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Uk Quotes

“You say 'love' too easily, Kepler." "No, not rally - please don't call me that. The idea that love has to be a blazing romantic thing of monogamous stability is innately ludicrous. You loved your parents, perhaps, because they were the warmth you could flee to. You loved your first childhood crush with a passion that made your lips tingle, your flesh grow light in their presence. You loved your wife with the steadiness of an ocean against the shore; your lover with the blaze of a shooting star, your best friend with the confidence of a mountain. Love is a many-splendorous thing, as the old song says....”

“Remember “what happened in Iraq”? If you don’t, let’s take a stroll down memory lane. It was a grand display of Western arrogance where the US, the UK, and a gaggle of NATO allies decided to bomb the living daylights out of a sovereign nation under the pretence of non-existent weapons of mass destruction. This wasn’t a liberation; it was a cold-blooded invasion based on a tapestry of lies.”

“With the prospect of raids on London itself, U.S. ambassador Joseph Kennedy decamped. To the great disdain of many in London, he began conducting his ambassadorial affairs from his home in the country. Within the Foreign Office, a joke began to circulate: "I always thought my daffodils were yellow until I met Joe Kennedy.”

“Like many children, I had a telescope from a young age. I was familiar with some constellations and the moon and planets. I always enjoyed looking up at the night sky and seeing the few stars up there in the orange sky in Liverpool, UK. The streetlights made it hard to see much of the night sky in Liverpool. I always enjoyed my camping trips to rural Wales because there were few streetlights and the night sky was actually black! It was a very different night sky, far more stars and the cloud of the Milky Way could be seen.”

“It is nine o'clock, and London has breakfasted. Some unconsidered tens of thousands have, it is true, already enjoyed with what appetite they might their pre-prandial meal; the upper fifty thousand, again, have not yet left their luxurious couches, and will not breakfast till ten, eleven o'clock, noon; nay, there shall be sundry listless, languid members of fast military clubs, dwellers among the tents of Jermyn Street, and the high-priced second floors of Little Ryder Street, St. James's, upon whom one, two, and three o'clock in the afternoon shall be but as dawn, and whose broiled bones and devilled kidneys shall scarcely be laid on the damask breakfast-cloth before Sol is red in the western horizon. I wish that, in this age so enamoured of statistical information, when we must needs know how many loads of manure go to every acre of turnip-field, and how many jail-birds are thrust into the black hole per mensem for fracturing their pannikins, or tearing their convict jackets, that some M'Culloch or Caird would tabulate for me the amount of provisions, solid and liquid, consumed at the breakfasts of London every morning. I want to know how many thousand eggs are daily chipped, how many of those embryo chickens are poached, and how many fried; how many tons of quartern loaves are cut up to make bread-and-butter, thick and thin; how many porkers have been sacrificed to provide the bacon rashers, fat and streaky ; what rivers have been drained, what fuel consumed, what mounds of salt employed, what volumes of smoke emitted, to catch and cure the finny haddocks and the Yarmouth bloaters, that grace our morning repast. Say, too, Crosse and Blackwell, what multitudinous demands are matutinally made on thee for pots of anchovy paste and preserved tongue, covered with that circular layer - abominable disc! - of oleaginous nastiness, apparently composed of rancid pomatum, but technically known as clarified butter, and yet not so nasty as that adipose horror that surrounds the truffle bedecked pate  de  foie gras. Say, Elizabeth Lazenby, how many hundred bottles of thy sauce (none of which are genuine unless signed by thee) are in request to give a relish to cold meat, game, and fish. Mysteries upon mysteries are there connected with nine o'clock breakfasts.”

“here’s a toast to Alan Turing born in harsher, darker times who thought outside the container and loved outside the lines and so the code-breaker was broken and we’re sorry yes now the s-word has been spoken the official conscience woken – very carefully scripted but at least it’s not encrypted – and the story does suggest a part 2 to the Turing Test: 1. can machines behave like humans? 2. can we?”

“[об американцах] — Я понимаю, они — туристы, не отличающиеся очень уж развитым воображением. Вспоминаю, как училась там в школе. Ребята там казались мне гораздо более открытыми, по крайней мере в том, что касалось личных пристрастий. Всегда рассказывали, что чувствуют. — Да дело вовсе не в том, что они об этом не рассказывают. — А в том, что недостаточно чувствуют? — Да и не в этом тоже. Недостаточно знают. Не позволяют себе много знать. Как с этим Грамши, о котором ты говорила. — Он помолчал и добавил: — Всё всегда делают по правилам. Джейн помолчала немного. — Питер писал о чём-то вроде этого в одном из писем. Как вначале тебе нравится их прямота… а потом начинаешь тосковать по извивам. — Я испытал то же самое. Прозрачность — прекрасная вещь. Пока не начинаешь понимать, что она основана не столько на внутренней честности, сколько на отсутствии воображения. И эта их так называемая откровенность по поводу секса. Они просто не понимают, что утратили.”

“I have outlived a few of the kids that I grew up with in Knowsley Village, Liverpool, UK. Two dropped dead at eighteen years of age from heart attacks! They lived across the road from each other and played together. I wonder if it was some exposure that was common to them? Curiously, an entire family of three ladies all got breast cancer just round the corner from them, it killed my friend! A little further up the road another friend dropped dead of brain cancer in her thirties. Always seemed like far too much premature death in such a small area.”

“And of course, [Boris Johnson will] never get questioned like this over at the BBC while the political editor remains a fully paid-up member of the Boris Johnson Admiration Society. So how does he get away with it? Andrew points out that factory resets obviously weren't covered in the technology lessons that Boris Johnson received from Jennifer Arcuri. Again, it's a funny joke. It's a good line, but he was the Prime Minister, and everyone knew he was a liar. Is it all about that guy that rang in when Donald Trump was here. That I always remember saying ‘but you must know he's lying’. Donald Trump was giving a speech in London about the size of the crowds outside the building he was in. And we had a camera outside the building he was in. We were looking at no crowds. And that simple juxtaposition of rhetorical claim by a politician with observable reality was chilling. It was spine tingling. I can claim that there are huge crowds, huge crowds, the biggest crowds, the greatest crowds outside this building. And I said, ‘how does it work? How does that happen?’ And someone rang me and said, ‘I know he's a liar, but it really upsets people like you and Sadiq Khan.’ And at the time I laughed but maybe that's all there is. Maybe your life - and sorry this is going to sound quite rude - but maybe your life is so weird, and your personality is so twisted that you find the frustration of people who care about the truth the closest you ever get to feeling joy. Is that it? Nadine Dorries watches Boris Johnson lie and claims that he's the most trustworthy person on the planet. What is wrong with her? It's not really a question about what's wrong with him; what's wrong with her? Whatever transpires at this inquiry or whatever emerges during these hours of evidence, I can tell you this: there will be a significant number of people who think that Boris Johnson has done nothing wrong or that he is somehow the victim of another witch hunt. You remember? It was a witch hunt when he was caught banged to rights by a parliamentary committee containing a majority of conservatives after even Chris Bryant had stepped down to avoid any accusations or allegations - false allegations – really, of impartiality. And they still called it a witch hunt. It would have been a witch unless the committee consisted entirely of 14 Nadine Dorries clones. That's the only circumstances in which those people would have claimed that he could receive a fair trial. Where do you even begin today? Do you begin with the 5,000 WhatsApp messages that a man who was in charge of the nuclear code somehow doesn't understand and can't find? I don't know. So, what is your theory now because I don't think I've got one any more. I watch him now, and I feel something very new, very different to what I thought when he was in power because when he was in power there is an urgency to the situation. There is a desperate need to share with the population the awfulness that they apparently can't see. Just now that he's not in power any more, it's almost as if I've allowed the full horror of what he represents to bubble to the surface. It’s now that he can't actually break anything, it's a retrospective reflection upon the abject awfulness of him. I mean the unbelievable awfulness of this man, the things that he's done. You can begin with Brexit. The lies that he's told, the damage that he's done. The contempt in which he holds all the things we're raised to believe are important: rules, obligations, standards, behaviours, fidelity, honesty, kindness, friendship, loyalty, all of these things we teach our children matter. And Boris Johnson teaches us that you can become the most powerful person in the country by treating all of those things with absolute contempt.”

“But this city is a world of its own, a country within a country. People are used to taking the old and making it news; and used, too, to taking the new and making it old. Every glass of water from its taps, it is said, has passed six times through the kidneys of another, and every scrap of its land has been trodden on, fought over, dug up and broken down for centuries.”

“«E quanto alla Brexit… Alcuni sono convinti che i cambiamenti radicali offrano anche grandi opportunità.» «Quindi, secondo te, noi due staremmo meglio se ci separassimo?» «Oddio, no. Stavo parlando del Paese.» Attraversano la strada. «Allora quali sarebbero le opportunità offerte dai cambiamenti radicali di cui parli?» chiede Louise. «Be’, non saremo più impantanati in tutta quella burocrazia. Potremo fare affari per conto nostro.» «Okay, adesso mi sono completamente persa. Non mi va di continuare a parlare del Paese. Sto cercando di capire perché, secondo te, una Brexit coniugale dovrebbe costituire una grande opportunità.» Tom alza le spalle. Ha lo sguardo sfuggente. «Con chi dovresti fare affari, tu? Per quanto ne so, non stai frequentando donne italiane o tedesche. E non credo che potresti avere più fortuna con delle cinesi o delle americane. Mi pare tutta una stupidaggine.» Sono arrivati alla porta di Canyon. «Voglio dire che non deve per forza essere la catastrofe di cui parla il Guardian.» Louise si ferma e lo guarda. Lui evita il suo sguardo, poi alza la mano per suonare il campanello. «Tu hai votato a favore della stramaledetta Brexit! Non toccare quel campanello! Ecco perché ti sei registrato per il referendum. Nonostante tutte le discussioni che abbiamo avuto sull’argomento.» «E ci sono volute due palle così, credimi. Perché tutti quelli che conosco continuavano a insistere che sarebbe stato un disastro.» «Ed è per questo che l’hai fatto? Perché tutti quelli che conosci la pensavano in maniera diversa?» «Era parte dell’attrattiva, sì. Però anche per alcuni complicati, ma molto difendibili, punti di vista socio-economici.» «Prova a difenderli.» «Non ho intenzione di difenderli fuori della porta di ‘Canyon’ un attimo prima della seduta.» Louise alza gli occhi al cielo, sentendogli sottolineare «Canyon». «Difendine almeno uno. Uno piccolo.» «Be’, nessuno è piccolo. Credimi, vorrei che lo fossero. Ma sono grandi. Grandi punti di vista. Grandi idee. Ma soprattutto volevo fare incazzare i tuoi amici.» «Ah, ci sei riuscito. Non ti rivolgeranno mai più la parola» dice Louise. «Non è un argomento di conversazione con gli amici. Come ti ho detto, si tratta di una faccenda privata.» «Come fai a fare incazzare i miei amici, se io non glielo dico?» «Li ho fatti incazzare in quel momento. Mentre votavo. Non voglio sbatterglielo in faccia. La nazione deve andare avanti. Guarire.» «Okay, ci vai tu a lavorare in un ospizio, con il minimo salariale, per rimpiazzare tutti quelli dell’Europa dell’Est che abbiamo perso.» «Sono pronto a fare la mia parte. Anche se non sono di grande utilità, quando c’è di mezzo la morte. O le malattie. O qualunque altra cosa abbia a che fare con un gabinetto.»”

“President Trump displays less finesse than a bull in a china shop. Just as Prime Minister May managed - after many months of bitter wrangling - to reach a degree of consensus on what Britain's future relationship with the EU should look like, in comes the marauding beast upending all the finely balanced Wedgwood. Britain may well need some form of future trade deal with the US but it certainly isn't one that should be struck with the co-author of a lame business book more appropriately named 'Art of the Steal'.”

“Identity politics is killings free speech on campus, silencing Muslim women struggle, boosting both Islamism and the far Right and pushing reconciled Muslim voices to the fringes. It makes implicit assumptions about Islam - from an Islamist, Left or Right- perspective - and insists all Muslims must adhere to that definition or be regarded not truly Muslim. It ignores the fact that most ordinary Muslims are not in favour of a violent and that in surveys and polls they support British values more than the general UK population. Yet the myth persists that the ideology of Islamism is the true expression of what it means to be Muslim.”

“After the First World War it was natural that some Europeans should try to create a European union that would prevent a repetition of war. A few British people welcomed the idea. But when France proposed such an arrangement in 1930, one British politician spoke for the majority of the nation: "Our hearts are not in Europe; we could never share the truly European point of view nor become real patriots of Europe. Besides, we could never give up our own patriotism for an Empire which extends to all parts of the world... The character of the British people makes it impossible for us to take part seriously in any Pan-European system.”

“After becoming a member in 1973, Britain's attitude towards the European Community continued to be unenthusiastic. Although trade with Europe greatly increased, most British continued to feel that they had not had any economic benefit from Europe. This feeling was strengthened by the way in which Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher argued for a better financial deal for Britain in the Community's affairs. The way in which she fought won her some admiration in Britain, but also anger in many parts of Europe. She welcomed closer co-operation in the European Community but only if this did not mean any lessening of sovereignty. Many Europeans saw this as a contradiction.”

“Com’è il morale? In generale”. “Il morale è... eccellente,” disse Nigel, deglutendo con forza. “È un periodo interessantissimo, naturalmente. La Gran Bretagna è a un punto di svolta e noi siamo proprio nell’epicentro... nell’epicentro del turbine che sta... trasfigurando la realtà politica, indirizzandola verso uno sviluppo... decisamente sismico in cui... le placche tettoniche della nostra storia nazionale si stanno spostando, con il risultato di provocare una trasformazione... e io, in qualità di testimone...” All’improvviso si interruppe. Il suo sguardo si perse nel vuoto. Le spalle si afflosciarono. Per un minuto o due rimase a fissare la superficie schiumosa del suo caffè. Alla fine tornò ad alzare gli occhi e le sue successive parole furono le più sincere che Douglas avesse mai sentito uscire dalle sue labbra. “Siamo fottuti.” “Prego?” “Siamo completamente e irrimediabilmente fottuti. È un caos. Corriamo di qua e di là come polli decapitati. Nessuno ha la più pallida idea di quello che sta facendo. Siamo... siamo fottuti.” Rapidamente Doug tirò fuori il cellulare e cominciò a registrare. “È ufficiale?” chiese. “Che importa? Siamo fottuti, perciò che senso ha sapere se è ufficiale?” “Che tipo di caos? Chi corre di qua e di là come un pollo decapitato?” “Tutti. Nessuno escluso. Chi si aspettava un esito simile? Nessuno era pronto. Nessuno sa cosa sia la Brexit. Nessuno sa come attuarla. Un anno e mezzo fa tutti la chiamavano Brixit. Nessuno sa cosa voglia dire Brexit.” “Pensavo che Brexit significasse Brexit.” “Divertente. E come dovrebbe essere questa Brexit?” “Una Brexit rossa, bianca e blu, come dice la May,” citò Doug e di nuovo si dispiacque per Nigel, così infelice. “Ma di sicuro ci saranno frotte di consiglieri... esperti?...” “Esperti?” disse Nigel con amarezza. “Non crediamo più negli esperti. La catena di comando è semplicissima. Ciascuno riceve le sue direttive da Theresa, e Theresa le riceve dal ‘Daily Mail’. E anche da un paio di think tank così fanatici del libero scambio che non li lasceresti...” “Questi think tank...” disse Doug incuriosito. “Non mi dirai che una di loro è l’Imperium Foundation, vero?” “Mio Dio,” disse Nigel, la testa tra le mani. “Sono dappertutto... dappertutto. Sempre pronti a indire riunioni. A bombardarci di tabelle. Dimenticati della volontà del popolo. Sono questi i pazzi che hanno preso il potere.” “Cameron avrebbe saputo fronteggiarli meglio, secondo te?” “Cameron?” disse Nigel con una smorfia. “Un fesso di prima categoria! Un moccioso! Un coglione fatto e finito. Se ne sta nel suo capanno del cazzo a scrivere le sue memorie. Guarda che disastro si è lasciato alle spalle. Tutti pronti a pugnalarsi alle spalle. Gli stranieri vengono insultati per la strada. Aggrediti sull’autobus. Invitati a tornarsene da dove sono venuti. Se uno non riga dritto, ecco che subito diventa un traditore e un nemico del popolo. Cameron ha demolito questo paese, Doug. L’ha demolito ed è scappato.”

“In 2011 in Swansea, Wales, Colin Batley was found guilty of 35 charges relating to his role as the leader of a 'satanic cult' that sexually abused children and women, manufactured child abuse images and forced children and women into prostitution (de Bruxelles 2011). His partner and two other women were also convicted on related charges, with one man convicted of paying to abuse a victim of the group. The groups' ritualistic activities were based on the doctrine of Aleister Crowley, an occult figure whose writing includes references to ritual sex with children. Crowley's literature has been widely linked to the practice of ritualistic abuse by survivors and their advocates, who in turn have been accused by occult groups of religious persecution. During Batley's trial, the prosecution claimed that Crowley's writings formed the basis of Batley's organisation and he read from a copy of it during sexually abusive incidents. It seems that alternative as well as mainstream religious traditions can be misused by sexually abusive groups. p38”

“Audio of interview - http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=... "Savile was not only abusing all children with or without disabilities in group settings or in hospital settings, he was also invoking belief systems, doing rituals, making children believe that he had extra powers and that if they didn't obey him they would be published in an after life." "There are special things in, especially, for example, Alistair Crowley that can be used to frighten children even more, but the use of cloaks, of making spells, of making threats, of threatening what will happen after death too is something that the 5 different people that spoke to me about Jimmy Savile said that he'd been part of." - Dr Valerie Sinason, Clinic for Dissociative Studies, London”

“Audio of interview - http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=... "No I haven't been in a ceremony but I've seen the marks on them, I've seen the terror they're in and I've seen how they were before such events happened and how they are when they speak about it, how consistent they are in other things they say, so that there has been no reason from a psychological point of view to doubt their capacity to give good evidence, but its the police who need to find the proper corroboration." - Dr Valerie Sinason, Clinic for Dissociative Studies, London - talks about Private Eye magazine's suggestion that she "invented" the story published in the Express and that no abuse existed”

“Audio of interview - http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=... "it's not surprising that in that first group I worked with over 20 years ago I had 2 accounts of Jimmy Savile being an abuser where I did support some people to go to the police but it was seen as something impossible to consider at the time." "We have improved a lot as a society in the last 20 years in accepting the reality of abuse, even though it's still so hard for us." "When we look at adults who were abused in childhood we find that nearly all of them had told somebody..." "The culture of the police has changed dramatically but 20 years ago when even counselors and social workers didn't think the abuse could be so widespread the police were obviously part of that culture too. I mean it's hard to realise that in the 1980s there was a point where it was thought that there were only 486 children on the abuse register. Now the government accepts that 1 in 4 adults will have been abused at some point in their lives. That is a huge change." "This is really different for any survivors listening now if a police officer doesn't listen sympathetically and offer a believing response then something has gone wrong because the police really do have this in their guidelines now." - Dr Valerie Sinason, Clinic for Dissociative Studies, London”

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“I never thought about a job in astronomy until I saw a job advert advertising one. It was in the Canary Islands, working for the UK Government’s Particle Physics and Astronomy Research Council (PPARC). Wow! That sounded so cool! I applied, got flown out for an interview on the island and took the job. I felt like I had won the lottery, as I was being paid to do something I was interested in and living on the beautiful island of La Palma. I started my career fixing broken vacuum cleaners at the city hospital, it was quite a change!”