Home > Topic > gadgets

gadgets  QUOTES

1 " Difficult times always make us realize the true value of good times. Only a hungry person can appreciate the taste of a loaf of bread- however hard and old that loaf may be. Only a homeless person can truly appreciate the value of a roof over the head- even if it’s in an old unpainted building. Only the blind can appreciate the true value of sight- even if it’s hazy. And so on. So problems and difficulties teach us to better appreciate the good times. They are very important or else our lives would be partial. God is ALWAYS with us; never think, even in your wildest dreams, that He can ever forsake us. If you have been through only good times, you may have forgotten Him, because you were too busy celebrating and enjoying life. He was always there watching over you and keeping you out of harm’s way. It is only during your difficult times that you turn to Him. When things get out of hand you started cribbing and complaining that He has left you to the wolves. No, that’s not true; He was and is always there by your side. He’s now busy solving your problems and showing you a way out of the mess you are in. It is, perhaps, His way of showing the other side of life; of making you realize that things do go wrong and sunshine as well as rain should be taken in your stride. He sends rain to you to make you appreciate the warmth of sunny days. He puts you through difficult times to teach you the value of good times. It’s His way of teaching you to see the silver lining. You will not crib about the huge electricity bill, because you are earning enough to afford a good house with lights and heating gadgets to keep it warm. You will not feel irritated with the out of tune singer in the row behind you because it means that you can hear well. You will not feel miffed with your daughter for having dropped coffee on your clothes, because it means you have a family to come home to. Appreciate what you have and have thank the Lord for all that He has given you instead of crying for what you don’t have. "

8 " The American really loves nothing but his automobile: not his wife his child nor his country nor even his bank-account first (in fact he doesn't really love that bank-account nearly as much as foreigners like to think because he will spend almost any or all of it for almost anything provided it is valueless enough) but his motor-car. Because the automobile has become our national sex symbol. We cannot really enjoy anything unless we can go up an alley for it. Yet our whole background and raising and training forbids the sub rosa and surreptitious. So we have to divorce our wife today in order to remove from our mistress the odium of mistress in order to divorce our wife tomorrow in order to remove from our mistress and so on. As a result of which the American woman has become cold and and undersexed; she has projected her libido on to the automobile not only because its glitter and gadgets and mobility pander to her vanity and incapacity (because of the dress decreed upon her by the national retailers association) to walk but because it will not maul her and tousle her, get her all sweaty and disarranged. So in order to capture and master anything at all of her anymore the American man has got to make that car his own. Which is why let him live in a rented rathole though he must he will not only own one but renew it each year in pristine virginity, lending it to no one, letting no other hand ever know the last secret forever chaste forever wanton intimacy of its pedals and levers, having nowhere to go in it himself and even if he did he would not go where scratch or blemish might deface it, spending all Sunday morning washing and polishing and waxing it because in doing that he is caressing the body of the woman who has long since now denied him her bed. "

William Faulkner , Intruder in the Dust

12 " This is a love story, Michael Deane says.
But, really, what isn’t? Doesn’t the detective love the mystery, or the chase, or the nosy female reporter, who is even now being held against her wishes at an empty warehouse on the waterfront? Surely the serial murderer loves his victims, and the spy loves his gadgets or his country or the exotic counterspy. The ice trucker is torn between his love for ice and truck, and the competing chefs go crazy for scallops, and the pawnshop guys adore their junk just as the Housewives live for catching glimpses of their own Botoxed brows in gilded hall mirrors, and the rocked-out dude on ‘roids totally wants to shred the ass of the tramp-tatted girl on Hookbook, and because this is reality, they are all in love—madly, truly—with the body mic clipped to their back buckle, and the producer casually suggesting just one more angle, one more Jell-O shot. And the robot loves his master, alien loves his saucer, Superman loves Lois, Lex, and Lana, Luke love Leia (till he finds out she’s his sister), and the exorcist loves the demon even as he leaps out the window with it, in full soulful embrace, as Leo loves Kate and they both love the sinking ship, and the shark—God, the shark loves to eat, which is what the Mafioso loves, too—eating and money and Paulie and omerta` --the way the cowboy loves his horse, loves the corseted girl behind the piano bar, and sometimes loves the other cowboy, as the vampire loves night and neck, and the zombie—don’t even start with the zombie, sentimental fool; has anyone ever been more lovesick than a zombie, that pale, dull metaphor for love, all animal craving and lurching, outstretched arms, his very existence a sonnet about how much he wants those brains? This, too, is a love story. "

Jess Walter , Beautiful Ruins