Vending Quotes

But life doesn’t often spell things out for you or give you what you want exactly when you want it, otherwise it wouldn’t be called life, it would be called vending machine.

It's safe to assume that by 2085 guns will be sold in vending machines but you won't be able to smoke anywhere in America.

Just tell me, Percy, do you still have the birthday gift I gave you last summer?" I nodded and pulled out my camp necklace. It had a bead for every summer I'd been at Camp Half-Blood, but since last year I'd also kept a sand dollar on the cord. My father had given it to me for my fifteenth birthday. He'd told me I would know when to "spend it," but so far I hadn't figured out what he meant. All I knew that it didn't fit the vending machines in the school cafeteria.

Vending Machine: "This product has no known nutritional value and may cause irritability or wakefulness in some individuals. Please enjoy your selection and your day." Eve: "Up yours.

Change is inevitable - except from a vending machine.

But life doesn’t often spell things out for you or give you what you want exactly when you want it, otherwise it wouldn’t be called life, it would be called vending machine. It’s hard to say exactly when it will happen, and it’s true that whatever you’re after may not drop down the moment you spend all your quarters, but someday soon a train is coming. In fact, it may already be on the way. You just don’t know it yet.

Have you ever tried thinking of God as a person instead of an all-powerful vending machine that never gives you the right amount of change? He has feelings too, you know.

Cuando vendes tu alma al diablo, enamorarte de un ángel puede llevarte derecho al infierno.

I want to get a vending machine, with fun sized candy bars, and the glass in front is a magnifying glass. You'll be mad, but it will be too late.

I have no earliest memories, Archivist. Every day of my life in Papa Song was as uniform as the fries we vended.

Shame is a way of life here. It's stocked in the vending machines, stuck like gum under the desks. Spoken in morning devotionals. She knows now that there's a bit of it in her. It was an easy choice not to go back in the closet when she got here, but if she'd grown up here, she might never have come out at all. She might be a completely different person.

El miedo, el miedo es la mercancía más valiosa del universo. Encended la televisión ¿Qué veis? ¿Gente vendiendo productos? NO. Gente vendiendo el miedo que tenéis de vivir sin sus productos. El miedo vende

Zebras are piano horses. I think about that when I’m swinging a golf club, and it brings a musical cowboy element to my game that another player might not be able to buy in a vending machine.

Mos e zevendeson perceptimi yne i se shkuares vete te shkuaren? Me fjale te tjera, a nuk eshte e shkuara pikerisht sic e kujtojme ne dhe jo si ka qene ne te vertete? Tek e fundit, e shkuara jeton vetem ne kujtesen tone, ne jemi ruajtesit e saj te vetem, ne tjeter vend ajo nuk ekziston. Asgjekundi. Atehere... c'eshte realiteti i se shkuares?

Për fatin e keq të njeriut, kujtimet nuk lihen dot në asnjë vend. Do apo s’do ti, ato të ndjekin nga pas si hija, që aty është gjithmonë, pavarësisht nga fakti nëse është diell dhe ti e sheh apo është vrenjtur dhe nuk mundesh.

Lex was popping out babies like a popcorn vending machine. –Trish

I turned around and headed back to the stairwell, planning to go downstairs and buy a chocolate bar from the vending machine. Maybe it would fall on me and end my misery.

Si malo es el gringo que nos compra, peor es el criollo que nos vende.

Tobacco kills a lot of people, but cigarette vending machines are killing that woman by stealing her job.

It was already getting dark out, but I kept my sunglasses on. I didn't want to have to look anybody in the eye. I didn't want to relate to anybody too keenly. Plus, the fluorescent lights at the drug store were blinding. If I could have purchased my medications from a vending machine, I would have paid double for them.

If you treat what you value most in life more like a garden and less like a vending machine, you’ll probably be happier. (from You Oughta Know By Now)

El comerciante de basura no vende su producto al consumidor, vende el consumidor a su producto. Él no mejora ni simplifica su mercancía. Degrada y simplifica al cliente.

Në rruget e tjera dëgjoheshin aty-këtu britma fatkëqijsh, që i zvarrisnin për flokësh, per t'i çuar në Degë. Fajësoheshin se gjatë mitingut të përmortshëm, në vend që të qanin a, së paku, të psherëtinin, kishin qeshur e, ndonëse ata bënin be e rrufe se s'kishin qeshur aspak e, përkundrazi, kishin qenë të vrarë në shpirt si të gjithë, por që as vet s'e dinin pse, e qara befas u qe kthyer në ngërdheshje, madje, shtonin se s'ishte hera e parë që u ndodhte kjo, askush nuk i besonte e, në vend t'i dëgjonin, i godisnin më fort.

En un mundo donde el horror se vende como arte, donde el arte nace ya con la pretensión de ser fotografiado, donde convivir con las imágenes del sufrimiento no tiene relación con la conciencia ni con la compasión, las fotos de guerra no sirven para nada.

We're not exactly going to the wilderness, Shane. You don't have to take everything. There are vending machines.

Aquí está el oro, peor veneno para el alma; en este mundo asesina mucho más que las tristes mezclas que no puedes vender. Soy yo quien te vende veneno, no tú a mí.

I wish there were a vending machine that served cats. Not to eat, but to pet during my work break.

I am the Mister Rogers Bannister of swimming coaches for ducks. My services are available in underwater vending machines in ponds all across The Ozarks.

The company is like an evil vending machine, you put money in and it does what you want, unless somebody else puts more money in and tells it to stop.

listen, God is not some little genie or a vending machine. And is not just worth it because he makes your life all better, but He's with you. God wants so much more for your life than fine

So here's the deal: I speak up in class, I get sent to office. Megan speaks up in class, she's a "strong, assertive model student."I post a few flyers saying that the vending machines on school property are a sign that our school has sold out to corporate-industrial establishment, I get (what else?) Saturday detention. Megan starts a campaign to serve local foods in the lunchroom (oh, and can we please maybe get rid of the soda machines?) and the local newspaper does a write-up about her. She's like me, only not. Not like me at all. She's the golden girl and I'm...tarnished. So forgive me if I hate her a little.

U patme nisur U patme nisur un' e ti: Un' hijemvrejturi-ne-zi, Ti flokendritura-flori Dhe ikm'! e ikme perseri, Large - e me -large n'arrati, Prane - e me prane - e gji-per-gji. Dhe me nje vend nje bukuri, Dhe me nje ças nje shenjteri, Na zu nje mall, nje dashuri. S'ish dashuri, po fshehtesi S'ish fshehtesi, po llaftari S'ish llaftari, po çmenduri

She has a perfect body, and she's supposed to be sexy, but it doesn't turn me on. She has an ethereal sort of look to her, as though I'm looking at a piece of art. There is no carnal desire there -- just a bewitching beauty.

Lonny finishes his drink and stands. “So what’s our plan?” “You don’t have to go,” I tell him, shrugging out of Carmindor’s jacket. “I’m sort of going AWOL, so it’s not in your contract.” “Then as far as I’m concerned, I’m off the clock,” he says, straightening his suit. “I can do whatever I want with my time, and I want to help you out. So what’s the plan?” “First,” I say, “to the vending machines. With all this good luck, they gotta have an Orange Crush.” And holy gods of soda, Batman, by the glowing light of the great vending machines on the third floor, I spot a beautiful Orange Crush button, and when I push it an orange bottle rolls out. I crack the seal and drink to the sweet, sweet taste of victory. “That’s your plan?” Lonny says. “To drink a soda?

Hoy ya vende brochettes de orejas y dedos a las que apoda “brochettes mixtas”. Vende licores con glóbulos oculares. Lengua a la vinagreta.

Here’s what I’d love to see: A vending machine that dispenses cats for petting on your lunch break. Instead of money, the machine accepts hugs.

Shame is a way of life here. It’s stocked in the vending machines, stuck like gum under the desks, spoken in the morning devotionals. She knows now that there’s a bit of it in her.

In a way, it was probably inevitable that I died from being crushed under a vending machine.

Chi per mestiere compra o vende si riconosce facilmente: ha l'occhio vigile e il volto teso, teme la frode o la medita, e sta in guardia come un gatto all'imbrunire.

This is why I can't talk to parents. They think you can get friends in high school the way you get chips from a vending machine. Put in a little niceness, and some kid pops out ready to double-check your homework and paint your nails at a slumber party. Niceness is not a valid currency in high school.

Prisoners are valuable. They not only work for pennies for the corporate brands our people love so much, but they also provide jobs for mostly poor white people, replacing the jobs lost in rural communities. Poor white people who are chosen to be guards. They run the motels in prison towns where families have to stay when they make 11-hour drives into rural corners of the state. They deliver the microwave food we have to buy from the prison vending machines.

Yeah? How's this?" Claire, in one smooth, fast motion, pulled an arrow from the bag on her shoulder, slotted it home on the string, and pulled the compound bow back to full extension. She was aiming the arrow straight at Morley's crossed hands, over his heart. He laughed. "You aren't serious--" She fired. The arrow went through both of Morley's hands, pinning them to his chest with the fletching at the end. He stared down in shock at the wood piercing his chest, stumbled, and went down to his knees. Then just down, face forward. The arrow stuck up out of his back, like an exclamation point. "I will," Claire said softly, and let the bow rock forward as she reached one-handed for another arrow and notched it home. "I'm not a really good shot, but this is a really small room, so let me make this very clear: the first vampire who tries to lay a hand on either of my friends gets a new piercing, just like Morley. Now, if you need food, I will figure it out. But you don't get to use my friends like vending machines. Are we clear?" Around the room, vampires nodded, casting disbelieving looks at Morley. Even Oliver was staring at her as if he'd never really seen her before. She didn't know why; he'd known she could do it--hadn't he? Or was she different, somehow?

There are few things we encounter in daily life that are more unlikely than winning the lottery. A person is more likely to have identical quadruplets, or be killed by a vending machine tipping over. It’s over a hundred times more likely that a person will be struck by lightning than win the lottery. Yet millions of people buy tickets.

If I could have any superpower, right now, I’d choose the ability to reach through glass. One thin, little pane is all that separates me from bliss…of the midnight-snack variety, to be exact. The chocolate bar hangs halfway to freedom but refuses to take the plunge, as if the vending machine is mocking me, taunting me. As if it knows I’m powerless.

I’ve gotta go,” Andy said, turning to me with a frown. “But listen. Fuck this campaign. Do not let them tell you who you are. You’re not an idiot. You’re amazing, Kate Quinn. I see you.” He nodded at my confused expression. “I saw you right away. That stupid press conference, grabbing that stupid microphone. The real you. You’re better than all of them. Jesus . . .” He let out a desperate laugh. “You’re even nice to vending machines!

When I was ten years old I was actually given McDonald’s gift certificates for Christmas by my mom. Yes, my own mother. I guess she couldn’t find gift certificates for a vending machine. I like to think it was her way of saying, “Merry Christmas. Here are some coupons for poison.” McDonald’s introduced the gift certificate prior to the obesity epidemic. I’m not saying that McDonald’s gift certificates caused the obesity epidemic, but in retrospect, the timing is kind of suspicious.

We go in a skyscraper that's Paul's office, he says he's crazy busy but he makes a Xerox of my hands and buys me a candy bar out of the vending machine. Going down in the elevator pressing the buttons, I play I'm actually inside a vending machine. We go in a bit of the government to get Grandma a new Social Security card because she lost the old one, we have to wait for years and years. Afterwards she takes me in a coffee shop where there's no green beans, I choose a cookie bigger than my face.

life doesn’t often spell things out for you or give you what you want exactly when you want it, otherwise it wouldn’t be called life, it would be called vending machine. It’s hard to say exactly when it will happen, and it’s true that whatever you’re after may not drop down the moment you spend all your quarters, but someday soon a train is coming. In fact, it may already be on the way. You just don’t know it yet.

Sikur s'jetoj ne vendin tim Me ndodh sikur s'jetoj ne vendin tim Po ne nje vend te huaj dhe te larget Ne nje qyetet me buba dhe me minj Mes mureve te rrjepur dhe te laget. Çuditem pse keshtu me duket shpesh Kur s'ka njeri shtepia, kur jam vetem Kur shiu ne dimer flluska ngre ne shesh Dhe mua flluska flluska ma ben jeten. Me ngjan sikur dhe strehet derdhin helm Helmohemi çdo çast me njeri tjetrin s'e di nga vjen ky helm se s'kam ç'te them Vec shoh se rrobat tona helm na rrjedhin. Ky vend me duket do helmohet krejt Nga helmi rrjedhur vrimash ne themelet Pastaj do tundet toka ne termet Dhe djalli i madh do qesh e do zgerdheshet. I huaj jam ne vendin tim mjerisht Dhe kur rreth meje ka me dhjetra njerez Kjo me lendon dhe shpirtin ma gervish me ben te qaj si nxenes prapa deres.

Q: Your warehouse workers work 11/5-hour shifts. In order to make rate, a significant number of them need to take over-the-counter painkillers multiple times per shift, which means regular backups at the medical office. Do you: A. Scale back the rate ---clearly, workers are at their physical limits B. Make shifts shorter C. Increase the number or duration of breaks D. Increase staffing at the nurse's office E. Install vending machines to dispense painkillers more efficiently Seriously---what kind of fucking sociopath goes with E?

Communism was not defeated by any one individual or even a combination of individuals. In the last resort communism defeated itself.

The vending machines hummed softly, as though mulling over some grave decision...

She ate ramen noodles from the vending machine, their texture just a few molecular recombinations from the Styrofoam cup containing them.

Por desgracia Dios les da aire a los hombres, pero la ley de lo vende. No acuso a la ley pero bendigo a Dios

Tout homme qui n'accepte pas les conditions de la vie, vend son âme.

You see, there are three factors one must consider when choosing a snack from a vending machine. Substance, for one. It needs to hold you over until real food is available. Freshness, which your cereal bar is sorely lacking. And finally”—his eyes dropped to her mouth—“taste.

Abelman’s Dry Goods Kansas City, Missouri U.S.A. Mr. I. Abelman, Mongoloid, Esq.: We have received via post your absurd comments about our trousers, the comments revealing, as they did, your total lack of contact with reality. Were you more aware, you would know or realize by now that the offending trousers were dispatched to you with our full knowledge that they were inadequate so far as length was concerned. “Why? Why?” You are, in your incomprehensible babble, unable to assimilate stimulating concepts of commerce into your retarded and blighted worldview. The trousers were sent to you (1) as a means of testing your initiative (A clever, wide-awake business concern should be able to make three-quarter-length trousers a byword of masculine fashion. Your advertising and merchandising programs are obviously faulty.) and (2) as a means of testing your ability to meet the standards requisite in a distributor of our quality product. (Our loyal and dependable outlets can vend any trouser bearing the Levy label no matter how abominable their design and construction. You are apparently a faithless people.) We do not wish to be bothered in the future by such tedious complaints. Please confine your correspondence to orders only. We are a busy and dynamic organization whose mission needless effrontery and harassment can only hinder. If you molest us again, sir, you may feel the sting of the lash across your pitiful shoulders. Yours in anger, Gus Levy, Pres.

Roarke didn't quite make it to Eve's office. He found her down the corridor, in front of one of the vending machines. She and the machine appeared to be in the middle of a vicious argument. "I put the proper credits in, you blood-sucking, money-grubbing son of a bitch." Eve punctuated this by slamming her fist where the machine's heart would be, if it had one. ANY ATTEMPT TO VANDALIZE, DEFACE, OR DAMAGE THIS UNIT IS A CRIMINAL OFFENSE. The machine spoke in a prissy, singsong voice Roarke was certain was sending his wife's blood pressure through the roof. THIS UNIT IS EQUIPPED WITH SCANEYE, AND HAS RECORDED YOUR BADGE NUMBER. DALLAS, LIEUTENANT EVE. PLEASE INSERT PROPER CREDIT, IN COIN OR CREDIT CODE, FOR YOUR SELECTION. AND REFRAIN FROM ATTEMPTING TO VANDALIZE, DEFACE, OR DAMAGE THIS UNIT. "Okay, I'll stop attempting to vandalize, deface, or damage you, you electronic street thief. I'll just do it." She swung back her right foot, which Roarke had cause to know could deliver a paralyzing kick from a standing position. But before she could follow through he stepped up and nudged her off balance. "Please, allow me, Lieutenant." "Don't put any more credits in that thieving bastard," she began, then hissed when Roarke did just that. "Candy bar, I assume. Did you have any lunch?" "Yeah, yeah, yeah. You know it's just going to keep stealing if people like you pander to it." "Eve, darling, it's a machine. It does not think." "Ever hear of artificial intelligence, ace?" "Not in a vending machine that dispenses chocolate bars.

le luxe est l'effet des richesses, ou il les rend nécessaires; il corrompt à la fois le riche et le pauvre, l'un par la possession, l'autre par la convoitise; il vend la patrie à la mollesse, à la vanité; il ôte à l'Etat tous ses citoyens pour les asservir les uns aux autres, et tous à l’opinion.

Asians love schoolgirls in uniforms. They say the Japanese can buy used schoolgirl panties from vending machines. And from shops hidden away in apartment buildings. Burusera shops, they call them. The smell is very important; it adds value to the commodity. I wonder how Marx would have dealt with that?

ormai Armani vende di tutto: c’è un Armani-libri, un Armani-mobili, un Armani-fiori e perfino un Armani-dolci. I libri sembrano fiori, i dolci hanno il sapore degli sgabelli e i fiori si potrebbero indossare.

Arrange these threats in ascending order of deadliness: wolves, vending machines, cows, domestic dogs and toothpicks. I will save you the trouble: they have been ordered already. The number of deaths known to have been caused by wolves in North America in the twenty-first century is one: if averaged out, that would be 0.08 per year. The average number of people killed in the US by vending machines is 2.2 (people sometimes rock them to try to extract their drinks, with predictable results). Cows kill some twenty people in the US, dogs thirty-one. Over the past century, swallowing toothpicks caused the deaths of around 170 Americans a year. Though there are sixty thousand wolves in North America, the risk of being killed by one is almost nonexistent.

One might make a third list here, which would consist of things humans clamor for, but most intelligent life would consider entirely unfit for consumption. For example: every last offering in the vending machine in the lobby.

Sometimes I fish, and sometimes my vending machine is broken so I can’t. Thanks for all your Butterfly Smiles. I have them FOR SALE as Powdered Rose Substitute, for people who don't like the taste of their morning protein shakes.

Si tu veux m'écouter, je te donne ce conseil : Pour l'amour de Dieu, ne te revêts pas de la robe d'hypocrisie. La vie future c'est le toujours, ce monde n'est qu'un instant; Ne vends pas te royaume de l'éternité pour une seconde. .

I guess it's always uncomfortable to discover you're not as individual as you thought. But it really bothered me. From one perspective, I was an independent animal, exercising free will in order to elicit predictable reactions from an inert vending machine. But from another, the vending machine was choosing to withhold snacks in order to extract predictable, mechanical reactions from young men. I couldn't figure out any objective reason to consider one scenario more likely than the other.

I was walking through the forest when I thought I heard a tree fart. But no, it was just one of my ducks. It had set up a vending booth and was selling whoopee cushions to politicians who had run out of speech ideas that are sure to make VOTERS cheer.

We didn't have to talk, and it wasn't awkward. We were just two lonely, out of place people sharing a holiday with junk food from the vending machine and a Claymation classic on the television." oh and later "I guess its a good thing we found each other then.

Je n'ai guère vu de ville qui ne désirât la ruine de la ville voisine, point de famille qui ne voulût exterminer quelque autre famille. Partout les faibles ont en exécration les puissants devant lesquels ils rampent, et les puissants les traitent comme des troupeaux dont on vend la laine et la chair.

Waiting for the end, boys, waiting for the end. What is there to be or do? What's become of me or you? Are we kind or are we true? Sitting two and two, boys, waiting for the end. Shall I build a tower, boys, knowing it will rend Crack upon the hour, boys, waiting for the end? Shall I pluck a flower, boys, shall I save or spend? All turns sour, boys, waiting for the end. Shall I send a wire, boys? Where is there to send? All are under fire, boys, waiting for the end. Shall I turn a sire, boys? Shall I choose a friend? The fat is in the pyre, boys, waiting for the end. Shall I make it clear, boys, for all to apprehend, Those that will not hear, boys, waiting for the end, Knowing it is near, boys, trying to pretend, Sitting in cold fear, boys, waiting for the end? Shall we send a cable, boys, accurately penned, Knowing we are able, boys, waiting for the end, Via the Tower of Babel, boys? Christ will not ascend. He's hiding in his stable, boys, waiting for the end. Shall we blow a bubble, boys, glittering to distend, Hiding from our trouble, boys, waiting for the end? When you build on rubble, boys, Nature will append Double and re-double, boys, waiting for the end. Shall we make a tale, boys, that things are sure to mend, Playing bluff and hale, boys, waiting for the end? It will be born stale, boys, stinking to offend, Dying ere it fail, boys, waiting for the end. Shall we go all wild, boys, waste and make them lend, Playing at the child, boys, waiting for the end? It has all been filed, boys, history has a trend, Each of us enisled, boys, waiting for the end. What was said by Marx, boys, what did he perpend? No good being sparks, boys, waiting for the end. Treason of the clerks, boys, curtains that descend, Lights becoming darks, boys, waiting for the end. Waiting for the end, boys, waiting for the end. Not a chance of blend, boys, things have got to tend. Think of those who vend, boys, think of how we wend, Waiting for the end, boys, waiting for the end. - 'Just A Smack at Auden

wonderful promise from the book of Matthew, chapter seven, verse eleven. ‘If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!’ God isn’t a vending machine to ask for the things that we want. Rather, he gives us what is best. He works the things of this world for the good of those who love him. He’s the fountain of every blessing, the loving Father who longs to give us sweet gifts.

Outside in the yard, the rusted tractors and car bodies, the harvester combs and the sheets of corrugated iron, the motors and trays and wheel rims and cyclone wire and steel drums and sheep skulls and windows and metal lockers and a single broken vending machine crack and sigh as the morning sun evaporates the dew from their hides.

Ky ishte një qytet i pjerrët, ndoshta më i pjerrëti në botë, që i kishte thyer të gjitha ligjet e urbanistikës. Nga shkaku i pjerrësisë së madhe ndodhte që në nivelin e pullazit të njërës shtëpi gjendeshin themelet e tjetrës, dhe me siguri ky ishte i vetmi vend në botë ku kalimtari po të rrëzohej, në vend që të shembej në gropën ndanë udhe, mund të binte mbi pullazin e ndonjë shtëpie të lartë. Këtë gjë më mirë se kushdo e dinin pijanecët. Ishte me të vërtetë një qytet shumë befasues. Ti mund të ecje rrugës dhe po të doje, mund të zgjatje pak krahun e të vije kësulen tënde mbi majën e një minareje. Shumë gjëra këtu ishin të pabesueshme dhe shumëçka ishte si në ëndrra.

You could buy individual boxes of detergent and fabric softener, even bleach, and there was nothing that made me grind my teeth with pleasure more than a real thing shrunken down small. The first time my dad showed me a toothache kit from a box of equipment from the Korean War and I saw the tiny cotton balls (the size of very small ball bearings), I nearly swooned. "Let me hold one of those," I said, almost mad at him. He gave it to me with a tiny pair of tweezers. I let it float in my palm a moment and then made him take it back. Miniaturization was a gift from God, no doubt about it, and there it was, right in a vending machine in the place we used to do our laundry.

...Oh, and he groped your face. Sounds like true love to me.' 'He didn't grope my face. We were talking. And he also bought me animal crackers. I like them.' 'You also bitched about them not being in the vending machine for a week. Everyone in the building knows you like animal crackers.' 'I don't see you bringing me any.' 'Do you want me to?

he knew no reason why those, who entertain opinions prejudicial to the public, should be obliged to change, or should not be obliged to conceal them. And as it was tyranny in any government to require the first, so it was weakness not to enforce the second: for a man may be allowed to keep poisons in his closet, but not to vend them about for cordials.

It was a common complaint amongst the Arts students that their library was in dire need of refurbishment. To call the old building shabby chic was being kind. It didn’t have automated stacks or self-service machines like the Management and Sciences library the other side of campus and the carpets and bookcases looked like they were probably the Victorian originals. But on days like this one, where the springtime sunshine streamed in through the high windows and set the dust motes dancing, Harriet sincerely felt that those BSc lot could stuff their vending machines and state of the art study pods. The Old Library was clearly suited for those who had poetry in their souls, rather than numbers in their heads.

I feel like she's more cut out to be an employee at the inn than a hunter risking life and limb for money, but I'm sure she has her own thoughts on that.

Change is inevitable - except from a vending machine

For some reason I think of the first time I saw her, kicking the shit out of the vending machine that refused to release her candy. Before that day, every hour of my life had been exactly like the one before it. Relentlessly boring. Painfully monotonous. But then she walked out of my waking nightmare and into my life, a complete mystery from Second One. Her presence was a problem I needed to solve, a problem that finally interested me. And then, somehow, she made me interested in myself. Mara began as a question I needed to answer, but the longer I'd known her, the less I felt I actually knew. She was constantly surprising, infinitely complex. Unknowable. Unpredictable. I have never met anyone more fascinating in my life, and all the time in the world wouldn't be enough to ever know her.

Le printemps s’annonce seulement par la qualité de l’air ou par les corbeilles de fleurs que des petits vendeurs ramènent des banlieues ; c’est un printemps qu’on vend sur les marchés. Pendant l’été, le soleil incendie les maisons trop sèches et couvre les murs d’une cendre grise ; on ne peut plus vivre alors que dans l’ombre des volets clos. En automne, c’est, au contraire, un déluge de boue. Les beaux jours viennent seulement en hiver.

Pa kthyer kokёn Do iki dhe kokën nuk do ta kthej të shikoj Dajtin plak të trishtuar, të shoh kafetë mbushur me pleq, të shoh gazetat në rrugë shtruar. Pse ta kthej kokën? Këtu çdo cep një gjë të hidhur më kujton. Një fëmini që iku për lesh, sa për rininë, si erdhi shkoi! Do iki! Borxhe më kujt s’i kam. Të lehtë në trup e kam ndërgjegjen. Dhe që mos kthehem më kurrë pas do marr me vete vetëm vdekjen. Ndoshta do ketë për mua globi një pëllëmbë vend me paqe, jetë, një pëllëmbë vend ku nuk është hobi mos lesh njeri të jetë i qetë. Një Zot e di në do kem fat, por, sidoqoftë, do jetë më mirë. Një zë më thotë: “Mbathja me vrap!”, dhe tjetri shton: “Ik me dëshirë!

As pessoas não sabem nada a respeito de metáforas. É uma palavra que vende bem, porque tem boa aparência. "Metáfora": o último dos analfabetos sabe que vem do grego. Muito chique, essas etimologias fajutas - realmente fajutas: quando se conhece a assustadora polissemia da preposição meta e as neutralidades factofórum do verbo phero, seria preciso, para ser sincero, concluir que a palavra "metáfora" significa absolutamente qualquer coisa.(Pretextat Tach, Higiene do Assassino)

- Doni të dini me të vërtetë se kush jam? - Po, këtë dua të di. - Në kuptimin e mirëfilltë të fjalës? - Po. Në kuptimin e mirëfilltë.. - Dijeni, pra: jam tip më vetë! - Tip më vetë? - thirri vajza dhe kukurisi hareshem, shpenguar, si ata që kanë kohë që nuk kanë qeshur me gjithë shpirt. - Qënkeni i lezetshëm! Ulemi në këtë stolin këtu? Nuk kalon kush në këtë vend, s'na dëgjon njëri. Pa hë, tregoni tani për veten. Se, sado që thoni se nuk keni historira, nuk kam si e besoj, doni të më fshiheni... Po më parë më thoni se ç'do të thotë kjo: tip më vetë? - Po ja, njeri origjinal, jo si të gjithë, qesharak njeri! - i thashë dhe ia krisa i pari të qeshurit, ashtu si bëri ajo pak më parë. - Punë karakteri është. Po ç'do të thotë ëndërrimtar, e dini? - Ëndërrimtar? E si s'e ditkam? Unë jam vetë ëndërrimtare. Rri ulur pranë gjyshes dhe ç'nuk më shkon në kokë! Tjerr e tjerr histori në qejfin tim! Deri për martesen me princ kinez... S'është dhe aq keq të ëndërrosh! Ama, edhe këtë si ta marrësh, sepse në ke për ç'të mendosh në të vërtetë, ëndërrimet nuk kanë ç'të duhen, - shtoi mjaft serioze. - E po, bukur fort! Në paskeni patur në ato ëndërrimet tuaja martese me princ kinez, del që më kuptoni si s'ka më mirë. Dëgjoni, atëherë... Por më parë emrin. Ju si quheni? U kujtuat, më në fund! Më mirë vonë se kurrë! - Vërtet! Keni të drejtë! Po ja qe edhe pa të e ndiej vetën aq mirë me ju!... - Më quajne Nastenjka. - Vetëm kaq? - Po pse pak ju duket? S'u kënaqkeni kollaj ju!... - Jo, s'më duket pak!... Nastenjka, qenkeni shpirt njeriu! Që me takimin e parë më jeni Nastenjka... - Ashtu, de!

During the school year, I practically lived in Dongguk’s modern, glass-walled library, with its stacks of tantalizing books and its high-speed Internet access. It became my playground, my dining room, and sometimes my bedroom. I liked the library best late at night, when there were fewer students around to distract me. When I needed a break, I took a walk out to a small garden that had a bench overlooking the city. I often bought a small coffee from a vending machine for a few cents and just sat there for a while, staring into the sea of lights that was metropolitan Seoul. Sometimes I wondered how there could be so many lights in this place when, just thirty-five miles north of here, a whole country was shrouded in darkness. Even in the small hours of the morning, the city was alive with flashing signs and blinking transmission towers and busy roadways with headlights traveling along like bright cells pumping through blood vessels. Everything was so connected, and yet so remote. I would wonder: Where is my place out there? Was I a North Korean or a South Korean? Was I neither?

president's brilliant theory of vending his wares direct to the people—was perhaps the only one who had suspicions. He had once written a brilliant criticism to some inquirer, in which he had said that no enterprise of such magnitude as the Northern Pacific had ever before been entirely dependent upon one house, or rather upon one man, and that he did not like it. "I am not sure that the lands through which the road runs are so unparalleled in climate, soil, timber, minerals, etc., as Mr. Cooke and his friends would have us believe. Neither do I think that the road

Blasfemi Notojnë xhamiat dhe kishat nëpër kujtime tona, e lutjet pa kuptim e shije përplasen për muret e tyne dhe nga këto lutje zemra zotit ende s'iu thye, por vazhdoi të rrahi ndër lodra dhe kumbona. Xhamiat dhe kishat madhshtore ndër vende të mjerueme... Kumbonaret dhe minaret e nalta mbi shtëpia tona përdhecke... Zani i hoxhës dhe i priftit në një kangë të degjenerueme... 0 pikturë ideale, e vjetër një mijë vjeçe! Notojnë xhamiat dhe kishat nëpër kujtime të fetarve. Tingujt e kumbonës ngatrrohen me zanin e kasnecit, Shkëlqen shejtnia mbi zhguna dhe ndër mjekra të hoxhallarve 0, sa engjuj të bukur përpara derës së ferrit! Mbi kështjellat mijvjeçare qëndrojnë sorrat e smueme, krahët i kanë varë pa shpresë-simbojt e shpresave të humbune me klithma të dëshprueme bajnë fjalë mbi jetë të pëmdueme, kur kështjellat mijvjeçare si xhixha shkëlqejshin të lumtuna.

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

This is the heart of it, the scared woman who does not want to go alone to the man any longer, because when she does, when she takes of her baggy dress, displaying to him rancid breasts each almost as big as his own head, or no breasts, or mammectomized scar tissues taped over with old tennis balls to give her the right curves; when, vending her flesh, she stands or squats waiting, congealing the air firstly with her greasy cheesey stench of unwashed feet confined in week-old socks, secondly with her perfume of leotards and panties also a week old, crusted with semen and urine, brown-greased with the filth of alleys; thirdly with the odor of her dress also worn for a week, emblazoned with beer-spills and cigarette-ash and salted with the smelly sweat of sex, dread, fever, addiction—when she goes to the man, and is accepted by him, when all these stinking skins of hers have come off (either quickly, to get it over with, or slowly like a big truck pulling into a weigh station because she is tired), when she nakedly presents her soul’s ageing soul, exhaling from every pore physical and ectoplasmic her fourth and supreme smell which makes eyes water more than any queen of red onions—rotten waxy smell from between her breasts, I said, bloody pissy shitty smell from between her legs, sweat-smell and underarm-smell, all blended into her halo, generalized sweetish smell of unwashed flesh; when she hunkers painfully down with her customer on bed or a floor or in an alley, then she expects her own death. Her smell is enough to keep him from knowing the heart of her, and the heart of her is not the heart of it. The heart of it is that she is scared.

At the nurses’ station the night-shift RNs cluster on chairs, looking like birds wanting to shove their tired heads under a free wing. Their lined faces and heavy-lidded eyes show how hard it is to stay awake and alert for an entire night. I don’t work a lot of nights, but when I do I feel it. I hit a wall at 2:00 a.m., then again at 4:00. The hospital’s strong tea, bad coffee, Diet Coke from the vending machine—they all help, but nothing non-pharmaceutical will really make me feel awake for the entire night, and I’m not going down the pharmacologic road. The day after, even if I sleep all morning and afternoon, it feels as though I’m seeing the world through gauze.

Vajtim për robëri të Shqiptarëvet O të humbur shqipëtarë, Seç qenkeni për të qarë! Për të qar’ e për të sharë, Për të shar’ e për të vrarë! Armiqtë mbë dhé ju hodhnë, Dhe ju shtypnë sa u lodhnë! Sa u lodhn’ e sa ju ngopnë Ju gdhendnë edhe ju rropnë. As bukë, as brekë s’ju lanë, Ju punoni, ata hanë! Nuk ju lan’ as pakë nderë Q’e kini pasur përherë. As nder, as turp, as gjak s’kini Unji kryet dhe po rrini. I duroni vet armiqtë; Prisni vdekjen apo vdiqtë? Shërbëtorë t’Anadollit, Kleçk e lodra të Stambollit. Në mos u shove fare, Ndizu, zemra shqipëtare! O shqipëtarë barkzbrazur, Fustançjerr’ e këmbëzbathur Zemërohuni një herë, Mprehni kordhët për të prerë, Mprehni kordh’ e mprehni pallë Të ju ndritin yj mi ballë, Ti frikësoni zuzarët Ç’i shuan shqipëtarët, E në vend tuaj të rroni Si të doni e si të thoni!

- Sim, é talvez tudo uma ilusão... E a Cidade a maior ilusão! Tão facilmente vitorioso redobrei de facúndia. Certamente, meu Príncipe, uma ilusão! E a mais amarga, porque o Homem pensa ter na Cidade a base de toda a sua grandeza e só nela tem a fonte de toda a sua miséria. (...) Na Cidade perdeu ele a força e beleza harmoniosa do corpo, e se tornou esse ser ressequido e escanifrado ou obeso e afogado em unto, de ossos moles como trapos, de nervos trémulos como arames, com cangalhas, com chinós, com dentaduras de chumbo, sem sangue, sem febra, sem viço, torto, corcunda - esse ser em que Deus, espantado, mal pode reconhecer o seu esbelto e rijo e nobre Adão! Na Cidade findou a sua liberdade moral: cada manhã ela lhe impõe uma necessidade, e cada necessidade o arremessa para uma dependência: pobre e subalterno, a sua vida é um constante solicitar, adular, vergar, rastejar, aturar; e rico e superior como um Jacinto, a Sociedade logo o enreda em tradições, preceitos, etiquetas, cerimónias, praxes, ritos, serviços mais disciplinares que os de um cárcere ou de um quartel... A sua tranquilidade (bem tão alto que Deus com ela recompensa os santos ) onde está, meu Jacinto? Sumida para sempre, nessa batalha desesperada pelo pão, ou pela fama, ou pelo poder, ou pelo gozo, ou pela fugidia rodela de ouro! Alegria como a haverá na Cidade para esses milhões de seres que tumultuam na arquejante ocupação de desejar - e que, nunca fartando o desejo, incessantemente padecem de desilusão, desesperança ou derrota? Os sentimentos mais genuinamente humanos logo na Cidade se desumanizam! Vê, meu Jacinto! São como luzes que o áspero vento do viver social não deixa arder com serenidade e limpidez; e aqui abala e faz tremer; e além brutamente apaga; e adiante obriga a flamejar com desnaturada violência. As amizades nunca passam de alianças que o interesse, na hora inquieta da defesa ou na hora sôfrega do assalto, ata apressadamente com um cordel apressado, e que estalam ao menor embate da rivalidade ou do orgulho. E o Amor, na Cidade, meu gentil Jacinto? Considera esses vastos armazéns com espelhos, onde a nobre carne de Eva se vende, tarifada ao arratel, como a de vaca! Contempla esse velho Deus do Himeneu, que circula trazendo em vez do ondeante facho da Paixão a apertada carteira do Dote! Espreita essa turba que foge dos largos caminhos assoalhados em que os Faunos amam as Ninfas na boa lei natural, e busca tristemente os recantos lôbregos de Sodoma ou de Lesbos!... Mas o que a cidade mais deteriora no homem é a Inteligência, porque ou lha arregimenta dentro da banalidade ou lha empurra para a extravagância. Nesta densa e pairante camada de Idéias e Fórmulas que constitui a atmosfera mental das Cidades, o homem que a respira, nela envolto, só pensa todos os pensamentos já pensados, só exprime todas as expressões já exprimidas: - ou então, para se destacar na pardacenta e chata rotina e trepar ao frágil andaime da gloríola, inventa num gemente esforço, inchando o crânio, uma novidade disforme que espante e que detenha a multidão como um monstrengo numa feira. Todos, intelectualmente, são carneiros, trilhando o mesmo trilho, balando o mesmo balido, com o focinho pendido para a poeira onde pisam, em fila, as pegadas pisadas; - e alguns são macacos, saltando no topo de mastros vistosos, com esgares e cabriolas. Assim, meu Jacinto, na Cidade, nesta criação tão antinatural onde o solo é de pau e feltro e alcatrão, e o carvão tapa o céu, e a gente vive acamada nos prédios como o paninho nas lojas, e a claridade vem pelos canos, e as mentiras se murmuram através de arames - o homem aparece como uma criatura anti-humana, sem beleza, sem força, sem liberdade, sem riso, sem sentimento, e trazendo em si um espírito que é passivo como um escravo ou impudente como um Histrião... E aqui tem o belo Jacinto o que é a bela Cidade! (...) -Sim, com efeito, a Cidade... É talvez uma ilusão perversa!

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

No morirá la flor de la palabra. Podrá morir el rostro oculto de quien la nombra hoy, pero la palabra que vino desde el fondo de la historia y de la tierra ya no podrá ser arrancada por la soberbia del poder. Nosotros nacimos de la noche. En ella vivimos. Moriremos en ella. Pero la luz será mañana para los más, para todos aquellos que hoy lloran la noche, para quienes se niega el día, para quienes es regalo la muerte, para quienes está prohibida la vida. Para todos la luz. Para todos todo. Para nosotros el dolor y la angustia, para nosotros la alegre rebeldía, para nosotros el futuro negado, para nosotros la dignidad insurrecta. Para nosotros nada. Nuestra lucha es por hacernos escuchar, y el mal gobierno grita soberbia y tapa con cañones sus oídos. Nuestra lucha es por el hambre, y el mal gobierno regala plomo y papel a los estómagos de nuestros hijos. Nuestra lucha es por un techo digno, y el mal gobierno destruye nuestra casa y nuestra historia. Nuestra lucha es por el saber, y el mal gobierno reparte ignorancia y desprecio. Nuestra lucha es por la tierra, y el mal gobierno ofrece cementerios. Nuestra lucha es por un trabajo justo y digno, y el mal gobierno compra y vende cuerpos y vergenzas. Nuestra lucha es por la vida, y el mal gobierno oferta muerte como futuro. Nuestra lucha es por el respeto a nuestro derecho a gobernar y gobernarnos, y el mal gobierno impone a los más la ley de los menos. Nuestra lucha es por la libertad para el pensamiento y el caminar, y el mal gobierno pone cárceles y tumbas. Nuestra lucha es por la justicia, y el mal gobierno se llena de criminales y asesinos. Nuestra lucha es por la historia, y el mal gobierno propone olvido. Nuestra lucha es por la Patria, y el mal gobierno sueña con la bandera y la lengua extranjeras. Nuestra lucha es por la paz, y el mal gobierno anuncia guerra y destrucción... (Cuarta Declaración de la Selva Lacandona)

Vetvrasja e trumcakut Trumcaku vuente nga melankolia. U lind në një vend me të vërtetë të shkretë. Në vend të barit bijshin qime e derrit e në vend të pemve - brinat e një shtazës parahistorike. Dhe në kët natyrë - e cila nuk mund të quhet natyrë - kush mos të bahet melankolik? Dihet se një trumcaku s'i duhet shumë për jetë, por natyra, e cila nuk ishte natyrë, s'i epte as aq. Mos pyetni si e tek u gjet trumcaku n'at vend, dhe si e tek u gjet njeriu në kët pike kozmike; nuk dijmë shumë. Hipoteza dhe andrra. Miliona vjetësh dhe një fjalë goje, si për shembull: "…të bahet dritë! Dhe drita u ba!" - A shifni? Një fjalë magjike! Hokus-pokus! Sa bukur! Dhe unë thash: të bindet trumcaku në një vend ku në vend të barit bijnë qimet e derrit e në vend të pemve - brinat e një shtazës parahistorike. Njëherë trumcaku qëndroi mbi një brenë. U mërzit të shikojë qimet e derrit, u mërzit të fluturojë prej brenës mbi brenë. Nga mërzia dhe idhnimi mbylli syt. Ra në pikllim melankolik. Njeriu me temperament melankolik asht inteligjent. E inteligjenca në kuptim ma të hapët të fjalës, pakkuj i solli qetsi dhe të mire. Dhe trumcaku, në majë të brenës e në kulm të melankolis, vendosi të vritet. Plot ironi filozofike shikonte rreth përqark vetes e vendimi i patundun mirfilli pasqyrohej ndër syt e tij të dëshpruem. Cicrroi një here, cicrroi dy here; cicrroi tri here. Mandej një crrrr e gjatë e plot mallëngjim ishte porosia e tij e fundit. Testamenti i dhimave të tij. Dhe, pa u dhanë krahve, këcej prej brenës… ra mbi një qime të derrit, të gjatë e të mprehtë si thika, dhe u ngul mbi të. Trumcaku i ngulun mbi një qime të derrit. Me krahët dhe puplat e tij lonte era dhe e sjellte rreth qimes, si sillet dhe gjeli metalik në majë t'oxhaqeve tona. Atbotë frynte veka janë këto kapërcime logjike! Ka me bërtitë ndokush. Po, lexues i dashtun e jo i cekët. Po! A pak po kemi kapërcime logjike, morale dhe dogmatike në botën tone reale? Pse po zemrohe dhe po don me më gjykue për disa kapërcime logjike askuj damsjellje?

I had no money, no food, no prospects, no contacts. Eating was my first priority, and for that, one usually needs money, and so lo and behold I had a goal in sight. I collected cans and bottles, scrounged parking lots and sidewalks, my head held low and eyes intent on the ground instead of where I was going. Vending machines and pay phones sometimes gave up their treasures in the form of change people had forgotten to collect. They're not what I'd call jackpots, but finding a dollar here and a dollar there is a lot when you have nothing.

Hommes et femmes de Londres, me voici. Je vous félicite cordialement d'être anglais. Vous êtes un grand peuple. Je dis plus, vous êtes une grande populace. Vos coups de poing sont encore plus beaux que vos coups d'épée. Vous avez de l'appétit. Vous êtes la nation qui mange les autres. Fonction magnifique. Cette succion du monde classe à part l'Angleterre. Comme politique et philosophie, et maniement des colonies, populations, et industries, et comme volonté de faire aux autres du mal qui est pour soi du bien, vous êtes particuliers et surprenants. Le moment approche où il y aura sur la terre deux écriteaux; sur l'un on lira: Côté des hommes; sur l'autre on lira: Côté des anglais. Je constate ceci à votre gloire, moi qui ne suis ni anglais, ni homme, ayant l'honneur d'être un docteur. Cela va ensemble. Gentlemen, j'enseigne. Quoi? Deux espèces de choses, celles que je sais et celles que j'ignore. Je vends des drogues et je donne des idées. Approchez, et écoutez. La science vous y convie. Ouvrez votre oreille. Si elle est petite, elle tiendra peu de vérité; si elle est grande, beaucoup de stupidité y entrera. Donc, attention. J'enseigne la Pseudodoxia Epidemica. J'ai un camarade qui fait rire, moi je fais penser.

La mayoría de las personas son otras personas. Sus pensamientos son las opiniones de otro, su vida un remedo, sus pasiones una cita. Cristo no fue sólo el Individualista supremo, sino el primero de la Historia. Se ha querido hacer de él un vulgar Filántropo, como los espantosos filántropos del siglo diecinueve, o se le ha colocado como Altruista al lado de los acientíficos y los sentimentales. Pero en realidad no fue ni lo uno ni lo otro. Tiene compasión, naturalmente, de los pobres, de los que están encerrados en las cárceles, de los humildes, de los desdichados, pero tiene mucha más compasión de los ricos, de los hedonistas duros, de los que dilapidan su libertad en hacerse esclavos de las cosas, de los que visten telas suaves y viven en las casas de los reyes. La Riqueza y el Placer le parecían tragedias realmente mayores que la Pobreza y el Dolor. Y en cuanto al Altruismo, ¿quién supo mejor que él que es la vocación y no la volición lo que nos determina, y que no se pueden recoger uvas de los espinos ni higos de los cardos? Vivir para los demás como objetivo concreto y deliberado no fue su credo. No fue la base de su credo. Cuando dice: « Perdonad a vuestros enemigos», no lo dice por el bien del enemigo sino por el bien de uno mismo, y porque el Amor es más bello que el Odio. Cuando ruega al joven al que amó con verle: «Vende todo lo que tienes y dáselo a los pobres », no es en el estado de los pobres en lo que está pensando, sino en el alma del joven, el alma gentil que la riqueza estaba desfigurando. En su visión de la vida coincide con el artista que sabe que por la ley inevitable del propio perfeccionamiento el poeta ha de cantar, y el escultor pensar en bronce, y el pintor hacer del mundo espejo de sus estados de ánimo, tan seguro y tan cierto como que el majuelo ha de florecer en primavera, y el trigo llamear de oro al tiempo de la siega, y la Luna en sus ordenadas andanzas cambiar de escudo en hoz y de hoz en escudo.

Do you have any ritual things you do before a race?” My dad did. He always had to wear black boxer shorts and socks. Before every race, he would also have a plain egg omelet for breakfast. I never did learn why. “Yep.” I wait, but he doesn’t expand. “Well…are you gonna tell me what it is?” Arms on the table, he leans forward. “Okay.” He lets out a breath. “I have to eat a bar of Galaxy chocolate before each race.” “Really?” I smile. “Why?” Eyes on me, he rests back in his seat, keeping his hands on the table. “After we first moved to England, I don’t know if it was the pressure or being in a different country or what, but I wasn’t winning races. I was coming in fourth at best. I was panicking because Dad had given up so much by moving us to England, and I was getting frustrated because I knew I was capable of more. “Anyway, on this particular day, I was hungry because I’d forgotten to eat, and my dad was all, ‘You will lose this race on an empty stomach.’ So, he went off to get me something to eat. Anyway, he came back, telling me there was only this shitty vending machine. Then, he held out a bar of Galaxy chocolate, and I was like, ‘What the hell is that? I’m not eating that. It’s women’s chocolate. Men don’t eat Galaxy. They eat Yorkie.’ You remember the adverts?” “I do.” I laugh, loving the way he’s telling the story. He’s so animated with his eyes all lit up. “So, my dad got pissed off and said, ‘Well, they haven’t got any men’s chocolate, so eat the bloody women’s chocolate, and shut the hell up!’” I snort out a laugh. “So, what did you do?” “Sulked for about a minute, and then I ate the fucking bar of Galaxy, and it was the best chocolate I’d ever tasted—not that I admitted that to my dad at the time. Then, I got in my kart and won my first ever race in England.” He smiles fondly, and I can see the memory in his eyes. “And since then, before every race, my dad buys me a bar of Galaxy from a vending machine, and I eat it. It’s my one weird thing.” “But what if there isn’t any Galaxy chocolate in a vending machine? Or worse, there isn’t a vending machine?” He leans forward, a sexy-arse smile on his face. “There’s always a vending machine, Andressa, and there’s always a bar of Galaxy in it.” “Ah.” The power of being Carrick Ryan.

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