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!

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

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

Traffic on Wisconsin Avenue wasn’t too bad, but he hit his first snag of the day when he found Pennsylvania to be mired in gridlock. While he crept forward he sang along with his Blaupunkt stereo. Neil Young’s On the Beach was a 1974 release that would have been a unique listening choice for most thirty-two-year-olds, but Ross had grown up with it. Revolution music, his mother used to call it, although Ethan realized there was a certain dissonance to the concept of singing along with antiestablishment songs while driving his luxury car on his way to his government job.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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,

Kalinske then described what made the videogame industry unique, what made it superbly unpredictable, and what tomorrow might or might not bring. But along this wild roller-coaster ride, there was one thing that would not change. “Suspension of disbelief. It’s always been the fundamental component of diversion, whether that diversion is books, movies, or the theater. Advances in gaming mean we will come to supply that component more effectively than any other medium. The interactive entertainment business is going to allow the Walter Mitty in all of us to finally realize our dreams. We are going to become great football players, race car drivers, or aviators. We are going to move into and occupy new worlds that were formerly only available to us in dreams.

Le mensonge n'a jamais paru répréhensible à Mouchette, car mentir est le plus précieux, et sans doute l'unique privilège des misérables.

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

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.

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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.

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.

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.

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 »]

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.

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Plus d’État mais seulement la société, plus de principe mais seulement une gestion des pulsions sociales, et au centre un gentil organisateur, un plancton dont les obsessions quantitativo-statistiques abolissent la sphère de la politique et la remplacent par le néant d’un babillage démagogique non si­gnifiant, purement phonique, phatique, autour duquel la presse s’onanise et le public bée. La vocation intellectuelle, ar­tistique et spirituelle de l’homme disparaît sous les coups du nivellement de masse, car l’homme n’est ici qu'un travailleur, le rouage d’une énergie productrice qu’il faut rendre opéra­tionnel le plus rapidement possible ; on lui invente un collège unique dont disparaît progressivement toute connaissance vé­ritable, un lieu d’abrutissement intellectuellement définalisé, d’éducation technique de groupe, afin que toutes les espèces et catégories du troupeau puissent parvenir plus largement au degré de qualification qui les asservira au quantitatif, tandis que le monde entier afflue à Microcéphalopolis afin de rem­plir les cases laissées vides. Les chiffres broient l’homme, la matière est placée au-dessus de l’esprit, la technique au-dessus du savoir, l’intérêt au-dessus de toute gratuité ; plus d’hon­neur, de civilité, de générosité, plus de famille, plus d’amitié. Dans ce contexte le mélange culturel s’inscrit non comme une louable ouverture mais comme la colonisation d’un espace in­tellectuel vide parce que volontairement déserté. Microcéphalopolis s'identifie à ce désert pour devenir jungle, elle veut n’être que friche et fiche, elle veut n’être rien, elle vénère les raclées, elle nie ses origines sauf pour s’inventer de mythologiques fautes où peut ainsi s’exercer sa haine de soi, c’est-à-dire de la spiritualité dont elle devrait être porteuse. Elle est cette nation devenue elle-même femelle et que ses attitudes de mo­rue exposent continuellement au viol. Refusant de porter un quelque regard sur sa situation, se félicitant de tout ce qui n'est pas sa nature et dont elle se remplit, elle tend sa croupe à tout vent et enfonce la tête dans le sable en des manières d'autruche dénégatrice et nymphomane.

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

« 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. »

He liked the smell of her old car, the way it reminded him of a unique mixture of the half-drunk coffee cups always sitting in the cupholders, drive-through french fry splurges, and her soap. The way her car smelled like her. Her new car smells like nothing.

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.

As we marvel at the prospects of genomic editing, self-driving cars, and humanoid companions, we have to keep in mind that our present-day reality binds us to a certain amount of perceptual bias. Fight-or-flight may have kept our prehistoric ancestors from getting eaten by a saber-toothed tiger, but over time it has stunted our unique ability to daydream about and plan for a better future.

Cette courbe est fondamentale, car elle permet de mieux comprendre le dialogue difficile qui caractérise parfois le débat public sur la mondialisation : certains s’émerveillent de la réduction des inégalités et de la pauvreté mondiales que permettrait la formidable croissance des pays les moins avancés, alors que d’autres se lamentent de la hausse massive des inégalités qu’entraîneraient inexorablement les excès de l’hypercapitalisme mondialisé. En réalité, l’un et l’autre discours ont chacun leur part de vérité : les inégalités ont diminué entre le bas et le milieu de la répartition mondiale des revenus, et elles ont augmenté entre le milieu et le haut de la distribution. Ces deux aspects de la mondialisation sont tout aussi réels l’un que l’autre, et la question n’est pas de nier l’un ou l’autre, mais bien plutôt de savoir comment faire pour conserver les bons aspects de la mondialisation tout en se débarrassant des mauvais. On notera au passage l’importance du langage, des catégories et du dispositif cognitif utilisé : si l’on décrivait les inégalités par un indicateur unique, comme le coefficient de Gini, alors on pourrait avoir l’illusion que rien ne change, précisément car l’on ne se donnerait pas les moyens de voir que les évolutions sont complexes et multidimensionnelles, et que l’on laisse plusieurs effets se mêler et se compenser au sein d’un indicateur unique. C’est pourquoi dans ce livre je n’aurai pas recours à ce type d’indicateur « synthétique ». Je prendrai toujours soin de décrire les inégalités et leur évolution en distinguant clairement les différents déciles et centiles de revenus et patrimoines concernés, et par conséquent les groupes sociaux en jeu.

Je suis toujours triste lorsque les hommes ne voient en moi qu’une femme. Ils ne comprennent pas que mon genre est pluriel, que je puisse partager avec eux une tradition masculine sans être uniquement un homme. À leurs yeux, c’est mon côté imparfait, raté ou non assumé. Je sais pourtant leurs manières de s’approprier le monde et de parler, de se tenir, de rire. Je sais intuitivement la distance à entretenir, la force à mettre dans la poignée de main, l’intensité à placer dans le regard. Nous partageons aussi la même masculinité toxique dont nous tentons de nous défaire. Mais je ne rebute pas ma voix aiguë, mes seins, ni mon visage sans barbe et cela les étonne. Ils ne comprennent pas ma familiarité avec les femmes, leurs forces, leurs inspirations, leurs peurs et leurs luttes. Ils ne comprennent pas que je ne souhaite jamais passer complètement pour un homme. À mes yeux, cette double condition est ce qui me permet d’être complète et d’apparaître dans le réel. J’existe en ce monde dans la traversée des genres. Je suis simultanéité. Je ne peux pas choisir entre être un homme ou être une femme, car ce serait choisir entre une moitié de cœur et l’autre. J’ai besoin des deux pour vivre. C’est un tissage de récits impossible à défaire ; leurs brins entrelacés constituent ma matière et me donnent forme en ce monde. Je ne voudrais pas vivre autrement (p. 126-127).

Le monde est ma représentation : voilà une vérité valable à l'égard de tout être vivant et connaissant, bien que l'homme seul puisse la porter à sa connaisance abstraite et réfléchie. Dès qu'il y sera parvenu, du même coup il aura acquis le jugement philosophique. Il saura alors clairement démontré pour lui qu'il ne connaît pas un soleil ni une terre, mais toujours uniquement un oeil qui voit un soleil, une main qui sent le contact d'une terre ; que le monde qui l'environne n'existe que comme représentation, c'est-à-dire entièrement et uniquement par rapport à un autre être, celui qui perçoit ; et cet être, c'est lui-même. S'il est une vérité qu'on puisse énoncer a priori, c'est bien celle-là ; car elle est l'expression de cette forme de toute expérience possible et concevable, qui est plus générale que toutes les autres, telles que le temps, l'espace, la causalité : car celles-ci supposent déjà celle-là [...] Aucune vérité n'est donc plus certaine, plus indépendante de toute autre et ayant moins besoin de preuves que celle-ci : tout ce qui existe existe pour la connaissance, c'est-à-dire le monde entier, n'est objet que par rapport au sujet, n'est que perception de celui qui perçoit, en un mot, représentation.

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.

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.

Piers Morgan Piers Morgan is a British journalist best known for his editorial work for the Daily Mirror from 1995 through 2004. He is also a successful author and television personality whose recent credits include a recurring role as a judge on NBC’s America’s Got Talent. A controversial member of the tabloid press during Diana’s lifetime, Piers Morgan established a uniquely close relationship with the Princess during the 1990s. “What’s been the most upsetting thing you’ve had to read about yourself?” “Well, those pictures the other day of my supposed cellulite upset me a lot actually. It really hurt me. It was too painful, too personal. It’s my body everyone was talking about, not just my face. I felt invaded because they put the cameras deliberately onto my legs.” Diana’s relationship with the paparazzi was obviously complex. She professed to hate them: “I know most of the paparazzi and their number plates. They think I am stupid but I know where they are. I’ve had ten years practice. I would support an antistalking bill tomorrow.” Then she took me to the window and started showing me the various media cars, vans, and motorbikes lurking outside. But when I asked why she doesn’t go out of one of the ten other more discreet exits, she exposed her contrary side: “I want to go out the front like anyone else. Why should I change my life for them?” “Because it would make your life easier?” I said. William was equally upset by the constant prying lenses: “Why do they have to chase my mother around so much? It’s unfair on her.” I was torn between genuine concern for the young man protecting his mum so gallantly, and a sense of foreboding for him that one day it would be him, not his mother, who would be chased just as aggressively. How do you explain to a thirteen-year-old boy that he sells papers and therefor he’s a valuable commodity to photographers and editors like me?

Piers Morgan Piers Morgan is a British journalist best known for his editorial work for the Daily Mirror from 1995 through 2004. He is also a successful author and television personality whose recent credits include a recurring role as a judge on NBC’s America’s Got Talent. A controversial member of the tabloid press during Diana’s lifetime, Piers Morgan established a uniquely close relationship with the Princess during the 1990s. We’d finished our coffee. The lunch was over. Two bizarre hours that had flashed by like some high-octane fireworks display. The Princess took me downstairs back to the real world, asking me as we walked not to tell James Whitaker, our royal correspondent, too much about our lunch. “Just throw him a morsel every six months to drive him mad,” she said. “He’s a terrible skier,” said William. We stepped out into the forecourt. Diana shook my hand, then darted over to speak to my very excited driver. As she shook his hand, too, she reached for his ample neck and exclaimed: “Ooh, what a nice tie--is it from Tie Rack?” It was. He will never wash it again. What a gal. I sat in the car, and started frantically scribbling notes. I didn’t want to forget any of this.

A person au fait with the millenarian edict of knowing oneself does not need a tattoo, pierced ear, or gaudy neck chains to declare who they are. Eccentricity for its own sake is simply a boring fashion statement and not a thoughtful statement of what comprises a wholesome self. A self-poised person does not need to own a luxury car to determine their degree of self-worth. Nor does a self-determined person need to idolize celebrities, hate other people whom they do not wish to exemplify, or live vicariously through other people’s admirable deeds. A person with unique and contented self-identify does not flip through fashion magazines or scan the headlines of gossip magazines when loitering in the supermarket checkout stand. A person who contemplates the meaningfulness of their existence is not fixated with posing in other people’s raiment or observing other people’s nakedness. A person who knows who they are and realizes how to accomplish all of their life goals does not dally by people watching or become distracted by envying other people.

« Si pour un instant Dieu oubliait que je suis une marionnette de chiffon et m'offrait un morceau de vie, je profiterais de ce temps du mieux que je pourrais. Sans doute je ne dirais pas tout ce que je pense, mais je penserais tout ce que je dirais. Je donnerais du prix aux choses, non pour ce qu'elles valent, mais pour ce qu'elles représentent. Je dormirais peu, je rêverais plus, sachant qu'en fermant les yeux, à chaque minute nous perdons 60 secondes de lumière. Je marcherais quand les autres s'arrêteraient, je me réveillerais quand les autres dormiraient. Si Dieu me faisait cadeau d'un morceau de vie, je m'habillerai simplement, je me coucherais à plat ventre au soleil, laissant à découvert pas seulement mon corps, mais aussi mon âme. Aux hommes, je montrerais comment ils se trompent, quand ils pensent qu'ils cessent d'être amoureux parce qu'ils vieillissent, sans savoir qu'ils vieillissent quand ils cessent d'être amoureux ! A l'enfant je donnerais des ailes mais je le laisserais apprendre à voler tout seul. Au vieillard je dirais que la mort ne vient pas avec la vieillesse mais seulement avec l'oubli. J'ai appris tant de choses de vous les hommes… J'ai appris que tout le monde veut vivre en haut de la montagne, sans savoir que le vrai bonheur se trouve dans la manière d'y arriver. J'ai appris que lorsqu'un nouveau-né serre pour la première fois, le doigt de son père, avec son petit poing, il le tient pour toujours. J'ai appris qu'un homme doit uniquement baisser le regard pour aider un de ses semblables à se relever. J'ai appris tant de choses de vous, mais à la vérité cela ne me servira pas à grand chose, si cela devait rester en moi, c'est que malheureusement je serais en train de mourir. Dis toujours ce que tu ressens et fais toujours ce que tu penses. Si je savais que c'est peut être aujourd'hui la dernière fois que je te vois dormir, je t'embrasserais très fort et je prierais pour pouvoir être le gardien de ton âme. Si je savais que ce sont les derniers moments où je te vois, je te dirais 'je t'aime' sans stupidement penser que tu le sais déjà. Il y a toujours un lendemain et la vie nous donne souvent une autre possibilité pour faire les choses bien, mais au cas où elle se tromperait et c'est, si c'est tout ce qui nous reste, je voudrais te dire combien je t'aime, que jamais je ne t'oublierais. Le lendemain n'est sûr pour personne, ni pour les jeunes ni pour les vieux. C'est peut être aujourd'hui que tu vois pour la dernière fois ceux que tu aimes. Pour cela, n'attends pas, ne perds pas de temps, fais-le aujourd'hui, car peut être demain ne viendra jamais, tu regretteras toujours de n'avoir pas pris le temps pour un sourire, une embrassade, un baiser parce que tu étais trop occupé pour accéder à un de leur dernier désir. Garde ceux que tu aimes près de toi, dis-leur à l'oreille combien tu as besoin d'eux, aime les et traite les bien, prends le temps pour leur dire 'je regrette' 'pardonne-moi' 's'il te plait' 'merci' et tous les mots d'amour que tu connais. Personne ne se souviendra de toi pour tes pensées secrètes. Demande la force et la sagesse pour les exprimer. Dis à tes amis et à ceux que tu aimes combien ils sont importants pour toi. Monsieur Márquez a terminé, disant : Envoie cette lettre à tous ceux que tu aimes, si tu ne le fais pas, demain sera comme aujourd'hui. Et si tu ne le fais pas cela n'a pas d'importance. Le moment sera passé. Je vous dis au revoir avec beaucoup de tendresse »

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?

The Directorio Revolucionario (“DR”) existed during the mid-1950’s and it was a Cuban University students’ group in opposition to the dictator President Fulgencio Batista. It was one of the most active terrorist organizations in Havana. Although they were given orders not to attack the rank and file police officers, semantics became important, as their targets were no longer “assassinated,” but rather were “executed.” To them the term sounded more legally acceptable. However, regardless of how it is phrased, murder is murder! At 3:20 on the afternoon of March 13, 1957, fifty attackers from the “DR”, led by Carlos Gutiérrez Menoyo, attacked the Presidential Palace. Menoyo had fought in the Sahara Desert against the German forces under General Rommel during World War II. By demonstrating great courage, Carlos had been decorated and given the rank of second lieutenant in the French army and was uniquely suited for this task. Now, with workers representing labor, and rebellious students from the university, they drove up to the entrance to the Presidential Palace in delivery van #7, marked “Fast Delivery S.A.” They also had two additional cars weighted down with bombs, rifles, and automatic weapons… (Read more in the Exciting Story of Cuba)

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.

The engine is never your salary; the engine is the employer's pressing business needs. The next car back has your responsibilities that will address the company's needs and goals. The next car back is filled with your differentiators that address the employer's pressing business needs. The next car back might be a bet on how your unique capabilities will address the company's needs and the performance that you will achieve. The next car back is filled with other differentiators and additional Storytelling Issues. The caboose is your salary and annual bonus. The caboose is always attached to the train and rides along, but it comes at the end of the discussion, not the beginning of the conversation.

Khrushchev and Ulbricht attempted to save face by holding their own high-profile meeting in East Berlin a few days later, and uniquely, Michael Howard, having witnessed Kennedy’s historic speech at the Rathaus Schönberg, now watched the Communist response. “I went over with a couple of my colleagues to the East to listen to Nikita Khrushchev speak in East Berlin. He turned up with Walter Ulbricht in an open car. It was a very heavy day—quite an ominous portent. And there were quite big crowds, which had fairly obviously been told to come along.

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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.

The constant background noise of car horns, barking dogs, music pulsating out of apartment windows—they had all blended together in a symphony of chaos that was the trademark of city life. Then there was the unique smell of the city. The air was permeated with a persistent odor of unwashed bodies and greasy food mixed with pungent drifts of vehicle exhaust and sewage. One couldn’t discount the more pleasant aromas that also drifted over the city of fresh-brewed coffee from a cafe or the sweet smell of relish from the corner hot dog stands. But

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.

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.

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.

Hélas ! Ton intérêt ici me désespère. Si quelque autre malheur m’avait ravi mon père, Mon âme aurait trouvé dans le bien de te voir L’unique allègement qu’elle eût pu recevoir ; Et contre ma douleur j’aurais senti des charmes, Quand une main si chère eût essuyé mes larmes. Mais il me faut te perdre après l’avoir perdu ; Cet effort sur ma flamme à mon honneur est dû ; Et cet affreux devoir, dont l’ordre m’assassine, Me force à travailler moi-même à ta ruine. Car enfin n’attends pas de mon affection De lâches sentiments pour ta punition. De quoi qu’en ta faveur notre amour m’entretienne, Ma générosité doit répondre à la tienne : Tu t’es, en m’offensant, montré digne de moi ; Je me dois, par ta mort, montrer digne de toi.

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”.

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)

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.

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.

We seek a private house, a private means of transportation, a private garden, a private laundry, self-service stores, do-it-yourself skills of every kind. An enormous technology seems to have set itself the task of making it unnecessary for one human being ever to ask anything of another in the course of going about his or her daily business. Even within the family Americans are unique in their feeling that each member should have a separate room and even a separate telephone, television, and car, when economically possible. We seek more and more privacy, and feel more and more alienated and lonely when we get it.