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M Quotes

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All M Quotes

“Mammoth columns were rooted in the flagstones and the sawdust. Arches flew in broad hoops from capital to capital; crossing in diagonals, they groined the barrel-vaults that hung dimly above the smoke. The place should have been lit by pine-torches in stanchions. It was beginning to change, turning now, under my clouding glance, into the scenery for some terrible Germanic saga, where snow vanished under the breath of dragons whose red-hot blood thawed sword-blades like icicles. It was a place for battle-axes and bloodshed and the last pages of the Nibelungenlied when the capital of Hunland is in flames and everybody in the castle hacked to bits. Things grew quickly darker and more fluid; the echo, the splash, the boom and the road of fast currents sunk this beer-hall under the Rhine-bed; it became a cavern full of more dragons, misshapen guardians of gross treasure; or the fearful abode, perhaps, where Beowulf, after tearing the Grendel's arm out of its socket, tracked him over the snow by the bloodstains and, reaching the mere's edge, dived in to swim many fathoms down and slay his loathsome water-hag of a mother in darkening spirals of gore.”

“Mammoth is an incredible community and world-class attraction, ... Were committed to creating a vibrant living experience that matches the natural, majestic beauty of the area. 80/50 Mammoth will make the new Village at Mammoth one of the hottest year-round playgrounds in North America. For the first time, Mammoth will be a place where outdoor enthusiasts can experience the unparalleled amenities and services of a five-star resort hotel combined with privileges of owning a prestigious second home.”

“Mamo, the Italian word for marble, comes from the Greek marmairein, meaning “to shine”. Geologically speaking, marble is limestone transformed by the heat and pressure of the earth’s crust into a medium-hard, crystalline rock. Cold to the touch, marble yields willingly to the sculptor’s chisel. Over time, white statuary acquires an ivory patina remarkably evocative of the warmth of human flesh.”

“Mamá En la noche con una vela rezando te ví y sé que tu oración sacra es para mí, porque la tristeza en mi alma una herida profunda escarba, porque de encono estoy rodeada y la oscuridad me ha cautivado. Tus sacras oraciones llaman la luz para mí. Tus sacras oraciones ¿cuándo las merecí? Tus sacras oraciones en mi seca alma entran como rocío. Y me duele, porque mi noche no tiene día.”

“Mamá. I have spent my entire life doing what is right. I went to church every Sunday, I worked in the fields, I got straight A's in school, I went to college and commuted home to save on bills and preserve my reputation, and I even raised enough money to buy the farm so I could take care of the family. But now, I want some freedom because I've earned it. I don't want to be courted and married to some man I don't even know if I'm compatible with. I don't even know if I want to get married. Ever. It's fine if Blanca feels comfortable preserving this tradition--- but I don't. Not even if it makes you happy." Mamá's eyes bugged, and she yelled at her eldest daughter. "You will not disrespect me in my house!" Carolina laughed. "Well, it's my house, actually. But that's fine. I don't need it." Blanca's jaw dropped. "Cari! Stop." "No. I should've done this years ago." Carolina turned and walked toward the living room. "Carolina! Get back here at once!" her mom called out, but she didn't respond. Enrique was sitting at the dining room table, wringing his hands, his forehead wrinkled, his fists clenched. Her father had him cornered. "So, Enrique, do you see yourself married in the next year?" Being interrogated by Papá was something Carolina wouldn't wish on her worst enemy. "Enrique, let's go." Enrique's brows raised as he stood. "Where?" Carolina looked at her father, then back to Enrique, then back to her father. She had created this fake relationship as a ruse to keep her family happy. What she was about to do would instead possibly tear them apart--- but it had to be done. Enrique had made her want things she hadn't really wanted with another man before. There was no going back. The time was now. "Out on a real date.”

“Mamá ideó un método para que olvidáramos las cosas feas que nos ocurrieran, y para que a su vez siempre recordáramos la lección aprendida. Rescataba la cita de un libro o el diálogo que considerara apropiado para la ocasión, y con su perfecta caligrafía lo escribía en uno de los azulejos blancos de la cocina de casa. Así, al leerlas cada vez que pasáramos por delante, recordaríamos la razón de lo escrito, y entenderíamos que por mucho que algo doliera, siempre había alguien que en algún momento se había sentido igual que nosotros. Y no se trataba de un alguien cualquiera: debajo de cada cita, firmaba con el nombre de un escritor o del personaje que aquel inventara, para darle voz a las emociones o a las vivencias que todos, sin excepción, tenemos a lo largo de nuestra vida. Era su manera de convencernos de que alguien ya vivió lo mismo antes de que nosotros lo hiciéramos, y que, incluso en los infiernos que nuestra imaginación inventa, se pueden escribir las más bellas historias".”

“Mamá sabía ser alegre. Mamá sabía ser temerosa. Mamá sabía olvidar fácilmente. Y, sin embargo tenía buena memoria. Mamá me daba con la puerta en la narices, y sin embargo, me admitía en su baño. A veces mamá se me perdía, pero su instinto me encontraba. Cuando yo rompía vidrios, mamá ponía la masilla. A veces se instalaba en el error, aunque a su alrededor hubiera sillas suficientes. Aun cuando se encerraba en sí misma, para mí siempre estaba abierta. Temía las corrientes de aire y sin embargo no paraba de levantar el viento. Gastaba, y no le gustaba pagar impuestos. Yo era el revés de su medalla. Cuando mamá jugaba corazones ganaba siempre.”

“Man alone knows that he must die; but that very knowledge raises him, in a sense, above mortality, by making him a sharer in the vision of eternal truth. He becomes the spectator of his own tragedy; he sympathizes so much with the fury of the storm that he has no ears left for the shipwrecked sailor, though the sailor were his own soul. The truth is cruel, but it can be loved, and it makes free those who have loved it.”

“Man alone, during his brief existence on this earth, is free to examine, to know, to criticize, and to create. In this freedom lies his superiority over the forces that pervade his outward life. He is that unique organism in terms of matter and energy, space and time, which is urged to conscious purpose. Reason is his characteristic and indistinguishing principle. But man is only man -- and free -- when he considers himself as a total being in whom the unmediated whole of feeling and thought is not severed and who impugns any form of atomization as artificial, mischievous, and predatory.”