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穿越时空的少女
Time waits for no one.
Sugar
“The Oak Forest mushrooms for the langoustine didn't arrive in time, so we've substituted with enoki mushrooms from Champagne Farms. Also, we are adding an entrée to the menu tonight. It's lemon pine-nut-encrusted sea scallops with a celery mousse and my signature vinaigrette. It took three months to get it right, and the end result is phenomenal. So sell it." Alain paused while the servers took notes. "In wines, we're out of the Napa Valley El Molino, the Talenti, and the Chateau Margeaux '86."
Alain paused and, while the servers wrote furiously in their pads, my thoughts wandered. I tried picturing the customers who might have opinions about Oak Forest mushrooms compared to those from Champagne Farms. Did they wear tweed and bifocals? Or were they übermodern with sculpured haircuts and electronic cigarettes? I shook my head, annoyed with myself and my train of thought.
Let the mushroom people be mushroom people
, I chastised myself.
You signed up for this gig, Charlie, remember? You're living your dream, remember?
Alain changed gears for a second and threw out a quiz question, one of his more sadistic rituals during family meal. "What are the six ingredients in the jalapeño emulsion we serve with the salmon?"
Silence. A blonde in the back ventured, "Jalapeño, olive oil, shallots...?"
More silence.
"Fleur de sel, ground pepper, lemon juice," Alain finished for her, giving her an icy glance over his bearish nose. "Wake up, people. All right, here's an easy one. What's the difference between
jamón ibérico
and prosciutto?"
Four hands went up, and Wade got it right.
"
Jamón ibérico
is dry-cured from black Iberian pigs in Spain, not to be confused with
jamón serrano
, which comes from a less expensive white pig. Prosciutto is also dry-cured, but it is from Italy. It is the common man's gourmet ham, which is why we don't serve it." Wade finished with a cock of the head and a high-five with another server.
Alain snorted. "Thank you for the editorial comment. Please keep it to yourself, however, when recommending the melon and
jamón ibérico
appetizer."
He spent the next five minutes grilling the staff on the origin of our rice vinegar, what dessert wine paired best with Felix's raspberry brûlée, and the correct serving temperature of the parsnip purée.”
Questions
Foodie
Ingredients
Mushrooms
Wines
Ham
Restaurant Life
“To understand, I destroyed myself. To understand is to forget about loving. I know nothing more simultaneously false and telling than the statement by Leonardo da Vinci that we cannot love or hate something until we’ve understood it.
Solitude devastates me; company oppresses me. The presence of another person derails my thoughts; I dream of the other’s presence with a strange absent-mindedness that no amount of my analytical scrutiny can define.
Isolation has carved me in its image and likeness. The presence of another person – of any person whatsoever – instantly slows down my thinking, and while for a normal man contact with others is a stimulus to spoken expression and wit, for me it is a counterstimulus, if this compound word be linguistically permissible. When all by myself, I can think of all kinds of clever remarks, quick comebacks to what no one said, and flashes of witty sociability with nobody. But all of this vanishes when I face someone in the flesh: I lose my intelligence, I can no longer speak, and after half an hour I just feel tired. Yes, talking to people makes me feel like sleeping. Only my ghostly and imaginary friends, only the conversations I have in my dreams, are genuinely real and substantial, and in them intelligence gleams like an image in a mirror.
The mere thought of having to enter into contact with someone else makes me nervous. A simple invitation to have dinner with a friend produces an anguish in me that’s hard to define. The idea of any social obligation whatsoever – attending a funeral, dealing with someone about an office matter, going to the station to wait for someone I know or don’t know – the very idea disturbs my thoughts for an entire day, and sometimes I even start worrying the night before, so that I sleep badly. When it takes place, the dreaded encounter is utterly insignificant, justifying none of my anxiety, but the next time is no different: I never learn to learn.
‘My habits are of solitude, not of men.’ I don’t know if it was Rousseau or Senancour who said this. But it was some mind of my species, it being perhaps too much to say of my race.”
The Book Of Disquiet
Comfort Zone
“The Bangkok Comfort Zone - that strip running between Patpong, Soi Cowboy and Nana - was a huge bank of ice, thick as a glacier. Only you had to be around years and years to see and feel the deep chill, and by the time you had it was too late, the glacier had already dragged you under. Then you could never escape the gravity of the place that pulled them back from all over the world. Comfort Zone ice like a narcotic made you feel invincible. Zone veterans lived inside a solid block of ice. Zone workers, who were teenagers in chronological years, were soon aged inside the ice. The night ice crystals formed a thick fog over the Zone veterans and workers, creating an ice bridge; these ice people knew they could no longer live outside the Comfort Zone. They looked as normal as anyone else on the street because no one can see the ice, it's carried inside, around the heart.
Calvino had gone through the event horizon of the Comfort Zone, and lived in the Zone's ice age for so long that it had become a habit. Addiction, baby. He had become Zone dead like the others”
Bangkok Fiction
“Elderly parents depend on love and respect for their physical and emotional health. Many times, that love is only available through companion care services for the elderly,so call us today.”
Home Care
“Behind that I would shield myself, and I’d tell him to go away.
“Don’t,” he said when I had the dress in my hands.
“You shouldn’t . . .” I stammered, trembling more.
“I know I shouldn’t be, but you look so beautiful. It’s like I never saw you before. How did you grow so lovely, when I was here all the time?”
Flowers In The Attic
Chris And Cathy
Adina
“Her pretty name of Adina seemed to me to have somehow a mystic fitness to her personality.
Behind a cold shyness, there seemed to lurk a tremulous promise to be franker when she knew you better.
Adina is a strange child; she is fanciful without being capricious.
She was stout and fresh-coloured, she laughed and talked rather loud, and generally, in galleries and temples, caused a good many stiff British necks to turn round.
She had a mania for excursions, and at Frascati and Tivoli she inflicted her good-humoured ponderosity on diminutive donkeys with a relish which seemed to prove that a passion for scenery, like all our passions, is capable of making the best of us pitiless.
Adina may not have the shoulders of the Venus of Milo...but I hope it will take more than a bauble like this to make her stoop.
Adina espied the first violet of the year glimmering at the root of a cypress. She made haste to rise and gather it, and then wandered further, in the hope of giving it a few companions. Scrope sat and watched her as she moved slowly away, trailing her long shadow on the grass and drooping her head from side to side in her charming quest. It was not, I know, that he felt no impulse to join her; but that he was in love, for the moment, with looking at her from where he sat. Her search carried her some distance and at last she passed out of sight behind a bend in the villa wall.
I don't pretend to be sure that I was particularly struck, from this time forward, with something strange in our quiet Adina. She had always seemed to me vaguely, innocently strange; it was part of her charm that in the daily noiseless movement of her life a mystic undertone seemed to murmur "You don't half know me! Perhaps we three prosaic mortals were not quite worthy to know her: yet I believe that if a practised man of the world had whispered to me, one day, over his wine, after Miss Waddington had rustled away from the table, that there was a young lady who, sooner or later, would treat her friends to a first class surprise, I should have laid my finger on his sleeve and told him with a smile that he phrased my own thought. .."That beautiful girl," I said, "seems to me agitated and preoccupied."
"That beautiful girl is a puzzle. I don't know what's the matter with her; it's all very painful; she's a very strange creature. I never dreamed there was an obstacle to our happiness--to our union. She has never protested and promised; it's not her way, nor her nature; she is always humble, passive, gentle; but always extremely grateful for every sign of tenderness. Till within three or four days ago, she seemed to me more so than ever; her habitual gentleness took the form of a sort of shrinking, almost suffering, deprecation of my attentions, my petits soins, my lovers nonsense. It was as if they oppressed and mortified her--and she would have liked me to bear more lightly. I did not see directly that it was not the excess of my devotion, but my devotion itself--the very fact of my love and her engagement that pained her. When I did it was a blow in the face. I don't know what under heaven I've done! Women are fathomless creatures. And yet Adina is not capricious, in the common sense...
.So these are peines d'amour?" he went on, after brooding a moment. "I didn't know how fiercely I was in love!"
Scrope stood staring at her as she thrust out the crumpled note: that she meant that Adina--that Adina had left us in the night--was too large a horror for his unprepared sense...."Good-bye to everything! Think me crazy if you will. I could never explain. Only forget me and believe that I am happy, happy, happy! Adina Beati."...
Love is said to be par excellence the egotistical passion; if so Adina was far gone. "I can't promise to forget you," I said; "you and my friend here deserve to be remembered!”
Adina
The Mass of All Time: The Hidden Treasure
“We can never show enough reverence, nor ever worship the Eucharist with adequately heartfelt veneration. That is why throughout the ages it has been the custom in the Church to receive the Holy Eucharist kneeling. We should receive the Holy Eucharist prostrate and not standing. Are we the equals of Our Lord Jesus Christ? Is it not He who will come upon the clouds of heaven to be our Judge? When we see Our Lord Jesus Christ, shall we not do as did the Apostles on Thabor when they prostrated themselves on the ground in terror and wonder at the greatness and splendor of Our Lord Jesus Christ? Let us keep in our hearts and souls that spirit of worship, that spirit of profound reverence for Him who created us, for Him who redeemed us, for Him who died on the Cross for our sins.”
Catholicism
Catholic
Catholic Mass
Eucharist
Catholic Tradition
Eucharistic Adoration
A Woman's Love Is Never Good Enough
“In a marriage, a woman has to be the backbone, the compromiser; yet half the time she feels powerless. Marriage isn’t easy. There are a lot of pitfalls, steep uphill battles, obstacles, compromises, and sacrifices. As the saying goes, the man is the head of the household, but truth be told, I am still trying to understand how that is so. There are some good men out there who successfully honor their role as a husband and a father to their children. However, there are so many single mothers in the world today who are the heads of households, being both the mother and the father.”
Inspirational Quotes
Love Quotes
Quotes
Quotes To Live By
Affirmations
Empowering Quotes For Women
Determination Quotes
Sacrifice Quotes
Empowering Girls
Underestimate Quotes
Persuasion
“Não posso mais escutar em silêncio. Preciso lhe falar com os meios dos quais disponho. A senhorita me dilacera a alma. Estou dividido entre a agonia e a esperança. Não me diga que chego tarde, que aqueles tão preciosos sentimentos desapareceram para sempre. Ofereço-me outra vez à senhorita com um coração ainda mais seu do que quando a senhora quase o partiu, a oito anos e meio atrás. Não se atreva a dizer que o homem esquece com mais facilidade do que a mulher, que o seu amor morre mais cedo. Nunca amei ninguém além da senhorita.”
Amor
Paixão
Declaração
“You see, people read to be amused, to pass the time, I never read to be instructed; I read to be taken out of myself, to become ecstatic. I'm always looking for the author who can take me out of myself.”
Inspirational
Reading
Literature
Transcendence
Transcendental
“Lieutenant Fielding was a relatively young teacher who taught Latin and Greek History. He was friendlier than most teachers and encouraged his students to come back to his classroom after hours for additional insight. I remember him professing that the Greeks placed great emphasis on the human body, especially that of men. He also explained that students and teachers should develop a very special bond, supposedly for their enhanced mutual benefit. His philosophy was based on Pederasty as it was practiced in Ancient Greece and, for Fielding; it provided an entrance into a form of ritualistic military life, and the religion of Zeus.
At the time I had no inkling what he was talking about, but it didn’t take me long to figure out that he was “gay,” a term not used at the time. However, some students didn’t mind his advances and got unusually high grades, until one day he left without notice. Some of those students who received the extra help were either pulled out of school by their parents or asked to leave by the school’s administrators. In 1952 there was little tolerance for the alternate life style that Lieutenant Fielding was promoting!”
Gays
Teaching
Greek History
Life in a Medieval City
“Sometimes the pagan spirit of Roman poetry arouses qualms. Guibert of Nogent confesses in his autobiography that early in his monastic life he took up verse making and even fell into "certain obscene words and composed brief writings, worthless and immodest, in fact bereft of all decency," before abandoning this shocking practice in favor of commentaries on the Scriptures.”
Medieval Literature
Middle Ages
Medieval Poetry
Obscene Words
The Bane Chronicles
“Magnus stopped dead.
The room was illuminated only by a reading lamp; all the other light came from outside the windows. Alec was painted with streetlights and moonlight, shadows curling around his biceps and the slender indentations of his collarbones, his torso all smooth, sleek, bare skin until the dark line of his jeans. There were runes on the flat planes of his stomach and the silvery scars of old Marks snaked around his ribs, with one on the ridge of his hip. His head was bowed, his hair black as ink, his luminously pale skin white as paper. He looked like a piece of art, chiaroscuro, beautifully and wonderfully made.
Magnus had heard the story of how the Nephilim were created many times. They must have forgotten to leave out the bit that said: And the Angel descended from on high and gave his chosen ones fantastic abs.”
Magnus Bane
Alec Lightwood
The Little White Bird
“The only ghosts, I believe, who creep into this world, are dead
young mothers, returned to see how their children fare. There is
no other inducement great enough to bring the departed back.
They glide into the acquainted room when day and night, their
jailers, are in the grip, and whisper, "How is it with you, my
child?" but always, lest a strange face should frighten him, they
whisper it so low that he may not hear. They bend over him to
see that he sleeps peacefully, and replace his sweet arm beneath
the coverlet, and they open the drawers to count how many little
vests he has. They love to do these things.
What is saddest about ghosts is that they may not know their
child. They expect him to be just as he was when they left him,
and they are easily bewildered, and search for him from room to
room, and hate the unknown boy he has become. Poor, passionate
souls, they may even do him an injury. These are the ghosts that
go wailing about old houses, and foolish wild stories are
invented to explain what is all so pathetic and simple. I know
of a man who, after wandering far, returned to his early home to
pass the evening of his days in it, and sometimes from his chair
by the fire he saw the door open softly and a woman's face
appear. She always looked at him very vindictively, and then
vanished. Strange things happened in this house. Windows were
opened in the night. The curtains of his bed were set fire to.
A step on the stair was loosened. The covering of an old well in
a corridor where he walked was cunningly removed. And when he
fell ill the wrong potion was put in the glass by his bedside,
and he died. How could the pretty young mother know that this
grizzled interloper was the child of whom she was in search?
All our notions about ghosts are wrong. It is nothing so petty
as lost wills or deeds of violence that brings them back, and we
are not nearly so afraid of them as they are of us.”
Death
Ghosts
Mothers And Children
Dead Toad Scrolls
“We measure time through a mental framework trussed with two major stakes: memory and expectation. Memory is that spottiness that takes place behind the eyes: memory takes place in the cloistered theater that houses diffused still pictures. We file mental pictures that encapsulate our prior life into mental shelves for a wayward librarian to cull through and forward select recollection to the recall center whenever summoned. Expectations arise from thoughtful consideration of our future prospects in life.”
Hope
Time
Memory
Recollection
Time Quotes
Expectations
Hopeful
Expectation
Hopeful Quotes
Human Consciousness
Recollections
“We have to remember that progress isn’t just a straight line upwards, O.K.?
It’s a weird roller coaster where sometimes you’re screaming for joy, and other times you’re barfing in your own face.”
Life
Life Lessons
Progress
Doom with a View
“What do you think?” I asked her.
Candice took her time answering, which is one of the reasons I really like having her as my partner—she’s cool under pressure. “I think that, ultimately, this isn’t about someone else’s personal agenda. It’s about the missing kids. It’s about the frantic parents wanting an answer, and it’s about the bastard who will continue to take other parents’ kids and possibly hurt them until he’s stopped. I also think that you’re damn good at what you do, and I’m damn good at what I do, and we have no reason to apologize to anyone for how we make our living. So I think we should head to Washington and show this prick what we’re made of.”
Psychic
Dear Love, I Hate You
“As though he’s reading my mind, he grits out a pained, irritated “Fuck, it should be me.”
I squeeze my thighs together to relieve the pressure between my legs. Sorry. Better luck next time. The pulse only grows stronger, and I know there is no stopping my unraveling.
“Why the fuck isn’t it me, L?” His voice has this carnal edge to it. “Why am I not the one touching you right now? Fucking why?”
I visualize it.
Imagine it.
See his tongue teasing my pierced nipple, and a soft moan shoots out of my mouth before I can stop it. This seems to trigger him because he groans a low, desperate “Christ, just tell me who you are. Fuck the pact. Fuck the secrets. Fuck it all. Just tell me who are you, L. Please. Let this be real.”
The sentiment fractures my heart into a billion tiny pieces.
I want it to be real, too.”
Comedy Romance
Rom Com
Cute Romance
“Political winds change . . .' Signor Stronzo Troia indicated.
Those “political winds” stir to feed their financially hungry pockets.
Those “political winds” stir toward where they can extract or beg funds, and strongest political backings to serve their political agenda most especially even years before an upcoming election.
Would you trust power player dishonest politicians who hide under a halo of magnetising advocacy but at the same time who cover up unscrupulous political movers, black propagandists, Machiavellian manipulators, digital aggressors, political bullies, smear campaigns, and finance smear campaigners through their global strings of unscrupulous, habitually abusive, financial political parasites?
Follow their money trail and you will discover their endless dishonesty, and their hidden, darker true characters: unscrupulous, vindictive, destructive, invasive, intrusive, offensive, and habitually abusive, greedy power players, Machiavellian manipulators with impaired conscience.
~ Angelica Hopes, an excerpt from "Sfidatopia"
Book 2, Stronzata Trilogy
Genre: inspirational, political, literary novel
© Ana Angelica Abaya van Doorn”
Dirty Politics
Black Propagandists
Smear Campaigners
Financial Political Parasites
Financial Political Scammers
Political Assholes
Political Whores
Political Winds Shift
On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous
“Sometimes, when I'm careless, I think survival is easy: you just keep moving forward with what you have, or what's left of what you were given, until something changes – or you realize, at last, that you can change without disappearing, that all you had to do was wait until the storm passes you over and you find that – yes – your name is still attached to a living thing.”
Survival
“Actually believe in your potential. You spend all day and all night daydreaming and sometimes talking to yourself... out loud, which people can see by the way so maybe consider stopping that, about all the things you wish you could be and do, but instead you doubt yourself and say its impossible, and instead of following your unrealistic dreams, you should accept that you're an average person that will never get lucky and should just do what the world seems to have laid out for you like.. study law at University.
That's not gonna go down well, just trust me there. You are a horrific procrastinator and one day you will just mature enough to look past what you have been told about the world, and decide to take it into your own hands, and that will finally make you happy.”
Youtube
Danisnotonfire
Messageformyyougerself
Mine Till Midnight
“Well?” Amelia demanded, clearly unaware of the turn of his thoughts. Which was a good thing, as they likely would have sent her screaming from the room. “Have you discovered anything about my brother’s whereabouts?”
“I have.”
“And?”
“Lord Ramsay visited earlier this evening, lost some money at the hazard table—”
“Thank God he’s alive,” Amelia exclaimed.
“—and apparently decided to console himself by visiting a nearby brothel.”
“Brothel?” She shot Merripen an exasperated glance. “I swear it, Merripen, he’ll die at my hands tonight.” She looked back at Cam. “How much did he lose at the hazard table?”
“Approximately five hundred pounds.”
The pretty blue eyes widened in outrage. “He’ll die
slowly
at my hands. Which brothel?”
“Bradshaw’s.”
Amelia reached for her bonnet. “Come, Merripen. We’re going there to collect him.”
Both Merripen and Cam replied at the same time. “
No
.”
“I want to see for myself if he’s all right,” she said calmly. “I very much doubt he is.” She gave Merripen a frosty stare. “I’m not returning home without Leo.”
Half amused, half alarmed by her force of will, Cam asked Merripen, “Am I dealing with stubbornness, idiocy, or some combination of the two?”
Amelia replied before Merripen had the opportunity. “Stubbornness, on my part. The idiocy may be attributed entirely to my brother.” She settled the bonnet on her head and tied its ribbons beneath her chin.”
Merripen
Idiocy
Stubborness
Cam
Haha
Amelia
The Courage to Be a Stepmom: Finding Your Place Without Losing Yourself
“Sometimes the waters of our spirits are churned and murky, and it is difficult to tap the reservoirs of our innate wisdom and knowledge. But the waters will settle as we do. Quietly and gently encourage yourself to go inside. Clarity will come.”
Inspirational
Turmoil
Clarity
Bad for Me
“Callie, I feel like we’ve got something amazing. Something that’s going to last. I look at you , and I see my future. But it’s almost like we take two steps forward and four back, every time. You let me in a little, and then you push me away. I just need you to know that I’ll wait. I’ll be here for whatever you need, whenever. Just don’t shut me out, baby. Please.”
Romance
Contemporary
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have
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People
Real
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Live
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Could
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Call
Light
Body
Everything
Nigh
Kind
Ship