65
" The 21st century has certainly seen the rape of women in wartime, but it has long been treated as an atrocious war crime, which most armies try to prevent and the rest deny and conceal. But for the heroes of the Iliad, female flesh was a legitimate spoil of war: women were to be enjoyed, monopolized, and disposed of at their pleasure. Menelaus launches the Trojan War when his wife, Helen, is abducted. Agamemnon brings disaster to the Greeks by refusing to return a sex slave to her father, and when he relents, he appropriates one belonging to Achilles, later compensating him with twenty-eight replacements. Achilles, for his part, offers this pithy description of his career: “I have spent many sleepless nights and bloody days in battle, fighting men for their women.”11 When Odysseus returns to his wife after twenty years away, he murders the men who courted her while everyone thought he was dead, and when he discovers that the men had consorted with the concubines of his household, he has his son execute the concubines too. "
― Steven Pinker , The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined
67
" Happiness & Me:-Happiness is That one place,Those old friends,& some new people,Those feelings,Those moments & me..!Happiness is Those rainy days &Those rainy nights,Those cool long rides,Those hot coffees,That window & some good books & me..!Happiness is Those family gatherings ,Those laughter,Those tears,Those eventful hugs,Those dinners & me..!Happiness isthat crush,Those late night conversions,Those breathtaking feelings,Those sleepless nights & vivid thoughts,Those cravings for just one thing,That first love feeling & me..!Happiness isThose beautiful places,Those alluring scenes,That one magical fascinating fragrance,Brings out thousands of memories,Memories that built you & breaks you,Memories that makes you sail between happiness & sadness,Those moments & me..!Happiness isThose little helps,To needy & poor people,With no intention of hurting,Just as an act humanity,To see a smile of “Pure happiness”Those moments & me..!Happiness isPlanting a little plant, In hope to blossom it into a, Gorgeous flower & sweetest fruits one day,Those fairy tales under it & me..!Happiness isThose sweet fights with god,In order to unanswered wishes of life,But my dear that’s nor fair,Sometimes god has bigger plans for us,Than we’ve for ourselves,How these all moments bothers a life we live,& all you need to find is,Moments of happiness & you..!! "
70
" He thought himself awake when he was already asleep. He saw the stars above his face, whirling on their silent and sleepless axis, and the leaves of the trees rustling against them, and he heard small changes in the grass. These little noises of footsteps and soft-fringed wing-beats and stealthy bellies drawn over the grass blades or rattling against the bracken at first frightened or interested him, so that he moved to see what they were (but never saw), then soothed him, so that he no longer cared to see what they were but trusted them to be themselves, and finally left him altogether as he swam down deeper and deeper, nuzzling into the scented turf, into the warm ground, into the unending waters under the earth. "
― T.H. White
73
" What is the matter with people?” Sam fumed. “I said we needed a hundred kids and we get thirteen? Fifteen, maybe?”
“They’re just kids,” Astrid said.
“We’re all just kids. We’re all going to be very hungry kids.”
“They’re used to being told what to do by their parents or teachers. You need to be more direct. As in, Hey, kid, get to work. Now.” She thought for a moment then added, “Or else.”
“Or else what?” Sam asked.
“Or else…I don’t know. We’re not going to let anyone starve. If we can help it. I don’t know the ‘or else.’ All I know is you can’t expect kids to just automatically behave the right way. I mean, when I was little my mom would give me a gold star when I was good and take away a privilege when I wasn’t.”
“What am I supposed to do? Tell three hundred kids spread out in seventy or eighty different homes that they can’t watch DVDs? Confiscate iPods?”
“It’s not easy playing daddy to three hundred kids,” Astrid admitted.
“I’m not anyone’s daddy,” Sam practically snarled. Another sleepless night, in a long string of them, had left him in a foul mood. “I’m supposed to be the mayor, not the father.”
“These kids don’t know the difference,” Astrid pointed out. “They need parents. So they look to you. And Mother Mary. Me, even, to some extent. "
― Michael Grant , Hunger (Gone, #2)
74
" When tadpole was born, I spent a sleepless night on the maternity ward gazing intently into her inky, newborn eyes, grappling to come to terms with the indisputable fact that this was an actual person looking back at me, not just a version of Mr Frog, or me, or both, in miniature. From the outset she seemed to know what she wanted, and I realised I could have no inkling of the paths she would choose to follow. But if I watch her life unfold carefully enough, perhaps I will see clear signposts pointing to who or what she will become.
Because when I look backwards, ransacking my own past for clues with the clarity that only hindsight can bring, several defining moments do stand out. Moments charged with significance; snapshots of myself which, if I were to join the dots together, lead me unswervingly to where I stand today. "
― Catherine Sanderson , Petite Anglaise
77
" Revenge may be exacted a hundred times over in one sleepless night. The impulse, the dreaming intention, is human, normal, and we should forgive ourselves. But the raised hand, the actual violent enactment, is cursed. The maths says so. There’ll be no reversion to the status quo ante, no balm, no sweet relief, or none that lasts. Only a second crime. Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves, Confucius said. Revenge unstitches a civilisation. It’s a reversion to constant, visceral fear. "
― Ian McEwan , Nutshell
80
" More wine for me, pour me some more!" " You smart girl, I knew you're a smart girl, just teasing...” Faces turn red, the dark earth blood is rising. They wink at Pelka, wink at the host: " He knows his goods!" The women feel the buttons constricting them - they undo one, another, a third. By twos the guests go outside to get some air. " Well, my dear guests, are you soaked to the gills? Eh? And now-to dance! Get lively!" The table and the chairs vanish. The middle of the room is empty. Ivan the Monk jumps out of his hole, a tambourine in his hands: " Tim-ta-a-am! Tim-ta-a-am!" “Eh-hey!" the redhead suddenly snatches the tambourine and sweeps off, tapping wildly in a circle. Eyes closed: a white sleepless sun-a white night on the meadow-white columns of smoke swaying over fires... " Eh-ah!" -to whirl herself to death, to whirl out everything, to empty herself - nothing has ever been... Heavy boots are thumping on the floor, beards fly in the wind, the frock-coat tails go flying... hey, get going, faster, faster - a hundred versts an hour! (" The North" ) "
