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Eight Quotes

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Eight Quotes

“Shetani anatisha. Ana macho makubwa manane: macho ya serafi, macho ya mwanadamu, macho ya simba na macho ya tai, na ana mabawa makubwa sita yenye urefu wa futi sita mpaka nane kila moja. Ana rangi ya bluu, bluu iliyoiva, ambayo ni sehemu kubwa ya rangi ya kuzimu, na macho makubwa kama nguva wa Afrika. ‘Mtu’ wa namna hiyo akikwambia njoo nikupige kojoa kwanza ndiyo uende. Kukaa karibu na ‘mtu’ wa namna hiyo ni kujitafutia matatizo makubwa. Kuepukana naye, usiwe mkristo wa Shetani, usiwe mkristo wa kanisa, usiwe mkristo wa dini, kuwa Mkristo wa Yesu Kristo. Kwa maneno mengine, usiwe mkristo wa kufuata bendera, usiwe mkristo wa kinafiki – kuwa Mkristo wa kweli.”

“At the age of eight, John Quincy Adams was made the man of his house while his father, John Adams, was off doing important John Adams things for America. This would be a lot of terrifying responsibility at any time in American history, but it just so happens that, when Adams was eight years old, the *Revolutionary freaking War* was happening right outside his house. He watched the Battle of Bunker Hill from his front porch, according to his diary, worried that he might be 'butchered in cold blood, or taken and carried ... as hostages by any foraging or marauding detachment of British soldiers.' I don't have the diary I kept at age eight, but I think the only things I worried about was whether or not they'd have for dogs in the school the next day and if I had the wherewithal and clarity of purpose to collect all of the Pokemon. John Q, on the other hand, guarded his house, mother, and siblings during wartime. This isn't to imply that eight-year-old John Quincy Adams could have beaten eight-year-old you in a fight, but to imply that eight-year-old John Quincy Adams could beat you *as an adult*.”

“At the age of eight, John Quincy Adams was made the man of his house while his father, John Adams, was off doing important John Adams things for America. This would be a lot of terrifying responsibility at any time in American history, but it just so happens that, when Adams was eight years old, the *Revolutionary freaking War* was happening right outside his house. He watched the Battle of Bunker Hill from his front porch, according to his diary, worried that he might be 'butchered in cold blood, or taken and carried ... as hostages by any foraging or marauding detachment of British soldiers.' I don't have the diary I kept at age eight, but I think the only things I worried about was whether or not they'd have corndogs in school the next day and if I had the wherewithal and clarity of purpose to collect all of the Pokemon. John Q, on the other hand, guarded his house, mother, and siblings during wartime. This isn't to imply that eight-year-old John Quincy Adams could have beaten eight-year-old you in a fight, but to imply that eight-year-old John Quincy Adams could beat you *as an adult*.”

“Okay, I think it's time for another distraction" Eight says, disappearing again. He reappears by the outer circle of stones, plants his hands on an upright slab, and pushes hard. All I can do is watch in horror, frozen to the spot. The huge stone wobbles and slowly tips backwards, then the horizontal slab on top falls too, and that's when Eight starts yelling, "Help! Help! The stones are falling over! Stonehenge is falling down!" I will kill him. I clench my fists at my side, which is when I realize I still have a small rock in my hand. I lean down and carefully, pointlessly, return it to its spot.”

“Wow, hi,’ Eight says, and when he speaks it’s with his own voice. It’s him. It’s really him. Marina nearly doubles over with a delighted sob. She collects herself quickly, though, and grabs Eight first by the shoulders, then on the sides of his face. She pulls him in close. ‘You’re warm,’ she says in wonder. ‘You’re so warm.’ Eight laughs easily. He puts his hand over Marina’s and gently kisses the side of it. ‘You’re warm, too,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry, Eight. I’m sorry I couldn’t heal you.’ Eight shakes his head. ‘Stop, Marina. It’s okay. You brought me here. It’s – I can’t even describe it. It’s amazing in there.’ Already, I see the energy spreading outward from Eight’s heart. It races through his body, fissures opening on his arms and legs. He doesn’t seem to be in any pain. He just smiles at Marina and looks at her like he’s trying to memorize her face. ‘Can I kiss you?’ Marina asks him. ‘I really wish you would.”

“He won’t have long, daughter.’ ‘Who won’t?’ she replies, puzzled. Without another word, the entity’s eyes close and Eight’s body begins to tremble. To my surprise, the energy actually recedes from his body. The cracks along the backs of his hands stop glowing and close up, as does the one that opened across his forehead. After a few seconds, the only thing left glowing on Eight is the wound over his heart. He floats out of the column of energy and ends up right in front of Marina. When Eight opens his eyes, they don’t glow. They’re green, just like I remember them, serene, but with a spark of that old mischief. Eight’s lips curl into a slow smile as he sees Marina. ‘Wow, hi,’ Eight says, and when he speaks it’s with his own voice. It’s him. It’s really him. Marina nearly doubles over with a delighted sob. She collects herself quickly, though, and grabs Eight first by the shoulders, then on the sides of his face. She pulls him in close. ‘You’re warm,’ she says in wonder. ‘You’re so warm.’ Eight laughs easily. He puts his hand over Marina’s and gently kisses the side of it. ‘You’re warm, too,’ he says. ‘I’m so sorry, Eight. I’m sorry I couldn’t heal you.’ Eight shakes his head. ‘Stop, Marina. It’s okay. You brought me here. It’s – I can’t even describe it. It’s amazing in there.’ Already, I see the energy spreading outward from Eight’s heart. It races through his body, fissures opening on his arms and legs. He doesn’t seem to be in any pain. He just smiles at Marina and looks at her like he’s trying to memorize her face. ‘Can I kiss you?’ Marina asks him. ‘I really wish you would.’ Marina kisses him, pressing in close, squeezing him. As she does, the energy swells up from within Eight and, slowly, his body begins to break apart. It’s different from when a Mogadorian disintegrates. It’s as if, for a moment, I can see every cell in Eight’s body and see how the energy from the well glows in between each of them. One by one, those pieces of Eight dissolve, and he becomes one with the light. Marina tries to cling to him, but her fingers pass right through the energy. And then, he’s gone.”

“When I was eight years old, I wrote a paragraph-long short story about a goat on my mother's hundred-pound, black-and-white-screen laptop. The story came about largely because I liked the way the word 'goat' looked on the page, but I decided then and there that I wanted to be a writer. That desire never changed.”

“Each player, it will be observed, has eight superior Pieces or officers, and eight minor ones which are called Pawns; and, for the purpose of distinction, the Pieces and Pawns of one party are of a different color from those of the other.”

“He should release the tax returns tomorrow. It's crazy. You've got to release six, eight, ten years back tax returns. Take the hit for a day or two. He has to give a big speech in defense of capitalism, and that will elevate, I think, this race above this tactical back and forth, which I do think he's on the margin of losing.”

“At 20, I realized that I could not possibly adjust to a feminine role as conceived by my father and asked him permission to engage in a professional career. In eight months I filled my gaps in Latin, Greek and mathematics, graduated from high school, and entered medical school in Turin.”