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B Quotes

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All B Quotes

“But instead, my father sat us down for an explanation of lesbianism.... ...I was mortified, and looked over at my girlfriend to see if this was all registering with her, but she was too busy daydreaming to notice the runaway train that was thundering thought the motel room. She hadn't spoken a single word to any of the adults so far on the trip, and even when she occasionally spoke to me, it was in such a eerily quiet tone that only a nine-year-old- girl or a dog could hear it. I'm pretty sure that Bob and Donna thought she was a deaf-mute, albeit one who could miraculously sense the vacuum seal breaking on a can of Pringles from a mile away. I was eager to let the whole thing go, when my friend asked casually, 'But what's munching the carpet got to do with anything?”

“But instead of being frozen in time, I want to show that “local” and “authentic” food are as much creations of modernity as survivors from before it. Authenticity is therefore a problem, not something we can ever depend on as some kind of naturally occurring category. Tradition is crafted, just as much as modernity is manufactured.”

“But instead of taking the cue to leave, Patch crossed to Scott in three steps. He flung him around to face the wall. Scott tried to get his bearings, but Patch slammed him against the wall again, disorienting him further. “Touch her,” he said in Scott’s ear, his voice low and threatening, “and it’ll be the biggest regret of your life.” Before leaving, Patch flicked his eyes once in my direction. “He’s not worth it.” He paused. “And neither am I.”

“But instead of U.S. citizens and companies being taxed or U.S. capital markets being obliged to finance the rising federal deficit, foreign economies were obliged to buy the new Treasury bonds being issued. America’s Cold War spending thus became a tax on foreigners. It was their central banks who financed the costs of the war in Southeast Asia.”

“But "integrity." That ain't even made up of no other words accept for "in" and "grit," but but that don't make no sense. "Dad." I nuged him He was sitting right next to me, making sure Whit and Mr. Torrie knew what they were doing, even though there's a counselor person talking to them too. He didn't answer, so I nudged him again. "Dad." "Yeah?" He turned to me. "What's integrity?" "Huh?" "What's integrity?" I reapeted. "It's like, um, how do I explain it?" Now he turned his whole body to face me. "It's like the good part of you that..." He stopped, tried to gather his thoughts. "You know that gold medal I just gave back to Otis?" "Yeah." "See how the gold didn't change? Didn't turn any other color?" "Yeah." "See how it was still heavy after all those years, and how it didn't bend or start to disintegrate?" "Yep." "Well, think of integrity as the gold medal... inside you.”

“But Iran has gone far beyond what is necessary for a purely civilian programme. It has concealed several nuclear facilities from the International Atomic Energy Agency, played hide-and-seek with the international community, and rejected all offers of co-operation from the U.S., the EU, and others.”

“But is is by no means those aspects of Dürer's style which it shares with Italian art that makes it so attractive especially for Pontormo and those who like him, but rather the spiritual depth and inwardness - in other words, the qualities which they miss most in classical Italian art. The antitheses of "Gothic" and "Renaissance", however, which are largely smoothed out in Dürer himself, are still irreconciled and irreconcilable in the outlook of mannerism.”

“But is it fear that is the enemy? Let me tell you about fear. We cannot negotiate with fear as when it is, there’s nothing else. We cannot strike fear down, for cut a head of the hydra and two will quickly take its place. We cannot shun fear, lest we invite it through the cracks. We cannot tame fear, dragons are not slaves. We cannot live in fear, because it will haunt our every step. Fear is no enemy. We greet fear as an old friend and hold it tight, until it burns our hand.”

“But, is it more important to stay true to yourself, to what you believe in, or give it up for someone you care about?” Lisa gives me a warm smile and her hand finds mine on the table. “There is no right answer to that.” She squeezes my hand hard. “It depends on so many things. You are the one who has to choose, to find the balance between what you believe in and what you care about. It’s a game with high risk—you can lose someone you care about but still have your pride, or…you can lose yourself for someone you care about.” She gets up from her seat. “The real question is—is ‘care’ good enough to be lost for?”

“but is it not heartening to know that so many are willing to fight for the good? Think of that young librarian, Sophie, who made certain you escaped. Think of S.Q., who risked my brother’s wrath to make me more comfortable. Think of Captain Noland, and Joe Shooter, and all the others – even strangers – who were prepared to sacrifice their safety, perhaps even their lives, on our behalf. That’s something, is it not?”

“But is it such a bad thing to live like this for just a little while? Just for a few months of one's life, is it so awful to travel through time with no greater ambition than to find the next lovely meal? Or to learn how to speak a language for no higher purpose than that it pleases your ear to hear it? Or to nap in a garden, in a patch of sunlight, in the middle of the day, right next to your favourite fountain? And then to do it again the next day?”

“But is not Christ a general direction? asked the elder. What other kind of direction do you seek? And how do you even understand the journey anyway? As the vast expanses you left behind? You made it to Jerusalem with your questions, though you could have asked them from the Kirillov Monastery. I am not saying wandering is useless there is a point to it. Do not become like your beloved Alexander who had a journey but had no goal. And do not be enamored of excessive horizontal motion. Then what should I be enamored of? asked Arseny. Vertical motion, answered the elder, pointing above.”

“But is the unicorn a falsehood? It's the sweetest of animals and a noble symbol. It stands for Christ and for chastity; it can be captured only by setting a virgin in the forest, so that the animal, catching her most chaste odor, will go and lay its head in her lap, offering itself as prey to the hunters' snares." "So it is said, Adso. But many tend to believe that it's a fable, an invention of the pagans." "What a disappointment," I said. "I would have liked to encounter one, crossing a wood. Otherwise what's the pleasure of crossing a wood?”

“But is there any reason to believe that a woman's spiritual fibre is less sturdy than a man's? Is it not possible for a woman to come to terms with herself if not with the world; to withdraw more and more, as time goes on, her own personality from her productions; to stop childish fears of death and eschew charming rebellions against facts?”

“But, is this right for my family? The plan was centered on publicity. Would the boys have to testify? Newspaper reporters would hound them. What would things be like at school? Kids could be so cruel. Would the boys be subjected to cruel jokes about sexual desires and preferences? Was her imagination carrying her away, or were these realistic fears?”

“But Isabel was like no one Nora had met before. She was beautiful, of course---the otherworldly clarity of her English skin!---and possessed of the sort of poise Nora could only dream about. Beyond that, she was magnetic. Try as Nora might, she couldn't resist her brother's new wife. First, there was her voice when she spoke, that crisp accent and authoritative diction that made Miss Perry (strictest in a long line of governesses) seem like a drover's wife by comparison; next, there was her laugh, which rose like bubbles in a glass of champagne. And then there were her stories. True tales of adventure and daring, rivaling anything Nora had read in her Girls' Crystal Annuals: during the Blitz, Isabel had handled secret papers in Whitehall and later worked in some sort of capacity that she wasn't able to speak of at length (at least not then and there). Even more excitingly, she was an orphan---a real one, just like a girl in a book, whose parents had died in tragic circumstances when she was only young, casting her out of the nest and into a childhood of boarding schools and midnight feasts and hockey sticks and daring japes. Nora couldn't think of anything more romantic.”

“But isn’t being alone closer to the truest version of ourselves, when we’re not linked to another, not diluted by their presence and judgments? We form relationships with others, friends, family. That’s fine. Those relationships don’t bind the way love does. We can still have lovers, short-term. But only when alone can we focus on ourselves, know ourselves. How can we know ourselves without this solitude?”