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T Quotes

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All T Quotes

“They were brought over a mix of different kinds of rosy-seabass sashimi. The surface of its skin had been lightly scorched. On her first bite, Rika widened her eyes at the deep sweetness of the meaty flesh. Next to appear was her bowl of rice, its shining white grains forming a mound over the rim of the bowl. Rika picked up her chopsticks and tucked in. On the other side of the table, Reiko was biting into her onigiri wrapped in dense black nori. Both of their expressions took on an ecstatic cast. Each individual grain of rice was so intensely sweet. She could sense not only the flavor of the grains on her tongue, but their shape as well. When she chewed them, the inside of her mouth loosened, and when she made to greedily absorb them and taste them, she could feel the insides of her body whirring round as if all its cogs were moving. A soft heat rose up from her solar plexus. Cutting the taste with the pumpkin pickles, pale pink millet roe, and the umeboshi brought out with the rice, she worked her way through in small mouthfuls.”

“They were buffoons with barricaded eyes, their shoulders held in positions of immovable defense. Each position upon the great floor could be seen as an atrophic collision from which dead flesh might slough away to reveal skeletons. Their bodies, their clothes, and their faces described individual hells-the insucked breast of concealed terrors, the glittering hook of a jewel became substitute armor; the mouths were judgments full of frightened absolutes, cathedral prisms of eyebrows showing lofty and religious sentiments which their loins denied.”

“They were Chinese vampires. They were discovered during renovation work at the Bok Kai Temple in Old Sacramento. One of the priests there told his brother about them. The brother's whatever the Chinese version of mobbed up is. Alex here thinks he's using them to distract the Nortenos and the Black Dragons long enough to take over the marijuana trade in Sacramento using the stuff they're making in a bunch of grow houses in Elk Grove." Ted stared at me. "And will the Chinese vampires be joined by legions of Korean werewolves who have been cooking meth in trailer parks in Truckee? "No. The werewolves are refusing to get involved. Trust me, I've tried to talk them into helping. They'll have nothing to do with it.”

“They were chocolate-covered orange slices, each slice perfect and plump as a jewel, with smooth-as-silk chocolate encasing half of them. She felt a lump in her throat. She hadn't known he'd been listening when she talked about oranges weeks ago. He'd barely liked her then. In fact, she was certain he hadn't. All of a sudden, it felt like her family was here with her, even though they hadn't yet written back to the letter she'd sent--- it had been picked up by a passing sailor weeks ago, but no boat had returned with a response. Still, here was a bit of home. Terlu blinked quickly. "You don't like them?" he said, concerned. "I know you said you remembered candied oranges from your Winter Feast, but then I thought with your story about the orange tree..." "It's perfect," she said. "You're perfect.”

“They were close enough that she could finally see him clearly. Her eyes took in the sight of the Scot, standing tall in full Highland dress. “Oh, delightful,” she muttered to herself. She was at her worst, with seaweed hair streaming water, while Wren had apparently decided to put on his Sunday best. And didn’t he look absolutely magnificent! If her heart had not already been doing troublesome things before, it was pounding in brazen excitement as she looked at him now. This was her husband. Dear Lord. This was her husband. He was always a very striking man. The cleft of his chin. His sturdy Roman nose. The softness of his dark, sooty lashes over those gorgeous blue eyes. His height, his breadth, his width. His girth? Briar almost giggled. Shush, she told herself. But now? Gracious, he was unbearably handsome. There was something about a man in a kilt. Especially the way Wren was wearing it. The dark green Renfrew plaid, shot through with its strands of red and white and gold, was already a lovely thing. Against Wren's form, contrasted against his dark hair, it was a god's finery. Every pleat, every fold fitting his leanly muscled physique. She swallowed hard, then took another step.”

“They were complete little people talking to her from a mind she knew nothing about and would have to learn to apprehend; although this person had grown in her body, had torn it emerging, had once shared pulse and food and blood and joy and grief, it was now a separate person whose innards, mind and spirit and emotion, she would never completely comprehend. It was as if one weren't born suddenly, but progressively; as if each birth were also a death, each step they made in development moving them further away from her, from their oneness with her, and in time, far, far from her, they would merge with others, have children themselves, join and separate, until the final separation, which would also be a birth into a new mode.”

“They were conquerors, and for that you want only brute force—nothing to boast of, when you have it, since your strength is just an accident arising from the weakness of others. They grabbed what they could get for the sake of what was to be got. It was just robbery with violence, aggravated murder on a great scale, and men going at it blind—as is very proper for those who tackle a darkness. The conquest of the earth, which mostly means the taking it away from those who have a different complexion or slightly flatter noses than ourselves, is not a pretty thing when you look into it too much. What redeems it is the idea only. An idea at the back of it; not a sentimental pretence but an idea; and an unselfish belief in the idea—something you can set up, and bow down before, and offer a sacrifice to....”

“They were conscientious, you couldn't deny it, and they were also flabby, heartless sons-of-bitches. In other words, they were well chosen, as mindlessly enthusiastic as any employer could dream of. Sons that would have delighted my mother, worshiping their bosses, if only she could have had one all to herself, a son she could have been proud of in the eyes of the world, a real legitimate son.”

“They were conspiring to desert us in the night and steal some of our horses... we engaged a spy.”

“They were contemplating moving into another house or, more exactly, loudly saying to each other, so as to be overheard by anyone who might be listening, that they were contemplating moving, when all at once the fiend was gone, as happens with the moskovett, that bitter blast, that colossus of cold air that blows on our eastern shores throughout March, and then one morning you hear the birds, and the flags hang flaccid, and the outlines of the world are again in place.”

“They were creating a program on contemplative prayer called Be Still. They asked me to be a part of this project that was designed to help Americans see the importance of spending time before God in stillness. I knew immediately that God wanted me to be a part of the project.”

“They were designed to appease the folks who had just yelled at us, and while my confidence was shaky, I knew it was time to say no again—to them and to the executive team that wanted a quick turnaround. “No, we’re not going for mediocre. No, no one wants us to do me-too design. And, no, we’re not done with this roadmap until it’s something that inspires everyone in the room.” Now, the difference between me standing up in my office and giving a speech on inspirational product roadmaps and a manager who’s flirting with Crazy Town because of an executive beat-down is slim, but therein lies the art. Saying no is saying “stop,” and in a valley full of people who thrive on endless movement, the ability to strategically choose when it’s time to stop is the sign of a manager willing to defy convention.”