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P Quotes

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“Paul von Hindenburg was a popular Prussian field marshal, statesman, and politician during World War I. In 1919, Hindenburg, who was a proud, self-assured general officer, was subpoenaed to appear before the Reichstag commission, which can be thought of as Germany’s Congress. He cautiously avoided answering any questions about who was responsible for Germany’s defeat in the “World War of 1918.” Instead of a direct answer, he read a prepared statement that had been carefully scrutinized in advance by his attorney. Hindenburg, ever mindful of his legacy, testified that the German Army had been on the verge of winning the war in the autumn of 1918, and that the enormous defeat had been caused by a Dolchstoß, a traitorous blow. By saying this he deflected any personal fault for the war, by insinuating that treacherous individuals and unpatriotic left- leaning socialist politicians were to blame for the demoralizing and embarrassing defeat. Despite being threatened with a contempt citation by the Commission for refusing to respond to questions, Hindenburg, after reading his statement, simply walked out of the hearings. He successfully relied on his status as a nationalist and conservative war hero to provide him with protection from additional hearings or prosecution. It turned out that Hindenburg was actually right in his assessment, and he was never indicted for walking out on the Reichstag. In 1925, Hindenburg then became the second Weimar President.”

“Paul was Nero's prisoner, but Nero was much more God's... But how does the great apostle spend his time in prison?... We read of no dispatches sent to court to procure his liberty; but many to the churches, to help them to stand fast in the liberty wherewith Christ had made them free... The devil had as good have let Paul alone, for he no sooner comes into prison but he falls a preaching, at which the gates of Satan's prison fly open, and poor sinners come forth.”

“Paul was not ignorant of Satan's devices, but we are not so wise. Among his most successful devices today are these: exalting tolerance above truth; emphasizing the head more than the heart; making size more important than sort; stressing the positive to the neglect of the negative; putting happiness above holiness; majoring on this world instead of the next.”

“Paul watched him amble into his class-room at the end of the passage, where a burst of applause greeted his arrival. Dumb with terror, he went into his own class-room. Ten boys sat before him, their hands folded, their eyes bright with expectation. ‘Good morning, sir,’ said the one nearest him. ‘Good morning,’ said Paul. ‘Good morning, sir,’ said the next. ‘Good morning,’ said Paul. ‘Good morning, sir,’ said the next. ‘Oh, shut up,’ said Paul. At this the boy took out a handkerchief and began to cry quietly.”

“Paul went to pick him up at the train station, but they must have failed to meet because Rimbaud came on his own, on foot. I expected him to be similar to my beloved romantic poets. Beautiful and childishly pure like Alfred de Musset. Or divinely handsome like Lamartine, with the appearance of a Greek god. Or manly and strikingly comely like Chateaubriand, gazing at the sea as the breeze blows his long curls of hair. As a young girl, I was in love with the poetry of our bards and their portraits. Meanwhile, here in front of our well-kept house, I saw a sloppy rascal in tattered clothes, with disheveled hair, a sweaty face, and no luggage! I was itching to ask: and where is your Sunday garb? A change of underwear? Toothbrush, clothes brush, shoe brush, handkerchief, comb? Well, call me overly idealistic, but I genuinely believed that a normal person couldn’t do without these things.”

“Paul's One Way Out is a fresh, intelligently arranged, and satisfyingly complete telling of the lengthy (and unlikely) history of the group that almost singlehandedly brought rock up to a level of jazz-like sophistication and virtuosity, introducing it as a medium worthy of the soloist's art. Oral histories can be tricky things: either penetrating, delivering information and backstories that get to the heart of how timeless music was made. Or too often, they lie flat on the page, a random retelling of repeated facts and reheated yarns. I'm happy to say that Paul's is in that first category.”

“Paul's vision, though, is starting small, with actual communities in which reconciliation and justice has to be practiced - like the rich/poor distinction in the Corinthian church, for instance, or the projected reconciliation between Philemon and Onesimus. But he clearly believes (Ephesians 3) that communities like this send a signal to the wider world that Jesus is Lord - which is aimed at then the whole world coming into line.”

“Paul, Luther, Wesley —what would these chosen ones of God be without the distinguishing and controlling element of prayer? They were leaders for God because mighty in prayer. They were not leaders because of brilliancy in thought, because exhaustless in resources, because of their magnificent culture or native endowment, but leaders because by the power of prayer they could command the power of God.”

“Paulette awoke with an ache in her heart, a grinding in her gut. If there really was a God, why would He have let anyone put a child through that? … She had survived, but at what cost? She was an itinerant professor, living in her head, not her heart. She had broken away, but abandoned her sister; hadn’t contacted her family in years. Paulette wondered what she was looking for in these weekend workshops. Absolution wasn’t on the curriculum. What could she possibly hope to accomplish? To be a healer you need to connect with people. You need to touch, and let yourself be touched. And not just with your hands. Watching these nurses, she envied them their friendships. Here were real buddies truly caring about each other, taking jabs, sharing private jokes and fears. She’d never had that. Even witnessing it from across a room, or a yard, only made her feel that much more lonely. She got along with people well enough. Agreed with whatever they said, watched their pets, helped them move from one apartment to another. But no one really knew her. Paulette had never been flush with self-confidence. People took that as humility, but humility isn’t painful and crippling. She hadn’t yet learned that humble and self-destructive aren’t the same thing at all. They’re not even on the same team. And now here she was at a workshop for healers. Had she come here to heal; or to be healed? It was one of those warm, charming days that write poems about themselves, and then settle these very softly into your mind. Paulette sensed what felt like a rain-laced breeze stirring her soul; sodden, and yet beautiful; laden with both the dismal, and the promising. - From “The Gardens of Ailana”, a fiction largely based around adults still traumatized by having been abused as children, in the name of their parents’ religion.”

“Paulin est un costaud à la barbe entortillée dont la conversation achoppe rapidement sur les monosyllabes. Cinq jours par semaine, il est photographe numérique à Paris : il joue des épaules lors de shootings de stars ou de conférences de presse ministérielles, et loge dans un hôtel pouilleux qui finira de passe. Le vendredi soir, il monte dans une longue Citroën CX mangée par la rouille pour rejoindre l’arrière-campagne où il se retranche chaque week-end. Trois cents bornes plus tard, des lapins font rebondir leur queue blanche dans le faisceau des phares. Des ornières longent un bosquet de pommiers jusqu’à une masure paysanne en pierre volcanique. Paulin pousse la porte en bois percée d’une chatière. Des poutres de deux empans traversent la pièce basse, et on cuirait tout un cochon de lait dans la cheminée. Quand l’orage fouette le toit d’ardoise, ployant la cime des arbres, la maison évoque le refuge d’un gardien de phare à jamais éteint. Le samedi et le dimanche, après le déjeuner, Paulin remonte son pré jusqu’aux pommiers. Il emporte le minimum : un vieux reflex Nikon, deux pellicules 100 et 200 iso, un objectif 50 mm, un 300 mm, et deux cannettes de bière. Son chat gris grimpe à un arbre et se couche sur une branche basse. Paulin s’allonge sur le dos, ferme l’œil gauche, colle le droit au viseur, pointe l’objectif vers le ciel et s’adonne en argentique à la pêche aux nuages. Pour lui les cumulus dessinent des hommes du palais et de la rue, des animaux ordinaires, légendaires ou disparus. S’il fait chaud, Paulin rampe sous le bosquet. Parfois il sent un vaisseau battre dans la paupière de son œil clos, puis celui du viseur se ferme à son tour et, petit à petit, l’objectif de l’appareil rejoint l’oseille sauvage et les coquelicots. (« Le Monographe »)”

“Pauling was shocked by the freedom with which the X-ray crystallographers of the time, including particularly Astbury, played with the intimate chemical structure of their models. They seemed to think that if the atoms were arranged in the right order and about the right distance apart, that was all that mattered, that no further restrictions need to be put on them.”

“PAULO: [...] Não acredito na autolibertação. A libertação é um ato social. IRA: Não existe uma autoemancipação pessoal? PAULO: Não, não, não. Mesmo quando você se sente, individualmente, mais livre, se esse sentimento não é um sentimento social, se você não é capaz de usar sua liberdade recente para ajudar os outros a se libertarem através da transformação global da sociedade, então você só está exercitando uma atitude individualista no sentido do empowerment ou da liberdade.”