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H Quotes

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All H Quotes

“Here, he felt like a stranger in a strange- and extremely seductive- land. In contrast to the places of his past, Bella Vista seemed weighted by a sense of permanence- the old country house with its courtyard and patios, the rustic stone barn and machine shop, outbuildings and weathered work sheds, the acres of age-gnarled apple trees, now covered in springtime blooms. He wondered what it would be like to watch the seasons change all in one place, year after year.”

“Here, her hand in mine was the one reality that severed us from the cold click-clack of Hell. I rubbed her hand and she sighed; wasn’t that meaning? Wasn’t that something we could cling to? I could be with this other. I could form no other relation, but maybe her hand in mine was enough, both sufficient and necessary. In Hell there was no sense of place, because all places were the same. Uniform monotony. A place without place. A place without context. But, here, now, I could rub her hand and she would sigh. She was a difference. Perhaps each person was the only difference in all these halls of unchanging ranks of books, kiosks, clocks, and carpet, and that, and that, at least, we had to hold to.”

“Here, however, the identitarian comes up against the mystery of personality. Human beings are different: They are of different ages, different sexes, they vary according to their physical strength, their intellect, their education, their ambitions. They have different character and different kinds of memory, different dispositions. They react differently to the same treatment. All this enervates and antagonizes the identitarian. The shoemaker takes it for granted; it is a headache for the shoe manufacturer. It is natural to the governess and no mystery to parents, but it can become an insoluble problem to the teacher of a large class. Along with this goes the proclivity among large groups to give up at least part of the personality. Mass-man in a mass has the tendency to think, act, and react in synchro-mesh with the crowd, a phenomenon that might have a scientific explanation. And precisely because human identity is difficult to achieve, a poor substitute often has to be brought in. This equally unworkable substitute is equality.”

“Here I am baking cookies and looking all over the house for you,” she turned her attention to Gabe and uncovered his eyes, “hoping to bring my man something to munch on, and instead I walk in on your crazy monkey sex! Thanks you two, now I’m officially scarred for life.” She swatted the air in front of her, as if she could shoo away the images, and darted over the broken dishes and cookies, up the staircase, with a flustered string of expletives. Gabe watched her ascend the stairway and let out another amused cackle. “Oh don’t mind her. She’s acting like she just witnessed her parents in the act.” Bending down, he snatched a cookie and gave us a thumbs-up. “You look hot, kids. Carry on.”

“Here I am going to say something which may come as a bit of a shock. God doesn't necessarily want us to be happy. He wants us to be lovable. Worthy of love. Able to be loved by Him. We don't start off being all that lovable, if we're honest. What makes people hard to love? Isn't it what is commonly called selfishness? Selfish people are hard to love because so little love comes out of them.”

“Here I am in the garden laughing an old woman with heavy breasts and a nicely mapped face how did this happen well that's who I wanted to be at last a woman in the old style sitting stout thighs apart under a big skirt grandchild sliding on off my lap a pleasant summer perspiration that's my old man across the yard he's talking to the meter reader he's telling him the world's sad story how electricity is oil or uranium and so forth I tell my grandson run over to your grandpa ask him to sit beside me for a minute I am suddenly exhausted by my desire to kiss his sweet explaining lips.”

“Here I am looking at that house on St. Bart's and feeling so bad that this is what the freedom of the citizens of Russia was sold for. It's time to stop using the Native Americans who sold Manhattan for $24 as the standard example of an unfair deal. Think instead about a popularly elected president who won his first election (fairly!) with 57 percent of the vote, only to barter everything for a house with a terrace in the Caribbean. A cool, objective look at the Yeltsin era confronts us with a dismal and disagreeable truth, one that explains Putin's rise to power: there never were any democrats in government in post-Soviet Russia, let alone freedom-championing liberals who opposed conservatives desperate to resuscitate the U.S.S.R. The whole lot of them-with rare exceptions...were an unholy horde of hypocritical thieves and lowlifes. They were aroused for a time by democratic rhetoric in order, within the framework of the political contest of the time, to be on the same side as the Kremlin, as the authorities. That was the only thing that mattered to them; along with, most important, the opportunities for self-enrichment. The whole bunch of them have always regarded power as a cash cow, and they still do. The feudal allocation of land for sustenance. Power equals money. Power equals opportunities. Power equals a comfortable life for you and your family, and everything you do while in power is aimed at retaining it. That is why all these functionaries were loyal members of the CPSU and never once inclined toward dissidence (none of the, including Yeltsin, who, despite the PR myth, never relinquished his seat in the ruling bureaucracy). Then, still ensconced in their old offices, they gravitated to the ideological niche of "capitalist democrats" and were agreeably surprised to find how much personal property they were allowed to accumulate under the new economic dispensations. "Elections," "freedom of speech," and ridiculous "human rights" were by no means an obligatory appendage to their Swiss bank accounts. They drifted toward a new stance as "patriotic conservatives deploring the collapse of our glorious U.S.S.R.," an entirely organic, stress-free metamorphosis. I do not believe in karma or predestination, but as I am writing this, I feel the fates are mocking me. I feel I am being made to pay for my blind support of Yeltsin despite his disregard for the law. I don't like the way Putin set out to kill me. But what was it I said when Yeltsin, who appointed Putin, was blasting away at the parliament with tanks? A reminder: I said, "It's long overdue. There should be no mercy for these irredeemable morons cluttering up the parliament." What about those privatization loans-for-shares auctions, when the nation's major natural resource enterprises were handed over for free to people appointed from above to be oligarchs? Those, after all, were not only fundamentally shameless and immoral but also completely illegal in purely formal terms. People who wanted to get in on the act and compete for the best bits of what remained of the U.S.S.R. were barred, using the same ridiculous pretexts as those used nowadays to sideline election candidates. And when they took the matter to the courts, they were smirked at in just the same way the prosecutors smirked in the trumped-up cases against me. My comrades are being squeezed out of the political field year after year. Not only are we prevented from taking office, but any connection with our organization, even just a monetary donation, is threatened with inspections or even criminal prosecution. And that has all been done by the very people whose right to bombard the parliament, to falsify elections "for the sake of reform," and to drive the Communists and nationalists out of politics "for the sake of the future" I so fervently defended.”

“Here I am not the one to throw out. No one steals my warmth and shoes because I am small. No one handles my backside. No one whinnies like sheep or goat because I drop in fear and weakness. No one screams at the sight of me. No one watches my body for how it is unseemly. With you my body is pleasure is safe is belonging. I can never not have you have me.”

“Here I am on the shore of Brittany. Let the cities light up in the evening. My day is done. I am leaving Europe. The sea air will burn my lungs. Lost climates will tan me. I will swim, trample the grass, hung, and smoke especially. I will drink alcohol as strong as boiling metal--just as my dear ancestors did around their fires.”