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M Quotes

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All M Quotes

“Marxism teaches that exploitation and degradation somehow produce resistance and revolution. It's been hard to say why. What I've learned from women's experience with sexuality is that exploitation and degradation produce grateful complicity in exchange for survival. They produce self-loathing to the point of extinction of self, and it is respect for self that makes resistance conceivable.”

“Marxism was the social creed and the social cry of those classes who knew by their miseries that the creed of the liberal optimists was s snare and a delusion... Liberalism and Marxism share a common illusion of the "children of light." Neither understands property as a form of power which can be used in either its individual or its social form as an instrument of particular interest against the general interest.”

“Marxist-Leninist atheism is actually a religion in disguise that responds to the needs of the same weakness of the human brain. Instead of gods, communists idolize great men. They are given divine status by being awarded with medals, their history being idolized and venerated, statues or temples being constructed in their name, and receiving state funerals.”

“Marxists make it an objective to control education, that's how they control minds, countries, populations. We conservatives don't like to control anybody, we're not even activists. We just leave people alone, figure if everybody has the same morality and the same set of values and is focusing on the same basic human things using God-given human freedom, that things are gonna work out fine. That's what America has demonstrated is true, that's being protested this very day. It's not fine; America's unjust, unfair, and all these things. That's the fight we're in the middle of.”

“Mary adored Jesus as the Bridegroom of souls. Union is the final purpose of love. Jesus by the gift of His substance in the Eucharist unites Himself with our souls as with His dear spouses. As a Bridegroom, He gives them all His possessions, His name, His heart, His whole Self, but on the condition that the soul reciprocates. The soul, His spouse, shall live for Him only”

“Mary Anning and I are hunting fossils on the beach, she her creatures, I my fish. Our eyes are fastened to the sand and rocks as we make our way along the shore at different paces, first one in front, then the other. Mary stops to split open a nodule and find what may be lodged within. I dig through clay, searching for something new and miraculous. We say very little, for we do not need to. We are silent together, each in her own world, knowing the other is just at her back.”

“Mary Antrim non era l’unico fantasma della sua vita. Forse, rispetto alla maggioranza degli uomini, non erano molte le persone che gli erano mancate, ma per lui queste perdite avevano contato di più. Anche se non l’aveva toccato così da vicino, in un certo modo la morte aveva lasciato nel suo animo un’impronta più profonda. A poco a poco egli aveva preso l’abitudine di soffermarsi sui suoi morti ad uno ad uno, e piuttosto presto nella vita aveva cominciato a pensare che andasse fatto qualcosa per loro. E loro erano lì, accanto a lui, forti di quell’essenza semplificata, più intensa, di quell’assenza consapevole, di quella pazienza eloquente, così corporei e presenti che pareva avessero soltanto perduto l’uso della parola. Quando non li si percepiva più, quando ogni suono cessava, era come fosse ancora lì, in terra, il loro purgatorio; chiedevano così poco, poveretti, che ricevevano ancor meno, e morivano di nuovo, morivano ogni giorno del duro trattamento che riservava loro la vita. Per loro nulla era stato predisposto: non avevano prerogative né onori, nessun rifugio, nessuna salvaguardia. A provvedere ai vivi c’erano pur sempre anche i più egoisti tra gli uomini; ma nessuno, nemmeno chi era ritenuto più generoso, faceva nulla per quegli altri. E così, col passare degli anni, andò maturando in George Stransom una risoluzione: lui sì, almeno, avrebbe fatto qualcosa, l’avrebbe fatto cioè per i suoi morti; e nell’adempiere a quel sommo atto di misericordia”

“Mary bring out your umbrella - The sun shines down on this fine, fine day But the ashes raining down forever Are going to turn your hair to gray. Mary keep your oars a-steady Sail away on the rising flood Keep your candle at the ready Red tides can't be told from blood. - "Miss Mary" (a common child's clapping game, dating from the time of the blitz), from Pattycake and Beyond: A History of Play”

“MARY: Cat, should you be writing all this? I mean, Irene still lives in Vienna. Her secret room won’t be a secret once this book is published. CATHERINE: She said I could. Granted, she said no one would believe it anyway, the way no one believes Mrs. Shelly’s biography of Victor Frankenstein. Everyone assumes it’s fiction. She says people rarely believe in what they think to be improbable, although they often believe in the impossible. They find it easier to believe in spiritualism than in the platypus. BEATRICE: So she thinks our readers might assume this is a work of fiction? CATHERINE: Bea, you sound upset by that. BEATRICE: And you are not? Do you not care whether readers understand that this is the truth of our lives? CATHERINE: As long as they buy the book, no, not much. As long as they pay their two shillings a volume, and I receive royalties . . .”

“MARY: Catherine! Is it necessary to include such a detail? CATHERINE: Do you expect our readers to believe that we had no bodily needs or functions for entire days at a time? MARY: No, but such things are simply—unstated. They go without saying. CATHERINE: It’s very fashionable now to include realistic details, no matter how unpleasant or improper. Look at the French writers. Look at Émile Zola. MARY: We are not French.”

“Mary Cavendish'i ilk gördüğüm anı hiçbir zaman unutmayacağım. Parlak ışıkta belirginleşen ince, uzun, biçimli vücudunu ve daha önce tanıdığım hiçbir kadında görmediğim o ilginç, muhteşem gözlerinde anlam bulan alev alev yanan pırıltıyı. Bu ince, zarif, uygar bedendeki ehlileştirilememiş vahşi ruhun asla ifade bulamadığı sakin, dingin doğasında belirginleşen yoğun gücü... bunlar kafamın bir tarafına adeta kazınmıştı. Ve asla unutmayacaktım.”

“Mary chimed in: “The Dee of Shakespeare’s time was famous, a sorcerer with political allies all over Europe. He did horoscopes to advise the Queen about her enemies.” “Thanks to the little runt sounding off to the press, I’m well aware of Dr John Dee,” snarled Robbin’ Robin. “Did you know our Billy Dee says he can conjure spirits from the Parliaments as far back as his namesake in the 1560s? That’s how the PM won the damn election. Dead politicians popped up at Dee’s command. They begged my colleagues to vote for my rival ‘to save the nation’.” Robbin’ Robin did the air quotes that so irritated Mary.”

“Mary dashed the rain from her eyes with a frozen hand. Was that a knife buried in the man’s chest with the blood seeping up around it? Doesn’t that mean he’s alive? Although with the blade at that angle, it can’t be for long. Colors swam in the water coating Mary’s vision. She rubbed her face, and with every shuttering breath, even before she could see his features, she knew her son, George, the son she had never met, was dead.”

“Mary Ellen called dibs on sending off the DJ, but by her expression when she met back up with us near the pool, we could tell something bad had happened. "Well, the DJ isn't going anywhere, but we certainly are," she said. "What do you mean? He isn't leaving?" "While we were dealing with this train wreck of a wedding, Alfie's daughters convinced the DJ to stick around and play for a party they've arranged inside the mansion." "You've got to be kidding me," I said. "Nope. He told me that he doesn't work for me and that we should just go. I'd almost say screw them and let's just leave, but we've got to pack up, so we might as well see what those little she-devils are up to." We stepped into the foyer to find the entire men's soccer team for the nearby university toting bottles of liquor up the giant circular staircase. Right behind them were the evil daughters, who informed us the party was just beginning for them. Not only did they pay the DJ to stay, but they also took all the remaining liquor from the caterers. Apparently, the girls were resetting the house for a party of their own while Alfie and Camila were gone for the night. "We are so not getting paid enough to deal with this," said Mary Ellen. "Agreed." I watched five frat stars stumble out of the kitchen with more half-eaten cake in their hands. After all, these girls were of age, they technically "lived there," and it wasn't our gig anymore. "Let's make sure everything from the wedding is accounted for and then get the hell out of this house of horrors," she said. As we left we could hear the bombastic strains of the DJ blasting "Gold Digger" again. This time, no one cried.”