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All I Quotes

“Irene took a sip of coffee. “Ahhh!” she said, almost involuntarily. “I really, really needed that.” She turned back to Lucinda. “All right, tell me about your father. Your earthly father.” “I have no father anymore,” said Lucinda. “He has sinned, grievously he has sinned. He has consorted with demons, and surely the Lord will send him down to perdition.” “What the hell does that mean?” asked Diana. “Hush,” said Mary. “You haven’t even finished what’s on your plate. Are you Diana, or some sort of doppelgänger? Because the Diana I know doesn’t leave food uneaten.” “Go to hell,” said Diana, but she said it under her breath and stuffed her mouth with a poppy-seed roll.”

“Irene-" "Don't call me that." "You were the princess Irene the first time we met." "It means 'peace'," Attolia said. "What name could be more inappropriate?" "That I be named Helen?" Eddis suggested. The hard lines in Attolia's face eased, and she smiled. Eddis was a far cry from the woman whose beauty had started a war.”

“Irgendwann fiel zum ersten Mal das scheinheilige Wort vom Totalitarismus, das einem nicht nur half, dem gefährlichen Begriff Faschismus, an dem man ja ausgiebig beteiligt gewesen war, aus dem Wege zu gehen, sondern auch jenes Gesellschaftssystem, das der Todfeind des Faschismus gewesen war, bei seinem Zusammenbruch die Hauptrolle gespielt und im Kampf die schwersten Opfer gebracht hatte, eben diesem Faschismus an die Seite zu rücken, ja, man hatte, wenn man es recht bedachte, bereits an der Spitze seiner SS-Panzergrenadiere die Hälfte des Totalitarismus bekämpft und durfte sich so mit Fug und Recht einen Freiheitskämpfer nennen.”

“Irie serves me three ramens, including a bowl made with a rich dashi and head-on shrimp and another studded with spicy ground pork and wilted spinach and lashed with chili oil. Both are exceptionally delicious, sophisticated creations, but it's his interpretation of tonkotsu that leaves me muttering softly to myself. The noodles are firm and chewy, the roast pork is striped with soft deposits of warm fat, and the toppings- white curls of shredded spring onion, chewy strips of bamboo, a perfect square of toasted seaweed- are skillfully applied. Here it is the combination of tare, the culmination of years of careful tinkering, and broth, made from whole pig heads and knots of ginger, that defies the laws of tonkotsu: a soup with the savory, meaty intensity of a broth made from a thousand pigs that's light enough to leave you wanting more. And more. And more.”

“Iris and I will eat at a skeezy yakitori joint and enjoy char-grilled chicken parts on a stick. We'll go to an eel restaurant and eat several courses of eel, my favorite fish. Iris's favorite is mackerel, saba no shioyaki, tearing off fatty bits with our chopsticks. We will eat our weight in rice... we'll have breakfast at Tsukiji, the world's largest fish market. And we'll eat plenty of sushi from a conveyor belt.”

“Iris gasped. Dyemore's mouth burned. Almost his entire weight had sagged against her- and he wasn't a small man- but it was the kiss that most startled her. He... She could taste him, the wine he must've drunk this morning, the scent of smoke in his hair, drifting about her face, the heat rolling off him in thick waves. He was so overwhelmingly large, so excruciatingly masculine. She'd been married. She'd been kissed before- of course she had- but it hadn't been like this. Nothing like this. It was as if everything that made her female was being awakened and called forth by everything male in him.”

“Iris ha gli occhi lucidi mentre mi elenca i motivi per cui mi vuole bene, ha compilato una lista – in basso a destra – dice che sono intelligente, affidabile, fedele e coraggiosa. Proprio l’ultima parola mi colpisce come sputo sulla fronte, rende il nostro legame nullo, le mie confessioni silenzi. Io non voglio essere nessuna di queste cose, non voglio aggettivi per me, non voglio lacrime, non voglio feste o cartelloni: le mie parentesi quadre sono vuote, non ho radici latine, sanscrite, francesi, non ho prefissi o suffissi, sono una definizione mancata.”

“Iris Krasnow has managed to demystify the workings of long-term marriages by confirming the mysterious uniqueness of each one. The secret, she finds, lies in the way two people negotiate their own personal amalgam of companionship and sex, compromise and disappointment, lust and tenderness, trust and lies. The challenge for the rest of us is to do the same.”

“Iris Marion Young discusses how some girls learn to “throw like girls”; they learn not to get themselves behind an action, exhibiting what she calls “inhibited intentionality.” She describes how girls often “lack confidence in their capacity to do what needs to be done.” She notes, “We decide beforehand—usually mistakenly—that the task is beyond us and thus give it less than our full effort.”Decisions we make about our capacities are not always our own. We receive messages all the time that tell us who can do what (and who cannot). If you are told you can’t do it, that girls can’t do it, you might doubt whether you can do it; you might not put all of yourself into it. And then when you don’t manage it, you don’t pull it off, the judgment that you are not capable is confirmed. Gender norms sometimes work through a reversal of sequence: we assume we do it because we can, or don’t because we can’t, but often we can do it because we do it, or we can’t because we don’t. Over time, girls learn to inhabit their bodies with less confidence, assuming what they cannot do as a restriction of a horizon of possibility.”

“Iris pssp-pssped and Chéri's marmalade head popped up in slow-blinking wakefulness from a large wicker basket on the living room floor. She found them both curled up inside, Chéri, the orange tabby boy, and Jasmine, a deaf white female, still asleep, the two of them forming a Creamsicle yin and yang. Jasmine felt her brother's movement, and soon both were yawning and stretching, emerging from the basket like pulled taffy.”

“Iris's favorite item at Tenta is anago, sea eel. Unlike its freshwater cousin unagi, anago is neither endangered nor expensive. A whole anago at Tenta is about $7.50. I ordered one, and the chef pulled a live eel out of a bucket. It wriggled like, well, an eel. Iris screamed as water droplets flew toward us. The chef managed to wrestle the unruly thing into the sink and knocked it unconscious before driving a spike into its head and filleting it. He unzipped two fillets in seconds. A Provençal saying holds that a fish lives in water and dies in oil; in the world of tempura, a fish can go from watery cradle to oily grave in ten seconds. Iris loved fried eel meat, dipped in salt, but this is not her favorite part of the anago. After filleting the eel, the chef takes its backbone- hone in Japanese- ties it in a simple overhand knot, and tosses it into the frying oil. "Hone," he says, presenting it to Iris, who considers it the ultimate in crispy snack food- and this is a kid who considers taco-flavored Doritos a work of genius (OK, so do I).”

“Iris Whitney, a former showgirl that frequented Malachy’s bar on Third Avenue, became my friend with a story. The same year that I had graduated from High School, she had been frolicking with John Garfield in her two room Gramercy Park apartment. On May 21, 1952 Garfield was found dead of a heart attack, in her bed. When I first met Iris I didn’t know anything about this but even if I had, all I can say is that I enjoyed her company and survived the experience. Of course she denied having been intimate with the actor the night that he died and added that John had not been feeling well. When the police arrived and had to break the door down, her explanation was that she thought that they were newspaper men. Several years later, in Connecticut, I had the occasion to talk about old times and some of these events, to the popular stage and screen actor Byron Barr better known as “Gig Young.” Sitting with my wife Ursula and Young at the open bar alongside the Candlewood Theatre, in New Fairfield during the summer of 1978, everything seemed normal. Coincidentally I also knew his former wife Elizabeth Montgomery who was married to him from 1956 to 1963, since she was my neighbor living on the nearby Cushman road in Patterson New York,. On October 19, 1978, two months after seeing Young, I read that he had shot his wife Kim Schmidt and committed suicide only three weeks after their marriage. Apparently Young had shot his wife and then turned the gun on himself. They were both found dead in their Manhattan apartment but the police never established a motive for the murder-suicide. I knew that he liked to drink and this may have been a part of the problem, but he always seemed congenial and there was no hint that it would ever come to this.”

“Irish music is guts, balls and feet music, yeah? It's frenetic dance music, yeah? Or it's impossibly sad like slow music, yeah? Yeah? And it also handles all sorts of subjects, from rebel songs to comical songs about sex, you know what I mean, yeah? Which I don't think people realize how much innuendo there is in Irish music.”