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B Quotes

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All B Quotes

“Berthillon's ice cream is dense and creamy--- served, in keeping with French rules of moderation, in golf-ball-size scoops. You have to be a real purist to order a simple (pronounced samp-le"). I usually ordered a double (doob-le"). Menthe (fresh mint), Créole (rum raisin), and nougat-miel (honey-nougat) are at the top of my list. But as good as the ice cream is, it's the sorbets that are Berthillon's real standouts. I almost always order cacao amer, a bitter chocolate sorbet so dark it's closing in on black. My second scoop depends on the season: pear, melon, rhubarb, or framboise à la rose (raspberry with a hint of rose). But habit often sets in and I go back to my old favorite: fraise des bois (wild strawberry). These tiny gem-like fruits are the equivalent of strawberry grenades, releasing a tart, concentrated flavor that downgrades every other strawberry I've tasted to the level of Bubblicious.”

“Bertie’s gaze fell there and his blue eyes widened. “Deuce take you, Jess,” he said crossly. “Can’t a fellow trust you for a moment? How many times do I have to tell you to leave my friends alone?” Miss Trent coolly withdrew her hand. Trent gave Dain an apologetic look. “Don’t pay it any mind, Dain. She does that to all the chaps. I don’t know why she does it, when she don’t want ‘em. Just like them fool cats of Aunt Louisa’s. Go to all the bother of catching a mouse, and then the confounded things won’t eat ’em. Just leave the corpses lying about for someone else to pick up.” Miss Trent’s lips quivered.”

“Bertie stared at his mother. She spoils things, he thought. All she ever does is spoil things. He had not started this conversation, and it was not his fault that they were now talking about Grey Owl. He sounded rather a nice man to Bertie. Any why should he not dress up in feathers and live in the forests if that was what he wanted to do? It was typical of his mother to try to spoil Grey Owl's fun.”

“Berto." Voice like ice. "Maggie, cara mia!" Voice like fire. He leapt forward to embrace her, but she held up her hand, her face grave. I noticed she'd freshened her lipstick, though. No dummy, that one. "Back off! I am not going to forgive you, so don't fritter your charm. You broke my heart and sent me flying home like a kicked dog." Maggie was just warming up. "I fled my home, my work, my friends. Every single person we know, our colleagues, our neighbors, knew I had been thrown over for a younger woman and pitied me. I am not to be pitied, Berto. I am a proud and beautiful woman, and I am the one who should be pitying you. But I don't pity you, because you made your own bed. Now go back to Italy and lie in it. Alone.”

“Bertrand Russel találóan jegyezte meg, hogy nemzeti hőseink szobrainak talapzata annál magasabb, minél több embert öltek meg ezek a hősök. Véleményem szerint az emberiség igazi hősei a Galileik, Newtonok, Darwinok, Pasteurök, Shakespeare-ek, Bachok, Lao-cék és Buddhák, akiknek a nevét ritkán említik azok a történelemkönyvek, amelyek tele vannak a csaták és a nemzeti határok értelmetlen ide-oda tologatásának a leírásával.”

“Bertrand Russell had given a talk on the then new quantum mechanics, of whose wonders he was most appreciative. He spoke hard and earnestly in the New Lecture Hall. And when he was done, Professor Whitehead, who presided, thanked him for his efforts, and not least for 'leaving the vast darkness of the subject unobscured'.”

“Bertrand Russell said, 'Electricity is not a thing like St. Paul's Cathedral; it is a way in which things behave.' And it's not 'they' who say, but Walter Benjamin who said, 'Things are only mannequins and even the great world-historical events are only costumes beneath which they exchange glances with nothingness, with the base and the banal.' In September, 1940, Benjamin died under ambiguous circumstances in the French-Spanish border town of Portbou, while attempting to flee the Nazis.”

“Bertrand Russell used to employ the method of "evidence against interest"; in other words of deciding that a critique of capital punishment, say, carried more weight if it came from a prison governor. (My friend John O'Sullivan puts it like this: If the pope says he believes in God, he's only doing his job; if he says he doesn't believe in God, he may be on to something.)”

“BERTRAND RUSSELL, The Philosophy of Logical Atomism We've associated that word philosophy with academic study that in its own way has gotten so far beyond the layman that if you read contemporary philosophy you've no clue, because it's almost become math. And it's odd that if you don't do that and you call yourself a philosopher that you always get 'homespun' attached to it.”

“Beryl, on death: “No, you should never choose death, but it chooses you. Sometimes you know it’s coming, like my mother, and sometimes it takes you by surprise, like my friend Ariel’s uncle who got killed in a hunting accident. Sooner or later, we all get chosen, we all get taken from this world into the next. Whether we end up in Heaven or Hell, and what we do with our lives in the meantime—those are the choices we get to make.” – The Enemy’s Table”

“Bes had indeed put on his ugly outfit. He climbed onto the roof of the limbo and stood there, legs planted, arms akimbo, like superman-exept with only the underwear. I wasn't sure what to say except: "Put some clothes on!" "These children are under my protection," Bes insisted. "I don't know you," I said, "I never met you before today." "Nonsense. You expressly asked for my attention." "I didn't ask for the Speedo Patrol!”

“Beschwipst, betrunken ... ein Gentleman würde die Situation jedenfalls nicht ausnutzen." "Du hast Glück." Er strich mit den Fingerknöcheln über meinen Bauch, und sein Blick folgte seinen Finger, wie sie am Bündchen meiner Unterwäsche entlangfuhren. Sein Gesicht verschleierte sich vor Lust. "Wir wissen ja beide, dass ich kein Gentleman bin.”

“Beseda upornik ni vezana zgolj na družbo in sistem. Biti upornik v pravem pomenu besede pomeni, da si upamo stati v vsej svoji veličini in biti ponosni na to, kar smo postali. Da ne nasedemo svetu, ki pravi, da smo vredni šele, ko nas družba (ali vsaj nek del nje) sprejme. Sprejemanje drugih ne sodi v isto enačbo z lastno vrednostjo. Drugi so zgolj to – drugi. Kdo pa se odločimo biti mi in do katere mere smo sposobni sprejeti sebe – to je tisto, kar napravi razliko med konformistom in upornikom. Odnos, ki ga ima človek do sebe – in posledično do sveta.”

“Beside her, she can feel each breath he draws. How is it possible to be so close to a person and still not know what you are to each other? With baseball, it's simple. There's no mystery to what happens on the field because everything has a label -- full count, earned run, perfect game -- and there's a certain amount of comfort in this terminology. There's no room for confusion and Ryan wishes now that everything could be so straightforward. But then Nick pulls her closer, and she rests her head on his chest, and nothing seems more important that this right here.”

“Beside him a tiny elderly woman was leaning on a cane, studying him with curiosity. Since good manners seemed to require that he speak to her, Jon cast about for some sort of polite conversation pertinent to the occasion. “I hate funerals, don’t you?” He said. “I rather like them,” she said smugly. “At my age, I regard each funeral I attend as a personal triumph, because I was not the guest of honor.”

“Beside him was a small employee sweeping the floor, just by Andrei. The cleaner clenched the broom with effort and quick movements. She moved forcefully, with so much vigor that one saw a girl scout. But wrinkles had already formed on her neck, that sweated, moistening her black wig. Andrei stared, noticing she was damn good at her job, but too good. She would bend her legs to sweep the difficult corners of the shop. The woman would adjust the picture frames on the wall and wipe down the chairs, tasks which were not part of her required duties. Whenever her co-workers talked casually, the woman steered the conversation to the topic of the conditions of the store, which she knew, or to certain customers, who she knew, or to how business was, which she knew. She drove back home with a smile, knowing she’d done a great job that day. “They need me! Otherwise, who else would have caught the slip hazard by the trash? No one, not even my manager!” she would say before bed. She was naturally helpful. It was tragic to see that kind employee, happy like a little child, be so great at some stupid shop, when in her pumped a heart large enough to fuel the future, a forest, or a country. There was no structure of life, or invention yet created, whose mechanism could righteously allocate the innocence and love embedded in the warm blood of a human being. There deserved to be. She was sacred. But the world, decidedly corporate, had seized her, eaten her up, devouring what was left of the lively.”

“Beside himself with shame and despair, the utterly ruined though perfectly just Mr. Golyadkin dashed headlong away, wherever fate might lead him; but with every step he took, with every thud of his foot on the granite of the pavement, there leapt up as though out of the earth a Mr. Golyadkin precisely the same, perfectly alike, and of a revolting depravity of heart. And all these precisely similar Golyadkins set to running after one another as soon as they appeared, and stretched in a long chain like a file of geese, hobbling after the real Mr. Golyadkin, so there was nowhere to escape from these duplicates — so that Mr. Golyadkin, who was in every way deserving of compassion, was breathless with terror; so that at last a terrible multitude of duplicates had sprung into being; so that the whole town was obstructed at last by duplicate Golyadkins, and the police officer, seeing such a breach of decorum, was obliged to seize all these duplicates by the collar and to put them into the watch-house, which happened to be beside him . . . Numb and chill with horror, our hero woke up, and numb and chill with horror felt that his waking state was hardly more cheerful . . . It was oppressive and harrowing . . . He was overcome by such anguish that it seemed as though some one were gnawing at his heart.”

“Beside it lay a stiff piece of high-quality parchment paper. Evie’s fingers, hesitant, reached for the note. The paper was unnaturally cold to the touch. Unfolding it slowly, a profound silence fell over the kitchen as she read the peculiar, almost musical verse aloud. “On the first eerie night of the 13 days to Halloween, my true fright gave to me: A Rougarou by a cypress tree!”

“Beside Mama, in my own folding chair, with my feet sticking out in front of me, I thought about my own innards. Just a few months before I'd had no idea whether my reproductive equipment worked. There was no evidence. But that week I had become a full-fledged bleeder and was still absorbed by this first change in myself that I had ever noticed. The click and buzz of my synapses kept making the same connection. If you can change, you can also end. Death had always been a theory to me. Now I knew. The terror hurt good and I nursed it and played it like a loose tooth.”