Unique Car Quotes

Colin's skin was alive with the feeling of connection to everyone in that car and everyone not in it. And he was feeling not-unique in the very best possible way.

The second thing you have to do to be a writer is to keep on writing. Don't listen to people who tell you that very few people get published and you won't be one of them. Don't listen to your friend who says you are better that Tolkien and don't have to try any more. Keep writing, keep faith in the idea that you have unique stories to tell, and tell them. I meet far too many people who are going to be writers 'someday.' When they are out of high school, when they've finished college, after the wedding, when the kids are older, after I retire . . . That is such a trap You will never have any more free time than you do right now. So, whether you are 12 or 70, you should sit down today and start being a writer if that is what you want to do. You might have to write on a notebook while your kids are playing on the swings or write in your car on your coffee break. That's okay. I think we've all 'been there, done that.' It all starts with the writing.

But...surely you know where your nephew is going?' she asked, looking bewildered. 'Certainly we know,' said Vernon Dursley. 'He's off with some of your lot, isn't he? Right, Dudley, let's get in the car, you heard the man, we're in a hurry.' Again, Vernon Dursley marched as far as the front door, but Dudley did not follow. 'Off with some of our lot?' Hestia looked outraged. Harry had met the attitude before: witches and wizards seemed stunned that his closest living family took so little interest in the famous Harry Potter. 'It's fine,' Harry assured her. 'It doesn't matter, honestly.' 'Doesn't matter?' repeated Hestia, her voice rising ominously. 'Don't these people realise what you've been through? What danger you are in? The unique position you hold in the hearts of the anti-Voldemort movement? 'Er - no, they don't,' said Harry. 'They think I'm a waste of space, actually, but I'm used to -' 'I don't think you're a waste of space.' If Harry had not seen Dudley's lips move, he might not have believed it.

There is always a unique atmosphere in the car when you drive through the City with a dead body in the back.

My mental illness is not your mental illness. Even if we have the exact same diagnosis we will likely experience it in profoundly different ways. This book is my unique perspective on my personal path so far. It is not a textbook. If it were it would probably cost a lot more money and have significantly less profanity or stories about strangers sending you unexpected vaginas in the mail. As it is with all stories, fast cars, wild bears, mental illness, and even life, only one truth remains: your mileage may vary.

Even in the era of AIDS, sex raises no unique moral issues at all. Decisions about sex may involve considerations about honesty, concern for others, prudence, and so on, but there is nothing special about sex in this respect, for the same could be said of decisions about driving a car. (In fact, the moral issues raised by driving a car, both from an environmental and from a safety point of view, are much more serious than those raised by sex.)

Le coucher de soleil, le printemps, le bleu de la mer, les étoiles de la nuit, toutes ces choses que nous disons captivantes n’ont de magie que lorsqu’elles gravitent autour d’une femme, mon garçon… Car la Beauté, la vraie, l’ unique, la beauté phare, la beauté absolue, c ’est la femme. Le reste, tout le reste n ’est qu ’accessoires de charme.

In addition to conformity as a way to relieve the anxiety springing from separateness, another factor of contemporary life must be considered: the role of the work routine and the pleasure routine. Man becomes a 'nine to fiver', he is part of the labour force, or the bureaucratic force of clerks and managers. He has little initiative, his tasks are prescribed by the organisation of the work; there is even little difference between those high up on the ladder and those on the bottom. They all perform tasks prescribed by the whole structure of the organisation, at a prescribed speed, and in a prescribed manner. Even the feelings are prescribed: cheerfulness, tolerance, reliability, ambition, and an ability to get along with everybody without friction. Fun is routinised in similar, although not quite as drastic ways. Books are selected by the book clubs, movies by the film and theatre owners and the advertising slogans paid for by them; the rest is also uniform: the Sunday ride in the car, the television session, the card game, the social parties. From birth to death, from Monday to Monday, from morning to evening - all activities are routinised, and prefabricated. How should a man caught up in this net of routine not forget that he is a man, a unique individual, one who is given only this one chance of living, with hopes and disappointments, with sorrow and fear, with the longing for love and the dread of the nothing and separateness?

You go into extinction by being obsessed about becoming something else and then travelling in the wrong car while your real self keeps waiting at the bus stop for your unfulfilled return!

So much rubbish; ... from heavy plant machinery, cars, vans, buses to plastic bottles, magazines, papers, tins, boxes, bags, clothes... ... it is how they have been collected here that is odd... everything neat, clean, ordered and possibly even categorised...

The lead car is absolutely unique, except for the one behind it which is identical.

It is an eccentric and uniquely human approach to resources: like plowing under your farmland to make way for more lawns, or compromising your air quality in exchange for an enormous car.

Do you want any breakfast, Sam?” my mom asks. I never eat breakfast at home, but my mom still asks me every day—when she catches me before I duck out, anyway—and in that moment I realize how much I love the little everyday routines of my life: the fact that she always asks, the fact that I always say no because there’s a sesame bagel waiting for me in Lindsay’s car, the fact that we always listen to “No More Drama” as we pull into the parking lot. The fact that my mom always cooks spaghetti and meatballs on Sunday, and the fact that once a month my dad takes over the kitchen and makes his “special stew” which is just hot-dog pieces and baked beans and lots of extra ketchup and molasses, and I would never admit to liking it, but it’s actually one of my favorite meals. The details that are my life’s special pattern, like how in handwoven rugs what really makes them unique are the tiny flaws in the stitching, little gaps and jumps and stutters that can never be reproduced.

books are a uniquely portable magic. I usually listen to one in the car (always unabridged; I think abridged audiobooks are the pits), and carry another wherever I go.

Frankly, accepting the family's unique qualities has done wonders to help my own sanity.

There is nothing unique or special in a near-death experience. They are not rare; everyone, I would venture, has had them, at one time or another, perhaps without even realising it. The brush of a van too close to your bicycle, the tired medic who realises that a dosage ought to be checked one final time, the driver who has drunk too much and is reluctantly persuaded to relinquish the car keys, the train missed after sleeping through an alarm, the aeroplane not caught, the virus never inhaled, the assailant never encountered, the path not taken.

people today have less of an idea than ever before what a really living person is; in fact, human beings, each one of whom is a priceless, unique experiment of nature, are being shot to death in car-loads.

When Ronan was young and didn’t know any better, he thought everyone was like him. He made rules for humanity based upon observation, his idea of the truth only as broad as his world was. Everyone must sleep and eat. Everyone has hands, feet. Everyone’s skin is sensitive; no one’s hair is. Everyone whispers to hide and shouts to be heard. Everyone has pale skin and blue eyes, every man has long dark hair, every woman has long golden hair. Every child knows the stories of Irish heroes, every mother knows songs about weaver women and lonely boatmen. Every house is surrounded by secret fields and ancient barns, every pasture is watched by blue mountains, every narrow drive leads to a hidden world. Everyone sometimes wakes with their dreams still gripped in their hands. Then he crept out of childhood, and suddenly the uniqueness of experience unveiled itself. Not all fathers are wild, charming schemers, wiry, far-eyed gods; and not all mothers are dulcet, soft-spoken friends, patient as buds in spring. There are people who don’t care about cars and there are people who like to live in cities. Some families do not have older and younger brothers; some families don’t have brothers at all. Most men do not go to Mass every Sunday and most men do not fall in love with other men. And no one brings dreams to life. No one brings dreams to life. No one brings dreams to life.

Dieu c'est l'essence même, tandis qu'Édouard n'a jamais rien trouvé d'essentiel ni dans ses amours, ni dans son métier, ni dans ses idées. Il est trop honnête pour admettre qu'il trouve l'essentiel dans l'inessentiel, mais il est trop faible pour ne pas désirer secrètement l'essentiel. Ah, mesdames et messieurs, comme il est triste de vivre quand on ne peut rein prendre au sérieux, rien ni personne ! C'est pourquoi Edouard éprouve le désir de Dieu, car seul Dieu est dispensé de l'obligation de paraître et peut se contenter d'être ; car lui seul constitue (lui seul, unique et non existant) l'antithèse essentielle de ce monde d'autant plus existant qu'il est inessentiel.

L'homme lutte contre la peur mais, contrairement à ce qu'on répète toujours, cette peur n'est pas celle de la mort, car la peur de la mort, tout le monde ne l'éprouve pas, certains n'ayant aucune imagination, d'autres se croyant immortels, d'autres encore espérant des rencontres merveilleuses après leur trépas ; la seule peur universelle, la peur unique, celle qui conduit toutes nos pensées, car la peur de n'être rien. Parce que chaque individu a éprouvé ceci, ne fût-ce qu'une seconde au cours d'une journée : se rendre compte que, par nature, ne lui appartient aucune des identités qui le définissent, qu'il aurait pu ne pas être doté de ce qui le caractérise, qu'il s'en est fallu d'un cheveu qu'il naisse ailleurs, apprenne une autre langue, reçoive une éducation religieuse différente, qu'on l'élève dans une autre culture, qu'on l'instruise dans une autre idéologie, avec d'autres parents, d'autres tuteurs, d'autres modèles. Vertige !

Le livre, comme livre, appartient à l'auteur, mais comme pensée, il appartient -le mot n'est pas trop vaste- au genre humain. Toutes les intelligences y ont droit. Si l'un des deux droits, le droit de l'écrivain et le droit de l'esprit humain, devait être sacrifié, ce serait, certes, le droit de l'écrivain, car l'intérêt public est notre préoccupation unique, et tous, je le déclare, doivent passer avant nous.

You hear it in every political speech, “vote for me, we’ll get the dream back.” They all reiterate it in similar words—you even hear it from people who are destroying the dream, whether they know it or not. But the “dream” has to be sustained, otherwise how are you going to get people in the richest, most powerful country in world history, with extraordinary advantages, to face the reality that they see around them? Inequality is really unprecedented. If you look at total inequality today, it’s like the worst periods of American history. But if you refine it more closely, the inequality comes from the extreme wealth in a tiny sector of the population, a fraction of 1 percent. There were periods like the Gilded Age in the 1890s and the Roaring Twenties and so on, when a situation developed rather similar to this, but the current period is extreme. Because if you look at the wealth distribution, the inequality mostly comes from super-wealth—literally, the top one-tenth of a percent are just super-wealthy. This is the result of over thirty years of a shift in social and economic policy. If you check you find that over the course of these years the government policy has been modified completely against the will of the population to provide enormous benefits to the very rich. And for most of the population, the majority, real incomes have almost stagnated for over thirty years. The middle class in that sense, that unique American sense, is under severe attack. A significant part of the American Dream is class mobility: You’re born poor, you work hard, you get rich. The idea that it is possible for everyone to get a decent job, buy a home, get a car, have their children go to school . . . It’s all collapsed.

Does everyone from England go to sleep the minute you load them into a car, or is that something that’s uniquely you?

Cette petite religion possède un caractère unique : les deux membres du couple en incarnent tous les deux l'idéal. Le droit de propriété sur le corps de son partenaire, protégé par une défense rituelle très forte, se place au centre de cette mini-religion. Car n'importe quel type d'écart sexuel hors du couple fait naître chez l'autre un intense sentiment de colère.

Ireland, like Ukraine, is a largely rural country which suffers from its proximity to a more powerful industrialised neighbour. Ireland’s contribution to the history of tractors is the genius engineer Harry Ferguson, who was born in 1884, near Belfast. Ferguson was a clever and mischievous man, who also had a passion for aviation. It is said that he was the first man in Great Britain to build and fly his own aircraft in 1909. But he soon came to believe that improving efficiency of food production would be his unique service to mankind. Harry Ferguson’s first two-furrow plough was attached to the chassis of the Ford Model T car converted into a tractor, aptly named Eros. This plough was mounted on the rear of the tractor, and through ingenious use of balance springs it could be raised or lowered by the driver using a lever beside his seat. Ford, meanwhile, was developing its own tractors. The Ferguson design was more advanced, and made use of hydraulic linkage, but Ferguson knew that despite his engineering genius, he could not achieve his dream on his own. He needed a larger company to produce his design. So he made an informal agreement with Henry Ford, sealed only by a handshake. This Ford-Ferguson partnership gave to the world a new type of Fordson tractor far superior to any that had been known before, and the precursor of all modern-type tractors. However, this agreement by a handshake collapsed in 1947 when Henry Ford II took over the empire of his father, and started to produce a new Ford 8N tractor, using the Ferguson system. Ferguson’s open and cheerful nature was no match for the ruthless mentality of the American businessman. The matter was decided in court in 1951. Ferguson claimed $240 million, but was awarded only $9.25 million. Undaunted in spirit, Ferguson had a new idea. He approached the Standard Motor Company at Coventry with a plan, to adapt the Vanguard car for use as tractor. But this design had to be modified, because petrol was still rationed in the post-war period. The biggest challenge for Ferguson was the move from petrol-driven to diesel-driven engines and his success gave rise to the famous TE-20, of which more than half a million were built in the UK. Ferguson will be remembered for bringing together two great engineering stories of our time, the tractor and the family car, agriculture and transport, both of which have contributed so richly to the well-being of mankind.

J'ai toujours pris un plaisir extrême à penser, sans trop me soucier du tracé de la frontière entre l'imagination et la certitude. L'intérieur de ma tête comme un bordel dont je serai l'unique client d'un soir, l'habitué occasionnel. Pas si seul, car les pensées pensionnaires viennent au-devant de mes désirs : les nobles, cendrées et hautaines, les belles, toutes nues mais poudrées, les ingénues, les petites, les perverses, les noires, les folles, les honteuses. Et les vulgaires, et les très vulgaires, champagne, échancrure et langues qui s'agitent. "Mes pensées ce sont mes catins", comme c'est exact. Luxure mentale. Dehors, le froid. Et les autres, tous les autres, se tiennent dans ce froid. Proches et lointains. Et je les regarde, jumelles, fenêtres sur cou. Nous communiquons par interphones et répondeurs.

It has occurred to me that I should try and view in a similar spirit something which, over these three weeks I have been here in Shanghai, has come to be a perennial source of irritation: namely, the way people here seem determined at every opportunity to block one’s view. No sooner has one entered a room or stepped out from a car than someone or other will have smilingly placed himself right within one’s line of vision, preventing the most basic perusal of one’s surroundings. Often as not, the offending person is one’s very host or guide of that moment; but should there be any lapse in this quarter, there is never a shortage of bystanders eager to make good the shortcoming. As far as I can ascertain, all the national groups that make up the community here—English, Chinese, French, American, Japanese, Russian—subscribe to this practice with equal zeal, and the inescapable conclusion is that this custom is one that has grown up uniquely here within Shanghai’s International Settlement, cutting across all barriers of race and class.

Grief, like death, is banal and unique. So, a banal comparison. When you change your make of car, you suddenly notice how many other cars of the same sort there are on the road. They register in a way they never did before. When you are widowed, you suddenly notice all the widows and widowers coming towards you. Before, they had been more or less invisible, and they continue to remain so to the other drivers, to the unwidowed.

Bien entendu, cette fidelité aux impressions premières, et purement physiques, retrouvées à chaque fois auprès de mes amies, ne concernait pas que les traits de leur visage puisque on a vu que j'étais aussi sensible à leur voix, plus troublante peut-être, (car elle n'offre pas seulement les mêmes surfaces singulières et sensuelles que lui, elle fait partie de l'abîme inaccessible qui donne le vertige des baisers sans espoir) leur voix pareille au son unique d'un petit instrument où chacune se mettait tout entière et qui n'était qu'à elle.

Now come on, we’re off.” He marched out of the room. They heard the front door open, but Dudley did not move and after a few faltering steps Aunt Petunia stopped too. “What now?” barked Uncle Vernon, reappearing in the doorway. It seemed that Dudley was struggling with concepts too difficult to put into words. After several moments of apparently painful internal struggle he said, “But where’s he going to go?” Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon looked at each other. It was clear that Dudley was frightening them. Hestia Jones broke the silence. “But…surely you know where your nephew is going?” she asked, looking bewildered. “Certainly we know,” said Vernon Dursley. “He’s off with some of your lot, isn’t he? Right, Dudley, let’s get in the car, you heard the man, we’re in a hurry.” Again, Vernon Dursley marched as far as the front door, but Dudley did not follow. “Off with some of our lot?” Hestia looked outraged. Harry had met this attitude before: Witches and wizards seemed stunned that his closest living relatives took so little interest in the famous Harry Potter. “It’s fine,” Harry assured her. “It doesn’t matter, honestly.” “Doesn’t matter?” repeated Hestia, her voice rising ominously. “Don’t these people realize what you’ve been through? What danger you are in? The unique position you hold in the hearts of the anti-Voldemort movement?” “Er--no, they don’t,” said Harry. “They think I’m a waste of space, actually, but I’m used to--” “I don’t think you’re a waste of space.” If Harry had not seen Dudley’s lips move, he might not have believed it. As it was, he stared at Dudley for several seconds before accepting that it must have been his cousin who had spoken; for one thing, Dudley had turned red. Harry was embarrassed and astonished himself. “Well…er…thanks, Dudley.” Again, Dudley appeared to grapple with thoughts too unwieldy for expression before mumbling, “You saved my life.” “Not really,” said Harry. “It was your soul the dementor would have taken…” He looked curiously at his cousin. They had had virtually no contact during this summer or last, as Harry had come back to Privet Drive so briefly and kept to his room so much. It now dawned on Harry, however, that the cup of cold tea on which he had trodden that morning might not have been a booby trap at all. Although rather touched, he was nevertheless quite relieved that Dudley appeared to have exhausted his ability to express his feelings. After opening his mouth once or twice more, Dudley subsided into scarlet-faced silence. Aunt Petunia burst into tears. Hestia Jones gave her an approving look that changed to outrage as Aunt Petunia ran forward and embraced Dudley rather than Harry. “S-so sweet, Dudders…” she sobbed into his massive chest. “S-such a lovely b-boy…s-saying thank you…” “But he hasn’t said thank you at all!” said Hestia indignantly. “He only said he didn’t think Harry was a waste of space!” “Yeah, but coming from Dudley that’s like ‘I love you,’” said Harry, torn between annoyance and a desire to laugh as Aunt Petunia continued to clutch at Dudley as if he had just saved Harry from a burning building.

Simply put, within AS, there is a wide range of function. In truth, many AS people will never receive a diagnosis. They will continue to live with other labels or no label at all. At their best, they will be the eccentrics who wow us with their unusual habits and stream-of-consciousness creativity, the inventors who give us wonderfully unique gadgets that whiz and whirl and make our life surprisingly more manageable, the geniuses who discover new mathematical equations, the great musicians and writers and artists who enliven our lives. At their most neutral, they will be the loners who never now quite how to greet us, the aloof who aren't sure they want to greet us, the collectors who know everyone at the flea market by name and date of birth, the non-conformists who cover their cars in bumper stickers, a few of the professors everyone has in college. At their most noticeable, they will be the lost souls who invade our personal space, the regulars at every diner who carry on complete conversations with the group ten tables away, the people who sound suspiciously like robots, the characters who insist they wear the same socks and eat the same breakfast day in and day out, the people who never quite find their way but never quite lose it either.

calmer and more content when being worn14 than when they are left alone, though there is always that unique baby who likes his or her own space. Babywearing, as with all other options for parenting gently, needs to be adapted to suit a little one’s own personality and needs. Some high-needs babies may do better taking naps during the day while being worn, giving mama a hands-free break while still meeting her baby’s needs. Other babies do well being worn after nursing to aid in digestion, reducing gassiness and the incidence of reflux.22 Babywearing also aids in hip health when using a properly designed carrier. The International Hip Dysplasia Institute has warned against excessive amounts of time in car seats, walkers, swings, and other devices that keep babies’ legs extended and pushed together. Their recommendation is for a baby’s legs to be in the ‘frog’ position, with their thighs supported and their knees bent.23 This is the positioning you should look for when shopping for a carrier to wear your little one. (Two Thousand Kisses a Day: Gentle Parenting Through the Ages and Stages) Wearing your baby against your heart, where the slightest tilt of your head brings your smile into focus for your tiny one, is not only one of the most beautiful and bonding experiences

[A propos du faux évolutionnisme] Il s'agit d'une tentative pour supprimer la diversité des cultures tout en feignant de la reconnaître pleinement. Car, si l'on traite les différents états où se trouvent les sociétés humaines, tant anciennes que lointaines, comme des stades ou des étapes d'un développement unique qui, partant du même point, doit les faire converger vers le même but, on voit bien que la diversité n'est plus qu'apparente. L'humanité devient une et identique à elle-même ; seulement, cette unité et cette identité ne peuvent se réaliser que progressivement et la variété des cultures illustre les moments d'un processus qui dissimule une réalité plus profonde ou en retarde la manifestation.

Calmly We Walk Through This April Day Calmly we walk through this April's day, Metropolitan poetry here and there, In the park sit pauper and rentier, The screaming children, the motor-car Fugitive about us, running away, Between the worker and the millionaire Number provides all distances, It is Nineteen Thirty-Seven now, Many great dears are taken away, What will become of you and me (This is the school in which we learn...) Besides the photo and the memory? (...that time is the fire in which we burn.) (This is the school in which we learn...) What is the self amid this blaze? What am I now that I was then Which I shall suffer and act again, The theodicy I wrote in my high school days Restored all life from infancy, The children shouting are bright as they run (This is the school in which they learn . . .) Ravished entirely in their passing play! (...that time is the fire in which they burn.) Avid its rush, that reeling blaze! Where is my father and Eleanor? Not where are they now, dead seven years, But what they were then? No more? No more? From Nineteen-Fourteen to the present day, Bert Spira and Rhoda consume, consume Not where they are now (where are they now?) But what they were then, both beautiful; Each minute bursts in the burning room, The great globe reels in the solar fire, Spinning the trivial and unique away. (How all things flash! How all things flare!) What am I now that I was then? May memory restore again and again The smallest color of the smallest day: Time is the school in which we learn, Time is the fire in which we burn.

Relations among women on the Upper East Side are charged as they are perhaps nowhere else in the country or the world, and handbags, like cars, just might serve a lot of different functions all at once. A communication about where one stands in the inevitable hierarchy of Manhattan, a barometer of your wealth and connectedness and clout in a city where money and connections and clout are everything. A fashion statement. A security blanket, a way of self-soothing in a uniquely stressful town.

Do you want any breakfast, Sam?” my mom asks. I never eat breakfast at home, but my mom still asks me every day—when she catches me before I duck out, anyway—and in that moment I realize how much I love the little everyday routines of my life: the fact that she always asks, the fact that I always say no because there’s a sesame bagel waiting for me in Lindsay’s car, the fact that we always listen to “No More Drama” as we pull into the parking lot. The fact that my mom always cooks spaghetti and meatballs on Sunday, and the fact that once a month my dad takes over the kitchen and makes his “special stew,” which is just hot-dog pieces and baked beans and lots of extra ketchup and molasses, and I would never admit to liking it, but it’s actually one of my favorite meals. The details that are my life’s special pattern, like how in handwoven rugs what really makes them unique are the tiny flaws in the stitching, little gaps and jumps and stutters that can never be reproduced. So many things become beautiful when you really look.

Esther n'était certainement pas bien éduquée au sens habituel du terme, jamais l'idée ne lui serait venue de vider un cendrier ou de débarrasser le relief de ses repas, et c'est sans la moindre gêne qu'elle laissait la lumière allumée derrière elle dans les pièces qu'elle venait de quitter (il m'est arrivé, suivant pas à pas son parcours dans ma résidence de San Jose, d'avoir à actionner dix-sept commutateurs); il n'était pas davantage question de lui demander de penser à faire un achat, de ramener d'un magasin où elle se rendait une course non destinée à son propre usage, ou plus généralement de rendre un service quelconque. Comme toutes les très jolies jeunes filles elle n'était au fond bonne qu'à baiser, et il aurait été stupide de l'employer à autre chose, de la voir autrement que comme un animal de luxe, en tout choyé et gåté, protégé de tout souci comme de toute tâche ennuyeuse ou pénible afin de mieux pouvoir se consacrer à son service exclusivement sexuel. Elle n'en était pas moins très loin d'être ce monstre d'arrogance, d'égoïsme absolu et froid, au, pour parler en termes plus baudelairiens, cette infernale petite salope que sont la plupart des très jolies jeunes filles; il y avait en elle la conscience de la maladie, de la faiblesse et de la mort. Quoique belle, très belle, infiniment érotique et désirable, Esther n'en était pas moins sensible aux infirmités animales, parce qu'elle les connaissait ; c'est ce soir-là que j'en pris conscience, et que je me mis véritablement à l'aimer. Le désir physique, si violent soit-il, n'avait jamais suffi chez moi à conduire à l'amour, il n'avait pu atteindre ce stade ultime que lorsqu'il s'accompagnait, par une juxtaposition étrange, d'une compassion pour l'être désiré ; tout être vivant, évidemment, mérite la compassion du simple fait qu'il est en vie et se trouve par là-même exposé à des souffrances sans nombre, mais face à un être jeune et en pleine santé c'est une considération qui paraît bien théorique. Par sa maladie de reins, par sa faiblesse physique insoupçonnable mais réelle, Esther pouvait susciter en moi une compassion non feinte, chaque fois que l'envie me prendrait d'éprouver ce sentiment à son égard. Étant elle-même compatissante, ayant même des aspirations occasionnelles à la bonté, elle pouvait également susciter en moi l'estime, ce qui parachevait l'édifice, car je n'étais pas un être de passion, pas essentiellement, et si je pouvais désirer quelqu'un de parfaitement méprisable, s'il m'était arrivé à plusieurs reprises de baiser des filles dans l'unique but d'assurer mon emprise sur elles et au fond de les dominer, si j'étais même allé jusqu'à utiliser ce peu louable sentiment dans des sketches, jusqu'à manifester une compréhension troublante pour ces violeurs qui sacrifient leur victime immédiatement après avoir disposé de son corps, j'avais par contre toujours eu besoin d'estimer pour aimer, jamais au fond je ne m'étais senti parfaitement à l'aise dans une relation sexuelle basée sur la pure attirance érotique et l'indifférence à l'autre, j'avais toujours eu besoin, pour me sentir sexuellement heureux, d'un minimum - à défaut d'amour - de sympathie, d'estime, de compréhension mutuelle; l'humanité non, je n'y avais pas renoncé. (La possibilité d'une île, Daniel 1,15)

«Regardez, regardez, continua le comte en saisissant chacun des deux jeunes gens par la main, regardez, car, sur mon âme, c'est curieux, voilà un homme qui était résigné à son sort, qui marchait à l'échafaud, qui allait mourir comme un lâche, c'est vrai, mais enfin il allait mourir sans résistance et sans récrimination: savez-vous ce qui lui donnait quelque force? savez-vous ce qui le consolait? savez-vous ce qui lui faisait prendre son supplice en patience? c'est qu'un autre partageait son angoisse; c'est qu'un autre allait mourir comme lui; c'est qu'un autre allait mourir avant lui! Menez deux moutons à la boucherie, deux bœufs à l'abattoir, et faites comprendre à l'un d'eux que son compagnon ne mourra pas, le mouton bêlera de joie, le bœuf mugira de plaisir mais l'homme, l'homme que Dieu a fait à son image, l'homme à qui Dieu a imposé pour première, pour unique, pour suprême loi, l'amour de son prochain, l'homme à qui Dieu a donné une voix pour exprimer sa pensée, quel sera son premier cri quand il apprendra que son camarade est sauvé? un blasphème. Honneur à l'homme, ce chef-d'œuvre de la nature, ce roi de la création!»

Paint me a small railroad station then, ten minutes before dark. Beyond the platform are the waters of the Wekonsett River, reflecting a somber afterglow. The architecture of the station is oddly informal, gloomy but unserious, and mostly resembles a pergola, cottage or summer house although this is a climate of harsh winters. The lamps along the platform burn with a nearly palpable plaintiveness. The setting seems in some way to be at the heart of the matter. We travel by plane, oftener than not, and yet the spirit of our country seems to have remained a country of railroads. You wake in a pullman bedroom at three a.m. in a city the name of which you do not know and may never discover. A man stands on the platform with a child on his shoulders. They are waving goodbye to some traveler, but what is the child doing up so late and why is the man crying? On a siding beside the platform there is a lighted dining car where a waiter sits alone at a table, adding up his accounts. Beyond this is a water tower and beyond this a well-lighted and empty street. Then you think happily that this is your country - unique, mysterious and vast.

But that California trip was just a flash in the eye of that year. The rest of the time, I hung in purgatory, playing talent shows and showcases here and there, living like a normal teenager in Philadelphia. Or maybe I should say living like a normal black teenager, which meant that aimlessness was accompanied by a certain unique set of risks. One night, I was out driving with a few friends of mine when the police pulled us over. We were told we fit the description of someone who had committed a robbery or stolen a car, though I don’t really know what kind of description that could have been: three black kids in a Hyundai blasting U2’s Joshua Tree on their way back from Bible study? The officer actually drew a gun. I was terrified. The worst part of all was that when I saw the police in the rearview mirror, I started thinking that maybe I had stolen the car. I don’t know what the psychological phenomenon is called, exactly, but when you encircle someone with suspicion, the idea of guilt just starts to appear within them. It was a terrible feeling and it’s a terrible process, and it was another reminder that the life I was leading, while superficially uneventful, had the potential to turn against me at any moment.

Les États-Unis, c'est l'utopia réalisée. If ne faut pas juger de leur crise comme de la nôtre [...] La leur est celle de l'utopie réalisée confrontée à sa durée et à sa permanence. La conviction idyllique des Américains d'être le centre du monde, la puissance suprême et le modèle absolu n'est pas fausse [...] [Elle] s'institue sur l'idée qu'elle est la réalisation de tout ce dont les autres ont rêvé - justice, abondance, droit, richesse, liberté: elle le sait, elle y croit, et finalement les autres y croient aussi. [...] [La colonisation] représente pour le Vieux Monde l'expérience unique d'une commutation idéalisée des valeurs, presque comme dans un roman de science-fiction (dont elle garde souvent la tonalité, comme aux USA) [...] C'est ce qui, quoi qu'il arrive, nous sépare des Américains. Nous ne les rattrapons jamais, et nous n'aurons jamais cette candeur. [...] Il nous manque l'âme et l'audace de ce qu'on pourrait appeler le degré zéro d'une culture, la puissance de l'inculture [...], tout comme la Weltanschauung transcendantale et historique de l'Europe échappera toujours aux Américains. Pas plus que les pays du Tiers Monde n'intérioriseront jamais les valeurs de démocratie et de progrès technologique [...]. Nous vivons dans la négativité et la contradiction, eux vivent dans le paradoxe (car c'est une idée paradoxale que celle d'une utopie réalisée). [...] Le charme et la puissance de l'(in)culture américaine viennent justement de la matérialisation soudaine et sans précédents des modèles.

de demander l’aumône. Les vrais pauvres méritant assistance et compassion étaient uniquement ceux qui, trop âgés ou malades, ne pouvaient plus subvenir à leurs besoins en travaillant de leurs propres mains. Tous les autres devaient travailler et s’ils souffraient de la faim parce qu’ils ne faisaient rien, tant pis pour eux. A ce moment-là passa dans la rue un homme transpirant et haletant qui tirait à grand peine deux charrettes de charbon. Pinocchio, jugeant sa physionomie avenante, l’accosta et lui demanda d’une petite voix tout en baissant les yeux : – Me feriez-vous la charité d’un petit sou, car je meurs de faim ? – Ce n’est pas un mais quatre sous que je te donnerai – répondit le charbonnier – si tu m’aides à tirer ces charrettes jusque chez moi.

My editor insists that I clarify that there isn’t actually a $25 bill hidden in this book, which is sort of ridiculous to have to explain, because there’s no such thing as a $25 bill. If you bought this book thinking you were going to find a $25 bill inside then I think you really just paid for a worthwhile lesson, and that lesson is, don’t sell your cow for magic beans. There was another book that explained this same concept many years ago, but I think my cribbed example is much more exciting. It’s like the Fifty Shades of Grey version of “Jack and the Beanstalk.” But with fewer anal beads, or beanstalks. 2. “Concoctulary” is a word that I just made up for words that you have to invent because they didn’t yet exist. It’s a portmanteau of “concocted” and “vocabulary.” I was going to call it an “imaginary” (as a portmanteau of “imagined” and “dictionary”) but turns out that the word “imaginary” was already concoctularied, which is actually fine because “concoctulary” sounds sort of unintentionally dirty and is also great fun to say. Try it for yourself. Con-COC-chew-lary. It sings. 3. My mental illness is not your mental illness. Even if we have the exact same diagnosis we will likely experience it in profoundly different ways. This book is my unique perspective on my personal path so far. It is not a textbook. If it were it would probably cost a lot more money and have significantly less profanity or stories about strangers sending you unexpected vaginas in the mail. As it is with all stories, fast cars, wild bears, mental illness, and even life, only one truth remains: your mileage may vary.

Sans doute, l’amitié, l’amitié qui a égard aux individus, est une chose frivole, et la lecture est une amitié. Mais du moins c’est une amitié sincère, et le fait qu’elle s’adresse à un mort, à un absent, lui donne quelque chose de désintéressé, de presque touchant. C’est de plus une amitié débarrassée de tout ce qui fait la laideur des autres. Comme nous ne sommes tous, nous les vivants, que des morts qui ne sont pas encore entrés en fonctions, toutes ces politesses, toutes ces salutations dans le vestibule que nous appelons déférence, gratitude, dévouement et où nous mêlons tant de mensonges, sont stériles et fatigantes. De plus, – dès les premières relations de sympathie, d’admiration, de reconnaissance, – les premières paroles que nous prononçons, les premières lettres que nous écrivons, tissent autour de nous les premiers fils d’une toile d’habitudes, d’une véritable manière d’être, dont nous ne pouvons plus nous débarrasser dans les amitiés suivantes ; sans compter que pendant ce temps-là les paroles excessives que nous avons prononcées restent comme des lettres de change que nous devons payer, ou que nous paierons plus cher encore toute notre vie des remords de les avoir laissé protester. Dans la lecture, l’amitié est soudain ramenée à sa pureté première. Avec les livres, pas d’amabilité. Ces amis-là, si nous passons la soirée avec eux, c’est vraiment que nous en avons envie. Eux, du moins, nous ne les quittons souvent qu’à regret. Et quand nous les avons quittés, aucune de ces pensées qui gâtent l’amitié : Qu’ont-ils pensé de nous ? – N’avons-nous pas manqué de tact ? – Avons-nous plu ? – et la peur d’être oublié pour tel autre. Toutes ces agitations de l’amitié expirent au seuil de cette amitié pure et calme qu’est la lecture. Pas de déférence non plus ; nous ne rions de ce que dit Molière que dans la mesure exacte où nous le trouvons drôle ; quand il nous ennuie nous n’avons pas peur d’avoir l’air ennuyé, et quand nous avons décidément assez d’être avec lui, nous le remettons à sa place aussi brusquement que s’il n’avait ni génie ni célébrité. L’atmosphère de cette pure amitié est le silence, plus pur que la parole. Car nous parlons pour les autres, mais nous nous taisons pour nous-mêmes. Aussi le silence ne porte pas, comme la parole, la trace de nos défauts, de nos grimaces. Il est pur, il est vraiment une atmosphère. Entre la pensée de l’auteur et la nôtre il n’interpose pas ces éléments irréductibles, réfractaires à la pensée, de nos égoïsmes différents. Le langage même du livre est pur (si le livre mérite ce nom), rendu transparent par la pensée de l’auteur qui en a retiré tout ce qui n’était pas elle-même jusqu’à le rendre son image fidèle, chaque phrase, au fond, ressemblant aux autres, car toutes sont dites par l’inflexion unique d’une personnalité ; de là une sorte de continuité, que les rapports de la vie et ce qu’ils mêlent à la pensée d’éléments qui lui sont étrangers excluent et qui permet très vite de suivre la ligne même de la pensée de l’auteur, les traits de sa physionomie qui se reflètent dans ce calme miroir. Nous savons nous plaire tour à tour aux traits de chacun sans avoir besoin qu’ils soient admirables, car c’est un grand plaisir pour l’esprit de distinguer ces peintures profondes et d’aimer d’une amitié sans égoïsme, sans phrases, comme en soi-même.

Les Occidentaux, toujours animés par ce besoin de prosélytisme qui leur est si particulier, sont arrivés à faire pénétrer chez les autres, dans une certaine mesure, leur esprit antitraditionnel et matérialiste ; et, tandis que la première forme d’invasion n’atteignait en somme que les corps, celle-ci empoisonne les intelligences et tue la spiritualité ; l’une a d’ailleurs préparé l’autre et l’a rendue possible, de sorte que ce n’est en définitive que par la force brutale que l’Occident est parvenu à s’imposer partout, et il ne pouvait en être autrement, car c’est en cela que réside l’unique supériorité réelle de sa civilisation, si inférieure à tout autre point de vue. L’envahissement occidental, c’est l’envahissement du matérialisme sous toutes ses formes, et ce ne peut être que cela ; tous les déguisements plus ou moins hypocrites, tous les prétextes « moralistes », toutes les déclamations « humanitaires », toutes les habiletés d’une propagande qui sait à l’occasion se faire insinuante pour mieux atteindre son but de destruction, ne peuvent rien contre cette vérité, qui ne saurait être contestée que par des naïfs ou par ceux qui ont un intérêt quelconque à cette œuvre vraiment « satanique », au sens le plus rigoureux du mot(*). (*)Satan, en hébreu, c’est l’« adversaire », c’est-à-dire celui qui renverse toutes choses et les prend en quelque sorte à rebours ; c’est l’esprit de négation et de subversion, qui s’identifie à la tendance descendante ou « infériorisante », « infernale » au sens étymologique, celle même que suivent les êtres dans ce processus de matérialisation suivant lequel s’effectue tout le développement de la civilisation moderne.

They hung over the town, muted red, dark-pink, surrounded by every conceivable nuance of gray. The setting was wild and beautiful. Actually everyone should be in the streets, I thought, cars should be stopping, doors should be opened and drivers and passengers emerging with heads raised and eyes sparkling with curiosity and a craving for beauty, for what was it that was going on above our heads? However, a few glances at most were cast upward, perhaps followed by isolated comments about how beautiful the evening was, for sights like this were not exceptional, on the contrary, hardly a day passed without the sky being filled with fantastic cloud formations, each and every one illuminated in unique, never-to-be-repeated ways, and since what you see every day is what you never see, we lived our lives under the constantly changing sky without sparing it a glance or a thought.

I was driving home one afternoon during this period when I rolled past a woman putting household objects and furniture out in her front yard. I figured it was a garage sale or she was termite bombing. As I moved past her house an object I saw stopped me. Dragged me into the present. A chair. The chair? The orange Danish modern chair that I broke and that subsequently broke up my marriage appeared to be sitting on her front lawn. “Impossible,” I thought. That was destroyed, thrown out, gone. I stopped my car abruptly in the street, opened my car door, and ran up into her yard. She was pulling more stuff out of her house. I said, “Hi. Hey, are you selling this stuff?” “Just take whatever you want. I’m leaving,” she said, going angrily about her business. “Where did you get this chair? I used to have one exactly like it. I’ve never seen another one.” “I found it,” she said. “Take it.” I inspected the chair. It had been carefully rebuilt, put back together. It was the chair. “Did you find this on the street up on the hill around the corner?” “Yeah,” she said. “Why?” “This chair destroyed my marriage.” She looked at me with a dark, stressed gaze for a second like she was looking through me at something burning in the distance and said, “Mine, too.” I didn’t ask any questions. Synchronicity was upon us. The causality was there, it was explainable, but the meaning of the object before us was at once unique and shared. It was some kind of black magic that sent my thoughts back to the garage wizard who kept Jung’s curtains locked up. What had he unleashed on this world, my world, her world, with this chair? “We have to take it out of circulation.” “Yes,” she said, catatonically, like how I felt. Then this stranger and I proceeded to destroy the chair with our hands and our feet until it was unfixable. We took a breath and looked down at the scattered chair shards. “Thanks,” she said. A horn honked. I turned to see my car, door open, sitting in the middle of the street, running. Someone needed to get by. “Good luck with everything,” I said, then walked back to my car and drove away, strangely relieved. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw her making a pile of culprit pieces.

Here are two examples of just how strange and unique humans can be when they go about harming one another and caring for one another. The first example involves, well, my wife. So we’re in the minivan, our kids in the back, my wife driving. And this complete jerk cuts us off, almost causing an accident, and in a way that makes it clear that it wasn’t distractedness on his part, just sheer selfishness. My wife honks at him, and he flips us off. We’re livid, incensed. Asshole-where’s-the-cops-when-you-need-them, etc. And suddenly my wife announces that we’re going to follow him, make him a little nervous. I’m still furious, but this doesn’t strike me as the most prudent thing in the world. Nonetheless, my wife starts trailing him, right on his rear. After a few minutes the guy’s driving evasively, but my wife’s on him. Finally both cars stop at a red light, one that we know is a long one. Another car is stopped in front of the villain. He’s not going anywhere. Suddenly my wife grabs something from the front seat divider, opens her door, and says, “Now he’s going to be sorry.” I rouse myself feebly—“Uh, honey, do you really think this is such a goo—” But she’s out of the car, starts pounding on his window. I hurry over just in time to hear my wife say, “If you could do something that mean to another person, you probably need this,” in a venomous voice. She then flings something in the window. She returns to the car triumphant, just glorious. “What did you throw in there!?” She’s not talking yet. The light turns green, there’s no one behind us, and we just sit there. The thug’s car starts to blink a very sensible turn indicator, makes a slow turn, and heads down a side street into the dark at, like, five miles an hour. If it’s possible for a car to look ashamed, this car was doing it. “Honey, what did you throw in there, tell me?” She allows herself a small, malicious grin. “A grape lollipop.” I was awed by her savage passive-aggressiveness—“You’re such a mean, awful human that something must have gone really wrong in your childhood, and maybe this lollipop will help correct that just a little.” That guy was going to think twice before screwing with us again. I swelled with pride and love.

n 1985, Bob Munro volunteered his time to go and serve in the poorest slums of Africa on behalf of the United Nations. He loved football. One day, he was passing through the Mathare slums in Nairobi, Kenya, which happens to be one of the poorest areas in the world, and where more than a quarter million people live in abject poverty and filth. He saw some children playing football, bare feet, in total grime— they weren’t actually playing football, but kicking each other. As he saw one of the children kick the other, he immediately shouted, ‘Foul’, and the game stopped. He got out of his car and being the white man, obviously stood out. As an ardent lover of football, he said, ‘This is not the way to play football.’ He took the ball and told the boys, ‘Tomorrow I will bring another ball and teach you how to play football.’ The next day, 600 children were there to play football. He made a rule that only those children who clean up the place be allowed to play. He started a volunteers’ group for self-help and said, ‘Those who want to play football as part of my team must clean up.’ The children got involved and started cleaning the slums, and out of love for football, slowly the entire area was cleaned. As time went by, he developed teams to play. He developed referees from within. Guess what was the result in four years? The Kenyan football eleven national team emerged from the same Mathare slums. Bob Munro has created thousands of football teams from there, but the rules are very unique. The rules are very clear that every player in those football teams must contribute 60 hours to social work and community service per month. Only then can they play football. They get additional points not for winning a game, but for completing a community service project such as cleaning, counselling and helping others. He has created 8,000 volunteers out of this system of community service through the love of football.

FOLCO : "Socialisme" et "communisme" sont devenus presque des gros mots. Quelle est l'essence de ce rêve à laquelle on pourrait s'identifier, au lieu de le repousser sans même y réfléchir ? TIZIANO : L'idée du socialisme était simple : créer une société dans laquelle il n'y aurait pas de patrons pour contrôler les moyens de production, moyens avec lesquels ils réduisent le peuple en esclavage; Si tu as une usine et que tu en es le patron absolu, tu peux licencier et embaucher à ta guise, tu peu même embaucher des enfants de douze ans et les faire travailler. Il est clair que tu engranges un profit énorme, qui n'est pas dû uniquement à ton travail, mais également au travail de ces personnes-là. Alors, si les travailleurs participent déjà à l'effort de production, pourquoi ne pas les laisser coposséder l'usine ? La société est pleine d'injustices. On regarde autour de soi et on se dit : mais comment, il n'est pas possible de résoudre ces injustices ? Je m'explique. Quelqu'un a une entreprise agricole en amont d'un fleuve avec beaucoup d'eau. Il peut construire une digue pour empêcher que l'eau aille jusqu'au paysan dans la vallée, mais ce n'est pas juste. Ne peut-il pas, au contraire, trouver un accord pour que toute cette eau arrive également chez celui qui se trouve en bas ? Le socialisme, c'est l'idée d'une société dans laquelle personne n'exploite le travail de l'autre. Chacun fait son devoir et, de tout ce qui a été fait en commun, chacun prend ce dont il a besoin. Cela signifie qu'il vit en fonction de ce dont il a besoin, qu'il n'accumule pas, car l'accumulation enlève quelque chose aux autres et ne sert à rien. Regarde, aujourd'hui, tous ces gens richissimes, même en Italie ! Toute cette accumulation, à quoi sert-elle ? Elle sert aux gens riches. Elle leur sert à se construire un yacht, une gigantesque villa à la mer. Souvent, tout cet argent n'est même pas recyclé dans le système qui produit du travail. Il y a quelque chose qui ne tourne pas rond. C'est de là qu'est née l'idée du socialisme. FOLCO : Et le communisme ? Quelle est la différence entre le socialisme et le communisme ? TIZIANO : Le communisme a essayé d'institutionnaliser l'aspiration socialiste, en créant - on croit toujours que c'est la solution - des institutions et des organismes de contrôle. Dès cet instant, le socialisme a disparu, parce que le socialisme a un fond anarchiste. Lorsqu'on commence à mettre en place une police qui contrôle combien de pain tu manges, qui oblige tout le monde à aller au travail à huit heures, et qui envoie au goulag ceux qui n'y vont pas, alors c'est fini. (p. 383-384)

As she explained to her students, patients often awoke from very bad illnesses or cardiac arrests, talking about how they had been floating over their bodies. “Mm-hmmm,” Norma would reply, sometimes thinking, Yeah, yeah, I know, you were on the ceiling. Such stories were recounted so frequently that they hardly jolted medical personnel. Norma at the time had mostly chalked it up to some kind of drug reaction or brain malfunction, something like that. “No, really,” said a woman who’d recently come out of a coma. “I can prove it.” The woman had been in a car accident and been pronounced dead on arrival when she was brought into the emergency room. Medical students and interns had begun working on her and managed to get her heartbeat going, but then she had coded again. They’d kept on trying, jump-starting her heart again, this time stabilizing it. She’d remained in a coma for months, unresponsive. Then one day she awoke, talking about the brilliant light and how she remembered floating over her body. Norma thought she could have been dreaming about all kinds of things in those months when she was unconscious. But the woman told them she had obsessive-compulsive disorder and had a habit of memorizing numbers. While she was floating above her body, she had read the serial number on top of the respirator machine. And she remembered it. Norma looked at the machine. It was big and clunky, and this one stood about seven feet high. There was no way to see on top of the machine without a stepladder. “Okay, what’s the number?” Another nurse took out a piece of paper to jot it down. The woman rattled off twelve digits. A few days later, the nurses called maintenance to take the ventilator machine out of the room. The woman had recovered so well, she no longer needed it. When the worker arrived, the nurses asked if he wouldn’t mind climbing to the top to see if there was a serial number up there. He gave them a puzzled look and grabbed his ladder. When he made it up there, he told them that indeed there was a serial number. The nurses looked at each other. Could he read it to them? Norma watched him brush off a layer of dust to get a better look. He read the number. It was twelve digits long: the exact number that the woman had recited. The professor would later come to find out that her patient’s story was not unique. One of Norma’s colleagues at the University of Virginia Medical Center at the time, Dr. Raymond Moody, had published a book in 1975 called Life After Life, for which he had conducted the first large-scale study of people who had been declared clinically dead and been revived, interviewing 150 people from across the country. Some had been gone for as long as twenty minutes with no brain waves or pulse. In her lectures, Norma sometimes shared pieces of his research with her own students. Since Moody had begun looking into the near-death experiences, researchers from around the world had collected data on thousands and thousands of people who had gone through them—children, the blind, and people of all belief systems and cultures—publishing the findings in medical and research journals and books. Still, no one has been able to definitively account for the common experience all of Moody’s interviewees described. The inevitable question always followed: Is there life after death? Everyone had to answer that question based on his or her own beliefs, the professor said. For some of her students, that absence of scientific evidence of an afterlife did little to change their feelings about their faith. For others,

[Le christianisme] occupe une place à part car c’est la forme traditionnelle qui avait en charge l’Occident quand la déviation moderne s’est produite. On peut donc penser qu’une certaine responsabilité incombe à cet égard au Catholicisme puisque c’est le Saint-Siège romain qui a vocation à régir l’Église universelle.[...] L’Église est régie par le Saint-Esprit, non par une loi que Jésus lui aurait apportée (20). Il résulte de cette particularité que le droit appliqué découle uniquement de l’intuition spirituelle de ceux qui dirigent l’Église ; or cette intuition peut varier car elle dépend de leur qualification et de leur réalisation effective. Ceci explique pourquoi, sur une question aussi essentielle que celle que nous évoquons ici [le prêt à intérêt], il y a une différence et même une incompatibilité entre la doctrine catholique qui prévalait au moyen âge et celle qui est enseignée aujourd’hui ; ce qui peut paraître incompréhensible pour ceux qui suivent les législations sacrées. Au moyen âge, le simple fait d’envisager que le prêt à intérêt puisse être légitime entraînait l’excommunication, alors qu’aujourd’hui c’est uniquement l’usure qui est interdite, non le prêt à intérêt en lui-même. Cette évolution est significative, car elle implique qu’un enseignement fondé sur une connaissance ésotérique véritable a fait place à un point de vue purement moral. L’intuition intellectuelle s’étant affaiblie au point de devenir inopérante, les raisons profondes et l’interdiction ont cessé d’être perçues. Or, ces raisons présentent un lien direct avec la naissance et le développement de la déviation antitraditionnelle de l’Occident, car le prêt à intérêt a été le moteur financier du monde moderne. René Guénon a montré le caractère néfaste de l’altération des monnaies par Philippe le Bel (21) et les conséquences désastreuses que celle-ci avaient eu pour l’Occident. Le prêt à intérêt est une autre modalité de cette altération puisqu’il a pour effet de soumettre la valeur de la monnaie à l’écoulement du temps, qui est celui du prêt, alors que la fonction première de celle-ci est de garantir la stabilité des échanges par référence à un principe immuable que la monnaie représente dans le domaine temporel.

Des erreurs plus subtiles, et par suite plus redoutables, se produisent parfois lorsqu’on parle, à propos de l’initiation, d’une « communication » avec des états supérieurs ou des « mondes spirituels » ; et, avant tout, il y a là trop souvent l’illusion qui consiste à prendre pour « supérieur » ce qui ne l’est pas véritablement, simplement parce qu’il apparaît comme plus ou moins extraordinaire ou « anormal ». Il nous faudrait en somme répéter ici tout ce que nous avons déjà dit ailleurs de la confusion du psychique et du spirituel (1), car c’est celle-là qui est le plus fréquemment commise à cet égard ; les états psychiques n’ont, en fait, rien de « supérieur » ni de « transcendant », puisqu’ils font uniquement partie de l’état individuel humain (2) ; et, quand nous parlons d’états supérieurs de l’être, sans aucun abus de langage, nous entendons par là exclusivement les états supra-individuels. Certains vont même encore plus loin dans la confusion et font « spirituel » à peu près synonyme d’« invisible », c’est-à-dire qu’ils prennent pour tel, indistinctement, tout ce qui ne tombe pas sous les sens ordinaires et « normaux » ; nous avons vu qualifier ainsi jusqu’au monde « éthérique », c’est-à-dire, tout simplement, la partie la moins grossière du monde corporel ! Dans ces conditions, il est fort à craindre que la « communication » dont il s’agit ne se réduise en définitive à la « clairvoyance », à la « clairaudience », ou à l’exercice de quelque autre faculté psychique du même genre et non moins insignifiante, même quand elle est réelle.

« Personne parmi ceux qui sont venu après les compagnons [du Prophète] n'ont pu atteindre leur niveau (aux compagnons). Ceci est du au fait que la plupart des sciences que nous cherchons et sur lesquelles nous nous focalisons jour et nuit, telles la linguistique, la grammaire, la morphologie et les fondements de la jurisprudence, étaient innés chez eux. Leur haute disposition intellectuelle ainsi que la lumière de la prophétie qui les irradiait (à travers le Prophète) les protégeait de l'erreur et des divagations. Ils n'avaient donc pas besoin d'utiliser la logique ou d'autres sciences rationnelles. Lorsqu'Allâh a unit leur cœur et grâce à Sa bonté, Il a suscité la fraternité entre eux, et ils ne leur était pas nécessaire de se préparer aux débats et à l'argumentation. Grâce à leur science, ils n'avaient pas besoin de sauvegarder ce qu'ils entendaient du Qur°ân et de la Sunnah par le biais du Prophète. Ils comprenaient rapportaient et appliquaient ce qu'ils entendaient du Prophète de la meilleur des manières. Aucun des compagnons ne débattait ni ne polémiquait à propos du Qur°ân car il n'y avait pas d'égarement ni d'innovations. Après cette époque les Suivants (at tâbi'ûn) étaient proche d'eux si l'on se réfère à leur rang [auprès d'Allâh] et à leur méthodologie. Après les Suivants vinrent leurs disciples directs. Le Prophète a témoigné des vertus de ces trois générations. Par la suite les Gens de l'Innovation et de l'Egarement qui étaient peu nombreux à l'époque des trois premières générations virent leur nombre augmenter. Ainsi, afin de défendre l'Islâm, les savants parmi les Ahl Us Sunnah, durent se confronter à eux et débattre de peur que les faibles d'esprit s'égarent, et qu'on voit s'ajouter des choses qui sont étrangères à la religion. Les arguments des Gens de l'Innovation étaient de plus en plus influencés par les travaux des logiciens et d'autres Gens de l'Hérésie qui par la suite prirent l'habitude de créer beaucoup de doutes pour les utiliser contre nous (les Ahl Us Sunnah). Si nous les avions laissé faire ils auraient convaincu de nombreuses personnes faibles et ignorantes parmi les Musulmans ainsi que les juristes et les savants négligents ; la croyance saine aurait été alors altérée et des égarements auraient été introduits. Des innovations blâmables et des hérésies se seraient alors répandues. Il n'était pas possible pour un simple individu de leur répliquer et il y avait des risques que leur mots ne soient pas compris par tous, car les gens ne s'y intéressaient pas eux-mêmes. Le point de vue des innovateurs peut être uniquement réfuté par quelqu'un qui les comprends. Tant que l'innovateur n'est pas réfuté, sa croyance devient dominante : les ignorants, les rois, les dirigeants, et ceux en charge de la population se mettent à croire alors que les paroles prononcées par l'innovateur sont véridiques. C'est ce qui s'est justement passé dans plusieurs contrées dans lesquelles les gens avaient moins d'aspirations [aux sciences religieuses] si on les compare aux gens des générations précédentes. A cause de cela, il était devenu obligatoire pour les gens par le biais desquels Allâh à préservé la croyance de Ses croyants vertueux de repousser les doutes émis par les hérétiques. En effet la récompense octroyée est de loin plus grande que la récompense accordée à un soldat combattant dans le sentier d'Allâh. »

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Il n’est pas douteux – précisons-le de suite – qu'il y ait eu des monuments écrits antérieurs aux traités dont le Yiking est le troisième. Ces monuments ont été écrits, ou dessinés, ou sculptés, sur le « Toit du Monde », berceau unique de l’humanité, à l’aide de signes que toute l’humanité comprenait, avant qu’elle se fût divisée par des migrations diverses, et qu’elle eût ainsi perdu la conscience de sa totalité. Ce qu’est cette écriture unique, on ne le saura sans doute jamais qu’à l’aide d’approximatives appréciations ; car un paléographe ne reconstruira pas une écriture au moyen d’un jambage, comme Cuvier reconstruisait un mammouth au moyen d’une jambe. Mais c’est de cette écriture unique que découlent, à des époques concordantes, et par des procédés de déformations parallèles, les hiérogrammes Chinois et les hiéroglyphes Chaldéens (ou suméro-acadiens). Il est possible toutefois de déterminer les influences, toutes physiques, qui présidèrent à ces déformations. Sur ce Pamir, qui fut notre commun berceau, une même langue, une même graphie, toutes deux perdues, régnaient. Un jour, soit qu’un cataclysme ait amené sur ces altitudes le froid qui y règne aujourd’hui, soit que, à force de se pencher sur le bord rugueux des plateaux, la race humaine ait pris le vertige des plaines inconnues, un jour vint où les hommes, par les fleuves qui prenaient naissance aux plateaux primitifs, descendirent aux niveaux inférieurs. Ainsi ceux du Sud, les futurs Rouges, par le Dzangbo et le Sindh, ainsi ceux de l’Ouest, les futurs Blancs, par le Syr et l’Amou, ainsi ceux de l’Est, les futurs Jaunes, par le Hoangho et le Yangtzé, tous, sans regarder en arrière, quittèrent la montagne ancestrale qui fut le nombril du monde. Parmi eux, les vieillards et les savants emportèrent la Sagesse et la Tradition.

L'homo technicus-economicus croit aussi, à sa manière, se suffire à lui-même. Arrogant, démiurge, autosatisfait, il se frotte les mains, dispose de tout ce qu'offre la planète, s'arroge tous les droits, ignore ses devoirs, coupe les liens qui le relient aux autres humains, à la nature, à l'histoire et au cosmos. Il pousse si loin l'émancipation qu'il court le risque de déchirer tous les fils et de décrocher, de se décrocher, de s'auto-expulser de la création. Son idéologie est si simpliste que n'importe quel fondamentalisme religieux apparaît en comparaison subtil et pluriel. Un seul précepte, une seule loi, un seul paramètre, un seul étalon : le rendement ! Qui dit mieux dans la trivialité criminelle d'un ordre unique ? Comment ne pas voir que chaque subside retiré à la culture et à l'éducation devra être multiplié par cent pour renflouer les services médicaux, l'aide sociale et la sécurité policière ? Car sans connaissances, sans vision et sans fertilité imaginaire, toute société sombre tôt ou tard dans le non-sens et l'agression. Il existe à ce jeu macabre un puissant contre-poison. A portée de la main, à tout instant : c'est la gratitude. Elle seule suspend notre course avide. Elle seule donne accès à une abondance sans rivage. Elle révèle que tout est don et qui plus est : don immérité. Non parce que nous en serions, selon une optique moralisante, indignes, mais parce que notre mérite ne sera jamais assez grand pour contrebalancer la générosité de la vie ! (p. 13-14)

After running away from the United States government to pursue his antigovernment vision, Roger Ver had chosen to live in a place that was uniquely unreceptive to his brand of antiauthoritarian politics. Japan was a country that was still deeply wedded to traditional hierarchies with an educational system that taught its citizens from a young age to obey authority. This was evident in the country’s rigid business traditions—the bowing and exchanging of cards—and in the spiky-haired punks in Tokyo, who waited patiently for walk signals, even when there were no cars in sight. Roger had picked Japan, not because it would allow him to be around other like-minded people, but because he liked the orderliness of Japanese culture—and the women. He had met his longtime Japanese girlfriend at a gathering in California and even she had almost no interest in politics. As Roger discovered, the deferential culture made Japanese people uniquely skeptical about a project like Bitcoin that aimed to challenge government currencies. Japan was the only place Roger had encountered where people’s response, when he described Bitcoin, was to call it scary—rather than interesting or silly. This was due, Roger believed, to the way in which the virtual currency broke from the government’s mandates about how money should work. One of the only people with whom Roger had gotten any traction in Japan was a local pornography tycoon.

Vasana is determinism that feels like free will. I’m reminded of my friend Jean, whom I’ve known for almost twenty years. Jean considers himself very spiritual and went so far in the early nineties as to walk way from his job with a newspaper in Denver to live in an ashram in western Massachusetts. But he found the atmosphere choking. “They’re all crypto Hindus,” he complained. “They don’t do anything but pray and chant and meditate.” So Jean decided to move on with his life. He’s fallen in love with a couple of women but has never married. He doesn’t like the notion of settling down and tends to move to a new state every four years or so. (He once told me that he counted up and discovered that he’s lived in forty different houses since he was born.) One day Jean called me with a story. He was on a date with a woman who had taken a sudden interest in Sufism, and while they were driving home, she told Jean that according to her Sufi teacher, everyone has a prevailing characteristic. “You mean the thing that is most prominent about them, like being extroverted or introverted?” he asked. “No, not prominent,” she said. “Your prevailing characteristic is hidden. You act on it without seeing that you’re acting on it.” The minute he heard this, Jean became excited. “I looked out the car window, and it hit me,” he said. “I sit on the fence. I am only comfortable if I can have both sides of a situation without committing to either.” All at once a great many pieces fell into place. Jean could see why he went into an ashram but didn’t feel like he was one of the group. He saw why he fell in love with women but always saw their faults. Much more came to light. Jean complains about his family yet never misses a Christmas with them. He considers himself an expert on every subject he’s studied—there have been many—but he doesn’t earn his living pursuing any of them. He is indeed an inveterate fence-sitter. And as his date suggested, Jean had no idea that his Vasana, for that’s what we’re talking about, made him enter into one situation after another without ever falling off the fence. “Just think,” he said with obvious surprise, “the thing that’s the most me is the thing I never saw.” If unconscious tendencies kept working in the dark, they wouldn’t be a problem. The genetic software in a penguin or wildebeest guides it to act without any knowledge that it is behaving much like every other penguin or wildebeest. But human beings, unique among all living creatures, want to break down Vasana. It’s not good enough to be a pawn who thinks he’s a king. We crave the assurance of absolute freedom and its result—a totally open future. Is this reasonable? Is it even possible? In his classic text, the Yoga Sutras, the sage Patanjali informs us that there are three types of Vasana. The kind that drives pleasant behavior he calls white Vasana; the kind that drives unpleasant behavior he calls dark Vasana; the kind that mixes the two he calls mixed Vasana. I would say Jean had mixed Vasana—he liked fence-sitting but he missed the reward of lasting love for another person, a driving aspiration, or a shared vision that would bond him with a community. He displayed the positives and negatives of someone who must keep every option open. The goal of the spiritual aspirant is to wear down Vasana so that clarity can be achieved. In clarity you know that you are not a puppet—you have released yourself from the unconscious drives that once fooled you into thinking that you were acting spontaneously.

L’idée du « libre examen » fut inventée pour détruire l’autorité spirituelle, non pas en la niant purement et simplement tout d’abord, mais en lui substituant une fausse autorité, celle de la raison individuelle, ou encore que le « rationalisme » philosophique prit à tâche de remplacer l’intellectualité par ce qui n’en est que la caricature. L’idée de « valeur » nous paraît se rattacher plutôt au second cas : il y a déjà longtemps qu’on ne reconnaît plus, en fait, aucune hiérarchie réelle, c’est-à-dire fondée essentiellement sur la nature même des choses ; mais, pour une raison ou pour une autre, que nous n’entendons pas rechercher ici, il a paru opportun (non pas sans doute aux philosophes, car ils ne sont vraisemblablement en cela que les premières dupes) d’instaurer dans la mentalité publique une fausse hiérarchie, basée uniquement sur des appréciations sentimentales, donc entièrement « subjective » (et d’autant plus inoffensive, au point de vue de l’« égalitarisme » moderne, qu’elle se trouve ainsi reléguée dans les nuées de l’« idéal », autant dire parmi les chimères de l’imagination) ; on pourrait dire, en somme, que les « valeurs » représentent une contrefaçon de hiérarchie à l’usage d’un monde qui a été conduit à la négation de toute vraie hiérarchie. [La superstition de la « valeur »]

Failures as people: millions of Americans felt that this description fit them to a T. Seeking a solution, any solution, they eagerly forked over their cash to any huckster who promised release, the quicker and more effortlessly the better: therapies like “bioenergetics” (“The Revolutionary Therapy That Uses the Language of the Body to Heal the Problems of the Mind”); Primal Scream (which held that when patients shrieked in a therapist’s office, childhood trauma could be reexperienced, then released; John Lennon and James Earl Jones were fans); or Transcendental Meditation, which promised that deliverance could come if you merely closed your eyes and chanted a mantra (the “TM” organization sold personal mantras, each supposedly “unique,” to hundreds of thousands of devotees). Or “religions” like the Church Universal and Triumphant, or the Reverend Sun Myung Moon’s Unification Church, or “Scientology”—this last one invented by a science fiction writer, reportedly on a bet. Devotees paid cash to be “audited” by practitioners who claimed the power—if, naturally, you paid for enough sessions—to remove “trauma patterns” accreted over the 75 million years that had passed since Xenu, tyrant of the Galactic Confederacy, deposited billions of people on earth next to volcanoes and detonated hydrogen bombs inside those volcanos, thus scattering harming “body thetans” to attach to the souls of the living, which once unlatched allowed practitioners to cross the “bridge to total freedom” and “unlimited creativity.” Another religion, the story had it, promised “perfect knowledge”—though its adherents’ public meeting was held up several hours because none of them knew how to run the movie projector. Gallup reported that six million Americans had tried TM, five million had twisted themselves into yoga poses, and two million had sampled some sort of Oriental religion. And hundreds of thousands of Americans in eleven cities had plunked down $250 for the privilege being screamed at as “assholes.” “est”—Erhard Seminars Training, named after the only-in-America hustler who invented it, Werner Erhard, originally Jack Rosenberg, a former used-car and encyclopedia salesman who had tried and failed to join the Marines (this was not incidental) at the age of seventeen, and experienced a spiritual rebirth one morning while driving across the Golden Gate Bridge (“I realized that I knew nothing. . . . In the next instant—after I realized that I knew nothing—I realized that I knew everything”)—promised “to transform one’s ability to experience living so that the situations one had been trying to change or had been putting up with, clear up just in the process of life itself,” all that in just sixty hours, courtesy of a for-profit corporation whose president had been general manager of the Coca-Cola Bottling Company of California and a former member of the Harvard Business School faculty. A

An example is the campaign that Goodby, Berlin & Sil- verstein produced for the Northern California Honda Deal- ers Advertising Association (NCHDAA) in 1989. Rather than conform to the stereotypical dealer group advertising ("one of a kind, never to be repeated deals, this weekend 114 Figure 4.1 UNUM: "Bear and Salmon. Figure 4.2 UNUM: "Father and Child." 115 PEELING THE ONION only, the Honda-thon, fifteen hundred dollars cash back . . ." shouted over cheesy running footage), it was decided that the campaign should reflect the tone of the national cam- paign that it ran alongside. After all, we reasoned, the only people who know that one spot is from the national cam- paign and another from a regional dealer group are industry insiders. In the real world, all people see is the name "Honda" at the end. It's dumb having one of (Los Angeles agency) Rubin Postaer's intelligent, stylish commercials for Honda in one break, and then in the next, 30 seconds of car salesman hell, also apparently from Honda. All the good work done by the first ad would be undone by the second. What if, we asked ourselves, we could in some way regionalize the national message? In other words, take the tone and quality of Rubin Postaer's campaign and make it unique to Northern California? All of the regional dealer groups signed off as the Northern California Chevy/Ford/ Toyota Dealers, yet none of the ads would have seemed out of place in Florida or Wisconsin. In fact, that's probably where they got them from. In our research, we began not by asking people about cars, or car dealers, but about living in Northern California. What's it like? What does it mean? How would you describe it to an alien? (There are times when my British accent comes in very useful.) How does it compare to Southern California? "Oh, North and South are very different," a man in a focus group told me. "How so?" "Well, let me put it this way. There's a great rivalry between the (San Francisco) Giants and the (L.A.) Dodgers," he said. "But the Dodgers' fans don't know about it." Everyone laughed. People in the "Southland" were on a different planet. All they cared about was their suntans and flashy cars. Northern Californians, by comparison, were more modest, discerning, less likely to buy things to "make state- ments," interested in how products performed as opposed to 116 Take the Wider View what they looked like, more environmentally conscious, and concerned with the quality of life. We already knew from American Honda—supplied re- search what Northern Californians thought of Honda's cars. They were perceived as stylish without being ostentatious, reliable, understated, good value for the money . . . the paral- lels were remarkable. The creative brief asked the team to consider placing Honda in the unique context of Northern California, and to imagine that "Hondas are designed with Northern Californi- ans in mind." Dave O'Hare, who always swore that he hated advertising taglines and had no talent for writing them, came back immediately with a line to which he wanted to write a campaign: "Is Honda the Perfect Car for Northern Califor- nia, or What?" The launch commercial took advantage of the rivalry between Northern and Southern California. Set in the state senate chamber in Sacramento, it opens on the Speaker try- ing to hush the house. "Please, please," he admonishes, "the gentleman from Northern California has the floor." "What my Southern Californian colleague proposes is a moral outrage," the senator splutters, waving a sheaf of papers at the other side of the floor. "Widening the Pacific Coast Highway . . . to ten lanes!" A Southern Californian senator with bouffant hair and a pink tie shrugs his shoulders. "It's too windy," he whines (note: windy as in curves, not weather), and his fellow Southern Californians high-five and murmur their assent. The Northern Californians go nuts, and the Speaker strug- gles in vain to call everyone to order. The camera goes out- side as th

As the producer states gradually forced the major oil companies to share with them more of the profits from oil, increasing quantities of sterling and dollars flowed to the Middle East. To maintain the balance of payments and the viability of the international financial system, Britain and the United States needed a mechanism for these currency flows to be returned. [...] The purchase of most goods, whether consumable materials like food and clothing or more durable items such as cars or industrial machinery, sooner or later reaches a limit where, in practical terms, no more of the commodity can be used and further acquisition is impossible to justify. Given the enormous size of oil revenues, and the relatively small populations and widespread poverty of many of the countries beginning to accumulate them, ordinary goods could not be purchased at a rate that would go far to balance the flow of dollars (and many could be bought from third countries, like Germany and Japan – purchases that would not improve the dollar problem). Weapons, on the other hand, could be purchased to be stored up rather than used, and came with their own forms of justification. Under the appropriate doctrines of security, ever-larger acquisitions could be rationalised on the grounds that they would make the need to use them less likely. Certain weapons, such as US fighter aircraft, were becoming so technically complex by the 1960s that a single item might cost over $10 million, offering a particularly compact vehicle for recycling dollars. Arms, therefore, could be purchased in quantities unlimited by any practical need or capacity to consume. As petrodollars flowed increasingly to the Middle East, the sale of expensive weaponry provided a unique apparatus for recycling those dollars – one that could expand without any normal commercial constraint.

Let’s take a moment to acknowledge just how extraordinary your brain is. It generates up to 70,000 thoughts per day. It races with the speed of the fastest race car. Like your fingerprints, it is uniquely yours—there aren’t two brains in the universe exactly the same. It processes dramatically faster than any existing computer, and it has virtually infinite storage capacity. Even when damaged, it is capable of producing genius, and even if you only have half a brain, you can still be a fully functioning human being.

Car la nature humaine est ainsi faite, que les peines et les souffrances éprouvées simultanément ne s'additionnent pas totalement dans notre sensibilité, mais se dissimulent les unes derrières les autres par ordre de grandeur décroissante selon les lois bien connues de la perspective. Mécanisme bien providentiel qui rend possible notre vie au camp. Voilà pourquoi on entend dire si souvent dans la vie courante que l'homme est peréptuellement insatisfait : en réalité bien plus que l'incapacité de l'homme à atteindre à la sérénité absolue, cette opinion révèle combien nous connaissons mal la nature complexe de l'état de malheur, et combien nous nous trompons en donnant à des causes multiples et hiérarchiquement subordonnées le nom unique de la cause principale.

Car la nature humaine est ainsi faite, que les peines et les souffrances éprouvées simultanément ne s'additionnent pas totalement dans notre sensibilité, mais se dissimulent les unes derrières les autres par ordre de grandeur décroissante selon les lois bien connues de la perspective. Mécanisme bien providentiel qui rend possible notre vie au camp. Voilà pourquoi on entend dire si souvent dans la vie courante que l'homme est peréptuellement insatisfait : en réalité bien plus que l'incapacité de l'homme à atteindre à la sérénité absolue, cette opinion révèle combien nous connaissons mal la nature complexe de l'état de malheur, et combien nous nous trompons en donnant à des causes multiples et hiérarchiquement subordonnées le nom unique de la cause principale ; jusqu'au moment où, celle-ci venant à disparaître, nous découvrons avec une douloureuse surprise que derrière elle il y en a une autre, et même tout une série d'autre.

I'm still trying to figure out how one finds room for a passionate love of not only chickens but also dollhouses. I've found that one all-consuming hobby is usually enough." Cedric grinned. "But regardless of how 'unique' this couple is, the wedding will be absolutely stunning, I assure you. And I'm sure you can handle it, Lottie." I was excited by the mere fact that he knew my name, let alone that he already seemed to trust me. But before I could say anything, he whipped the car across two lanes. "Thank God," Cedric said. "Next exit, there's a Chick-fil-A!" We both died laughing, and I realized this wacky wedding might have forged a bond between Cedric and me. If so, it might actually be, given the chicken of it all, worth the cuckoo.

Be confident in your abilities The most important truth to embrace at the very start is this: You are already wired with everything you need to be a great mom to your son. If I could take an X-ray of you as a mom, I would see a picture of bones and tissue laced with an intricate set of muscles and nerves. At various times, some of those nerves and muscles are dormant, and some are ignited and on fire. You have a complete set of worry neurons that ignite when your son gets in someone’s car. There are others that ignite when you watch him play football or when he brings you his report card. These are your very own, unique wires, reserved only for you and your son. Along with those that fire on a regular basis are thousands of others that are cool and quiet. They are waiting for your brain to send them signals to kick into gear. If someone hurts your son, your protective wiring ignites. If someone praises your son, your set of encouragement wires flare. If your son fails in school, your empathy wires fire up. In every situation in which your son needs your help, you

Death Games (a) Conceptual. Nader again. His assault on the automobile clearly had me worried. Living in grey England, what I most treasured of my Shanghai childhood were my memories of American cars, a passion I’ve retained to this day. Looking back, one can see that Nader was the first of the ecopuritans, who proliferate now, convinced that everything is bad for us. In fact, too few things are bad for us, and one fears an indefinite future of pious bourgeois certitudes. It’s curious that these puritans strike such a chord - there is a deep underlying unease about the rate of social change, but little apparent change is actually taking place. Most superficial change belongs in the context of the word ‘new’, as applied to refrigerator or lawn-mower design. Real change is largely invisible, as befits this age of invisible technology - and people have embraced VCRs, fax machines, word processors without a thought, along with the new social habits that have sprung up around them. They have also accepted the unique vocabulary and grammar of late-20th-century life (whose psychology I have tried to describe in the present book), though most would deny it vehemently if asked.

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MITI, far from being a uniquely brilliant leader of government/industrial partnership, has been wrong so often that the Japanese themselves will concede that much of their growth derives from industry's rejection of MITI’s guidance. MITI, incredibly, opposed the development of the very areas where Japan has been successful: cars, electronics and cameras. MITI has, moreover, poured vast funds into desperately wasteful projects. Thanks to MITI, Japan has a huge overcapacity in steel - no less than three times the national requirement. This, probably the most expensive mistake Japan ever made in peacetime, was a mistake of genius, because Japan has no natural resources: it has to import everything; the iron ore, the coal, the gas, the limestone and the oil to make its unwanted steel. Undaunted, MITI then invested in giant, loss-making (£400 million losses by 1992) 5th generation supercomputers at the precise moment that the market opened for the small personal computer; and MITI' s attempts at dominating the world's pharmaceutical and telecommunications industries have each failed. Nor is this just anecdote. In a meticulous study of MITI’s interventions into the Japanese economy between 1955 and 1990, Richard Beason of Alberta University and David Weinterin of Harvard showed that, across the 13 major sectors of the economy, surveying hundreds of different companies, Japan's bureaucrats almost invariably picked and supported the losers.

Les économistes les plus coriaces se sont cassé les dents – même celles qui sont en or – sur l'épineuse question de la vie financière à Montaubout. Le premier os à ronger (non des moindres), demeure celui de la monnaie. Madame la Présidente a refusé de plier à la dure loi de la soumission aux monnaies existantes : dollar, livre sterling, euro, franc CFA… Les autorités économiques internationales ont toute reçu la même réponse d'une clarté aveuglante : « Inutile d'avoir une monnaie unique, car elles sont toutes iniques. » L'emploi de ce mot peu usité est d'abord passé pour une coquille journalistique ; puis pour une coquetterie langagière de madame la Présidente voulant exposer sa parfaite maîtrise de la langue française, mais au final, il s'est avéré que ce n'était ni l'un, ni l'autre, mais bel et bien un choix politique et économique fort. (p. 35)

The Sayanim: Mossad’s International Volunteers by Michael Ellmer April 16, 2021 In the Hebrew language, Sayanim translates to mean “helpers” or “assistants”. In the Mossad, the Sayanim are a volunteer network of Jews across the world who are loyal to the nation of Israel and willing to help the agency in their global mission. According to a comparative study of HUMINT in counterterrorism between Israel and France, Amy Kirchheimer writes that Israel has “the challenge of collecting intelligence on a vast array of targets with a comparatively small number of intelligence officers, and the Sayanim network helped the Mossad Katsas (case officers) somewhat lessen this problem.” According to Gordon Thomas in his book Gideon’s Spies: Mossad’s Secret Warriors, the Sayanim were a creation of Mier Amit, the Chief Director of the Mossad from 1963-1968. Thomas writes, “Each Sayan was an example of historical cohesiveness of the world Jewish community. Regardless of allegiance to his or her country, in the final analysis, a Sayan would recognize a greater loyalty: the mystical one to Israel, and a need to help protect it from its enemies”. The loyalty of the Sayanim is what fuels their mission and none reside on a Mossad payroll. The flexibility and diversity in their roles give the Mossad a unique operational capability with increased protection from detection and a way to avoid budget restraints or accountability. Most Sayanim fulfil various roles that can themselves be used to support Mossad operations. For example, Thomas writes, “A car Sayan, running a rental agency, provided a Katsa with a vehicle without the usual documentation. A letting agency Sayan offered accommodation. A bank Sayan might unlock funds outside normal hours. A Sayan physician would give medical assistance – treating a bullet wound for example – without informing the authorities”.

Car si le travail abstrait forme la substance du capital, et si par conséquent toute ontologie du travail est exclue puisque l'abstraction travail en tant qu' "universalité sociale" ne vaut que pour une seule et unique forme historiquement spécifique de société, alors crise et borne historique absolue du capital ne peuvent provenir que d'un mécanisme de contradictions interne au procès capitaliste de valorisation, par lequel celui-ci rend le travail "superflu" et le rejette hors de lui : en somme le capital se "désubstantialise" lui-même, la valeur est dévalorisée, et cela instaure une borne interne absolue qui n'intervient pas seulement au plan logique mais doit nécessairement apparaître aussi au plan historico-empirique.

Since the 19th century, medicine has focused on specific disease states by linking collections of signs and symptoms to single organs.... Systems biology and its offspring, sometimes called Network Medicine, takes a more wholistic approach, looking at all the diverse genetic, metabolic, and environmental factors that contribute to clinical disease. Equally important, it looks at the preclinical manifestations of pathology. The current focus of medicine is much like the focus that an auto mechanic takes to repair a car. The diagnostic process isolates a broken part and repairs or replaces it.... Although this strategy has saved countless lives and reduced pain and suffering, it nevertheless treats the disease and not the patient, with all their unique habits, lifestyle mistakes, environmental exposures, psychosocial interactions, and genetic predispositions.

À vrai dire, on adore le bénévolat pour les femmes et c’est pourquoi le métier de mère au foyer est le seul qu’on refuse d’évaluer en termes économiques. Fournissant à la collectivité une contribution considérable en élevant leurs très jeunes enfants, les mères (malgré quelques discours émus et une allocation de salaire unique dérisoire) restent ignorées quand elles travaillent à la maison et pénalisées quand elles travaillent au-dehors (frais de garde élevés, insuffisance de crèches). Il faut qu’elles parviennent à échapper à cette dévalorisation de tout ce qui est féminin. Dévalorisation si profondément ressentie et si destructrice que c’est elle qui donne souvent aux « mères au foyer » ce ton aigri ou revendicateur en face des femmes qui travaillent, option “supérieure” puisque masculine, alors qu’elles devraient pouvoir dire très simplement : « J’ai choisi pour “métier” d’élever mes enfants car c’est mon goût ou ma vocation à moi. »

The cyst turned out to be a benign tumor. Kat liked that use of benign, as if the thing had a soul and wished her well. It was big as a grapefruit, the doctor said. “Big as a coconut,” said Kat. Other people had grapefruits. “Coconut” was better. It conveyed the hardness of it, and the hairiness, too. The hair in it was red—long strands of it wound round and round inside, like a ball of wet wool gone berserk or like the guck you pulled out of a clogged bathroom-sink drain. There were little bones in it too, or fragments of bone; bird bones, the bones of a sparrow crushed by a car. There was a scattering of nails, toe or finger. There were five perfectly formed teeth. “Is this abnormal?” Kat asked the doctor, who smiled. Now that he had gone in and come out again, unscathed, he was less clenched. “Abnormal? No,” he said carefully, as if breaking the news to a mother about a freakish accident to her newborn. “Let’s just say it’s fairly common.” Kat was a little disappointed. She would have preferred uniqueness.

RÉPONSES INTERROGATIVES À UNE QUESTION DE MARTIN HEIDEGGER La poésie ne rythmera plus l'action. Elle sera en avant. RIMBAUD. Divers sens étroits pourraient être proposés, compte non tenu du sens qui se crée dans le mouvement même de toute poésie objective, toujours en chemin vers le point qui signe sa justification et clôt son existence, à l'écart, en avant de l'existence du mot Dieu : -La poésie entraînera à vue l'action, se plaçant en avant d'elle. L'en-avant suppose toutefois un alignement d'angle de la poésie sur l'action, comme un véhicule pilote aspire à courte distance par sa vitesse un second véhicule qui le suit. Il lui ouvre la voie, contient sa dispersion, le nourrit de sa lancée. -La poésie, sur-cerveau de l’action, telle la pensée qui commande au corps de l'univers, comme l'imagination visionnaire fournit l'image de ce qui sera à l'esprit forgeur qui la sollicite. De là, l'enavant. -La poésie sera « un chant de départ ». Poésie et action, vases obstinément communicants. La poésie, pointe de flèche supposant l'arc action, l'objet sujet étroitement dépendant, la flèche étant projetée au loin et ne retombant pas car l'arc qui la suit la ressaisira avant chute, les deux égaux bien qu'inégaux, dans un double et unique mouvement de rejonction. -L'action accompagnera la poésie par une admirable fatalité, la réfraction de la seconde dans le miroir brûlant et brouillé de la première produisant une contradiction et communiquant le signe plus (+) à la matière abrupte de l’action. -La poésie, du fait de la parole même, est toujours mise par la pensée en avant de l'agir dont elle emmène le contenu imparfait en une course perpétuelle vie-mort-vie. -L'action est aveugle, c'est la poésie qui voit. L'une est unie par un lien mère-fils à 1'autre, le fils en avant de la mère et la guidant par nécessité plus que par amour. -La libre détermination de la poésie semble lui conférer sa qualité conductrice. Elle serait un être action, en avant de Faction. -La poésie est la loi, l'action demeure le phénomène. L'éclair précède le tonnerre, illuminant de haut en bas son théâtre, lui donnant valeur instantanée. -La poésie est le mouvement pur ordonnant le mouvement général. Elle enseigne le pays en se décalant. -La poésie ne rythme plus l'action, elle se porte en avant pour lui indiquer le chemin mobile. C'est pourquoi la poésie touche la première. Elle songe l'action et, grâce à son matériau, construit la Maison, mais jamais une fois pour toutes. _ La poésie est le moi en avant de l'en soi, « le poète étant chargé de l'Humanité » (Rimbaud). - La poésie serait de « la pensée chantée ». Elle serait l'œuvre en avant de Faction, serait sa conséquence finale et détachée. -La poésie est une tête chercheuse. L'action est son corps. Accomplissant une révolution ils font, au terme de celle-ci, coïncider la fin et le commencement. Ainsi de suite selon le cercle. -Dans l'optique de Rimbaud et de la Commune, la poésie ne servira plus la bourgeoisie, ne la rythmera plus. Elle sera en avant, la bourgeoisie ici supposée action de conquête. La poésie sera alors sa propre maîtresse, étant maîtresse de sa révolution; le signal du départ donné, l'action en-vue-de se transformant sans cesse en action voyant.

WhatsApp: +4-4-7-4-9-3-4-9-6-6-3-2 Email; chat@botnetcryptorecovery.info For over two decades, I've navigated the twists and turns of the car business, always on the lookout for new opportunities to expand and grow. When Bitcoin emerged on the scene, its potential for lucrative returns piqued my interest. With $12,000 in hand, I took the plunge and invested in this digital currency, unaware of the rollercoaster ride that lay ahead as Bitcoin's value soared, my initial investment blossomed into $60,000, opening doors for expansion in my car business and enabling me to acquire additional vehicles. Yet, amidst the euphoria of financial success, a single email shattered my world. Appearing to be from my trading platform, the email requested verification of my account details. Oblivious to the looming danger, I compiled without a second thought, unknowingly handing over access to my Bitcoin wallet. Panic set in as I realized the magnitude of my mistake – my hard-earned funds were swiftly drained by cybercriminals. I sought solace and assistance, stumbling upon a recommendation of (BOTNET CRYPTO RECOVERY). Desperate for a lifeline, I reached out to their team, and to my relief, they responded swiftly with professionalism and expertise. With meticulous precision, They embarked on the arduous task of tracing the fraudulent activity, leaving no stone unturned in their quest to reclaim what was rightfully mine. Through their relentless efforts, the majority of my lost funds were miraculously recovered, offering a glimmer of hope in the aftermath of devastation. Yet, their assistance extended beyond mere financial restitution. (BOTNET CRYPTO RECOVERY) imparted invaluable wisdom, serving as guardians against future threats to my digital assets. They emphasized the imperative of implementing two-factor authentication, crafting robust and unique passwords, and honing the ability to discern phishing attempts from legitimate correspondence. This served as a sobering lesson, a cautionary tale of the perils lurking in the digital realm. However, amidst the adversity, emerged a newfound sense of resilience and determination. Armed with the knowledge bestowed upon me by (BOTNET CRYPTO RECOVERY), I forged ahead with renewed vigor, fortified against the treacherous landscape of online security threats. In hindsight, financial triumph to eventual redemption was fraught with hardship and heartache. Yet, it also underscored the transformative power of resilience and the invaluable guidance offered by trusted allies in times of crisis. As I reflect on this tumultuous chapter of my life, I am reminded of the importance of remaining vigilant, both in the pursuit of financial prosperity and in safeguarding against the ever-present specter of cyber threats. Through adversity, we glean invaluable lessons, emerging stronger, wiser, and more resilient than before. In the end, it is not the setbacks we encounter that define us, but rather, our ability to rise above them, armed with the knowledge and fortitude to navigate the unpredictable terrain of life's journey.

These entities, angelic, or of other nature and origins have been called forth through deep resonance in your soul. They are here to support and honor your specific makeup and the particular life missions and themes you came to experience and alchemize within your system. Opening to them may be likened unto you purchasing a car which is designed specifically to hug and support every curve of your body, and it being designed in a way that every switch or control in the vehicle is in the very place which works best for you. The smell of the interior is specifically enlivening to your senses, the headlights offer different unique clarity and views, the tires adjust for all weather patterns and conditions. You feel held and have the tools to go on any adventure and explore. In saying this, we are not implying that knowing your guides will remove all pain or suffering from this experience of life, for there are specific pains and sufferings that we have chosen to step into for our highest understanding and maturation. Under the nurturance and care of our guides, we may be held and lovingly nudged down the path to our own reconciliation and joy.

The Morgan Motor Company, established in 1909, epitomises British automotive craftsmanship. Their vehicles are a harmonious blend of tradition and innovation, embodying a legacy passed down through generations. Each car is meticulously handcrafted in Malvern, UK, ensuring a unique driving experience for enthusiasts worldwide. With a focus on quality and individuality, Morgan cars are cherished by their owners as much for their timeless design as for their exhilarating performance on the road. Under the stewardship of the Morgan family, supported by Investindustrial, the company continues to thrive, remaining true to its heritage while embracing advancements in technology. With an unwavering commitment to excellence, Morgan Motor Company stands as a symbol of British ingenuity and passion for the open road.

Stage 2 Skylark drag race package of 1970 contributed a unique hood scoop, which (in reproduction form) has been adopted by hip Buick drag racers across the country. Loosely patterned after the steel scoop used on heavy Ford trucks (and adopted by Pontiac for its 1963 421 Super Duty cars), Buick’s

Perfide Manon ! Ah! perfide! perfide! Elle me répéta, en pleurant à chaudes larmes, qu'elle ne prétendait point justifier sa perfidie. Que prétendez-vous donc ? m'écriai-je encore. Je prétends mourir, répondit-elle, si vous ne me rendez votre cœur, sans lequel il est impossible que je vive. Demande donc ma vie, infidèle! repris-je en versant moi-même des pleurs, que je m'efforçai en vain de retenir. Demande ma vie, qui est l'unique chose qui me reste à te sacrifier; car mon cœur n'a jamais cessé d'être à toi. À peine eus-je achevé ces derniers mots, qu'elle se leva avec transport pour venir m'embrasser. Elle m'accabla de mille caresses passionnées. Elle m'appela par tous les noms que l'amour invente pour exprimer ses plus vives tendresses.

C’est un samedi semblable à bien d’autres, pourtant unique. Sur la capitale, le ciel est dégagé, laissant au soleil levant le soin de chauffer les façades en pierre de taille. Une brume de chaleur s’étend au-dessus de la Seine, les pêcheurs matinaux se rafraîchissent le visage avec l’eau du fleuve. Sous le pont Alexandre III, quelques chanceux moulinent leur fil avec une carpe ou une grémille suffisamment naïve pour se piquer la lèvre sur leur hameçon. Ceux-là feront la fierté de leur femme et ils s’imaginent rentrer hardiment dans leur appartement, accueillis comme de réels héros pour avoir attrapé une proie de trois cents grammes tout au plus, qui nourrirait à peine un chaton. Mais le sourire de ces hommes se contemple avec beauté, car eux aussi seront bientôt chassés, mais ils ne s’en doutent pas. L’innocence des jours heureux se dessine sur leur visage.

They shared about the beautiful and unique plans that God has for each individual. Up until recently, I hadn’t had many hopes or plans. My life had been like a car stuck in a snowy ditch in the middle of the night. I knew I was stuck, but I didn’t know how to get out of it. When these guys came along, they had a tow truck, chains, and a spotlight that shed light on all the problem areas. They didn’t make me feel guilty about my problems; instead, they jumped out into the cold and helped me start digging. Not only that, but they were teaching me to see the hopes and plans that God had for others, they were teaching me to jump out in the snow and start digging as well.

For many victims of motor vehicle collisions, the decision whether to pursue an insurance claim or handle their own case can be a difficult one. However, there are numerous reasons why victims of accidents should be represented by a lawyer if they have received a substantial injury such as whiplash. A Car Accident Lawyer Will Explain The Process to You When they hire a car accident lawyer, victims of accidents will immediately receive the assistance and attention they need and deserve. Because most of the details of how car accidents occur are unique and not common knowledge, knowing how to proceed will be the major difference in the outcome of the case. A lawyer who is familiar with how insurance companies operate will know how to negotiate a better settlement with them. During an accident, most insurance companies will want to pay the least amount possible and move on, not even addressing the extent of the damage to the other car or some of the details of the accident. When victims have a lawyer involved, they will not be vulnerable to these tactics.

The game FR Legends MOD APK is all about drifting and racing. You can customize your car and participate in various drift competitions. The game has a variety of cars to choose from, and you can modify them according to your preferences. The game also has different tracks that you can race on, and each track has its own unique challenges.

Le coucher de soleil, le printemps, le bleu de la mer, les étoiles de la nuit, toutes ces choses que nous disons captivantes n'ont de magie que lorsqu'elles gravitent autour d'une femme, mon garçon... Car la Beauté, la vrai, l'unique, la beauté phare, la beauté absolue, c'est la femme. Le reste, tout le reste n'est qu'accessoires de charme.

At first, they joked about it but as they became more detoxed and more assertive from therapy, paid ironically by the husbands, they began to realize that they each had unique strengths and powers and a burning desire for revenge. Between the Three Wise Women they had an IT expert, an actress and a supermodel, all very wealthy and beautiful. All the three men’s’ brains appeared to reside in their pants and they wondered if they set a honey trap could it possibly work. A plan was proposed by Felicity and she called it Operation Devastation. Angelina would hack into their MIS computer systems, bug their telephones, offices, cars and homes. Ava would seduce Ryan, who owned Novels and the computer firm, Angelina’s husband in a honey trap and get it all on DVD for the divorce court. Then Ava would seduce Felicity’s husband, James, the Irish footballer. Finally, Sean who was Felicity’s friend who was an out of work actor would seduce Patrick

Il est donc nécessaire que les uns et les autres se mettent eux-mêmes à l'épreuve, les uns pour savoir s'ils sont dignes de prêcher et de laisser des écrits ; les autres pour savoir s'ils sont dignes d'écouter et de lire. C'est ainsi qu'après avoir, selon la coutume, rompu le pain de l'Eucharistie, on permet à chaque fidèle d'en prendre une part; car, pour choisir ou pour rejeter avec raison, la conscience est le meilleur juge. Or, la règle certaine d'une bonne conscience est une vie droite, jointe à une saine doctrine : suivre l'exemple de ceux qui ont été déjà éprouvés, et qui se sont conduits avec droiture, c'est la voie la plus sûre pour atteindre à l'intelligence de la vérité, et à l'observance des préceptes. Quiconque mangera le pain et boira le calice du Seigneur indignement, se rendra coupable du corps et du sang du Seigneur. Que l'homme donc s'éprouve soi-même, et qu'après cela il mange de ce pain et boive de cette coupe. Il faut donc que celui qui entreprend de prêcher aux autres s'examine pour savoir s'il a en vue l'utilité du prochain; si ce n'est point avec présomption, et par esprit de rivalité ou par amour de la gloire, qu'il répand la sainte parole ; s'il se propose pour unique récompense le salut de ses auditeurs, et s'il n'en flatte aucun ; et enfin s'il évite toute occasion qui pourrait le faire accuser de vénalité.

1.​YOUR LOVE RELATIONSHIP. This is the measure of how happy you are in your current state of relationship—whether you’re single and loving it, in a relationship, or desiring one. 2.​YOUR FRIENDSHIPS. This is the measure of how strong a support network you have. Do you have at least five people who you know have your back and whom you love being around? 3.​YOUR ADVENTURES. How much time do you get to travel, experience the world, and do things that open you to new experiences and excitement? 4.​YOUR ENVIRONMENT. This is the quality of your home, your car, your work, and in general the spaces where you spend your time—even when traveling. 5.​YOUR HEALTH AND FITNESS. How would you rate your health, given your age, and any physical conditions? 6.​YOUR INTELLECTUAL LIFE. How much and how fast are you growing and learning? How many books do you read? How many seminars or courses do you take yearly? Education should not stop after you graduate from college. 7.​YOUR SKILLS. How fast are you improving the skills you have that make you unique and help you build a successful career? Are you growing toward mastery or are you stagnating? 8.​YOUR SPIRITUAL LIFE. How much time do you devote to spiritual, meditative, or contemplative practices that keep you feeling connected, balanced, and peaceful? 9.​YOUR CAREER. Are you growing, climbing the ladder, and excelling? Or do you feel you’re stuck in a rut? If you have a business, is it thriving or stagnating? 10.​YOUR CREATIVE LIFE. Do you paint, write, play musical instruments, or engage in any other activity that helps you channel your creativity? Or are you more of a consumer than a creator? 11.​YOUR FAMILY LIFE. Do you love coming home to your family after a hard day’s work? If you’re not married or a parent, define your family as your parents and siblings. 12.​YOUR COMMUNITY LIFE. Are you giving, contributing, and playing a definite role in your community?

Many gun control academics use language that is hardly scholarly, attacking academics they disagree with as being paid off by the “execrable NRA.” They claim that “gun sellers call the shots at the NRA.”5 They accuse others of having “blood on [their] hands” or being a “blight on democracy.” Apparently, finding evidence of defensive gun uses brings “harm to the democratic process.”6 There are other less obvious claims that are just as outrageous. No, the United States isn’t unique in terms of mass public shootings or homicides. No, gun bans don’t make people safer. Background checks on private transfers haven’t stopped mass public shootings or any other type of crime in the U.S. or other countries. Background checks are racist. And there are real problems with background checks that harm the most vulnerable. Gun control advocates have it backwards when they claim that gun makers have something to learn about how to reduce accidents from looking at government regulation of cars.

The mechanism of the clock was enclosed in a box resembling a large cupboard, but I was disappointed with the workings. They were much smaller than I had anticipated. The clock was worked by heavy weights suspended on long cables. My father picked up a handle like the crank handle of a car and wound them up. There were two of them. One to work the hands, the other controlling the hammer which struck out the hours on a large bell. Then the mousetraps were set, Not to catch mice, but to control the lighting. Previously my father had to make a special trip each evening to switch on the lights of the clock, returning near midnight to switch them off. To obviate this he invented a method of light control which may have been unique. Two switches, one for switching on and the other for switching off were used. They were fixed on the inside wall of the tower. A mousetrap mounted near each switch was so arranged that when the trap sprung, the arc traversed by the closing trap enabled the switch to be flicked on or off as required. Adjustable sleeves were set along the the cables for required times. The sleeves on the descending cables tripped the mouse traps which actuated the switches.

Quand vous parlez d'un projet autour de vous, vous recevez trois types de réactions : les neutres, les réactions d'encouragement et les réactions négatives qui tendent à vous faire renoncer.– C'est clair ...– Il faut à tout prix vous éloigner des personnes dont vous sentez qu'elles pourraient vous décourager. En tout cas, ne leur confiez pas vos projets.– Oui, mais, d'un certain côté, cela peut être utile que des gens vous ouvrent les yeux si vous faites fausse route.– Pour cela, adressez-vous uniquement à des connaisseurs dans le domaine qui vous intéresse. Mais il ne faut pas vous confier aux personnes qui chercheraient à vous décourager juste pour répondre à leurs propres besoins psychologiques. Par exemple, il y a des gens qui se sentent mieux quand vous allez mal, et qui font donc tout pour que vous n'alliez pas mieux ! Ou d'autres qui détesteraient vous voir réaliser vos rêves car cela leur rappellerait leur absence de courage pour réaliser les leurs. Il existe aussi des gens qui se sentent valorisés par vos difficultés parce que cela leur donne l'occasion de vous aider. Dans ce cas, les projets qui viennent de vous leur coupent l'herbe sous le pied, et ils feront ce qu'ils peuvent pour vous en dissuader. Cela né sert à rien de leur en vouloir car ils font cela inconsciemment. Mais il est préférable de ne pas leur confier vos plans. Ils vous feraient perdre votre confiance en vous. Vous vous souvenez qu'hier nous avons parlé du bébé qui apprend à marcher et ne se décourage jamais, malgré ses échecs à répétition ?– Oui.– S'il persévère et finit par réussir, c'est notamment parce que aucun parent au monde ne doute de la capacité de son enfant à marcher, et aucune personne au monde ne va le décourager dans ses tentatives. Alors qu'une fois adulte, nombreux seront les gens qui vont le dissuader de réaliser ses rêves. pensez à quelqu'un de plus éloigné, peut-être un aïeul ou un ami d'enfance, même si vous ne le voyez pas souvent. Si vraiment vous ne trouvez pas, vous pouvez aussi penser à une personne disparue, qui vous a aimé de son vivant. Pensez à elle et dites-vous: « Je sais que là où elle est, si elle me voit monter ce projet, elle croit en moi.» Dès que vous avez des doutes, pensez à elle et voyez-la vous encourager car elle sait que vous allez réussir. Il y a aussi des gens qui croient en Dieu et obtiennent de lui la force d'agir. Napoléon était, quant à lui, convaincu qu'il avait une bonne étoile. Lors de la plupart de ses batailles, même lorsqu'elles étaient mal engagées, il restait persuadé qu'il gagnerait, avec l'aide de cette bonne étoile. Cela l'a énormément stimulé et lui a fourni un courage souvent déterminant.

Richard Kay Richard Kay became friends with Diana, Princess of Wales, through his job as royal correspondent for London’s Daily Mail. After her separation in 1992, he used his knowledge to give a penetrating and unique insight into Diana’s troubled life, and they remained friends until the end. Richard is now diary editor or the Daily Mail and lives in London with his wife and three children. Over the years, I saw her at her happiest and in her darkest moments. There were moments of confusion and despair when I believed Diana was being driven by the incredible pressures made on her almost to the point of destruction. She talked of being strengthened by events, and anyone could see how the bride of twenty had grown into a mature woman, but I never found her strong. She was as unsure of herself at her death as when I first talked to her on that airplane, and she wanted reassurance about the role she was creating for herself. In private, she was a completely different person form the manicured clotheshorse that the public’s insatiable demand for icons had created. She was natural and witty and did a wonderful impression of the Queen. This was the person, she told me, that she would have been all the time if she hadn’t married into the world’s most famous family. What she hated most of all was being called “manipulative” and privately railed against those who used the word to describe her. “They don’t even know me,” she would say bitterly, sitting cross-legged on the floor of her apartment in Kensington Palace and pouring tea from a china pot. It was this blindness, as she saw it, to what she really was that led her seriously to consider living in another country where she hoped she would be understood. The idea first emerged in her mind about three years before her death. “I’ve got to find a place where I can have peace of mind,” she said to me. She considered France, because I was near enough to stay in close touch with William and Harry. She thought of America because she--naively, it must be said--saw it as a country so brimming over with glittery people and celebrities that she would be able to “disappear.” She also thought of South Africa, where her brother, Charles, made a home, and even Australia, because it was the farthest place she could think of from the seat of her unhappiness. But that would have separated her form her sons. Everyone said she would go anywhere, do anything, to have her picture taken, but in my view the truth was completely different. A good day for her was one where her picture was not taken and the paparazzi photographers did not pursue her and clamber over her car. “Why are they so obsessed with me?” she would ask me. I would try to explain, but I never felt she fully understood. Millions of women dreamed of changing places with her, but the Princess that I knew yearned for the ordinary humdrum routine of their lives. “They don’t know how lucky they are,” she would say. On Saturday, just before she was joined by Dodi Al Fayed for their last fateful dinner at the Ritz in Pairs, she told me how fed up she was being compared with Camilla. “It’s all so meaningless,” she said. She didn’t say--she never said--whether she thought Charles and Camilla should marry. Then, knowing that as a journalist I often work at weekends, she said to me, “Unplug your phone and get a good night’s sleep.

On a coutume, dans le monde occidental, de considérer l’islamisme comme une tradition essentiellement guerrière et, par suite, lorsqu’il y est question notamment du sabre ou de l’épée (es-sayf), de prendre ce mot uniquement dans son sens le plus littéral, sans même penser jamais à se demander s’il n’y a pas là en réalité quelque chose d’autre. Il n’est d’ailleurs pas contestable qu’un certain côté guerrier existe dans l’islamisme, et aussi que, loin de constituer un caractère particulier à celui-ci, il se retrouve tout aussi bien dans la plupart des autres traditions, y compris le christianisme. Sans même rappeler que le Christ lui-même a dit : « Je ne suis pas venu apporter la paix, mais l’épée », ce qui peut en somme s’entendre figurativement, l’histoire de la Chrétienté au moyen âge, c’est-à-dire à l’époque où elle eut sa réalisation effective dans les institutions sociales, en fournit des preuves largement suffisantes ; et, d’autre part, la tradition hindoue elle-même, qui certes ne saurait passer pour spécialement guerrière, puisqu’on tend plutôt en général à lui reprocher de n’accorder que peu de place à l’action, contient pourtant aussi cet aspect, comme on peut s’en rendre compte en lisant la Bhagavadgîtâ. À moins d’être aveuglé par certains préjugés, il est facile de comprendre qu’il en soit ainsi, car dans le domaine social, la guerre, en tant qu’elle est dirigée contre ceux qui troublent l’ordre et qu’elle a pour but de les y ramener, constitue une fonction légitime, qui n’est au fond qu’un des aspects de la fonction de « justice » entendue dans son acception la plus générale. Cependant, ce n’est là que le côté le plus extérieur des choses, donc le moins essentiel : au point de vue traditionnel, ce qui donne à la guerre ainsi comprise toute sa valeur, c’est qu’elle symbolise la lutte que l’homme doit mener contre les ennemis qu’il porte en lui-même, c’est-à-dire contre tous les éléments qui, en lui, sont contraires à l’ordre et à l’unité. Dans les deux cas, du reste, et qu’il s’agisse de l’ordre extérieur et social ou de l’ordre intérieur et spirituel, la guerre doit toujours tendre également à établir l’équilibre et l’harmonie (et c’est pourquoi elle se rapporte proprement à la « justice »), et à unifier par là d’une certaine façon la multiplicité des éléments en opposition entre eux. Cela revient à dire que son aboutissement normal, et qui est en définitive son unique raison d’être, c’est la paix (es-salâm), laquelle ne peut être obtenue véritablement que par la soumission à la volonté divine (el-islâm), mettant chacun des éléments à sa place pour les faire tous concourir à la réalisation consciente d’un même plan ; et il est à peine besoin de faire remarquer combien, dans la langue arabe, ces deux termes, el-islâm et es-salâm, sont étroitement apparentés l’un à l’autre.

Carly went back and forth between several of the paintings, trying to decide which one was least likely to frighten small children. “You know, your work is very … unique, Hazel. I can honestly say I’ve never seen anything quite like it.