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“Ti and Ne might well be viewed as “freedom-seeking” functions, contributing to the INTP’s status as the most fiercely independent of all types. Indeed, INTPs deplore being told what to do or how they should do something. They want to do things their own way and in their own time. This can inspire them to resist or rebel against, even if only inwardly, various rules, laws, and authorities perceived as potential threats to their freedom and autonomy. These threats may come in the form of governmental or corporate power; INTPs are wary of both. Consequently, almost all INTPs, at least at some point in their lives, will gravitate toward some sort of anarchist or libertarian philosophy.”

Author:A.J. Drenth

“Ti rendi conto che il passato, compreso quello più recente, è stato abolito? Se mai sopravvive da qualche parte, è in oggetti concreti e privi di un nome che li definisca, come quel pezzo di vetro. Noi già non sappiamo praticamente nulla della Rivoluzione e degli anni che l'hanno preceduta. Tutti i documenti sono stati distrutti o falsificati, tutti i libri riscritti, tutti i quadri dipinti da capo, tutte le statue, le strade e gli edifici cambiati di nome, tutte le date alterate, e questo processo è ancora in corso, giorno dopo giorno, minuto dopo minuto. La storia si è fermata. Non esiste altro che un eterno presente nel quale il Partito ha sempre ragione.”

“Ti se nadaš da čuješ nešto više o Viktoru Igou. Šta mogu da ti o njemu kažem ? To je čovek kao i svaki drugi, sa dosta ružnim licem i dosta prostom spoljašnjošću. Ima izvaredne zube i veličanstveno čelo, bez obrva, bez trepavica. Malo govori, izgleda da pazi na sebe i da neće da govori više nego što treba; vrlo je učtiv i pomalo usiljen. Veoma mi se sviđa zvuk njegovog glasa. Imao sam uživanje da ga posmatram izbliza; gledao sam ga sa čuđenjem, kao neku kasicu u kojoj bi se nalazili milioni i kraljevski dijamanti, razmišljajući o svemu što je izišlo iz tog čoveka, koji je tada sedeo pored mene na jednoj maloj stolici, i stalno upirući oči u njegovu desnu ruku, koja je napisala toliko lepih stvari. A to je, međutim, bio čovek zbog koga mi je najviše zakucalo srce otkad sam na svetu, i možda čovek koga sam najviše voleo od svih onih koje ne poznajem. Govorilo se o pogubljenjima, o osvetama, o lopovima, itd. Taj veliki čovek i ja upravo smo najviše razgovarali; ne sećam se više da li sam rekao pametne stvari ili glupe, ali sam ih rekao prilično mnogo. – Sestri, Pariz januara 1843.”

“Ti si se nakon toliko godina našao u kraju, gdje si proživio svoje prve i najsretnije dane, i ja iz iskustva znam kako je to. Čovjek se baci u onu sretnu prošlost kao u toplu, mjesečnu noć. Sve u njemu jeca od razdraganosti. Pa makar ga život po stoputa okrutio, postaje sentimentalan. Eto - to je ono što ti ne smiješ. Sentimentalnost nije pravi, jaki osjećaj, neg mekana bešika, u koju polažemo naše prekomotno srce.”

“TIA OR TARA has stopped applying makeup to my wife’s face and is looking at Scottie with disapproval. The light is hitting this woman’s face, giving me an opportunity to see that she should perhaps be working on her own makeup. Her coloring is similar to a manila envelope. There are specks of white in her eyebrows, and her concealer is not concealing. I can tell my daughter doesn’t know what to do with this woman’s critical look. “What?” Scottie asks. “I don’t want any makeup.” She looks at me for protection, and it’s heartbreaking. All the women who model with Joanie have this inane urge to make over my daughter with the notion that they’re helping her somehow. She’s not as pretty as her older sister or her mother, and these other models think that slapping on some rouge will somehow make her feel better about her facial fate. They’re like missionaries. Mascara thumpers. “I was just going to say that I think your mother was enjoying the view,” Tia or Tara says. “It’s so pretty outside. You should let the light in.” My daughter looks at the curtain. Her little mouth is open. Her hand reaches for a tumbleweed of hair. “Listen here, T. Her mother was not enjoying the view. Her mother is in a coma. And she’s not supposed to be in bright light.” “My name is not T,” she says. “My name is Allison.” “Okay, then, Ali. Don’t confuse my daughter, please.” “I’m turning into a remarkable young lady,” Scottie says. “Damn straight.” My heart feels like one of Scottie’s clogs clomping down the hall. I don’t know why I became so angry.”

“Tiana balanced a stack of flapjacks, two bowls of grits, and five orders of pillowy-soft beignets on a serving tray. She squeezed through the narrow paths between the tables, carefully dodging pointy elbows and protruding feet. The café was packed to the gills with hungry, bleary-eyed customers who'd spent the night either kicking up their heels in the taverns or working the overnight shift in one of the factories in the French Quarter.”

“Tiana peered down in stunned delight at the sparkling white silk draping her body. The rhinestone- and pearl- studded gown she now wore was unlike anything she'd ever owned. When she lifted her head, she gasped at her surroundings. Tiana twirled around in a slow circle, mesmerized by the glitz and glamour of a place she had only seen in her nightly dreams. The old sugar mill she'd had her heart set on buying for years was no longer decrepit and falling apart. The floors gleamed underneath her feet, shining so bright they nearly blinded her. Brilliant crystal chandeliers hung high above her head, illuminating a massive dining room that was crowded with patrons. Men in suit jackets and women wearing their Sunday best sat at cloth-covered tables adorned with extravagant centerpieces and sparkling china. Everyone seemed to be having a grand time, enjoying rich, fragrant dishes that smelled like the food Tiana used to cook with her daddy.”

“Tiana thought about the money stored in coffee cans in her chifforobe. Years of tips she'd collected while waiting tables at Duke's Cafe and working the night shift at Cal's Restaurant. As of now, she had enough for a down payment, but she would need more than that to buy kitchen equipment, tableware, provisions, etc., not to mention start making rent.”

“Tianna felt happy. Since she had lost her family, she had wanted to belong somewhere. "That mysterious voice that seemed like an inner guide," Tianna asked. "Was that Selene?" Maggie nodded. "Selene was always guiding you. She looked down on you that first night and felt pity for what the Followers had done and for what you were going to endure. And now because you have proved yourself, she is allowing you to become-" "A goddess," Tianna whispered. "A Daughter of the Moon." Maggie corrected her with a smile.”

“Tianna gingerly touched her eyes, nose, and lips. She was startlingly beautiful. "Wow," she whispered, and brushed her fingers through her long silky black hair. Not many people ever got to see themselves as a stranger would. There was no prejudice in her vision or modesty imposed from a lifetime of living with her face and body. She could honestly say she was stunning. No wonder the guys were turning their heads, and the girls, too. She was a knockout.”

“Tiba-tiba gue ingin kehidupan lama gue kembali. Tanpa ada cewek yang selalu ngerecokin gue dengan ketakutan-ketakutannya. Takut dikhianati, takut dikira orang goblok, takut dirinya gak cukup cantik untuk membuat satu laki-laki setia sampai mati, dan gue gak tahu jutaan ketakutan-ketakutan apalagi yang riuh bersahutan di kepalanya dua puluh empat jam sehari, tujuh hari seminggu. Ketakutan-ketakutannya sudah menjadi bumerang. Ketakutan-ketakutan itu yang tadinya dijadikan benteng, sudah balik mengkhianatinya. Wajar. Nggak ada orang yang bisa bahagia karena hidupnya penuh dengan ketakutan. Hidup melawan realita seperti itu hanya memancing kenyataan untuk membalas dengan lebih keji. Kadang sangat sakit, tetapi itu konsekuensi yang secara gak sadar dia sendiri yang mengundangnya.”