An untranslatable word with Haudenosaunee (Iroquois) origins, orenda is defined as the mystical force, which exists within every human being that empowers them to change the world or to change their own life. (via wordsnquotes)
The contents of this letter threw Elizabeth into a flutter of spirits, in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the greatest share. The vague and unsettled suspicions which uncertainty had produced of what Mr. Darcy might have been doing to forward her sister’s match, which she had feared to encourage as an exertion of goodness too great to be probable, and at the same time dreaded to be just, from the pain of obligation, were proved beyond their greatest extent to be true! He had followed them purposely to town, he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification attendant on such a research; in which supplication had been necessary to a woman whom he must abominate and despise, and where he was reduced to meet, frequently meet, reason with, persuade, and finally bribe, the manwhom he always most wished to avoid, and whose very name it was punishment to him to pronounce. He had done all this for a girl whom he could neither regard nor esteem. Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her. But it was a hope shortly checked by other considerations, and she soon felt that even her vanity was insufficient, when required to depend on his affection for her – for a woman who had already refused him – as able to overcome a sentiment so natural as abhorrence against relationship with Wickham. Brother-in-law of Wickham! Every kind of pride must revolt from the connection. He had, to be sure, done much. She was ashamed to think how much. But he had given a reason for his interference, which asked no extraordinary stretch of belief. It was reasonable that he should feel he had been wrong; he had liberality, and he had the means of exercising it; and though she would not place herself as his principal inducement, she could, perhaps, believe that remaining partiality for her might assist his endeavours in a cause where her peace of mind must be materially concerned. It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that they were under obligations to a person who could never receive a return. They owed the restoration of Lydia, her character, every thing, to him. Oh! how heartily did she grieve over every ungracious sensation she had ever encouraged, every saucy speech she had ever directed towards him. For herself she was humbled; but she was proud of him. Proud that in a cause of compassion and honour, he had been able to get the better of himself. She read over her aunt’s commendation of him again and again. It was hardly enough; but it pleased her. She was even sensible of some pleasure, though mixed with regret, on finding how steadfastly both she and her uncle had been persuaded that affection and confidence subsisted between Mr. Darcy and herself.
“Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. Love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves it’s own mark. To have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever.”
It makes me sick to my stomach that we have to explain this so thoroughly.
Even sicker that you don’t have to use a grand amount for the metaphor, not $1000, not even $20. Men can understand the store of value of $5 more than they can understand the concept of women as humans.
I think what’s saddest about the whole thing is that it always has to be a metaphor about an object for them to get it. Like the classic comparison to someone getting robbed because they were dressed rich so they were asking for it.
The only understand when women are compared to objects because that’s what they see is as.
i think humanity peaked when we decided that clowns are scary and skeletons are funny
the face-painted red-nosed caricature meant to cause laughter and bring joy to children has morphed into an uncanny-valley harbinger of horror while the dry remains of a human being, originally an omen of death of utmost sacredness, is now instantly funny just looking at it
1968, Asian American high school students attend the Black Panther Party funeral rally for Bobby Hutton,16 years old BPP member.
Nice pic and clip of history. That year, in 1968, my Mom was a new immigrant to the US from China, but she immediately identified with the Black Panthers struggle against racism and began attending civil rights and anti-war rallies, first in Berkeley and then in Chicago. When I was born in New York in the 1970s, my parents were printing a Chinese language progressive socialist newsletter out of our garage. That’s my Asian American upbringing.
