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U Quotes

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All U Quotes

“Unwearied, and with springing steps elate, I had conveyed my wealth along the road. The empty sack proved now a heavier load: I was borne down beneath its worthless weight. I stumbled on, and knocked at Death's dark gate. There was no answer. Stung by sorrow's goad I forced my way into that grim abode, And laughed, and flung Life's empty sack to Fate.”

“Unwed white girls who became pregnant in the postwar years were considered psychologically disturbed but treatable, whereas their black counterparts were presumed to be biologically hypersexual and deviant. Historian Rickie Solinger demonstrates that in the 1950s an unwed white girl who became pregnant could go to a maternity home before her pregnancy showed, deliver the baby and give it up for adoption, and return home to her community with no one the wiser. (White parents concocted stories of their daughters being given the opportunity to study for a semester with relatives.) She could then resume the role of the "nice" girl. Unwed pregnant black girls, on the other hand, were barred from maternity homes; they were threatened with jail or termination of welfare; and they were accused of using their sexuality in order to be eligible for larger welfare checks. Politicians regarded unwed pregnant black girls as a societal problem, declaring--as they continue to declare today--that they did not want taxpayers to support black illegitimate babies, and sought to control black female sexuality through sterilization legislation.”

“Unwilling am I, in the evening of a life nearly consumed in public cares, to quit a peaceful abode for an Ocean of difficulties”

“Unwillingness to obey is the major reason or cause of partial obedience which is the same as total disobedience. Being unwilling to obey kills obedience in you faster than being ignorant of what and how to obey the given task. God seeks willingness first in you when an instruction is given and not your knowledge of how to do it.Knowledge is great but adding willingness to it makes you complete in God's projects.”

“Unwillkürlich musste er schmunzeln, als die kleine Wildkatze, die nicht einmal halb so groß war wie er, jetzt wütend fauchend vor ihm stand und ihm die Leviten las. »Lachst du über mich?« Der Luchs hielt inne und starrte ihn misstrauisch an. Dann fauchte er erneut. »Stumpfkralle! Du solltest ohne Aufsicht nicht im Wald unterwegs sein!« Stumpfkralle? Irgendwie war es niedlich, wie wütend und besorgt sich der Luchs aufführte.”

“Unwin was tired, too. He had worn himself down—to nothing, nearly—with his cuts and corrections, his erasures and emendations. He was awake now, but was there still time for him? His mind had wearied of its appointed rounds, of the stream of typescript and transcript, and now he wondered what might have been different, what might still be different, if only the day would hold and not abandon him to sleep.”

“Unwittingly, I have sailed through my entire life, so far, with neither direction nor destination. I had a vague instinct to reach dry land every once in a while for supplies, but never anything more than that.”

“Unwrite Me, You Cannot (Sonnet 1949) I've written my life on the fabric of time, no matter how much you try, you cannot unwrite me. My childhood friends are now parents to children, while I stand alone as the keeper of humanity. Even the woman I once dreamt a life with, is now a mother, yet my struggle continues for eternity. May they all have a full and flourishing life, but mine is to die as the lampbearer of liberty. I took the road less travelled, of my own accord, so the marginalized could have some tranquility. There's nothing groundbreaking in a life of comfort, we break ground by being antidote to animosity. I've written my life on the fabric of time, try all you like, unwrite me, you cannot. You can pin me to the ground or on the wall, but unsee, unhear, unwrite me, you cannot.”

“Uomini che fino a ieri erano padroni del loro destino, in quella foresta che era il loro mondo, portano ora mucchi di rifiuti che s'accumulano nelle profonde buche scavate dai bulldozer; non è nemmeno l'integrazione del lavoro della miniera o nell'interno degli impianti. È un impiego che (sembrerebbe volutamente) lascia gli aborigeni ai margini delle strade dei bianchi e della loro civiltà. Non più liberi cacciatori, ma solo miserabili raccoglitori di rifiuti altrui. Per questo, forse, l'aver incontrato dopo questi gruppi "integrati" di Gove, i gruppi ancora liberi di Oenpelly ha avuto per me un senso particolare. È stato come avere la diretta misura del fenomeno che antropologi ed etnologi chiamano acculturazione; la misura di un assassinio culturale collettivo, in nome del progresso. La morte di civiltà diverse, siano esse quelle di centinaia di milioni di uomini - in Africa, nell'Asia del Sud, in America meridionale e centrale - sia quella di poche migliaia di individui come gli aborigeni d'Australia.”

“Up against the corporate government, voters find themselves asked to choose between look-alike candidates from two parties vying to see who takes the marching orders from their campaign paymasters and their future employers. The money of vested interest nullifies genuine voter choice and trust.”

“Up ahead, a shadowy building loomed. It looked more like a gothic cathedral than a school, with grossly elongated black spires jutting into the night sky. They unnerved Tony. Somehow, they resembled horns silhouetted against the moon. He counted ten of these protuberances, each with an arrowhead as its tip. Tony found the structure difficult to make his mind up about. It was beautiful, that was for sure, but its beauty was intermingled with an ill-masked sense of horror. The black exterior had a pair of peculiar projections on either side of the building resembling a bat's wings. His feet on concrete now, he pulled up to a webbed gate— also reminiscent of a bats with the hind, bone-like array supporting an oily black, translucent texture. He saw some girls a few dozen feet from the gate at the entrance of the building. They were garbed in black sailor fuku skirts too high above the knees to facilitate concentration upon anything academic. The males were also dressed in black corduroy pants and black dress shirt. A throng by the massive doors stared holes through them as they approached. Up close, he noted some of the girls were quite pale, sporting piercings and tattoos on their necks and hands. He even saw one with a spider web inked on the side of her face. When he followed Silver Man into the building— his toes squeaking in his soaked shoes—he was awed by the aesthetics. There was a rather large gathering in the hall that looked more like large shadows with all the children in black. Tony felt out of place in his brown pants and long sleeved white shirt. The hall was bleak; the only source of illumination was a pair of horizontal cylindrical lamps set upon wooden rafters near the ceiling. Silver Man proceeded toward the platform where Tony could just make out the form of a thin man donning a monocle. He looked like an old scientist. He was sitting cross-legged, stroking his chest-length pearl white beard. The man appeared to be watching them as they progressed through the hall. Then he stood as they neared the stage, now caressing his bald head. He had a monkish appearance. His black robe— quite similar to the one Silver Man wore— was tied at the waist by a red cloth. The bald, monocled man extended a spindly hand which Silver Man gave a firm tug before leaning in and whispering something. The man nodded, turning to Tony. Tony flinched as he regarded him through his peculiar eyewear: a single gold-rimmed, circular lens. He now folded himself into an accentuated bow. "Listen up folks!" he shouted. Tony saw the students rushing inside the castle pell-mell, summoned by the voice of the bespectacled man. “We have a late recruit ladies and gentlemen,” the man said. His voice was much stronger than his thin frame suggested. “Join me as I induct him into the hallowed spirit of Imajinaereum.”

“Up ahead about two blocks, a massive figure stepped out into her path. She halted. Took a deep breath. Felt a prickling in her eyes. On the breeze drifting down to her, John's unmistakable bonding scent was a dark spice that wiped out the stink of the city and the wretched sting of her unhappiness. She started walking toward him. Fast. Faster... Now she was running. He met her halfway, falling into a jog as soon as he saw her pick up the pace, and they slammed into each other. Hard to know whose mouth found whose, or whose arms were cinched tighter, or who was the desperate one. But then, in this they were equals.”

“Up ahead stands the fun house, which you enter through a clown’s smiling mouth. “I would kill myself if I was prisoner here,” Shelby says. “No, you wouldn’t, just out of courtesy,” I say, “because your body would be trapped in there after you die, and your friends would have to watch your corpse rot.” “Hmm,” Shelby says. “Smell it too.” “Well, now we’re looking on the bright side,” Packard says.”

“Up and down," Meera would sigh sometimes as they walked, "then down and up. Then up and down again. I hate these stupid mountains of yours, Prince Bran." "Yesterday you said you loved them." "Oh, I do. My lord father told me about mountains, but I never saw one till now. I love them more than I can say." Bran made a face at her. "But you just said you hated them." "Why can't it be both?" Meera reached up to pinch his nose. "Because they're different," he insisted. "Like night and day, or ice and fire." "If ice can burn," said Jojen in his solemn voice, "then love and hate can mate. Mountain or marsh, it makes no matter. The land is one." "One," his sister agreed, "but over wrinkled.”