Don’t you know that Orwell and Finch have a problem with insects?” snarls moody Baumauer. And, he’s right. Cimex lectularius: bedbugs. Hitchhikers. Fine purveyors of traumatic insemination. People are always itching. Itching itching itching. Twitching fingers; dancing arms. Wincing when they’re bitten. The occasional, “Ouch!” from different localities within the room. “Jabbing fuckers!” Pissec always shouts. “The male sticks his cock in her stomach!” he blares when he’s scratching-crazy. Last week, Kalist organised two visits from pest control: “Keep bags off floors,” was their brief advice. “And don’t drop food.

Cal: “I’m not presuming. I know exactly what you think about me. You think I’m an anal-retentive Armrest Nazi . . . an arrogant Modelizer. You can’t stand the way I talk, any of the subjects I choose to talk about, the imperious manner I order food in restaurants or tell cab drivers how much we owe them. You find my taste in women odious, the fact that I don’t own a television an unforgivable sin, and the fact that I would choose to write a book about Saudi Arabia completely unfathomable. And you’re also totally in love with me. If you weren’t you wouldn’t have pushed me into the pool earlier today when you saw Grazi walk in.”Every Boy's Got One

One thing she did not know was the greatest book on human psychology is the Bible. If you were lazy and did not wish to work, or if you had failed to make your way in the society, you could always say 'my kingdom is not of this world'. If you were a jet-set woman who believed in sleeping around, VD or no VD you could always say Mary Magdalene had no husband but didn't she wash the feet of our Lord? 'Wasn't she the first person to see our risen Saviour'? If on the other hand you believed in the inferiority of the Blacks you could always say 'slaves obey your Master. It's a mysterious book, one of the greatest of all books, if not the greatest. Hasn't it got all the answers?

What was that?" Belgarath asked, coming back around the corner."Brill," Silk replied blandly, pulling his Murgo robe back on."Again?" Belgarath demanded with exasperation. "What was he doing this time?""Trying to fly, last time I saw him." Silk smirked.The old man looked puzzled."He wasn't doing it very well," Silk added.Belgarath shrugged. "Maybe it'll come to him in time.""He doesn't really have all that much time." Silk glanced out over the edge."From far below - terribly far below - there came a faint, muffled crash; then, after several seconds, another. "Does bouncing count?" Silk asked.Belgarath made a wry face. "Not really.""Then I'd say he didn't learn in time." Silk said blithely.

Mother, just like the last fifty-five thousand times you’ve mentioned it, I have no intention of getting married and having a family. You’re just going to have to content yourself with the grandchildren you already have.” ......His mother narrowed her eyes at him. He could see her mind working on how to get him to come around. She was never going to give up, and she would be fit and healthy enough to badger him about it for years and years....Lance had heard humans talk about the tenacity of Jewish mothers. He didn’t know any, but he’d be surprised if they could hold a candle to the relentless herding instinct of a quickened mother who was descended on both sides from border collies.

Doesn’t he look just like a ring wraith?” she said thoughtfully. “Are you kidding?” replied Cathy, “I most certainly won't be carol singing at your door this Christmas if you've got one of those ugly things hanging on it!” “No, from Lord of the Rings,” said Sue impatiently. “I'm sorry,” snorted Cathy, “I don't watch pornographic material." “Have you never read a book?!” Sue snapped. “It's about a small man who travels through dangerous lands to drop a ring into a volcano, it's a classic.” “Does sound like a small man,” she replied, “can't even face his marriage problems full on.

You mean that because I have no name I cannot die and that you cannot be held answerable for death even if you kill me?""That is about the size of it," said the Sergeant.I felt so sad and so entirely disappointed that tears came into my eyes and a lump of incommunicable poignancy swelled tragically in my throat. I began to feel intensely every fragment of my equal humanity. The life that was bubbling at the end of my fingers was real and nearly painful in intensity and so was the beauty of my warm face and the loose humanity of my limbs and the racy health of my red rich blood. To leave it all without good reason and to smash the little empire into small fragments was a thing too pitiful even to refuse to think about.

I blame Chennai. Pointless neighbourhood gossip travels faster than tsunami alerts around here. I know that aunties are a universal problem but this city is particularly aunty dominated. And by that, I mean, even many of our twenty-somethings act like aunties. Forgive the rant. Maybe I've lived here too long (and have therefore outgrown it) but I sincerely believe that Chennai has no business being called a metro. I mean, if a thirty-year-old single woman living alone while her parents are in the same city, is still such hot news, then maybe we need to graciously give up our metro status to someone more deserving. And since we have no qualms about lagging so far behind the times, maybe we should call ourselves retro.

GUIL: It [Hamlet's madness] really boils down to symptoms. Pregnant replies, mystic allusions, mistaken identities, arguing his father is his mother, that sort of thing; intimations of suicide, forgoing of exercise, loss of mirth, hints of claustrophobia not to say delusions of imprisonment; invocations of camels, chameleons, capons, whales, weasels, hawks, handsaws -- riddles, quibbles and evasions; amnesia, paranoia, myopia; day-dreaming, hallucinations; stabbing his elders, abusing his parents, insulting his lover, and appearing hatless in public -- knock-kneed, droop-stockinged and sighing like a love-sick schoolboy, which at his age is coming on a bit strong.ROS: And talking to himself.GUIL: And talking to himself.

Beds empty! No note! Car gone — could have crashed — out of my mind with worry — did you care? — never, as long as I’ve lived — you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy —""Perfect Percy,” muttered Fred.“YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY’S BOOK!” yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred’s chest. “You could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your father his job —”It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, who backed away.“I’m very pleased to see you, Harry, dear,” she said.

How would it be,” said Pooh slowly, “if, as soon as we’re out of sight of this Pit, we try to find it again?”“What’s the good of that?” said Rabbit.“Well,” said Pooh, “we keep looking for Home and not finding it, so I thought that if we looked for this Pit, we’d be sure not to find it, which would be a Good Thing, because then we might find something that we weren’t looking for, which might be just what we were looking for, really.”“I don’t see much sense in that,” said Rabbit.“No,” said Pooh humbly, “there isn’t. But there was going to be when I began it. It’s just that something happened to it on the way.

For the first twenty years of my life, I rocked myself to sleep. It was a harmless enough hobby, but eventually, I had to give it up. Throughout the next twenty-two years I lay still and discovered that after a few minutes I could drop off with no problem. Follow seven beers with a couple of scotches and a thimble of good marijuana, and it’s funny how sleep just sort of comes on its own. Often I never even made it to the bed. I’d squat down to pet the cat and wake up on the floor eight hours later, having lost a perfectly good excuse to change my clothes. I’m now told that this is not called “going to sleep” but rather “passing out,” a phrase that carries a distinct hint of judgment.

You sneaked into my cabin?”Annabeth rolled her eyes. “Percy, you’ll be seventeen in two months. You can’t seriously be worried about getting in trouble with Coach Hedge.”“Uh, have you seen his baseball bat?”“Besides, Seaweed Brain, I just thought we could take a walk. We haven’t had any time to be together alone. I want to show you something—my favorite place aboard the ship.”Percy’s pulse was still in overdrive, but it wasn’t from fear of getting in trouble. “Can I, you know, brush my teeth first?”“You'd better,” Annabeth said. “Because I’m not kissing you until you do. And brush your hair while you’re at it.

Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again"; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.

You know what would help?" I asked, not meeting his eyes."Hmm?""If you turned off this crap music and put on something that came out after the Berlin Wall went down."Dimitri laughted. "Your worst class is history, yet somehow, you know everything about Eastern Europe.""Hey, gotta have material for my jokes, Comrade." Still smiling, he turned the radio dail. To a country station."Hey! This isn't what I had in mind," I exclaimed. I could tell he was on the verge of laughing again."Pick. It's one or the other."I sighed. "Go back to the 1980s stuff."He flipped the dail, and I crossed my arms over my chest as some vaguely European-sounding band sang about how video had killed the radio star. I wished someone would kill this radio.