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“Izolarea la care au fost supuși basarabenii în timpul regimului țarist a făcut ca aceștia să nu fie pregătiți pentru evenimentele care au avut loc în anii 1917‑1918. După cum am văzut în capitolele precedente, unii dintre ei se „deșteptau“ în timpul studiilor din marile orașe ale Imperiului Rus, când luau exemplu de la estonieni, polonezi, ucraineni etc. Văzând că aceștia vorbeau în propria limbă, aveau un cult pentru propriii lor scriitori etc., moldovenii au început să aibă idealuri precum introducerea limbii române în școală, biserică și administrație sau chiar proclamarea unei autonomii locale în Basarabia. Acestor idealuri li se adăuga, sub influența mișcărilor socialiste din Rusia, necesitatea de a dobândi „pământ și voie“, cum spuneau ei, ceea ce se traducea prin introducerea votului universal și realizarea unei reforme agrare. În special aceste două deziderate îi mobilizau pe moldoveni, iar pământul era cerința cea mai importantă pentru ei. În ceea ce privește unirea cu România, aceasta nu exista în lista de deziderate ale elitei basarabene în 1917, cu mici excepții. Atașamentul față de Rusia era unul puternic, moldovenii considerând că problemele pe care le întâmpinau se datorau doar regimului țarist. Guvernul provizoriu sau „vremelnica stăpânire“, cum i se spunea, avea o componentă socialistă solidă, ceea ce le dădea încredere românilor din Basarabia că viitorul le va aduce realizarea reformelor sociale de care aveau nevoie. Pe de altă parte, majoritatea moldovenilor nici nu erau conștienți de apartenența lor la poporul român, mulți aflând de acest lucru cu ocazia intrării în contact cu frații lor de peste Prut, pe frontul din România. În plus, chiar dacă unii ar fi vrut, în sinea lor, ca Basarabia să se unească cu România, acest lucru părea imposibil din moment ce România era aliată cu Rusia în război.”

“Izzi: Remember Moses Morales? Tom Verde: Who? Izzi: The Mayan guide I told you about. Tom Verde: From your trip. Izzi: Yeah. The last night I was with him, he told me about his father, who had died. Well Moses wouldn't believe it. Tom Verde: Izzi... Izzi: [embraces Tom] No, no. Listen, listen. He said that if they dug his father's body up, it would be gone. They planted a seed over his grave. The seed became a tree. Moses said his father became a part of that tree. He grew into the wood, into the bloom. And when a sparrow ate the tree's fruit, his father flew with the birds. He said... death was his father's road to awe. That's what he called it. The road to awe. Now, I've been trying to write the last chapter and I haven't been able to get that out of my head! Tom Verde: Why are you telling me this? Izzi: I'm not afraid anymore, Tommy.”

“Izzy, are you—” he began. His eyes flew wide, and he backed up fast enough to smack his head into the wall behind him. “What is he doing here?” Isabelle tugged her tank top back down and glared at her brother. “You don’t knock now?” “It—It’s my bedroom!” Alec spluttered. He seemed to be deliberately trying not to look at Izzy and Simon, who were indeed in a very compromising position. Simon rolled quickly off Isabelle, who sat up, brushing herself off as if for lint. Simon sat up more slowly, trying to hold the torn edges of his shirt together. “Why are all my clothes on the floor?” Alec said. “I was trying to find something for Simon to wear,” Isabelle explained. “Maureen put him in leather pants and a puffy shirt because he was being her romance-novel slave.” “He was being her what?” “Her romance-novel slave,” Isabelle repeated, as if Alec were being particularly dense. Alec shook his head as if he were having a bad dream. “You know what? Don’t explain. Just—put your clothes on, both of you.”

“Izzy immediately pulled out the sword Zachariah had given her and turned, barely blocking the weapon aimed right for her. Izzy shoved the weapon—another sword—away and spun to give herself momentum, slashing at the attacker. But her opponent blocked the move, their weapons locking. Izzy, fed up, stepped close to see who the hell would attack her here, so near her home. Shocked, Izzy roared, “Éibhear! What the bloody hells are you doing?” “I’ve come to Claim you as my own, Iseabail, Daughter of Talaith and Briec.” “Oh.” Izzy lowered her weapon at his dramatic announcement. “Why didn’t you say so?” She stepped back. “I’ll go home and get naked.” She turned to head to her house. “That’s it?” Éibhear asked, sounding disappointed.”

“Izzy," said Jace, as they neared the pond, and she jumped up and spun around. Her smile was dazzling. "Jace!" She flew at him and hugged him. Now that was the way sisters were supposed to act, Clary thought. Not all stiff and weird and peculiar, but happy and loving. Watching Jace hug Isabelle, she tried to school her features into a happy and loving expression. "Are you all right?" Simon asked, with some concern. "Your eyes are crossing." "I'm fine." Clary abandoned the attempt. "Are you sure? You looked sort of… contorted.”

“I´d read fantasy if they had simple names like Jane and Bob from Wagga," I say. "Why does it have to be Tehrana and Bihaad from the World of Sceehina?" Jimmy looks at my mother and rolls his eyes. "No wonder they call her bimbo behind her back." And my mum laughs. And because of that, Mark Viduka, the soccer player, stops being my brothers hero, and Luca and Pinocchio run after Jimmy like he´s their idol.”

“Iš akademinės psichologijos tyrimų lauko pradingus sielai, o su ja ir nuodėmei, prapuolė ir aiškios moralinės kategorijos. Dingo žinojimas, kur link turėtume eiti ieškodami psichikos sveikatos. Į godų, gašlų ar išpuikusį žmogų dabar įprasta žiūrėti kaip į unikalią, o ne sergančią asmenybę. Sakoma „toks jau jis yra“ ir lyg ir atmetama galimybė jam tapti kitokiam, sveikesniam. Panašiai niūrumo nuodėmės užvaldytasis vadinamas pesimistinės pasaulėžiūros introvertu. Tarsi toks jis būtų gimęs! Rajumo pasekmės aiškinamos šeimos genetika arba vidiniais konfliktais – nieko čia nebepadarysi, tokia duotybė… Atrodytų, pasukome begalinės atjautos ir tolerancijos keliu, o gal išties dabar tokia situacija, kad aklasis veda akląjį? Sergantieji ėmė gydyti sergančiuosius Ne išimtis ir psichologijos klasikai: Freudui ėmė atrodyti, kad sveikas žmogus yra tas, kuris laisvai išreiškia savo seksualines fantazijas, Adleriui – tas, kuris nebesijaučia menkavertis, Horney – tas, kuris ramus, Rogersui – tas, kuris save realizuoja…”

“Iš prigimties Fotografija (patogumo dėlei tenka priimti šią universaliją, kuri kol kas remiasi tik nesiliaujančiu atsitiktinumų kartojimu) turi kažką tautologiško — pypkė čia yra visada ir neįveikiamai pypkė. Galima sakyti, kad Fotografija visada nešiojasi savo referentą — abudu sustingę iš tos pačios meilės ar gedulo pačioje judančio pasaulio širdyje: jiedu vienas su kitu suklijuoti, galūnė prie galūnės, kaip pasmerktasis prirakintas prie lavono kai kurių kankinimų metu; ar net panašiaip kaip tos žuvų poros (regis, rykliai, anot Michelet), kurios plaukia vilkstine, tarsi sujungtos kažkokiu amžinu lytiniu aktu. Fotografija priklauso tai sluoksniuotų objektų klasei, kai negalima atskirti dviejų sluoksnių jų nesunaikinant — kaip lango stikslas ir peizažas, ir — kodėl gi ne — Gėris ir Blogis, geismas ir jo objektas — dvilypumai, kuriuos galime suvokti, bet ne patirti.”

“Iʹve seen you too. Ozera. Crispin, right?ʺ ʺChristian,ʺ corrected Lissa. ʺRight.ʺ .... ʺSo what brings you and Christopher here?ʺ asked Blake. He finished a glass of something amber colored and set it down beside the new drink. ʺChristian,ʺ said Christian. .... Blake gave her puppy-dog eyes. ʺBut you just got here! I was hoping we could get to know each other.ʺ It went without saying what he meant by that. ʺOh. And Kreskin too.”

“I—I adore you, too. Well, I don't know if I adore you. That's not really the word I'd use. But I—I—" I managed to wrench it out. God, this was hard! "I love you." "Of course you do," he said, totally unsurprised. "WHAT? I finally tell you my deepest, most personal feelings and you're all, 'Yeah, I already got that memo'? This, this is why you drive me nuts! This is why it's so hard to tell you things! I take it back.”

“I’d always been afraid of sick people, and so had my mother. It wasn’t that we feared catching their brain aneurysm or accidentally ripping out their IV. I think it was their fortitude that frightened us. Sick people reminded us not of what we had, but of what we lacked. Everything we said sounded petty and insignificant; our complaints paled in the face of theirs, and without our complaints, there was nothing to say.”

“I’d always disparaged the games people played in pursuit of love - or the next hook up. The whole thing was a competition to see who could get how far, and I could never figure out if there was more luck or skill involved, or some unknowable combination of the two. People rarely said what they thought, or revealed how they felt. No one was honest.”

“I’d always heard that when you truly love someone, you’re happy for them as long they’re happy. But that’s a lie. That’s higher-road bullshit. If you love someone so much, why the hell would you be happy to see them with anyone else? I didn’t want the easy kind of love. I wanted the crazy love, the kind of love that created and destroyed all at the same time.”

“I’d ask you to hang out with us, but you’re not supposed to see me this way.’… ‘What way?’ I ask. ‘Drunk?’ ‘Yeah…well, no.’ His voice softens. ‘Real, I guess.’ ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t.’ ‘Nice of you.’ He puts his lips next to my ear and says, ‘You look good, Tris.’… I laugh. ‘Do me a favor and stay away from the chasm, okay?’ ‘Of course.’ He winks at me.”