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T Quotes

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All T Quotes

“That is the saddest part when you lose someone you love - that person keeps changing. And later you wonder, Is this the same person I lost? Maybe you lost more maybe less, then thousand different things that come from your memory or imagination - and you do not know which is which, which was true, which is false.”

“That is the simple secret of happiness. Whatever you are doing, don’t let past move your mind; don’t let future disturb you. Because the past is no more, and the future is not yet. To live in the memories, to live in the imagination, is to live in the non-existential. And when you are living in the non-existential, you are missing that which is existential. Naturally you will be miserable, because you will miss your whole life.”

“That is the story of our history - whether it's the pursuit of prosperity for our people or the struggle for equality for all of our citizens, our commitment to stand up for our values abroad, and our sacrifices to make the world a safer place. Let us remember that we can do these things not just because of wealth or power, but because of who we are. One nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

“That is the trouble with many inventors; they lack patience. They lack the willingness to work a thing out slowly and clearly and sharply in their mind, so that they can actually "feel it work." They want to try their first idea right off; and the result is they use up lots of money and lots of good material, only to find eventually that they are working in the wrong direction. We all make mistakes, and it is better to make them before we begin.”

“That is the true genius of America, a faith in the simple dreams of its people, the insistence on small miracles. That we can say what we think, write what we think, without hearing a sudden knock on the door. That we can have an idea and start our own business without paying a bribe or hearing a sudden knock on the door. That we can participate in the political process without fear of retribution, and that our votes will be counted.”

“That is the truth, my boy. All we have left of our ancestors' great covenant with the Everlasting, who brought them out of nothingness, is darkness and wrath. With every day that passes, Horeb's wrath feeds on our sins. He demands justice and righteousness. He watches us, impatiently. He knows our past, but he also knows the future that awaits us. He sees that we are advancing into darkness. In his impatience, he rumbles to shake us our of our torpor. But all he obtains in return is fear, even though what he wants is a little courage and dignity!”

“That is the untold story of what the IMF calls "stabilization programs," as if countries were ships being tossed around on the market's high seas. They do, eventually, stabilize, but that new equilibrium is achieved by throwing millions of people overboard: public sector workers, small-business owners, subsistence farmers, trade unionists. The ugly secret of "stabilization" is the vast majority never climb back aboard. They end up in slums, now home to 1 billion people; they end up in brothels or cargo ship containers. They are the disinherited, those described by the German poet Rainer Maria Rilke as "ones to whom neither the past nor the future belongs.”

“that is the very. best time of life, he thought: lost time. the time of summer when the leaves of the trees are tangled in the iridescent sunlight. he thought always of his childhood as an uninterrupted summertime when lazy happiness dulled and delighted his brain and limb. to remember the summer and the run through tall grasses. the sun bathed his arms and legs an earthy brown and he was perfect and unaware and this is how it was in the afternoon: the house was white and high and remote upon the hill and the graveled drive was like a pebbly ribbon that had been dropped carelessly on the lawn, the drive upon which he. had run and the garden beside it where he had lain to crush the fragrant flowers. and far away, yet not too far, the cool sound of the running stream. grasses grew beside the stream and at a certain spot, a certain secret hidden spot, the foliage was pushed away, pressed into a narrow length, not so narrow as a grave, not so narrow that. one should lie alone. and together on the general summer day that was his childhood, awed and silent, they had listened to the whisper of the cool water, they had basked in the sunlight, his tousled head upon her breast, his eager small body in the crook of her moist arm. they had breathed together quietly, reverently, both aware of the earth's breathing. and turning sleepily, warmly on the earth, his lost voice asking, 'mother, where does the water run?' and the answering miracle, ' to the sea, down to the sea...”