My heart was beat, beat, beating. No one, except my mother, had ever looked at me or spoken to me like this. "You are the most sensitive and beautiful man I've ever met,” she said with tears coming to her eyes. I took a big, deep breath. This was just too much. I couldn't believe it. I'd been called stupid and ugly for so long that this was really tough to hear. Once, I'll never forget, two seniors at the Academy had stopped me and ordered me to attention, and I'd snapped to, as we underclassmen were supposed to do. They'd walked around me, carefully inspecting my uniform, and one of them then said, "Is this the cadet?” "Yes,” said the other one. "I agree with you; you're right,” said the first one. "This is the ugliest cadet in the school!”.
Victor VillaseñorRelated topics
attention beat beating beautiful believe breath cadet coming deep heart inspecting man met mother once right school sensitive speak stop stupid take tough ugly yes tears eyesRelated quotes
Babbitt looked up irritably from the comic strips in the Evening Advocate. They composed his favorite literature and art, these illustrated chronicles in which Mr. Mutt hit Mr. Jeff with a rotten egg, and Mother corrected Father's vulgarisms by means of a rolling-pin. With the solemn face of a devotee, breathing heavily through his open mouth, he plodded nightly through every picture, and during the rite he detested interruptions. Furthermore, he felt that on the subject of Shakespeare he wasn't really an authority. Neither the Advocate-Times, the Evening Advocate, nor the Bulletin of the Zenith Chamber of Commerce had ever had an editorial on the matter, and until one of them had spoken he found it hard to form an original opinion.
Sinclair Lewis
The two cops dragging the little guy out stopped dead still. The other one washing the bloodstains from the seat quit swishing the brush over the wicker and held his breath. Nobody ever spoke that way to Dilwick. Nobody from the biggest politician in the state to the hardest apple that ever stepped out of a pen. Nobody ever did because Dilwick would cut them up into fine pieces with his bare hands and enjoy it. That was Dilwick, the dirtiest, roughest cop who ever walked a beat or swung a nightstick over a skull. Crude, he was. Crude, hard and dirty and afraid of nothing. He'd sooner draw blood from a face than eat and everybody knew it. That's why nobody ever spoke to him that way. That is, nobody except me.
Because I'm the same way myself.
Mickey Spillane
Obama offered Muslims a careful admonition about women's rights, noting how denying women education impoverishes a country - balanced, of course, with this: "Issues of women's equality are by no means simply an issue for Islam." Example? "The struggle for women's equality continues in many aspects of American life." Well, yes. On the one hand, there certainly is some American university where the women's softball team has received insufficient Title IX funds - while, on the other hand, Saudi women showing ankle are beaten in the street, Afghan school girls have acid thrown in their faces, and Iranian women are publicly stoned to death for adultery. (Gays as well - but then again we have Prop 8.) We all have our shortcomings, our national foibles. Who's to judge?
Charles Krauthammer
In this essay on econometrics in its conception and its use in economic planning for the betterment of man's fate, I will try to cover a very broad field.
When talking about the methodology in the particular fields mentioned - about which I am supposed to have a little more than second hand knowledge - I have always found it utterly inadequate to focus attention only on these special fields without seeing them in a much broader perspective.
Therefore it was inevitable that I should have to include in the field of vision of this paper also some branches of science where I can only speak as a layman, hopefully as a somewhat informed layman. For whatever blunders I may have made in these fields I must ask for the reader's forgiveness.
Ragnar Frisch
Quite all right, sir. Plenty of time. You have a sleep, sir.'
Hood turned over with his fat bottom towards Nabby Adams. Thank God. Nabby Adams tiptoed over again to the serving-hatch, ordered another, downed it. He began to feel a great deal better. After yet another he felt better still. Poor old Robin Hood wasn't such a bad type. Stupid, didn't know a gear-box from a spare tyre, but he meant well. The world generally looked better. The sun shone, the palms shook in the faint breeze, a really lovely Malay girl passed by the window. Proud of carriage, in tight baju and rich sarong, she balanced voluptuous haunches. Her blue-black hair had some sort of a flower in it; how delicate the warm brown of her flat flower-like face.
‘What time is it, Nabby?'....
Anthony Burgess