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“I had graduated from high school the week before and was now a crewmember on a Dutch ship. This was my first job aboard ship and now I found myself heading down the Hudson River, past the Statue of Liberty. There wasn’t much time for sightseeing since the dinner chimes had been rung and the few passengers we had, were coming into the dining room. No one had explained my duties but I watched the other stewards and followed suit. I must have been a fast learner since amazingly enough all went well, and before I knew it the dining room was empty and it was cleanup time. I’m certain that having worked in my uncle’s restaurants helped but I’m glad I survived without any mishaps. I knew that tomorrow would go even smoother now that I understood the routine.
When I told my parents that I was going to sea, they didn’t ask any questions and seemed to take it all for granted. Everything happened extremely fast. On the very same day that I was hired, I was on this foreign flagship bound for Le Havre and Rotterdam, without having as much as a passport. Most of the crewmembers that went on strike were left behind for U.S. Immigration to sort out, provided that they could even be rounded up. For me, it was my first seagoing adventure! Being the youngest and newest crewmember on the ship earned me a bunk four tiers up and against the bulkhead, next to the chain locker. You couldn’t get any farther forward, which made me feel that I would be the first to get to where the ship was going. I didn’t take into account that it would also be the first part of the ship that would slam into the sea or anything else that got in the way, but such was the life of a seaman.”
Coming Of Age
Biographical
Mma Captain Hank Bracker
Sea Stories
At Sea
Sugar
“I swooned quietly with my first bite. The dish sang with the flavors of Spain and was packed with chunks of browned rabbit, chorizo, and mussels. It was spectacular and camaraderie crushing. "Who made this? Who possibly had time for this?" I was talking through a mouthful of Arboro rice. "I made this once in culinary school and it took an entire day of my life that I'll never get back."
"Reza made it." Carlo used an empty mussel shell to pluck the meat out from another shell. "He said he cooked it over an open fire with orange and pine branches for kindling." Carlo grinned at me, a dribble of olive oil snaking its way down his chin. "According to Reza, it's the pine cones, though, that really do the trick. I'm sure you discovered that yourself when you made it on the day you'll never get back."
I nibbled on a cut of caramelized chorizo but didn't have the chance to reply.”
Surf And Turf
Kindling
Pine Cone
Paella
Chorizo
“Empty streets are a blessing for you because an empty street whips your thoughts and makes you question your life! He who wants to dive into his own depths, let him wander in the empty streets!”
Empty
Streets
Mehmet Murat Ildan Quotes
Street
Street Quotations
Street Quotes
Streets Quotes
The Five: The Lives of Jack the Ripper's Women
“My intention in writing this book is not to hunt and name the killer. I wish instead to retrace the footsteps of five women, to consider their experiences within the context of their era, and to follow their paths through both the gloom and the light. They were worth more to us than the empty human shells we have taken them for: they were children who cried for their mothers; they were young women who fell in love; they endured childbirth and the deaths of parents; they laughed and celebrated Christmas. They argued with their siblings, they wept, they dreamed, they hurt, they enjoyed small triumphs. The courses their lives took mirrored that of so many other women of the Victorian age, and yet so singular in the way they ended. It is for them that I write this book. I do so in the hope that we may now hear their stories clearly and give back to them that which was so brutally taken away with their lives: their dignity.”
Truecrime
Anniechapman
Catherineeddowes
Elizabethstride
Jacktheripper
Jacktherippervictims
Maryannnichols
Maryjanekelly
The Second Sex
“Stekel quite rightly says:
Children are not substitutes for one's disappointed love; they are not substitutes for one's thwarted ideal in life, children are not mere material to fill out an empty existence. Children are a responsibility and an opportunity. Children are the loftiest blossoms upon the tree of untrammelled love . . . They are neither playthings, nor tools for the fulfilment of parental needs or ungratified ambitions. Children are obligations; they should be brought up so as to become happy human beings.”
Children
Parenthood
Stekel
My Year of Rest and Relaxation
“Mind over matter, people say. But what
is
matter, anyway? When you look at it under a microscope, it's just tiny bits of stuff. Atomic particles. Sub-atomic particles. Look deeper and deeper and eventually you'll find nothing. We're mostly empty space. We're mostly nothing.
Tra-la-la
. And we're all the
same
nothingness. You and me, just filling the space with nothingness. We could walk through walls if we put our minds to it, people say. What they don't mention is that walking through a wall would most likely kill you. Don't forget that.”
Materialism
Nothingness
Empty Space
Atomic Particles
The Empty Fortress: Infantile Autism and the Birth of the Self
“All my life, I have been working with children whose lives were destroyed because their mothers hated them.”
1981 re: cause of autism”
Autism Mothers
Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors
“From what I just heard, my greatest fault is that I dare to take pride in my work, in knowing I'm excellent at it." The brown paper crumpled tighter in her hands. "How is that snobbery?"
"Of course being excellent at your work and knowing it isn't snobbery. But believing that you are somehow unique in excelling at your work while looking down on what others do- that's the snobbish part. Especially given the life you were born into."
She paled at that. "I'm not going to apologize for the life I was born into. Which, by the way, I have never taken for granted or misused for one moment. Tell me, if I were a man, would you see my confidence in my work and my pride in where I come from as arrogance?"
"This gets better and better. As you pointed out, so disdainfully, I cook for a living. Nurturing people, nourishing them holds incredible meaning to me. You cannot pull the gender-role card on me. Plus, I have a vested interest in you being good at your work. My issue is with how you think it absolves you from treating those around you with consideration and respect. Cooking for a living is something I happen to be incredibly proud of."
"As you should be. You're amazing at it." That of all things made her voice crack. She threw a look of such longing at the two empty bowls on the table that despite his anger, pride swelled inside him.
It was followed by a sense of hypocrisy that he pushed away. "Yes, I am, and I don't appreciate when someone treats me like a servant for doing it.”
Prejudice
Arrogance
Snobbery
Pride In Work
Dj Caine
Trisha And Dj
Trisha Raje
“They will tell you that to be political is to be merely angry, and therefore artless, depthless, "raw," and empty. They will speak of Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. They will tell you that great writing "breaks free" from the political, thereby "transcending" the barriers of difference, uniting people toward universal truths. They'll say this is achieved through craft above all. Let's see how it's made, they'll say- as if how something is assembled is alien to the impulse that created it. As if the first chair was hammered into existence without considering the human form.”
On Earth We Re Briefly Gorgeous
Curses, Foiled Again
“I think," he said at last, "that you are very clever, and clever people such as yourself often think there are answers to all questions. But alas, I was not clever in life, and am even less clever in death. I have no answer that would satisfy you. I believe there are some questions, like the whys and hows of love, that are ineffably beautiful because they have no answer. I was empty once, and your companionship has made me whole. I cannot explain why. Can you accept that?”
Love
Love Quotes
Love Quote
Romance Novels
Romance Book Quotes
Vampire Romance
Witch Romance
Bird Therapy
“To share such profound experiences that day was, in simple terms, amazing. I remember the extraordinary sense of calm I felt, as if it were yesterday, a feeling that was nurtured, and grew throughout the day. A void began refilling after lying empty for a long time. I began to feel alive again.
Not only did it bring such positivity but it also brought a great sense of meaning, as if I'd found my true calling. These were all feelings that I wanted to experience again. To see more and to open my mind to the world of nature that was, itself, opening around me.”
Nature
Bird Therapy
Supper Club
“Hunter's stew is also known as hunter's pot or perpetual stew.
It is made in a large pot, and the ingredients are anything you can find. The idea is that it is never finished, never emptied all the way- instead it is topped up perpetually. It is a stew with an unending cycle. It is a stew that can last for years.
It dates back to medieval Poland, first made in cauldrons no one bothered to empty or wash. It began with the simmering of game meat- pigeon, hare, hen, pheasant, rabbit- just anything you could get your hands on. It would then be supplemented with foraged vegetables, seasoned with wild herbs. Sometimes spices or even wine would be added. Then, as time went by, additional food scraps and leftovers were thrown in- recently harvested produce, stale hunks of bread, newly slaughtered meat, or beans dried for the winter months. It would exist in perpetuity, always the same, always new.
Traditionally the stew has spicy, savory, and sour notes. An element of sourness is absolutely necessary to cut through the rich and intense flavor. It is said to improve with age.”
Reality Of Life
Sisterhood
Hunters
Club
Hard Life
Stew
Scraps
Combinations
American Prison: A Reporter's Undercover Journey into the Business of Punishment
“When I get home, I draw a bath. I pour a glass of wine, then another, and another. I try to empty my mind. Inside me there is a prison guard and a former prisoner and they are fighting with each other, and I want them to stop.”
Prison
Prisoners
Prisons In America
The Speed of Life: An Illustrated Novel
“From THE SPEED OF LIFE, Part III, Chapter "Running on empty."
I put the Jeep in park and felt that odd sensation that comes over me when stuck in traffic. Instead of speeding along on its way to wherever it needs to be, my body – the heart pumping blood, the muscles in my shoulders contracting, the side of my head throbbing – sits there: a time-bomb of expectation. I wasn’t where I wanted to be. I wasn’t where I was. I was nowhere.”
Justice
Science Fiction
Dante
Shamanism
Literary Fiction
Native American
Astrophysics
Metoo
Legal Thriller
The Speed Of Life
Natalie Tan's Book of Luck & Fortune
“Baskets of dim sum rested on the glass lazy Susan: spicy phoenix claws, plump purses of har gow, shumai topped with green pea crowns, and airy wu gok.
I had learned from previous meetings that the old man was adamant about following tradition, which meant I had to arrive with an empty stomach. Refusing offered food was an insult Old Wu didn't take lightly.
I helped myself to a sample of each dish. Made of minced pork with a paper-thin wrapper, the steamed shumai was tender, and the har gow was juicy with the shrimp with bamboo shoots highlighted by a peekaboo skin. Then I bit into the wu gok, a fried taro puff with a wispy, crunchy shell and a dripping shrimp and pork filling. The powdery creaminess of the dish made this my favorite of the bunch.”
Dumplings
Fillings
Dim Sum
Natalie Tan's Book of Luck & Fortune
“The birds had multiplied. She'd installed rows upon rows of floating melamine shelves above shoulder height to accommodate the expression of her once humble collection. Though she'd had bird figurines all over the apartment, the bulk of her prized collection was confined to her bedroom because it had given her joy to wake up to them every morning. Before I'd left, I had a tradition of gifting her with bird figurines. It began with a storm petrel, a Wakamba carving of ebony wood from Kenya I had picked up at the museum gift shop from a sixth-grade school field trip. She'd adored the unexpected birthday present, and I had hunted for them since.
Clusters of ceramic birds were perched on every shelf. Her obsession had brought her happiness, so I'd fed it. The tiki bird from French Polynesia nested beside a delft bluebird from the Netherlands. One of my favorites was a glass rainbow macaw from an Argentinian artist that mimicked the vibrant barrios of Buenos Aires. Since the sixth grade, I'd given her one every year until I'd left: eight birds in total.
As I lifted each member of her extensive bird collection, I imagined Ma-ma was with me, telling a story about each one. There were no signs of dust anywhere; cleanliness had been her religion. I counted eighty-eight birds in total. Ma-ma had been busy collecting while I was gone.
I couldn't deny that every time I saw a beautiful feathered creature in figurine form, I thought of my mother. If only I'd sent her one, even a single bird, from my travels, it could have been the precursor to establishing communication once more.
Ma-ma had spoken to her birds often, especially when she cleaned them every Saturday morning. I had imagined she was some fairy-tale princess in the Black Forest holding court over an avian kingdom.
I was tempted to speak to them now, but I didn't want to be the one to convey the loss of their queen.
Suddenly, however, Ma-ma's collection stirred.
It began as a single chirp, a mournful cry swelling into a chorus. The figurines burst into song, tiny beaks opening, chests puffed, to release a somber tribute to their departed beloved. The tune was unfamiliar, yet its melancholy was palpable, rising, surging until the final trill when every bird bowed their heads toward the empty bed, frozen as if they hadn't sung seconds before.
I thanked them for the happiness they'd bestowed on Ma-ma.”
Mother
Tribute
Birds
Avian
Collection
Birdsong
Figurines
“Nicole: You're a funny looking creature.
Larfleeze: Pfft! I'm not the one without a snout!
Nicole: I can sense the empty void within you.
Larfleeze: You must mean my stomach! I haven't eaten in two hours!
Nicole: No. There is a pit inside you that you have been trying to fill for centuries. I am here to give you hope.
Larfleeze: You know where I can find my lantern?!
Nicole: Your parents are still alive. And they still miss you.
Larfleeze: They... do?”
Comics
Avarice
Green Lantern
Geoff Johns
Larfleeze
Hope Brightest Day
The Whisper Man
“The devil finds work for idle hands. Bad thoughts find empty heads.”
Psychological Thriller
Urban Legend
Raise Your Innovation IQ: 21 Ways to Think Differently During Times of Change
“Conventional thinking teaches us that constraints fetter the creative mind. The big advantage of working within strict constraints is that it will FOCUS your thinking. Thinking inside the box is about creating parameters that limit the scope. It will fire up the problem-solving part of the brain to fill your empty box with new ideas, and work to find a solution.”
Focus Quotes
Problem Solving Techniques
Think Inside The Box
Love in the Afternoon
“Opening the lid, Beatrix found her neatly folded clothes and a drawstring muslin bag containing a brush and a rack of hairpins, and other small necessities. There was also a package wrapped in pale blue paper and tied with a matching ribbon. Picking up a small folded note that had been tucked under the ribbon, Beatrix read:
A gift for your wedding night, darling Bea. This gown was made by the most fashionable modiste in London. It is rather different from the ones you usually wear, but it will be very pleasing to a bridegroom. Trust me about this.
-Poppy
Holding the nightgown up, Beatrix saw that it was made of black gossamer and fastened with tiny jet buttons. Since the only nightgowns she had ever worn had been of modest white cambric or muslin, this was rather shocking. However, if it was what husbands liked...
After removing her corset and her other underpinnings, Beatrix drew the gown over her head and let a slither over her body in a cool, silky drift. The thin fabric draped closely over her shoulders and torso and buttoned at the waist before flowing to the ground in transparent panels. A side slit went up to her hip, exposing her leg when she moved. And her back was shockingly exposed, the gown dipping low against her spine. Pulling the pins and combs from her hair, she dropped them into the muslin bag in the trunk.
Tentatively she emerged from behind the screen.
Christopher had just finished pouring two glasses of champagne. He turned toward her and froze, except for his gaze, which traveled over her in a burning sweep. "My God," he muttered, and drained his champagne. Setting the empty glass aside, he gripped the other as if he were afraid it might slip through his fingers.
"Do you like my nightgown?" Beatrix asked.
Christopher nodded, not taking his gaze from her. "Where's the rest of it?"
"This was all I could find." Unable to resist teasing him, Beatrix twisted and tried to see the back view. "I wonder if I put it on backward..."
"Let me see." As she turned to reveal the naked line of her back, Christopher drew in a harsh breath.
Although Beatrix heard him mumble a curse, she didn't take offense, deducing that Poppy had been right about the nightgown. And when he drained the second glass of champagne, forgetting that it was hers, Beatrix sternly repressed a grin. She went to the bed and climbed onto the mattress, relishing the billowy softness of its quilts and linens. Reclining on her side, she made no attempt to cover her exposed leg as the gossamer fabric fell open to her hip.
Christopher came to her, stripping off his shirt along the way. The sight of him, all that flexing muscle and sun-glazed skin, was breathtaking. He was a beautiful man, a scarred Apollo, a dream lover. And he was hers.”
Teasing
Wedding Night
Beatrix And Christopher
Beatrix Hathaway
Nightgown
Naked Beauty
Christopher Phelan
Love in the Afternoon
“There was also a package wrapped in pale blue paper and tied with a matching ribbon. Picking up a small folded note that had been tucked under the ribbon, Beatrix read:
A gift for your wedding night, darling Bea. This gown was made by the most fashionable modiste in London. It is rather different from the ones you usually wear, but it will be very pleasing to a bridegroom. Trust me about this.
-Poppy
Holding the nightgown up, Beatrix saw that it was made of black gossamer and fastened with tiny jet buttons. Since the only nightgowns she had ever worn had been of modest white cambric or muslin, this was rather shocking. However, if it was what husbands liked...
After removing her corset and her other underpinnings, Beatrix drew the gown over her head and let a slither over her body in a cool, silky drift. The thin fabric draped closely over her shoulders and torso and buttoned at the waist before flowing to the ground in transparent panels. A side slit went up to her hip, exposing her leg when she moved. And her back was shockingly exposed, the gown dipping low against her spine. Pulling the pins and combs from her hair, she dropped them into the muslin bag in the trunk.
Tentatively she emerged from behind the screen.
Christopher had just finished pouring two glasses of champagne. He turned toward her and froze, except for his gaze, which traveled over her in a burning sweep. "My God," he muttered, and drained his champagne. Setting the empty glass aside, he gripped the other as if he were afraid it might slip through his fingers.
"Do you like my nightgown?" Beatrix asked.
Christopher nodded, not taking his gaze from her. "Where's the rest of it?"
"This was all I could find." Unable to resist teasing him, Beatrix twisted and tried to see the back view. "I wonder if I put it on backward..."
"Let me see." As she turned to reveal the naked line of her back, Christopher drew in a harsh breath.
Although Beatrix heard him mumble a curse, she didn't take offense, deducing that Poppy had been right about the nightgown. And when he drained the second glass of champagne, forgetting that it was hers, Beatrix sternly repressed a grin. She went to the bed and climbed onto the mattress, relishing the billowy softness of its quilts and linens. Reclining on her side, she made no attempt to cover her exposed leg as the gossamer fabric fell open to her hip.
Christopher came to her, stripping off his shirt along the way. The sight of him, all that flexing muscle and sun-glazed skin, was breathtaking. He was a beautiful man, a scarred Apollo, a dream lover. And he was hers.
”
Teasing
Wedding Night
Beatrix And Christopher
Beatrix Hathaway
Nightgown
Naked Beauty
Christopher Phelan
On Nietzsche
“Entirety exists within me as exuberance … in empty longing … in … the desire to burn with desire.”
Bataille
Georges Bataille
On Nietzsche
Maid: Hard Work, Low Pay, and a Mother's Will to Survive
“There wasn't any fanfare in quitting my job. Most of my clients would know I'd left and been replaced by a new person. Maybe they would vacuum or position the throw pillows differently. Maybe the clients would come home to find the shampoo bottles arranged in a new way, but most of them probably wouldn't notice the change at all. When I thought about a new maid taking over my job, I wondered again what it would be like to know a stranger had been in your house, wiping every surface, emptying the garbage of your bloody pads. Would you not feel exposed in some way? After a couple of years, my clients trusted our invisible relationship. Now there would be another invisible human being magically making lines in the carpet.”
Maids
Service Jobs
Worth Any Price
“The dessert plates were arranged with delicate biscuits and pineapple cream served in cunning little glazed pots.
Sir Ross introduced a new topic of conversation concerning some recently proposed amendments to the Poor Law, which both he and Gentry supported. Surprisingly, Sophia offered her own opinions on the subject, and the men listened attentively. Lottie tried to conceal her astonishment, for she had been taught for years that a proper woman should never express her opinions in mixed company. Certainly she should say nothing about politics, an inflammatory subject that only men were qualified to debate. And yet here was a man as distinguished as Sir Ross seeming to find nothing wrong in his wife's speaking her mind. Nor did Gentry seem displeased by his sister's outspokenness.
Perhaps Gentry would allow her the same freedom. With that pleasant thought in her mind, Lottie consumed her pineapple cream, a rich, silky custard with a tangy flavor. Upon reaching the bottom of the pot, she thought longingly of how nice it would be to have another. However, good manners and the fear of appearing gluttonous made it unthinkable to request seconds.
Noticing the wistful glance Lottie gave her empty dish, Gentry laughed softly and slid his own untouched dessert to her plate. "You have even more of a taste for sweets than little Amelia," he murmured in her ear. His warm breath caused the hair on the back of her neck to rise.
"We didn't have desserts at school," she said with a sheepish smile.
He took his napkin and dabbed gently at the corner of her mouth. "I can see that I'll have a devil of a time trying to compensate for all the things you were deprived of. I suppose you'll want sweets with every meal now."
Pausing in the act of lifting her spoon, Lottie stared into the warm blue eyes so close to hers, and suddenly she felt wreathed in heat. Ridiculous, that all he had to do was speak with that caressing note in his voice, and she could be so thoroughly undone.”
Dessert
Opinionated
Pineapple
Charlotte And Nick
Charlotte Howard
Ross Cannon
Sophia Sydney
The Culture of the Teutons: Volumes 1 and 2
“He [The Northman] has but one view of man; man asserting himself, maintaining his honour, as he calls it. All that moves within a man must be twisted round until it becomes
associated with honour, before he can grasp it; and all his passion is thrust back
and held, until it finds its way out in that one direction. His friendship of man and
love of woman never find expression for the sake of the feeling itself; they are
only felt consciously as a heightening of the lover's self-esteem and consequently as an increase of responsibility. This simplicity of character shows in his poetry, which is at heart nothing but lays and tales of great avengers, because revenge is the supreme act that concentrates his inner life and forces it
out in the light. His poems of vengeance are always intensely human, because
revenge to him is not an empty repetition of a wrong done, but a spiritual self-assertion, a manifestation of strength and value; and thus the anguish of an affront or the triumph of victory is able to open up the sealed depths of his mind and suffuse his words with passion and tenderness. But the limitation which creates the beauty and strength of Teuton poetry is revealed in the fact that only
those feelings and thoughts which make man an avenger and furthers the
attainment of revenge, are expressed; all else is overshadowed. Woman finds a
place in poetry only as a valkyrie or as inciting to strife; for the rest, she is
included among the ordinary inventory of life. Friendship, the highest thing on
earth among the Teutons, is only mentioned when friend joins hands with friend
in the strife for honour and restitution.”
Religion
Honor
Vengance
Northman
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