Emily Flake o emóciách

The emotion you don’t truly understand until you have kids isn’t love. It’s rage.

Nekričím na študentov a študentky v škole. A to vymýšľajú všeličo, ale neviem si predstaviť, čo by museli spraviť, aby ma vytočili. Je to práca, snažím sa ju robiť dobre. (Je to aj niečo viac ako práca… také naivné dúfanie, že vychovávať pár sto ľudí ročne k tomu, aby rozmýšľali, z dlhodobého hľadiska nám ako spoločnosti len prospeje.)


Doma som niekedy vytočená až tak, že sa hanbím. A nielen ja, ale aj Mišo. Nebýva to síce často, ale stále sa to vracia. Môžete tých krpcov ľúbiť ako sa len dá, ale aj tak, alebo dokonca práve preto (!), vás dokážu rozhodiť tak, že sa nespoznávate.

Včera som vyhlásila pubertu za oficiálne odštartovanú.

Barack Obama o feminizme

And yes, it’s important that their dad is a feminist, because now that’s what they expect of all men. It is absolutely men’s responsibility to fight sexism too. And as spouses and partners and boyfriends, we need to work hard and be deliberate about creating truly equal relationships.

zvyšok tu

Maisie Williams o feminizme

I also feel like we should stop calling feminists ‘feminists’ and just start calling people who aren’t feminist ‘sexist’ — and then everyone else is just a human. You are either a normal person or a sexist. People get a label when they’re bad.

Recept na plač (alebo ako sa mu vyhnúť)

Toto som objavila na zadnej strane jednej náhodne vybratej knihy v kníhkupectve:


A keď si spomeniem, kvôli čomu som naposledy revala, tak to presne sedí – na niečom mi záležalo a dovolila som si k tomu otvoriť hubu…

Ako prestať byť zaneprázdnená

odtiaľto (zvýraznenie je moje)

Most time management advice rests on the unspoken assumption that it’s possible to win the game: to find a slot for everything that matters. But if the game’s designed to be unwinnable, Schulte suggests, you can permit yourself to stop trying. There’s only one viable time management approach left (and even that’s only really an option for the better-off). Step one: identify what seem to be, right now, the most meaningful ways to spend your life. Step two: schedule time for those things. There is no step three. Everything else just has to fit around them – or not. Approach life like this and a lot of unimportant things won’t get done, but, crucially, a lot of important things won’t get done either. Certain friendships will be neglected; certain amazing experiences won’t be had; you won’t eat or exercise as well as you theoretically could. In an era of extreme busyness, the only conceivable way to live a meaningful life is to not do thousands of meaningful things.

“Learn to say no”: it’s such a cliche, and easy to assume it means only saying no to tedious, unfulfilling stuff. But “the biggest, trickiest lesson,” as the author Elizabeth Gilbert once put it, “is learning how to say no to things you do want to do” – stuff that matters – so that you can do a handful of things that really matter. Our only hope of beating overwhelm may be to limit, radically, what we’re willing to get whelmed by in the first place.

Toto sa musím naučiť. Už včera bolo neskoro.

Date a girl who reads

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

Rosemarie Urquico

Andrej Kiska o zdravotníctve

O bystrých deťoch a náboženstve


Faith… the choice to believe in something without proof (and yes, for us, it is a choice)… does not ever work for us. Our heads and hearts simply do not function that way. I know this because I’ve tried to believe, driven myself to ulcers, and failed. Trying to use faith with smart kids is a lot like trying to mix oil and water without any additives. Yes, you can do it… sort of… if you beat the snot out of it. But even then it’s strictly temporary, eventually it still separates.

Diana Gabaldon o znásilnení

A tu je sľúbený druhý úryvok z knihy Outlander (nechcela som ho mať spolu s tým prvým). Ono totiž okrem všetkých tých chvál treba povedať, že miestami je tá kniha aj dosť drsná.

Diana Gabaldon však aj k znásilneniu pristúpila nie práve mainstreamovo. Obeťou nie je žena a zaoberá sa aj dopadom na psychiku a hojením – aj tým psychickým.

I think it’s as though everyone has a small place inside themselves, maybe, a private bit that they keep to themselves. It’s like a little fortress, where the most private part of you lives – maybe it’s your soul, maybe just that bit that makes you yourself and not anybody else…

You don’t show that bit of yourself to anyone, usually, unless sometimes to someone that ye love greatly…

Now it’s like… like my own fortress has been blown up with gunpowder – there’s nothing left of it but the ashes and a smoking rooftree, and the little naked thing that lived there once is out in the open, squeaking and whimpering in fear, trying to hide itself under a blade of grass or a bit o’ leaf, but not… but not… making m-much of a job of it…

Diana Gabaldon o tehotenstve

Spomínala som, že sa chystám čítať Outlander-ku. Som v polovici druhej knihy a môžem potvrdiť, že je to chytľavé, vtipné, zaujímavé čítanie. Sebestačná hlavná hrdinka s na 18-te storočie pomerne feministicky zmýšľajúcim partnerom. Odporúčam.

A dám dva úryvky. V tomto prvom jedna z vedľajších postáv popisuje tehotenstvo:

You feel as thought your skin is verra thin all over. You feel everything that touches you, even the rubbing of your clothes, and not just on your belly, but over your legs and flanks and breasts. They feel heavy and full… and they’re verra sensitive just at the tips. And of course you’re big and you’re clumsy. You take up more room than you’re used to…

In the early days, it’s a bit like belly-gas, like little bubbles, rippling through your belly. But then later, you feel the child move, and it’s like a fish on your line and then gone – like a quick tug, but so soon past you’re not sure you felt it…

They sleep, ye know, for hours at a time. Sometimes ye fear they’ve died, when there’s no movement for a long time. Then you try to wake them – her hand pushed in sharply at the side and was rewarded immediately by a push in the opposite direction – and you’re happy when they kick again. But it’s not just the babe itself. You feel swollen all over, near the end. Not painful… just so ripe you could burst. It’s as though you need to be touched, verra lightly, all over…

And in the last month or so, the milk begins to come in. You feel yourself filling, just a wee bit at a time, a little each time the child moves. And then suddenly, everything comes up hard and round. There’s no pain, then, just a breathless feeling, and then your breasts tingle as though they’ll explode if they’re not suckled…