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Quote by Crystal Evans

“Me to corporate when I apply for traditional roles: Corporate Jamaican people: You write books? Me: Yeah. I write emails, proposals, white papers, codes, RFPs, RFQ,RFI… I study human behavior, psychology etc. I discuss, I persuade, i insist, argue, negotiate, proselytize and with 200,000 followers. I influence …Best corporate executive cannot be a writer, but the best writers can be anything. Have you seen the thickness of one of my novels? Then you understand how committed I am to any process with no surety that it will work out in my favour. The ability to do boring, tedious, repetitive tasks without supervision or direction for long periods of time with no immediate reward… Works likes charm every time.”

Quote by Crystal Evans

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Legal Choppings : 100 Business Ideas for Jamaicans

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Crystal Evans

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“Nah. I think we have ran our course. Yeah. Am not feeling this anymore. I don’t have these type of relationships with people. Not even my friends. All my relationships are holistic. I don’t keep people in my circle weh can’t even wish me happy birthday or congratulate me on anything. It’s demeaning, it’s devaluing, its unfeeling and cruel it’s has to be deliberate. Because I’ve never heard anything good from you to me. I don’t live like that with people and I am forced to live like that with you in order to retain my dignity. I don’t like it. I don’t like not being myself just so I can keep score with you. I don’t want to pretend indifference after either. In the past I held on to a cobweb. Now am holding on to nothing. The other men are a foil for you. They just show me that I really settled for nothing with you and got less than nothing. I am frankly embarrassed and ashamed of myself for choosing you. I don’t wan’t to feel like that anymore. I have never liked the way I feel when I am with you. I’ve met better men, richer men. more handsome men that don’t treat me this way. I’ve lost all my feelings for you. There is nothing left. Nothing.”

“Anyone looking back at the log later, trying to piece together a mystery, would find nothing but times and dry entries. It was a lazy Sunday. What made it meaningful were not the facts or details, but the imperceptibles. Inner life. The smell of the beach grass and the feel of sand on a bathroom floor when changing out of a swimsuit. The heat of American summer. Line ten of the log read simply: 10:22 Condor ate second breakfast. It couldn’t capture the perfect toasting of the onion bagel or the saltiness of the fish in contrast with the thickness of cream cheese. It was time lost in a book—a journey of imagination, transportation—which to others simply looks like sitting or lying stomach-down on the rug in front of a summertime fire, legs bent at the knees, up ninety degrees, kicking absently, feet languid in the air.”