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“Let's get her to her room. She'll be fine." This time she didn't care how harsh she sounded. "Why don't we let a doctor decide that?" he said, so coolly he couldn't possibly be messing with her... could he? "A doctor is deciding that. So if you don't mind." She pushed him out of the way and grabbed her sister's am. The action made her feel like she was six and playing at being doctor instead of actually being one, and that shot her rioting emotions right into intense annoyance. "I'm sorry," he said utterly unapologetically. "How could I forget?" And then she could swear he muttered, "The worth of your hands and all that," under his breath. She couldn't remember the last time her ears had heated with embarrassment. What was it with him getting so hung up on that? Her hands were worth too much to burn on saving a pot of caramel. Why was that so hard to understand? He should be glad- she was going to save his sister's life, for shit's sake. "That's okay," she said, then she matched his mumble with, "It's not like you need a photographic memory to cook food.”

Quote by Sonali Dev

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Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors

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Sonali Dev

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“She didn't say it. But it was there in her eyes. Right there with that uncontainable arrogance when it came to her work. This was only about the surgery to her. He thought about backing away, but he was sick of backing away from fights. So sick of it. "And doing your job well is sending her home where she can't be monitored, where she can't be treated? For what? To teach her a lesson? Put her in a corner until she comes around to where you need her to be? So you can prove your skill?" She took a step back, but she didn't look away. "I don't need to prove my skill. But you seem to need to find someone to blame. Maybe you should try stepping up instead, and try finding a solution?" Once again, was she bloody joking? He'd been stepping up and finding solutions for problems since he was twelve years old. Feeding his family, putting a roof over their heads. Real problems, not challenges he sought out to prove his skill. "I'm not blaming you for what's happened to Emma. Hell, I couldn't appreciate your skill more. But pardon me for wondering if this is about Emma at all for you, or if it's only about what you can accomplish." A combination of emotions flashed in her strangely colored eyes; in the end, disbelief at being contradicted shone brightest. "Do you always judge people without knowing one damn thing about them? Or is it just me?" He almost laughed. The woman had called him the hired help without giving it one thought and she thought he judged people? He turned around and looked at the idyllic white stucco home nestled into a a row of other idyllic homes, at the Tesla parked in the driveway, at the ease with which she had worn those rumpled scrubs at Ashna's and still looked like a bombshell. He wanted to ask her what the hardest thing she'd ever been through was, but he couldn't bring himself to. "I guess that would make two of us judging each other then, wouldn't it?" Her cheeks colored. But this back-and-forth was useless. He wasn't here to bring down mighty egos.”

“But how could you have been so calm when that cop was treating you that way?" She hadn't been able to keep the question inside. He had laughed then, as though she'd made the most tasteless of jokes. A sound so harsh it had gouged out everything she had been up until that moment. "Maybe because I don't have a 'U.S. Attorney brother' card to pull." She'd deserved that. "So you just let them do what they want?" "Yes! I'm not keen on the idea of a bullet in my head, or finding my arse dumped in jail. I have a sister who needs medical care and has absolutely no one to take care of her if I disappear. So, yes, they can do whatever the bloody hell they want." After that she'd stayed quiet.”

“For a considerable portion of humanity today, it is possible and indeed likely that one's neighbor, one's colleague, or one's employer will have a different mother tongue, eat different food, and follow a different religion than oneself. It is a matter of great urgency, therefore, that we find ways to cooperate with one another in a spirit of mutual acceptance and respect. In such a world, I feel, it is vital for us to find genuinely sustainable and universal approach to ethics, inner values, and personal integrity-an approach that can transcend religious, cultural, and racial differences and appeal to people at a sustainable, universal approach is what I call the project of secular ethics. All religions, therefore, to some extent, ground the cultivation of inner values and ethical awareness in some kind of metaphysical (that is, not empirically demonstrable) understanding of the world and of life after death. And just as the doctrine of divine judgment underlies ethical teachings in many theistic religions, so too does the doctrine of karma and future lives in non-theistic religions. As I see it, spirituality has two dimensions. The first dimension, that of basic spiritual well-being-by which I mean inner mental and emotional strength and balance-does not depend on religion but comes from our innate human nature as beings with a natural disposition toward compassion, kindness, and caring for others. The second dimension is what may be considered religion-based spirituality, which is acquired from our upbringing and culture and is tied to particular beliefs and practices. The difference between the two is something like the difference between water and tea. On this understanding, ethics consists less of rules to be obeyed than of principles for inner self-regulation to promote those aspects of our nature which we recognize as conducive to our own well-being and that of others. It is by moving beyond narrow self-interest that we find meaning, purpose, and satisfaction in life.”

“Then there was the craving. Consuming. Incessant. Brutal. The flavors from the tasting were a wild, live thing inside her. She wasn't able to taste one damn thing she put in her mouth. When she had stopped at the restaurant, Ashi had given her some chicken kababs in a mint chutney. They had tasted like coming home. Even before Ashna told her who had made them, she had known. After that she had found herself at the restaurant again this morning. Ashi had given her all the kababs she had left over and Trisha had pulled over to the side of the road and eaten them in her car, chewing at them slowly, reverently, desperately stretching out the pleasure of his flavors. It had only intensified her craving for everything about him that the taste of his food invoked. The strength that poured from him in waves, the steadiness, the gentle humor, the merciless challenge of things she had always accepted without question.”

“From what I just heard, my greatest fault is that I dare to take pride in my work, in knowing I'm excellent at it." The brown paper crumpled tighter in her hands. "How is that snobbery?" "Of course being excellent at your work and knowing it isn't snobbery. But believing that you are somehow unique in excelling at your work while looking down on what others do- that's the snobbish part. Especially given the life you were born into." She paled at that. "I'm not going to apologize for the life I was born into. Which, by the way, I have never taken for granted or misused for one moment. Tell me, if I were a man, would you see my confidence in my work and my pride in where I come from as arrogance?" "This gets better and better. As you pointed out, so disdainfully, I cook for a living. Nurturing people, nourishing them holds incredible meaning to me. You cannot pull the gender-role card on me. Plus, I have a vested interest in you being good at your work. My issue is with how you think it absolves you from treating those around you with consideration and respect. Cooking for a living is something I happen to be incredibly proud of." "As you should be. You're amazing at it." That of all things made her voice crack. She threw a look of such longing at the two empty bowls on the table that despite his anger, pride swelled inside him. It was followed by a sense of hypocrisy that he pushed away. "Yes, I am, and I don't appreciate when someone treats me like a servant for doing it.”

“Und deswegen will Hermann Kesten vor allem das von ihrem Gespräch in Brüssel von ihr wissen: °Wie ist es in Deutschland heute? ...° Aber sie erzählt von einem Deutschland , in dem Kolonialwarenhändler und Feldwebelwitwen Nietsches Philosophie vollstreckten. Einem Deutschland mit unfrohen, rohen Gesängen und drohenden Rundfunkreden, mit der künstlichen Dauer-Ekstase von Aufmärschen, Parteitagen, Heil-Jubeln und Feiern. Einem Deutschland voll berauschter Spießbürger. Berauscht, weil sie es sein sollten - berauscht weil man ihnen Vernunftlosigkeit als Tugend pries, berauscht, weil sie gehorchen und Angst haben durften, und berauscht, weil sie Macht bekommen hatten.”