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“The magician seemed to promise that something torn to bits might be mended without a seam, that what had vanished might reappear, that a scattered handful of doves or dust might be reunited by a word, that a paper rose consumed by fire could be made to bloom from a pile of ash. But everyone knew that it was only an illusion. The true magic of this broken world lay in the ability of things it contained to vanish, to become so thoroughly lost, that they might never have existed in the first place.”
― The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay
― The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

“There is more to Subject C than meets the eye. I am baffled by the coldness and selfishness of this woman. I am also tired of dog sitting. Hiding in shadows, waiting in the wings to talk with her is not my style. I hope I'm not in over my head.”
― Wanted: An Honest Man
― Wanted: An Honest Man

“Difficulties are made to be overcome ~ Miss Felicity Lemon, Agatha Christie's Poirot: The Plymouth Express”
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“Do you still distrust me?”
“No. Take your necklace with you so you can think of me when I’m not there.” Brown brought the necklace over to her and put it on her neck. “I think it rather suits me,” she laughed and left. Brown didn’t understand what had made him insist she wear the necklace. Maybe it was the readiness with which she had made love, or her frequent disappearances lately, he was just curious. There was no harm in checking, before he parted with the money. Later that evening, before going to sleep he decided to have a look at her location and he was in for a surprise. She had not left Central City at all. In fact she was at the same friend’s address as she had been the last time.”
― The Arbitrator
“No. Take your necklace with you so you can think of me when I’m not there.” Brown brought the necklace over to her and put it on her neck. “I think it rather suits me,” she laughed and left. Brown didn’t understand what had made him insist she wear the necklace. Maybe it was the readiness with which she had made love, or her frequent disappearances lately, he was just curious. There was no harm in checking, before he parted with the money. Later that evening, before going to sleep he decided to have a look at her location and he was in for a surprise. She had not left Central City at all. In fact she was at the same friend’s address as she had been the last time.”
― The Arbitrator

“this reaction. This was on college campuses, exactly the kind of environment where I had expected curiosity, lively debate, and, yes, the thrill and energy of like-minded activists. Instead almost every campus audience I encountered bristled with anger and protest. I was accustomed to radical Muslim students from my experience as an activist and a politician in Holland. Any time I made a public speech, they would swarm to it in order to shout at me and rant in broken Dutch, in sentences so fractured you wondered how they qualified as students at all. On college campuses in the United States and Canada, by contrast, young and highly articulate people from the Muslim student associations would simply take over the debate. They would send e-mails of protest to the organizers beforehand, such as one (sent by a divinity student at Harvard) that protested that I did not “address anything of substance that actually affects Muslim women’s lives” and that I merely wanted to “trash” Islam. They would stick up posters and hand out pamphlets at the auditorium. Before I’d even stopped speaking they’d be lining up for the microphone, elbowing away all non-Muslims. They spoke in perfect English; they were mostly very well-mannered; and they appeared far better assimilated than their European immigrant counterparts. There were far fewer bearded young men in robes short enough to show their ankles, aping the tradition that says the Prophet’s companions dressed this way out of humility, and fewer girls in hideous black veils. In the United States a radical Muslim student might have a little goatee; a girl may wear a light, attractive headscarf. Their whole demeanor was far less threatening, but they were omnipresent. Some of them would begin by saying how sorry they were for all my terrible suffering, but they would then add that these so-called traumas of mine were aberrant, a “cultural thing,” nothing to do with Islam. In blaming Islam for the oppression of women, they said, I was vilifying them personally, as Muslims. I had failed to understand that Islam is a religion of peace, that the Prophet treated women very well. Several times I was informed that attacking Islam only serves the purpose of something called “colonial feminism,” which in itself was allegedly a pretext for the war on terror and the evil designs of the U.S. government. I was invited to one college to speak as part of a series of”
― Nomad: From Islam to America: A Personal Journey Through the Clash of Civilizations
― Nomad: From Islam to America: A Personal Journey Through the Clash of Civilizations
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