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B Quotes

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All B Quotes

“BUNAHAN When the last speaker of Boro falls silent, who will notice the first-grown feather of a bird’s wing? (gansuthi) or feel how far pretending to love (onsay) is from loving for the last time (onsra)? Quiet and uneasy, in an unfamiliar place (asusu) no one sees her, or listens; there is less of her than there was. The last speaker feels Boro’s world fall apart, knowledge unravels: healing plants go unseen; the bodies of animals are unreadable. With a last thought, onguboy (to love it all, from the heart), she leaves fragments of the world she held in place. We touch their husks, about to speak and about not to speak (bunhan, bunahan); awash in loss, incomplete. Note: The italicized words are from Boro, an endangered language still spoken in parts of northern India. For more on this story, see Mark Abley’s Spoken Here: Travels Among Threatened Languages.”

“Bunbury? Oh, he was quite exploded. Exploded! Was he the victim of a revolutionary outrage? I was not aware that Mr. Bunbury was interested in social legislation. If so, he is well punished for his morbidity. My dear Aunt Augusta, I mean he was found out! The doctors found out that Bunbury could not , that is what I mean—so Bunbury died. He seems to have had great confidence in the opinion of his physicians.”

“Bunca zaman okuduğu kitaplar her şeye rağmen nasıl ayakta kalınır ve dünyaya nasıl tahammül edilir onu öğütlüyordu. Fakat o ruhen haylaz, şımarık ve uslanmaz bir çocuktu. Hiçbir öğüt ve yol göstermeye sadık kalamamıştı. Hayranı olduğu tüm büyük yazarların dediklerine katılıyor, ama sözlerini uygulayamıyor ve sıkılıyordu. Onun için doğrular acı gerçeklere dönüşüyor ve gerçekler hep can sıkıyordu. Bir hayalciydi ve gerçekler hayalcilerin en azılı katiliydi. (...) Hayallerine tapıyordu! Bir hayalperest gerçeklerle kuşatıldığında kaçmak isterdi. Kimi düşlere dalarak, kimi kendini uyuşturarak, kimi de günün sonunda canına kıyarak yapardı bunu. İkinci ve üçüncü seçenek birbiriyle kardeşti. Süreci uzatmak isteyenlerin işiydi uyuşturucular. O ise bu zamana kadar ölecekse hep “şu anda” ölmeyi dilediği için süreci uzatmak ve uyuşmak seçeneğine hiç adım atmamıştı. Adım atmadıkça yaşamış, yaşadıkça sıkılmış, adeta hapsolmuştu dünyaya.”

“Bunch of Quotes … Legend: #/ = page number 12/ Money as Archetype. The key point is that money must have power over us inwardly in order to have power in the world. We must believe in its value before we will change our conduct based on whether or not we will receive it. In the broadest sense, money becomes a vehicle of relationship. It enables us to make choices and cooperate with one another, it singlas what we will do with our energy. 16/ The Latin word moneta derives from the Indo-European root men-, which means to use one’s mind or think. The goddess Moneta is modeled on the Greek goddess of memory, Mnemosyne. Contained in the power to remember is the ability to warn, so Moneta is also considered to be a goddess who can give warnings. To suggest money can affect us in different ways we might remember that the Greek words menos (which means spirit, courage, purpose) and mania (which means madness) come from the same root as memory and Moneta. Measurement, from the Indo-European root me-, also relates to mental abilities and is a crucial aspect of money. 95/ [Crawford relates the experience of a friend], a mother, whose only son suffered from drug addiction. … At last she overcame her motherly instincts and refused him a place to stay and food and money. [She gave him a resources list for dealing with addiction.] 98/ Even an addition, according to psychologist C.G. Jung, a form of spiritual craving. Jung expressed this viewpoint in correspondence with Bill Wilson (Bill W), the founder of Alcoholics Anonymous. 107/ The inner search is not a denial of our outer needs, but rather in part a way of learning the right attitudes and actions with which to deal with the outer world—including money and ownership. 114/ Maimonodes, Golden Ladder of Charity. [this list is from charitywatch.org] Maimonides, a 12th century Jewish scholar, invented the following ladder of giving. Each rung up represents a higher degree of virtue: 1. The lowest: Giving begrudgingly and making the recipient feel disgraced or embarrassed. 2. Giving cheerfully but giving too little. 3. Giving cheerfully and adequately but only after being asked. 4. Giving before being asked. 5. Giving when you do not know who is the individual benefiting, but the recipient knows your identity. 6. Giving when you know who is the individual benefiting, but the recipient does not know your identity. 7. Giving when neither the donor nor the recipient is aware of the other's identity. 8. The Highest: Giving money, a loan, your time or whatever else it takes to enable an individual to be self-reliant. 129/ Remember as this myth unfolds [Persephone] that we are speaking of inheritance in the larger sense. What we inherit is not merely money and only received at death, but it is everything, both good and bad, that we receive from our parents throughout our lifetime. When we examine such an inheritance, some of what we receive will be truly ours and worthwhile to keep. The rest we must learn to surrender if we are to get on with our own lives. 133/ As so happens, the child must deal with what the parent refuses to confront. 146/ Whether the parent is alive or dead, the child may believe some flaw in the parent has crippled and limited the child’s life. To become attached to this point of view is damaging, because the child fails to take responsibility for his or her own destiny.”

“Bundled up in my gloves, woolen thirteen-button bell-bottomed uniform pants, navy blue shirt and pea coat, with the flaps up, I negotiated the slippery steep incline of High Street. I knew that I was in Maine, known for adverse weather, but this was unreal. It was all I could do to hang onto this precious cargo with my cold fingers in my wet gloves, and put one foot in front of the other. Little by little, I made progress against the elements but, the longer it took to walk the distance, the more I looked like a snowman. Now the white stuff was getting heavier, and started to pile up. It stuck to my uniform, turning the dark blue to white. By the time I got as far as Congress Street, my feet and fingers were totally numb again, and my ears frozen. The box was getting heavier by the moment and I couldn’t even cover my ears with my hands. Finally I just put the box down into the snow, crouched down against a building, and pulled my pea coat over my head. Breathing into it, I managed to generate a little heat. I pressed the flaps of the coat against my ears until I could feel them again. Aside from my frozen feet, I warmed up enough this way to be able to continue. Picking up the box, I got up and once again faced the harsh elements. There was little sign of life, and with this cold wind, I could easily have gotten frostbite. Most people who lived in Maine had better sense than to be out under these arctic conditions. The plows had not cleared the streets yet, and behind me I could see a lone car spinning its wheels, trying in vain to make the steep grade. Once again I had to put down the box. I took off my gloves and tried to warm my hands by blowing onto them, as I did a little dance stomping my feet, but nothing helped anymore; my hands and feet were numb. When I picked the box up again, the bottom was caked with snow, making matters even worse! With only a short distance left I thought about Ann and the aroma from baking brownies, so I continued trudging on. I could now see the statue of Longfellow, slouched in his massive chair. “Hi, Henry. What do you think of this glorious weather?” Not getting an answer, was answer enough. I was convinced that his bronze butt was frozen to the chair, but in spite of the weather, he still looked comfortable!”

“Bunnu was no amateur when it came to escape. And even in his drowsiest moments, he understood implicitly that to forget his circumstances, even for a short while, meant first to forget himself. Who he was and why he was—to strip it all bare and start from scratch, as it were. In his nearly 250 years of life and, now, as an old emaciated man completely estranged from his family and closest friends—albeit more by circumstance than by choice—he understood the importance of this process and revered it, for there were far greater things to be done and achieved in the dark, uncertain areas of existence than in those circumscribed—and thereby strained—by comprehensibility.”

“Bunny slippers remind me of who I am.You can't get a swelled head if you wear bunny slippers. You can't lose your sense of perspective and start acting like a star or a rich lady if you keep on wearing bunny slippers. Besides, bunny slippers give me confidence because they're so jaunty. They make a statement; they say, 'Nothing the world does to me can ever get me so far down that I can't be silly and frivolous.”

“Bunyan points out, for example, how the Pharisees of Jesus’ day no doubt phrased their prayers well but were condemned because they fell short of “pouring out” their hearts to God (IWP, 38). Without help from the Holy Spirit in purifying and pouring out the heart, he writes, one who prays is “hyp- ocritical, cold, and unseemly” and “abominable to God” (IWP, 37). The hypocrisy God detests, then, is importantly not a matter of say- ing one thing and doing another, but of saying one thing and feeling another: of a disjunction between the logocentric intellect and the heart, between the propositional truths of abstract doctrine and the emotions which are substantively to mirror and confirm it.”

“Buon giorno», disse il piccolo principe. «Buon giorno», disse il mercante. Era un mercante di pillole perfezionate che calmavano la sete... Se ne inghiottiva una alla settimana e non si sentiva più il bisogno di bere. «Perché vendi questa roba?» disse il piccolo principe. «E' una grossa economia di tempo», disse il mercante. «Gli esperti hanno fatto dei calcoli. Si risparmia1no cinquantatré minuti alla settimana». «E che cosa se ne fa di questi cinquantatré minuti?» «Se ne fa quel che si vuole...» «Io», disse il piccolo principe, «se avessi cinquantatré minuti da spendere, camminerei adagio adagio verso una fontana...»”

“Buonaparte is certainly writing, or rather dictating, his memoirs. He walks backwards and forwards with his hands behind him, and dictates so fast that two or three of his suite are obliged to be in attendance, that the one may take down one-half of a sentence, and another the rest; they then literally compare notes, and put the disjointed legs and wings and heads of periods together. This is writing a book as he fought a battle.”

“Buongiorno. :) ‘Anima dannata’, thriller psicologico, pubblicato a fine ottobre 2015. È la storia di un serial killer, la sua vita. Si snoda partendo dal passato, passato che perseguita il protagonista nella vita adulta; perseguita è un eufemismo, ne succhia la linfa trasformando il ragazzo divenuto uomo in un omicida seriale. In un pellegrinaggio psicologico si assisterà a uno sdoppiamento, inconsapevole… fino a: ‘Quando cala il buio’ (Butterfly Edizioni, 2012). 'Solitudine. Lontano dalle ore di lezione in ospedale, Mark passava il tempo in compagnia della solitudine. Quei momenti però erano una calamita per il tunnel della psicosi, per la voragine, il vuoto emotivo che creava la sua mente. Porter non era conscio di quello schizoide regredire, lo stava plasmando da dentro senza che lui se ne rendesse veramente conto. Era molto intelligente, ciononostante non era in grado di constatare i suoi cambiamenti profondi. Dentro di lui gironzolavano ormai due persone in perenne contrasto: la rabbia e l’odio erano l’impalcatura di una delle due. Era ciò che stava diventando, subdolamente: pura rabbia.”

“Burada vaktimizi ziyan etmeyelim. Fırsat çıkmışken bir şeyler yapalım! Her gün bize ihtiyaç duyan biri çıkmaz. Yo yo, şahsen bize ihtiyaç duyulduğunu söylüyor değilim. Başkaları belki çok daha fazla yarar işe. Kulaklarımızda hala çınlayan imdat çığlıkları bütün insanlığa dönük! Ama burada, zamanın bu noktasında insanlık biziz. Hoşumuza gitsin gitmesin. Bunun değerini bilelim, çok geç olmadan! Hadi gidip, bir kere olsun acımasız kaderin bize sunduğu bu görevi hakkıyla yerine getirelim. Ne dersin? Kollarımızı kavuşturup durumun eğrisini doğrusunu ölçüp biçerken de, türümüzü onurlandırdığımız doğrudur. Kaplan kaplanın yardımına hiç düşünmeden koşar ya da balta girmemiş ormanların derinliklerinde kaybolur. Ama mesele bu değil. Burada ne yapmaktayız, işte bütün mesele bu. Ne mutlu bize ki, yanıtı biliyoruz. Evet bu muazzam karışıklığın içinde açık seçik olan bir şey var: Godot'yu bekliyoruz-”