkollën jashtë. S'më votojnë këta derra. Unë jam edhe vegjetarian se ashtu më kanë mësuar dhe respektoj naturën. Unë u thashë do të vij më datë 27, ma bëni gati një karrige aty, se jam shumë i zgjuar, por këta s'marrin vesh. Ndonjëherë më marrin me vete, çajmë tunele, çajmë male, ndërtojmë hidrocentrale, jam aq i ri sa nuk rri më ulur në kafene, rri në këmbë e kënaqem se në mitingje është plot me të rinj si puna ime. Po unë jam shumë i turpshëm e u them: "Ore jam i mirë unë. Do bëj revolucion unë. S'e sheh që kam veshur edhe bluzë me atë meksikanin, Çenë, edhe pse familja ime thotë: "Jo", po ku marrin vesh ata." Erdha këtu dje, pardje; takova Çimin, i thashë: "O Çimo, do i lujmë fenë lal, revolucion do bëjmë!". "Mirë", tha Çimi; e bëra kryeministër provizor të qeverisë provizore dhe dolëm në rrugë të gjithë bashkë, pastaj shkuam në shtëpi veç e veç. Po Çimin do e heq nga puna, se dje s'më dha cigare dreqi, unë i kisha mbaruar, nga shoqëria kishin mbaruar fondet, ngela thatë...

Personazhet e Kafkës na trubullojnë edhe sot e kësaj dite, ngaqë ata janë siç kemi qenë ne dikur, heronj të dorëzuar. Brenga jonë si lexues rritet edhe më, teksa mëvetësohemi e ndjejmë se, edhe si personazhë, jemi përshkruar krejt tjetër: ngrirë si njerëz, rrëgjuar mendërisht, vyshkur ndjesisht, pa reagime. Nuk na shfaqën si qenie njerëzore, dhe kurrë krijesa fiziologjike. Problemet tona, hallet si heronj të asaj letërsie, thjesht të qenieve politike, zgjidhjet e tyre një herë e mirë të parashikueshme. Ekonomi letrare e planifikuar. Aq sa sot dyshojmë nëse vërtetë kemi qenë. A quhet art letërsia që i vidhej njeriut. Më thua dot, a mund të ketë letërsi në Korenë e Veriut sot?!

The sharpie uniform is perhaps the most unlikely fashion statement you will ever see, a Frankenstein’s monster of baby-doll plucked eyebrows, skinhead-meets-mullet hair, 1970s fat ties and just a hint of bovver boy. Clothes worn too tight and too small. Kerry had prepared a shopping list: • bluebird earrings • three-inch Mary Jane corkie platform shoes • treads (shoes made using recycled tyres for the sole with suede thonging for the upper) • Lee canvas jeans • beachcombers • short white bobby socks • ribbed tights • a short, flared, preferably panelled skirt • satin baggies • a striped Golden Breed t-shirt or a KrestKnit polo shirt • a tight coral necklace from the surf shop • a Conti brand striped cardigan • blue metallic eye shadow from a small pot or a crayon

The outsiders stood always in awe in front of what they had surnamed the Celestial City with Mighty Walls. The great mystery that cloaked its very foundations kept impelling the youth of Crotona, as well as those of the adjacent cities, to seek admittance. In spite of the difficult rules of the Master, curiosity goaded many to venture inside its secrecy, with a passionate aspiration to discover the unknown. Yet, to enroll, young men and women should be introduced by their parents. Sometimes, it was one of the assigned Masters of the Pythagorean Society who assumed the introduction. At the massive wooden gated entrance, one could admire the marble statue of Hermes-Enoch, the father of the spiritual laws. A cubical stone formed its stall where a skillful hand had carved the words: No entry to the vulgar

Po njerëzit janë të ndryshëm. Ka të tillë, fytyra e të cilëve të rri përherë përpara. E njëjta. E pandryshuar. Ti e sheh dhe s'kupton asgjë. Mendon: "si është bërë kjo fytyrë e tillë indifirente e pakuptim. Dhe këtë unë duhet ta shoh çdo ditë, çdo orë, çdo çast të jetës sime; këtë fytyrë pa jetë... (shih jeta ç'fytyrë pa jetë na paska?!); ka të tjerë që kacavirren nëpër trupin tënd si ata kërmijtë dhe aty nëpër gjethe të ndërgjegjes sate lënë jargët e tyre; ka edhe nga ata, që ti ndofta nuk i ke parë asnjëherë , s'ke biseduar kurrë, se ndofta ata kanë rënë përmbys atje te xhamia e tabakëve, kanë rënë vite të shkuara, po ti e sheh, endjen edhe tani që ata janë përmbysur duke lënë një boshllëk të madh te ti, kanë hapur një zbrazësirë, që edge tani të prek me gishtërinjtë e gjatë e të ftohtë të kujtimit të vet. Dhe ti je i gëzuar, je i lumtur që dikur ata kanë jetuar.

Supporters of apokatastasis in roughly chronological order: - [c. 30-105] Apostle Paul and various NT authors - [c. 80-150] Scattered likely references among Apostolic Fathers o Ignatius o Justin Martyr o Tatian o Theophilus of Antioch (explicit references) - [130-202] Irenaeus - [c. 150-200] Pantaenus of Alexandria - [150-215] Clement of Alexandria - [154-222] Bardaisan of Edessa - [c. 184-253] Origen (including The Dialogue of Adamantius) - [♱ 265] Dionysius of Alexandria - [265-280] Theognustus - [c. 250-300] Hieracas - [♱ c. 309] Pierius - [♱ c. 309] St Pamphilus Martyr - [♱ c. 311] Methodius of Olympus - [251-306] St. Anthony - [c. 260-340] Eusebius - [c. 270-340] St. Macrina the Elder - [conv. 355] Gaius Marius Victorinus (converted at very old age) - [300-368] Hilary of Poitiers - [c. 296-373] Athanasius of Alexandria - [♱ c. 374] Marcellus of Ancrya - [♱378] Titus of Basra/Bostra - [c. 329-379] Basil the Cappadocian - [327-379] St. Macrina the Younger - [♱387] Cyril of Jerusalem (possibly) - [c. 300-388] Paulinus, bishop of Tyre and then Antioch - [c. 329-390] Gregory Nazianzen - [♱ c. 390] Apollinaris of Laodicaea - [♱ c. 390] Diodore of Tarsus - [330-390] Gregory of Nyssa - [c. 310/13-395/8] Didymus the Blind of Alexandria - [333-397] Ambrose of Milan - [345-399] Evagrius Ponticus - [♱407] Theotimus of Scythia - [350-428] Theodore of Mopsuestia - [c. 360-400] Rufinus - [350-410] Asterius of Amaseia - [347-420] St. Jerome - [354-430] St. Augustine (early, anti-Manichean phase) - [363-430] Palladius - [360-435] John Cassian - [373-414] Synesius of Cyrene - [376-444] Cyril of Alexandria - [500s] John of Caesarea - [♱520] Aeneas of Gaza - [♱523] Philoxenus of Mabbug - [475-525] Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite - [♱543] Stephen Bar Sudhaili - [580-662] St. Maximus the Confessor - [♱ c. 700] St. Isaac of Nineveh - [c. 620-705] Anastasius of Sinai - [c. 690-780] St. John of Dalyatha - [710/13-c. 780] Joseph Hazzaya - [813-903] Moses Bar Kepha - [815-877] Johannes Scotus Eriugena

… gjeta se në mendimet e ndershme është një lloj kënaqësie të cilën njerëzit e këqij nuk e kanë ndier kurrë; kjo do të thotë se njeriu është i kënaqur me vetveten. Në qoftë se mendojmë për këtë pa paragjykime, nuk di se cilën kënaqësi tjetër mund ta barazonim me këtë. Ndiej të paktën se cilido që e pëlqen sa unë vetminë duhet të frikësohet se do ta presin shqetësime. Mbase në po këto parime mund të gjendet çelësi i gjykimeve të gabuara të njerëzve mbi fitimet nga vesi dhe mbi ato nga virtyti. Ngase kënaqësia nga virtyti është plotësisht e brendshme, dhe e vëren vetëm ai që e ndien; mirëpo të gjitha fitimet nga vesi i bien në sy tjetrit, dhe vetëm ai që i ka e di sa i kushtojnë. Sikur secilit brenga e brendshme T’i lexohej e shkruar në ballë, Sa shumë veta, të cilëve u kemi lakmi, Do të na bënin të mëshiroheshim për ta! Kësaj strofe do të kishte mundur t’ia shtonte vazhdimin, i cili është i bukur, dhe nuk i përshtatet më pak subjektit: Do të shihej se armiqtë e tyre I kanë në kraharor, Dhe që të na duken fatbardhë Këtu është e tërë lumturia e tyre. ---- ... I found that there is in the meditation of honest thoughts a sort of well-being that the wicked have never known; it is to enjoy being alone with oneself. If one thought about it without preconceptions, I do not know what other pleasure one could compare to that. I sense at least that whoever loves solitude as much as I do must fear the torments it has in store for him. Perhaps one could deduce from the same principles the key to men’s false conclusions concerning the advantages of vice and of virtue. For the enjoyment of virtue is a wholly inner one and is perceptible only to him who feels it: but all the advantages of vice are visible to others, and only he who has them knows at what price. If it were possible to read internal pain in the face, how many whom we now envy would we then pity? He could have added the sequel which is very beautiful, and no less suited to the subject. One could then see that they have their enemies within their breast, and their happiness is nothing more than a happy appearance.

Q: Which party had wildest celebration and how did it play out? 1) The 1972 Dolphins Super Bowl watching party for the David Tyree catch? 2) The Jack Nicklaus day after Thanksgiving morning in 2009? 3) The NFL referee Monday night football watching party at Ed Hochuli's house for the Seattle/Green Bay game? —Steve G., Salt Lake City SG: Here's my theory on the day after Thanksgiving in 2009: I think Jack Nicklaus heard the news, went out and bought a bottle of 20-year-old Pappy Van Winkle, found an antique shotgun with 300 rounds of ammo, then drove to a secluded spot in the woods 25 miles away from any other human being. He got out of his car, started jumping around and screaming like he won the Super Bowl, did this for 20 solid minutes, then started swigging whiskey and shooting at things while whooping it up. Eventually, he drank the entire bottle, got back into his car and just started happily ramming into trees until the car stopped moving. Then he passed out in the driver's seat, woke up the next morning and walked home. Anyway, my answer is Jack Nicklaus.

sail, we  tcame by a straight course to Cos, and the next day to Rhodes, and from there to Patara. [1] 2And having found a ship crossing to Phoenicia, we went aboard and set sail. 3When we had come in sight of Cyprus, leaving it on the left we sailed to Syria and landed at Tyre, for there the ship was to unload its cargo. 4And having sought out the disciples, we stayed there for seven days. And  uthrough the Spirit they were telling Paul not to go on to Jerusalem. 5When our days there were ended, we departed and went on our journey, and they all, with wives and children,  vaccompanied us until we were outside the city. And  wkneeling down on the beach, we prayed 6and said farewell to one another. Then we went on board the ship, and they returned home. 7When we had finished the voyage from Tyre, we arrived at Ptolemais, and we greeted  xthe brothers [2] and stayed with them for one day. 8On the next day we departed and came to Caesarea, and we entered the house of  yPhilip  zthe evangelist, who was one of the seven, and stayed with him. 9He had four unmarried daughters,  awho prophesied. 10While we were staying for many days, a prophet named  bAgabus came down from Judea. 11And coming to

Unë nuk jam ithtar i një arti tepër subjektiv. Poezia ime ka qenë për mua një mjet për të zotëruar vetveten. Ajo më jepte mundësinë të shikoja ku kalonte vija matanë së cilës falsiteti i tonit dëshmon falsitetin e qëndrimit dhe të bëja të gjitha përpjekjet për të mos e shkelur. Përvoja e viteve të luftës më mësoi se nuk është e udhës ta marrësh penën me qëllimin e vetëm për t’u komunikuar të tjerëve hidhërimin vetjak dhe sfilitjen e brendshme – sepse kjo është një lëndë e dobët, përftimi i së cilës kërkon aq pak mund sa që ky akt nuk të jep të drejtën e respektimit të vetvetes. Kushdo që ka parë të bëhet hi një qytet me një milion banorë dhe kilometra të tëra rrugësh të tij pa asnjë gjurmë jete, madje as edhe një mace, as edhe një qen pa zot, i kujton me ironi përshkrimet prej poetëve bashkëkohorë të ferrit të qyteteve të mëdha - në të vërtetë ferri i shpirtit të tyre. Wasteland i vërtetë është shumë më i tmerrshëm se ai imagjinari. Kush nuk ka jetuar mes tmerreve të luftës e të terrorit nuk e di sa e egër është revolta kundër vetvetes e atij që i ka parë ose ka marrë pjesë në to - ajo revoltë kundër moskokëçarjes dhe egoizmit të vet. Rrënimi dhe vuajtjet janë një shkollë ku farkëtohet sensi shoqëror,

I wrote that the sails are our desires that must be perfectly pure and clean, since the port we seek is the knowledge of God, which none can attain save the pure in heart.[291] Hence it is written of the ship of Tyre:  “Fine broidered linen . . . was woven for your sail.” [292]  The mast is the love of God, which the same prophet declares was made of cedar and incorruptible, as the soul should never fail in the practice of any exercise; the cedar must come from Libanus, which means ‘beatitude’, for infused charity is perfect love. To this mast must be fastened the ropes of peace and harmony with God, ourselves, and our neighbor, which in Holy Scripture are called ‘the bands of love.’ [293]  The mariner's compass is faith, by which the rudder must be directed, and the helm is prudence. The compass points to the North, for faith must rule us and raise us to contemplation between the two is discretion, which is very necessary. The pilot is good counsel: he must be guided by the mariner's chart, that is, the Holy Scriptures, if he wishes to avoid mistakes. The sounding-line is prudence, by which we must measure what is to be done if we wish to succeed: the pilot, or sage counsel, must plumb the water over which we sail, that is, our restless life.

Uji që pikonte nga çatia, bënte një vrimë në rërën e oborrit. Dëgjohej: "pikë-pikë", e pastaj prapë "pikë" mbi një gjysmë flete dafine që e bënte të rrotullohej e të kërcente duke e shtyrë në të çarat e tullave. Sa kishte kaluar stuhia dhe tani, herë pas here, flladi tundte degët e shegës, duke bërë që prej tyre të hidhte mbi tokë një shi të dendur me ca pika të ndritshme që pastaj veniteshin. Pulat, të ngrysura dhe si të përgjumura, shkundnin herë pas here krahët dhe vinin vërdallë nëpër oborr, duke çukitur me nxitim për të kapur krimbat që kishte nxjerrë shiu nga toka. Me t'u çarë retë, dielli ndriçonte gurët, ylberizonte me të gjitha ngjyrat, pinte ujin e tokës, argëtohej me ajrin duke u dhënë shkëlqim gjetheve me të cilat luante ajri. - Ç'bën aq shumë në nevojtore, djalosh? - Asgjë, mama. - Po ndenje shumë aty, ka për të dalë ndonjë gjarpër e do të të kafshojë. - Po, mama. < <> <> - Të thashë që të dalësh nga banja, djalosh. - Mirë, mama, ja erdha. <> Ngriti sytë dhe pa të ëmën te dera. - Pse vonohesh kaq shumë? Ç'bën aty? - Po mendohem. - Pse këtu e gjete të mendohesh? Nuk të bën mirë të rrish kaq shumë në banjë. Veç kësaj, duhet të merresh me diçka. Pse nuk shkon te jot nunël për të shkoqur misër? - Mirë, mama. Ja, po shkoj. *

The truth? The truth is that the bank robber was an adult. There’s nothing more revealing about a bank robber’s personality than that. Because the terrible thing about becoming an adult is being forced to realize that absolutely nobody cares about us, we have to deal with everything ourselves now, find out how the whole world works. Work and pay bills, use dental floss and get to meetings on time, stand in line and fill out forms, come to grips with cables and put furniture together, change tyres on the car and charge the phone and switch the coffee machine off and not forget to sign the kids up for swimming lessons. We open our eyes in the morning and life is just waiting to tip a fresh avalanche of ‘Don’t Forget!’s and ‘Remember!’s over us. We don’t have time to think or breathe, we just wake up and start digging through the heap, because there will be another one dumped on us tomorrow. We look around occasionally, at our place of work or at parents’ meetings or out in the street, and realize with horror that everyone else seems to know exactly what they’re doing. We’re the only ones who have to pretend. Everyone else can afford stuff and has a handle on other stuff and enough energy to deal with even more stuff. And everyone else’s children can swim. But we weren’t ready to become adults. Someone should have stopped us.

Njeriu jeton jo vetëm jetën e vet personale, por, me vetëdije apo pa vetëdije edhe atë të epokës dhe të bashkëkohësve të vet dhe, edhe në qoftë se do të ishte i prirur që bazat e përgjithshme dhe jashtëpërsonale të ekzistencës së tij t'i shihte si të dhëna në mënyrë të vetëkuptueshme, si edhe të ishte aq larg idesë për t'i kritikuar, siç ishte Hans Kastorpi shpirtmirë, do të ishte sidoqoftë gjithsesi e mundshme që ai t'i ndjente ashtu turbull mungesat dhe ndikimet e tyre në vetëndijimin e tij moral. Njeriut të veçantë mund t'i vegojnë para syve shumë qëllime, pikësynime, shpresa, perspektiva, prej të cilave ai merr shtysa për sforcime dhe veprimtari më të vrullshme, por kur jashtëpersonalja përreth tij, koha vetë, me gjithë përpjekjet e tij, u heq motivimin shpresave dhe perspektivave, në qoftë se ajo i shfaqet si e pashpresë, pa përspektivë dhe pyetjeve dhe pyetjeve të vëna, me apo pa vetëdije, por sidoqoftë të vëna në ndonjë mënyrë mbi kuptimin fundor, më tepër se personal, të të gjitha sforcimeve dhe veprimatarive, ajo u vë përballë një heshtje të shurdhër, kjo gjëndje e gjërave do të ushtronte një farë ndikimi paralizues qoftë edhe mbi karakteret më të mirëfilltë njerëzorë, ndikim i cili, përtej shpirtit dhe moralit, do të mund të shtrihej edhe mbi pjesën fizike dhe oraganike të individit. Për të qenë i gatshëm për një sforcim të madh, që sidoqoftë e kalon masën e atij të zakonshmit, pa qenë në gjëndje që t'i japë një përgjigje të kënaqshme pyetjes "përse"?, për këtë duhet ose një vetmi dhe pastërti morale që është e rrallë dhe e një natyre heroike, ose një vitalitet shumë i shëndoshë. Hans Kastorpi nuk e kishte as njërën, as tjetrën dhe nuk mund të ishte pra, veçse një i rëndomtë, ndonëse në një kuptim tepër pozitiv.

- Oh, Nastenjka, Nastenjka! Ju as që mund ta merrni me mend sa shumë po më ngazëlleni! Po më pajtoni me vetveten! Nuk kam për të menduar kurrë keq për veten, siç më ka ndodhur rëndomë më parë! Se ku i dihet, mua dhe brenga sfilitëse, që jam treguar armik i vetes, ndoshta do më daravitet! Se jo një herë ia kam nxitur vetes mendimin që jeta e jetuar ka qenë mëkatare dhe deri kriminale. Dhe mos pandehni që po i zmadhoj gjërat. Kam kaluar e jo pak çaste trishtimi të pangushëllueshëm!... Më ka rënduar si plumb në zemër vetëdija e pazotësisë për të jetuar me të tashmen, me realen; e kam katandisur veten deri në atë farë feje, sa e kam mallkuar fatin tim, e kam sikterisur veten... Se mua, Nastenjka, ja se ç'më ka ndodhur pas netëve të kaluar me fantazime: jam kthyer në realitet, ku gjërat shihen esëll. Gjendje e padurueshme! Sheh tollovinë njerëzore, sheh dhe dëgjon si pulson jeta, vë re që dhe jeta e të tjerëve nuk është e përsosur, e jetojnë ashtu si u vjen, kapen fort pas çdo të mire që kjo u ofron, e përballojnë, kur ju shtie me shkelma, vë re që përtërihen e mëkëmben pas fatkeqsive, deri dhe rilinden; habitesh që asnjë minutë e jetës nuk ngjason me të mëparshmet, ndërkohë që fantazimet janë mërzindjellëse në monotoninë e tyre, janë frikamane para pengesave, skllave të vegimeve dhe të hijeve, të ideve dhe të hamendjeve të nxehta, ato janë skllave të resë, që e mbulon befas diellin dhe e mbush me pikëllim zemrën e vërtetë petërburgase, e cila, ngaqë e çmon aq shumë ndaj dhe drithërohet po aq shumë, kur e sheh t'i fshihet. Se fantazia në pikëllim ngjizet e harbon! Mirëpo vjen një çast që e ndien si venitet, si kapitet e deri vdiret në tendosjen e saj të pandërprerë, pa të cilën s'ka si bën, e sheh këtë dhe bindesh që fantazimet nuk janë të pashtershme, pale që edhe vetë ti zë e burrërohesh, i braktis ëndërrimet dhe përsiatjet e dikurshme... Vjen një çast, që fantazia bëhet copë e çikë dhe, në mos paç tjetër jetë, s'ke nga ia mban, do s'do detyrohesh dhe sajon nga rrënojat, bashkon mbeturinat e së parës. E pra, shpirti të do një të re! Ëndërrimtari i gjorë më kot zë e rrëmon në hirin e fantazisë së shkrumuar, për të gjetur aty ndonjë kongjill të ndezur, që t'i fryjë e t'i fryjë, me shpresën mos ndizet zjarri i ri, ku të ngrohë zemrën e kallkanosur, dhe të rimëkëmbë atë që dikur ishte aq hamngjitëse dhe joshëse, që ia rrëmbente shpirtin dhe ia vlonte gjakun, ia rrëmbushte sytë, duke e mashtruar me aq marifet! Dhe e dini, Nastenjka, sa keq u katandisa? S'më mbeti tjetër veç të festoja përvjetorin e ndijimeve të para fantastike, të atyre që pandehja se i pata përjetuar, kurse në vërtetë nuk i pata përjetuar, sepse edhe vetë përvjetori si i tillë imagjinar ishte, pjellë fantazie qe. Iu drejtova përkujtimit, ngaqë më mungonin fantazi të reja, nuk kisha nga i shtrydhja! Se ëndërrimet shtrydhen, Nastenjka! Ma kishte fort ënda të vizitoja ato vende, që lidheshin me lumturinë time të dikurshme, ta përshtasja të tashmen në përputhje me të atëhershmen. U ënda në ato rrugë të zymta pa ndonjë synim apo qëllim real, të përcaktuar, u sorollata sa desha nëpër Petërburgun aspak gazmor dhe kujtova e kujtova sa u enjta të përjetuarat asohere. Shihja me sytë e mendjes si ecja i vetmuar në po atë trotuar, si më mbyste pikëllimi dhe angështia, i rënduar nga ato fantazime aq të lemerishme. Nuk them se atëherë isha në gjendje më të mirë shpirterore, ama më i qetë se tani isha. Atëherë jetohej më këndshëm, s'i kisha tërë ato mendime të zeza për të cilët sapo ju fola, por as këtë vrasje ndërgjegje që po provoj tani. Endesha në atë përvjetor dhe thosha me vetë: "Sa shpejt që fluturojnë vitet!" dhe pas gjithë kësaj, përsëri ajo pyetja brengë: "Po ti ç'je duke bërë, ndërkohe që vitet fluturojne? A po e jeton jetën? Se vitet ikin e shkojnë dhe të troket pleqeria, bashkë me të dhe pafuqia, po edhe lloj-lloj mënxyrash! Se bota e fantazisë një ditë prej ditësh do të vdiret, ëndërrimet do shuhen e fashiten, do bien në tokë si gjethet në vjeshtë!..." O Nastenjka! Sa

Another woman catches sight of Fischerle's hump on the ground and runs screaming into the street: 'Murder! Murder!' She takes the hump for a corpse. Further details - she knows none. The murderer is very thin, a poor sap, how he came to do it, you shouldn't have thought it of him. Shot may be, someone suggests. Of course, everyone heard the shot. Three streets off, the shot had been heard. Not a bit of it, that was a motor tyre. No, it was a shot! The crowd won't be done out of its shot. A threatening attitude is assumed towards the doubters. Don't let him go. An accessory. Trying to confuse the trail! Out of the building comes more news. The woman's statements are revised. The thin man has been murdered. And the corpse on the floor? It's alive. It's the murderer, he had hidden himself. He was tring to creep away between the corpse's legs when he was caught. The more recent information is more detailed. The little man is a dwarf. What do you expect, a cripple! The blow was actually struck by another. A redheaded man. Ah, those redheads. The dwarf put him up to it. Lynch him! The woman gave the alarm. Cheers for the woman! She screamed and screamed. A Woman! Doesn't know what fear is. The murderer had threatened her. The redhead. It's always the Reds. He tore her collar off. No shooting. Of course not. What did he say? Someone must have invented the shot. The dwarf. Where is he? Inside. Rush the doors! No one else can get in. It's full up. What a murder! The woman had a plateful. Thrashed her every day. Half dead, she was. What did she marry a dwarf for? I wouldn't marry a dwarf. And you with a big man to yourself. All she could find. Too few men, that's what it is. The war! Young people to-day...Quite young he was too. Not eighteen. And a dwarf already. Clever! He was born that way. I know that. I've seen him. Went in there. Couldn't stand it. Too much blood. That's why he's so thin. An hour ago he was a great, fat man. Loss of blood, horrible! I tell you corpses swell. That's drowned ones. What do you know about corpses? Took all the jewellery off the corpse he did. Did it for the jewellery. Just outside the jewellery department it was. A pearl necklace. A baroness. He was her footman. No, the baron. Ten thousand pounds. Twenty thousand! A peer of the realm! Handsome too. Why did she send him? Should he have let his wife? It's for her to let him. Ah, men. She's alive though. He's the corpse. Fancy dying like that! A peer of the realm too Serve him right. The unemployed are starving. What's he want with a pearl necklace. String 'em up I say! Mean it too. The whole lot of them. And the Theresianum too. Burn it! Make a nice blaze.