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“you’ll have people hijacking the Palestinian struggle as a chance for bashing the Jews, like European neo-Nazis who demonstrate against the occupation of Palestinian territories or the Iraq War. It’s important for the left to keep them apart from the legitimate struggle for the rights of the Palestinians; however, saying that anti-Zionism is antisemitism is a well-known tactic of intellectual dishonesty. (Interview in Forward)”

“You'll kiss me again." His low-voiced, arrogant confidence made her wish she had something clutched in her hand to throw at him. "The advantage of being a member of 'our' species, Miss Eversea..." very deliberate, that, and he waited for her face to go thunderous "... is one that does whatever one wants because they want to and because they 'like' it. And you both 'want' to and you 'liked' it. Not every woman does. Ponder that." She glared at him. "But liking it has more than little to do with 'who' you're kissing. And when you kiss me again it will have naught to do with 'wisdom.' It will be because you will be unable to think of anything 'else' until you do.”

“You’ll know when to take revenge. It may take years, but you’ll know,” the old woman whispered. “You kept to the old ways, yes, you and your family. You did. I know who you prayed to: Jupitor, who gives us light and day; Sif, bringer of the harvest, change, and death; yes, and Striobog. During the winters here in our hills, he smiled at us. But you know who I see in you? Judith. You are a child of Judith, bringer of rain, growth, lightning, and storms. Let her guide you through this terrible time.”

“You’ll learn, as you get older, that rules are made to be broken. Be bold enough to live life on your terms, and never, ever apologize for it. Go against the grain, refuse to conform, take the road less traveled instead of the well-beaten path. Laugh in the face of adversity, and leap before you look. Dance as though EVERYBODY is watching. March to the beat of your own drummer. And stubbornly refuse to fit in.”

“You’ll likely need to assess the magnitude of the reorg before you choose. You’re especially interested in whatever machinations are in play for your part of the building, but the key to remember is that reorgs represent opportunity. Even if this particular reorg doesn’t involve your team, it doesn’t mean that you can’t pitch your boss on fixing a long-standing organization problem in your group.”

“You'll look like a scary calavera now," Catty assured the young girl as she leaned back to admire the skeleton skull she had made on her face. "Who's next?" Catty asked and pulled out another paintbrush. Four hands shot up, but one little girl eased into the chair in front of Catty before she had a chance to choose. "My turn," she said. Catty smiled and began smudging white over the girl's rosy cheeks.”

“You'll lose it, you'll come down, but that's okay. Don't knock it. Because the grace to experience the possibility of yourself keeps helping you aim and redirect — and as you learn how to do it, every time you start to come down — the things that bring you down are your own clinging, fears, unworthiness, self-pity, stuff like that. And you just start to ‘here ma you take it, here Ram Dass you take it, you take my stuff, I don't need it anymore.’ And everything that interferes with your tuning to God within yourself, you just start to let it go. No big deal about it, you just start to let it go.”

“You’ll need a chaperone. I have no doubt that Great-Aunt Clara would stay at the terrace with you, or perhaps—” “I’ll invite old Mrs. Smedley from the village,” Livia said. “She’s from a respectable family, and she would enjoy a trip to London.” Aline frowned. “Dearest, Mrs. Smedley is hard of hearing, and as blind as a bat. A less effective chaperone I couldn’t imagine.” “Precisely,” Livia said, with such satisfaction that Aline couldn’t help laughing.”

“You'll need to prove your worth again. They'll need to see it. To believe I see it." He cut her a look. "My worth is three times that of most respected men of the ton." She shook her head. "I mean your value. As a marquess. As a man." He went still. "Anyone who knows my tale can tell you that I haven't much value as either of those things. I lost it all a decade ago. Perhaps you hadn't heard?" The words oozed from him, all condescension, and she knew the question was rhetorical, but she would not be cowed. "I have heard.." She lifted her chin to meet his gaze head-on. "And you are willing to let one foolish, childhood peccadillo cloud your image for the rest of eternity? And mine as well, now?" He shifted, leaning toward her, all danger and threat. She held her own, refusing to sit back. To look away. "I lost it all. Hundreds of thousands of pounds' worth. On one card. It was colossal. A loss for the history books. And you call it a peccadillo?" She swallowed. "Hundreds of thousands?" "Give or take." She resisted the urge to ask precisely how much was to be given or taken. "On one card?" "One card." "Perhaps not a peccadillo, then. But foolish, to be sure." She had no idea where the words came from, but they came nonetheless, and she knew that her choices were to brazen it through or show her fear.”