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T Quotes

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All T Quotes

“Taking the politics out of setting the minimum wage provides fairness for workers and predictability for businesses. This legislation will also protect the most vulnerable workers and level the playing field for employers who play by the rules. These are the right steps to take; they will make Ontario a better place to work and run a business.”

“Taking the right action if a challenge arises, responding the right way with the right timing, requires being attentive. Sometimes, the cues about how best to interact with people or a situation are subtle. Sometimes, opportunities dry up very quickly, and you can miss them if you don’t act right away. Being aware of when a shift is happening and remaining flexible helps.”

“Taking the Right Decision in any situation only requires TWO major ingredients: Critical Thinking and Grace. Critical Thinking is like 'Works' and Grace is like 'Faith'. So if "Faith without Works is dead," then same, I believe, goes for Works without Faith. Like the two sides of a coin, one without the other just won't make any sense. And if the coin ever has a third side, it will never be 'Emotions' or 'Sentiments' because they both have zero IQ.”

“Taking the ring from her, Sebastian slid it onto his own hand. His hands were so much larger that the circlet would only fit the tip of his smallest finger. Grasping her chin in an intractable hold, he glared into her eyes. “I’ll take your bet,” he said grimly. “I’m going to win it. And in three months, I’m going to put this back on your finger, and take you to bed, and do things to you that are outlawed in the civilized world.” Evie’s resolve did not shield her from the heart-thumping alarm that any rational woman would feel upon hearing such an ominous statement. Nor did it prevent her knees from turning to jelly as he jerked her against his body and fitted his mouth to hers. Her hands, suspended in mid-air, went to his head in a trembling butterfly descent. The texture of his hair, the locks so cool and thick on the surface, so warm and damp at the roots, was too alluring to resist. She slid her fingers into the gleaming golden layers and pulled him even closer, helplessly reveling in the urgent pressure of his mouth. Their tongues mated, slid, stroked, and with each slippery-sweet caress inside the joined cavern of their mouths, she felt a hot coiling deep in her belly… no, deeper than that… in the tightening, liquefying core where she had once taken his invading flesh. It shocked her to realize how much she wanted him there again. She whimpered as he pulled away from her, while frustration washed over them both. “You didn’t say that I couldn’t kiss you,” Sebastian said, his eyes bright with devil-fire. “I’m going to kiss you as long and as often as I like, and you’re not to utter a word of protest. That’s the concession you’ll give in return for my celibacy. Damn you.” Giving her no time either to agree or to object, he released her and strode to the door. “And now, if you’ll excuse me… I’m going to go kill Joss Bullard.”

“Taking the things people do wrong seriously is part of taking them seriously. It’s part of letting their actions have weight. It’s part of letting their actions be actions rather than just indifferent shopping choices; of letting their lives tell a life-story, with consequences, and losses, and gains, rather than just be a flurry of events. It’s part of letting them be real enough to be worth loving, rather than just attractive or glamorous or pretty or charismatic or cool.”

“Taking the wrong fork, I veered onto a curious road where the ground grew increasingly higher, and although my heart warned me to turn back, I didn't, for the curiosities of the mind are much stronger than imagined. During the course of my journey, I noticed trees becoming unwieldy, taking shapes my eyes had not seen. What was this peculiarity that battered my mind with such wonderment? There were no signs, nor directories, not even a guide, but my curiosities did not wind, for too eager was I to turn. So, like a child lost to the night, I walked this lonesome patch of gray until coming across a curve where the forest belt spread like wildfire, and the wild weeds and grasses produced a certain beauty not found in other parts.”

“Taking trips tore all of us up inside, for they seemed, each journey away from home, something that might have been less selfishly undertaken, or something that would test us, or something that had better be momentous, to justify such a leap into the dark. The torment and guilt - the torment of having the loved one go, the guilt of being the loved one gone - comes into my fiction as it did and does in my life. And most of all the guilt then was because it was true: I had left to arrive at some future and secret joy, at what was unknown, and what was no in New York, waiting to be discovered. My joy was connected with my writing; that was as much as I knew.”

“Taking Zen's lessons seriously need not entail taking Zen's lore literally. After all, the texts of the Zen tradition were not written as academic history books. John Maraldo's judicious and insightful The Saga of Zen History and the Power of Legend makes a compelling case for treating the traditional chronicles and lore of Zen as I do in this book—namely, as soteriological or liberating "legends" rather than as literal accounts of "history" in the modern academic sense uncritically assumed by many modern scholars "who seek only the facts behind the texts and devious motives behind the facts.”

“Tako nekako perpetualno na odlasku, mutno, samotno nerazriješen u sramotnoj samoći, ne razumijem te, sebe ne razumijem, nemam primjera... dokle mislim i da nisam zdravo. Sinoć sam nešto sanjao.” “Ali je to samo kratkotrajno, tek zapreka i smetnja, samo si umoran i to će proći, vjeruj mi”, je izgovorila stegnuvši mi ruku, “uvjerena sam!... Immanuel, pa nije li da sve što si dosad pokušao, na kraju se obistinilo? Na kraju si uspio? A i ja sam napokon tu, vidiš da sada mogu češće dolaziti, i bit ću, ja sam uvijek tu.” Jedan zgureni čovuljak na tvrdoj drvenoj stolici u bijeloj košulji dugih rukava nalakćen o stol u polumraku najmanje sobe osamljenog, najmljenog seoskog kućerka u vrući ljetni dan; miris raspadajućeg vapna, starih drvenih dasaka, miris zemlje i prašine i prosušene tinte po papiru jedva preglednih gomila, no i onaj sapuna, slobode, tvoj miris naime, a ti sjediš do mene toliko zapravo neopisivo mi potrebna, moj posljednji prijatelj, sa ormara, u sjeni ljušti se tirkizna pokost, rijetkim brašnasto nježnim i bijelim i žutim zrakama sunca polako padaju čestice i vrijeme postoji, ali nerazdruživo, kao horologij oko nas prazne stvari zadržavaju prolaznost, pak ti osluškujem dah, slušam odnose, vjetar, dopunjavan korelacijama ne shvaćajući uzrujanost, zanos, ni mladost, a ni zdravlje kad sam pomalo, razumije se, bolestan; na prozoru hrapavo stabarje, mračno, izrasta iz visoke trave, u šušljetu krošnji blagim ćarlijajnjem vrućega lahora, vani je vruće, drače pucketa, no moje lice je oznojeno, gleda me sa stakla nezdravo, blijed sam, crna mi kosa pada u oči. “Immanuel...” “A ne želiš čuti moj san?” “Želim, reci mi.” Pa sam se napregnuo, namjestio se, mislim da sam tiho zadrhtao od neke osobite studeni tek još jedanput iza prstiju primijetivši inedite, mirna, nepomična rasprava, nedovršena ideološka polemika, benavi suprotiv ondašnje vlasti kao i poziv na čovjekoljublje, ustvari ne mnogo dalje od toga, od neke osjetljive, nježne prosudbe, još i prijazne, susretljive, a režimska inteligencija umjesto represije, nekada je preferirala odgovarati na pisanije, no manje ozbiljno, čak u polušali, drugačiji jedan pristup ikakvoj novoj misli... “Možeš li mi dati vode...? Kao da mi se vrti.” Zatvorio sam potom oči; šuštaj tvoje odjeće, težina tijela u hodu, tiho lupkanje stakla i kristalni žubor vode, tvoje pitanje uto šaptom: “Jesi li jeo?” “Ne mogu. Možda ću kasnije...” ... privatno me naravno traže, pedantno strvoderski, poput kakvog prestrašenog, zaraženog opasnog psa, zakulisno mi zatvaraju i poznanike, po buturnicama ih premlaćuju neotesano divlje, nerazumno, nepotrebno brutalno, neke neistine se kužno šire, da sam nastran, da sam konfuzan, istom žaljenja vrijedan shizoidni paranoik, pak osamljeni potrošeni nesretnik i nitkov... nasilnik!... na što u javnosti, u štampi, kordijalnost, argumentacija, pravedna evaluacija svega što zastupam, nigdje ni grote uzbuđenja, već sve suhoparna, uspavljujuća, beskrvna besjeda dokraja dosadna docilnoj javnosti; sirova ljudska užgana pobuna tek je scenerija nečije obuzdane predstave, i svaki trud je spušten u apsurd, a izistinski, odavna sam već izmoren od toga... “Tako sam sanjao da mi je život nešto udaljeno, nešto jedva moje, a ono što jesam je sve manje tu. Odvilo se isto da su mi dani, prošli kao i budući, kao i čuvstva, moja životna žar, obraz mi, sve je pripalo nekom drugom, baš recimo uobičajeno banalno, slično kakvom vlasništvu na bazaru prodano i ostavljeno, kadno taj koji kupuje ne zna ni što odnosi; za takvoga je to kuriozum, besprimjerni položaj ugode u dokonici, trofej karnalni nehajno nazočan, a strvina je ljudska ništa do li maska; odvojen od vremena...” si govorio kao bunovan, od vrućice poten i malaksao, sanen, daha oslabljena u modrini dana pastelno prisutnoj, a što je svjetlinom ti milovala vruće znojno lice crnih trepavica, iscrpljeno, sa takvim duševnim razmakom od mene, toliko vanljudskim da je stežući me boljelo.”

“Takoyaki are octopus balls- not, thankfully, in the anatomical sense. They're a spherical cake with a chunk of boiled octopus in the center, cooked on a special griddle with hemispherical indentations. If you're familiar with the Danish pancakes called aebleskivers, you know what a takoyaki looks like; the pan is also similar. Takoyaki are not unknown in the U.S., but I've only ever seen them made fresh at cultural festivals. Iris is a big fan, but I've always been more into the takoyaki aesthetic than the actual food. Takoyaki are always served in a paper or wooden boat and usually topped with mayonnaise, bonito flakes, shredded nori, and takoyaki sauce.”