Ocupacion En Quotes

En inglés, Borogove'" I said. "But what if I don't finish this painting in
time?"
"Teresa, I insist, you must call me Mimsy. If you weren't going to finish it, they would have arranged a later pickup date, since they already know what will happen. For god's sake, girl, quit worrying. Go home and get to work! You have
until tomorrow night."
"But I don't even know where to start!"
"Don't you artists have any imagination? Make something up! ~ Terry Bisson

Si vous m'accordez que l'homme a une âme - je veux que les bêtes en aient, toutes les bêtes - à commencer par le pourceau pour finir à la fourmi, aux animaux microscopiques. Si l'homme est libre les animaux sont libres, ils seront comme lui récompensés ou punis, que d'âmes diverses, que d'enfers, que de paradis eût dit Voltaire - cette réflexion est humiliante - elle conduit au matérialisme et au nihilisme.

(If you grant me that man has a soul, I like to think that animals have souls, too-all animals, from the pig to the ant, even the microscopic animals. If man is free, animals are free; like him they will be rewarded or punished. So many different souls, so many hells, so many heavens, Voltaire would have said. This reflection is humiliating. It leads to materialism or to nihilism.) ~ Gustave Flaubert

I am not a fool. I a[] wise. I will run from my fear, I w[]ll out distance my f[ ]r, then I will hide fr[ ] my fear, I w[]ll wait f[]r my fear, I will let m[] fear run past me[] then I will follow my fear, I will track [ ] fear until I c[]n approach m[ ]ear in complete silence[] th[]n I will strike at m[] fear, I will charge my fe[ ], I will grab h[]ld of my fear, I will sink my f[]ngers into my [ ]ar, t[]en I will bite my fear, I w[]ll tear the thro[]t of my fear, I will bre[]k the neck of my fear, I wi[ ] drink the blood of my fear, I [ ]ll gulp the flesh o[ ]my fear[]I will crush th[] bones of my f[]ar[ ]and I will savor m[] fear, I will sw[]llow my fear, all []f it, and then I will digest []y fear unt[]l I can do not[]ing else but shit out my fear. In this w[]y will I be mad[] stronger[ ] ~ Mark Z. Danielewski

Let us narrow the arguments down further. In certain respects, the theme of supplementarity is certainly no more than one theme among others. It is in a chain, carried by it. Perhaps one could substitute something else for it. But it happens that this theme describes the chain itself, the being-chain of a textual chain, the structure of substitution, the articulation of desire and of language, the logic of all conceptual oppositions taken over by Rousseau ... It tells us in a text what a text is, it tells us in writing what writing it, in Rousseau's writing it tells us Jean-Jacque's desire etc ... the concept of the supplement and the theory of writing designate textuality itself in Rousseau's text in an indefinitely multiplied structure - en abyme. ~ Jacques Derrida

« Demain, dès l'aube… »


Demain, dès l'aube, à l'heure où blanchit la campagne,
Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends.
J'irai par la forêt, j'irai par la montagne.
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.

Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,
Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,
Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées,
Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.

Je ne regarderai ni l'or du soir qui tombe,
Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,
Et quand j'arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe
Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur.


Tomorrow, At Dawn
Tomorrow, at dawn, at the hour when the countryside whitens,
I will set out. You see, I know that you wait for me.
I will go by the forest, I will go by the mountain.
I can no longer remain far from you.

I will walk with my eyes fixed on my thoughts,
Seeing nothing of outdoors, hearing no noise
Alone, unknown, my back curved, my hands crossed,
Sorrowed, and the day for me will be as the night.

I will not look at the gold of evening which falls,
Nor the distant sails going down towards Harfleur,
And when I arrive, I will place on your tomb
A bouquet of green holly and of flowering heather ~ Victor Hugo

And To be or not to be, that is the question;
Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or, by opposing, end them. ~ William Shakespeare

Sometimes parties of men went spud-gathering in no-man's-land. About a mile to the right of us, where the lines were closer together, there was a patch of potatoes that was frequented both by the Fascists and ourselves. We went there in the daytime, they only at night, as it was commanded by our machine-guns. One night to our annoyance they turned out en masse and cleared up the whole patch. We discovered another patch further on, where there was practically no cover and you had to lift the potatoes lying on your belly - a fatiguing job. If their machine-gunners spotted you, you had to flatten yourself out like a rat when it squirms under a door, with the bullets cutting up the clods a few yards behind you. It seemed worth it at the time. Potatoes were getting very scarce. If you got a sackful you could take them down to the cook-house and swap them for a water-bottleful of coffee. And ~ George Orwell

Buchner proposed that fermentation was carried out by biological catalysts that he named enzymes (from the Greek en zyme, meaning in yeast). He concluded that living cells are chemical factories, in which enzymes manufacture the various products. ~ Nick Lane

The girls stowed away repulsive, frightening experiences with males deep in their hearts without even realizing it themselves. ~ Cho Nam-Joo, Kim Ji-young, Nacida En 1982

UnSexed Virgin Dies En Route To Her Deflowering
'We were so close,' says surrogate ~ Elizabeth Brown

Mami was born en La Capital, in a barrio of thirst buckets/who wrote odes to her legs,/but the only man Mami wanted/was nailed to a cross. ~ Elizabeth Acevedo

The river, tonally, does not recede, presenting the same lifeless grey near and far, a depthless plane upon which Schmitt's dragging oars inscribe parallel lines and Eakins' oars, rising and falling, leave methodically spaced patches of disturbed water. The canvas is haunting - en evocation of the democracy's idyllic, isolating spaciousness, present even in the midst of a great Eastern city. ~ John Updike

Always meet petulance with gentleness and perverseness with kindness. A gentle hand can lead even en elephant by a hair. Reply to thine enemy with gentleness. ~ Zoroaster

Deconstruction seems to offer a way out of the closure of knowledge. By inaugurating the open-ended indefiniteness of textuality-by thus 'placing in the abyss' (mettre en abime), as the French expression would literally have it-it shows us the lure of the abyss as freedom. The fall into the abyss of deconstruction inspires us with as much pleasure as fear. We are intoxicated with the prospect of never hitting bottom ~ Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak

En voiture, Monsieur,' said the Wagon Lit conductor. ~ Agatha Christie

Ten years ago a book appeared in France called D'Une foi l'autre, les conversions a l'Islam en Occident. The authors, both career journalists, carried out extensive interviews with new Muslims in Europe and America. Their conclusions are clear. Almost all educated converts to Islam come in through the door of Islamic spirituality. In the middle ages, the Sufi tariqas were the only effective engine of Islamisation in Muslim minority areas like Central Asia, India, black Africa and Java; and that pattern is maintained today.

Why should this be the case? Well, any new Muslim can tell you the answer. Westerners are in the first instance seeking not a moral path, or a political ideology, or a sense of special identity - these being the three commodities on offer among the established Islamic movements. They lack one thing, and they know it - the spiritual life. Thus, handing the average educated Westerner a book by Sayyid Qutb, for instance, or Mawdudi, is likely to have no effect, and may even provoke a revulsion. But hand him or her a collection of Islamic spiritual poetry, and the reaction will be immediately more positive. It is an extraordinary fact that the best-selling religious poet in modern America is our very own Jalal al-Din Rumi. Despite the immeasurably different time and place of his origin, he outsells every Christian religious poet.

Islam and the New Millennium ~ Abdal Hakim Murad

La dernière chose qu'on trouve en faisant un ouvrage est de savoir celle qu'il faut mettre la première. (The last thing one settles in writing a book is what one should put in first.) ~ Blaise Pascal

So Chuck and I looked at that and we hacked on em for a while, and eventually we ripped the stuff out of em and put some of it into what was then called en, which was really ed with some em features. ~ Bill Joy

Por que en las epocas oscuras
se escribe con tinta invisible?
Why in the darkest ages
do they write with invisible ink? ~ Pablo Neruda

I have a sweet tooth for reading, so books migrate to my zip code en mass. ~ Dawn Olivieri

This excerpt includes both a cautionary tale of being caught en flagrante and a stirring defense of getting fucked.

Redeeming social value, indeed. ~ Simon Sheppard

CALVIN: Hey, I got some mail! It's a Valentine card.
HOBBES: From Susie Derkins!
CALVIN: It says "Please be my Valentine."
HOBBES: You're Susie's Valentine!
CALVIN: I'm not her Valentine just because I got this in the mail, am I? Does the Post Master General know about this?
HOBBES: Calvin and Susie, sitting in a tree-ee! Kay-eye-ess-ess-eye-en-gee!
CALVIN: I don't have the KISS her, do I?! Is that what Valentines do??! Oh, gross!
HOBBES: First comes lo-ove, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage!
CALVIN: This can't be happening! I need a lawyer! She can't make me be her Valentine!
HOBBES: Here she comes! Here comes Susie!
SUSIE: Hi, Calvin.
CALVIN: Get away from me! I'm not your Valentine! Take your card back! Eww! Girls! YECCHH!
SUSIE: That card wasn't for YOU, you Moron. Didn't you read the back of the envelope?
CALVIN: "Calvin, please give this to Hobbes." HOBBES?!
HOBBES: Me? Really? Hot dog! Smooch City, here I come! ~ Bill Watterson

But in the years to come, as Muslim prestige and learning sank, and Hindu confidence, wealth, education and power increased, Hindus and Muslims would grow gradually apart, as British policies of divide and rule found willing collaborators among the chauvinists of both faiths. The rip in the closely woven fabric of Delhi's composite culture, opened in 1857, slowly widened into a great gash, and at Partition in 1947 finally broke in two. As the Indian Muslim elite emigrated en masse to Pakistan, the time would soon come when it would be almost impossible to imagine that Hindu sepoys could ever have rallied to the Red Fort and the standard of a Muslim emperor, joining with their Muslim brothers in an attempt to revive the Mughal Empire. ~ William Dalrymple

My opponent left a glass of whisky 'en prise' and I took it 'en passant'. ~ Joseph Henry Blackburne

La Vie En Rose. It is the French way of saying, 'I am looking at the world through rose-coloured glasses. ~ Audrey Hepburn

From far below mounted the clink and tinkle of distant masonry work, and a sudden train passed between gardens, and a heraldic butterfly volant en arrière, sable, a bend gules, traversed the stone parapet, and John Shade took a fresh card. ~ Vladimir Nabokov

I knew even then that she was right. An en is a karmic bond lasting a lifetime. Nowadays many people seem to believe their lives are entirely a matter of choice; but in my day we viewed ourselves as pieces of clay that forever show the fingerprints of everyone who has touched them. Nobu's touch had made a deeper impression on me than most. No one could tell me whether he would be my ultimate destiny, but I had always sensed the en between us. Somewhere in the landscape of my life Nobu would always be present. But could it really be that of all the lessons I'd learned, the hardest one lay just ahead of me? Would I really have to take each of my hopes and put them away where no one would ever see them again, where not even I would ever see them? ~ Arthur Golden

You know, I've never known much about fashion, living in the country and all," she said innocently. "What sort of hat would a lady like myself wear to an afternoon tea outside, in the garden, with other ladies? Assuming I'm ever invited, of course."
"Oh, that's easy... a lovely straw number, with a wide brim, en grecque curls if you're dining amongst the ruins, or piles of flowers and feathers, and tipped, just so..."
Belle allowed herself a little smile.
"No one has worn hats like that, even in this remote part of the world, for at lest ten years. Not even Madame Bussard has pulled one out of her own wardrobe recently. And she is very thrifty with her accessories. So whatever happened here must have happened at least a decade ago. ~ Liz Braswell

Alas, it is too true. I visited him this morning and found him en deshabille, clasping his brown. He seized on me and demanded a rhyme to some word which I have forgot. So I left him."
"Can no one convince Philippe that he is not a poet?" asked De Bergeret plaintively.
De Vangrisse shook his head. ~ Georgette Heyer

I want you to be happy. Eat it."
A wry smile curved Rose's lips. "Am I to find happiness in a piece of chocolate cake?"
Eve already had a forkful en route to her mouth. "I stake my reputation on it."
"Oh," she replied dryly. "Surely heaven is just a bite away."
"Speaking of heaven," Eve said a few minutes later when Rose thought she might expire from the bliss the dessert inspired, "tell me about your evening at Saint's Row."
"Shh!" Her paranoid gaze darted around to see if anyone had overheard, but there was no one standing close enough to their whitewashed bench.
"Don't shush me, Rose Danvers. I'm your best friend and you've kept me waiting four whole days! I demand details."
Cheeks flushed, Rose stared at the half-eaten cake on her plate. Eve's timing might leave something to be desired, but at least she'd stopped Rose from eating the entire slice.
"What do you want to know?"
Eve's expression was incredulous. "Everything, of course." Then, as though realizing who she was talking to, she sighed. "Did you find him?"
Rose nodded. "I did." The fire in her cheeks burned hotter, and she looked away. "Oh, Eve!"
Her friend grabbed her wrist, clattering fork against plate. "That arse didn't hurt you did he?"
"No!" Then lowering her voice, "And he's not an arse." Using such rough language made her feel daring and bold.
The scowl on Eve's face eased. "Then…he was good to you?"
Rose nodded, leaning closer. "It was ~ Kathryn Smith

There's something profoundly intense and intoxicating about friendship found en route. It's the bond that arises from being thrust into uncomfortable circumstances, and the vulnerability of trusting others to navigate those situations. It's the exhilaration of meeting someone when we are our most alive selves, breathing new air, high on life-altering moments. It's the discovery of the commonality of the world's people and the attendant rejection of prejudices. It's the humbling experience of being suspicious of a stranger who then extends a great kindness. It's the astonishment of learning from those we set out to teach. It's the intimacy of sharing small spaces, the recognition of a kindred spirit across the globe.
It's the travel relationship, and it can only call itself family. ~ Lavinia Spalding

Edilio lay on the steps of town hall feeling as weak as a kitten. He had barely heard Caine's big speech. He couldn't have cared less. There was nothing he could do, not with delirium spinning his head.
He coughed hard, too hard. It wracked his body each time he did it so that he dreaded the next cough. His stomach was clenched in knots. Every muscle in his body ached.
He was vaguely aware that he was saying something in between coughs.
"Mamá. Mamá. Sálvame."
Save me, mother.
"Santa María, sálvame," he begged, and coughed so hard he smashed his head against the steps.
Death was near, he felt it. Death reached through his swimming, disordered mind and he felt its cold hand clutching his heart.
Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores, ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. ~ Michael Grant

Mankind has never been in this position before. Without having improved appreciably in virtue or enjoying wiser guidance, it has got into its hands for the first time the tools by which it can unfailingly accomplish its own extermination. That is the point in human destinies to which all the glories and toils of men have at last led them. They would do well to pause and ponder upon their new responsibilities. Death stands at attention, obedient, expectant, ready to serve, ready to shear away the peoples en masse; ready, if called on, to pulverise, without hope of repair, what is left of civilisation. He awaits only the word of command. He awaits it from a frail, bewildered being, long his victim, now - for one occasion only - his Master. ~ Winston S. Churchill

Ce n'est gue' re que dans les asiles que les coquettes gardent avec ente tement une foi entie' re en des regards absents; normalement, elles re clament des te moins. Women fond of dress are hardly ever entirely satisfied not to be seen, except among the insane; usually they want witnesses. ~ Simone De Beauvoir

We might be all alone in the world, en effet, but that doesn't mean we have to be lonely. ~ Aria Beth Sloss

Peacemakers who challenge the prevailing concept of peace achieved by violence are often, ironically, called disturbers of the peace. That is only true if peace is defined as an uneasy ceasefire in a world dominated by the corrupt, a tenuous subjugation of the weak by the powerful, a hurting humanity suffering silently en mass for the profit of the bloated few. If, though, peace is defined as freedom, equality, safety, health, opportunity, and a voice for all, then we, the peacemakers, aren't disturbers of the peace. We are purveyors of peace because we are disturbers of the status quo. ~ L.R. Knost

Ne reprenez, dame, si j'ai aime , Si j'ai senti mille torches ardentes, Mille travaux, mille douleurs mordantes, Si, en pleurant, j'ai mon temps consume . Do not blame me, madam, if I loved, If I felt one thousand burning torches, One thousand labours, or one thousand scathing pains, If, in crying, I spent all my time. ~ Louise Labe

There are two ways of destroying a people. Either condemn them en bloc or force them to repudiate the leaders they adopted. The second is the worse. ~ Jean-Paul Sartre

The politics of time was clarified in my women's liberation group in the 1970's when one of us, a mother of small children, found herself single. Parenting and providing seemed irreconcilable. Within a generation it had become the norm. By 2010 single parents comprised 25 per cent of all families and 60 per cent had a paid job. The agenda this implies is obvious: not the trick of work-life balance that assigns responsibility to women but a political economy that has at its heart not a breadwinner who is an unencumbered, cared-for man but a mother.

Women's appeal to men to share parenting has, of course, been answered by millions of men. They attend the birth of their babies, they fall in love with them and then soon, too soon, before they have even got acquainted, they leave the babies and the mother's from morning till night and go back to their paid jobs. Nowhere have men reciprocated women's paid work and unpaid care by initiating mass movements for men's equal parental leave or working time that synchronizes with children and women; nowhere have men en masse shared the costs - in time and money - of childhood. ~ Beatrix Campbell

The obligation of the judge in the circuit is to follow the previous decisions in the circuit unless those decisions are overruled by an en bloc panel of the court. ~ Merrick Garland

Mike was on the rooftop scanning for targets with his Mk 48 when an insurgent grenade flew over the wall, hit him in the chest, and fell in front of him. He told us how Mike yelled, "Grenade!" before he threw himself on top of it to protect the other Teamguys and Jundis on the roof. He told us Mikey died en route to the aid station. The two Teamguys who had been next to him on the roof survived with superficial wounds. A couple of days before he was supposed to go home, Mike Monsoor gave his life to save his brothers. ~ Kevin Lacz

Never touch your idols: the gilding will stick to your fingers.
(Il ne faut pas toucher aux idoles: la dorure en reste aux mains.) ~ Gustave Flaubert