Aj Muste Quotes

Life is no straight and easy corridor along which we travel free and unhampered, but a maze of passages, through which we must seek our way, lost and confused, now and again checked in a blind alley. But always, if we have faith, a door will open for us, not perhaps one that we ourselves would ever have thought of, but one that will ultimately prove good for us

I was fighting for my life. So I must not want to die. And if I don’t want to die, I’ve got to start living.

Some temptations cannot be fought. One must close one's mind and fly from them

Once a reporter asked him, "Do you really think you are going to change the policies of this country by standing out here alone at night in front of the White House with a candle?" A.J. Muste replied softly: "Oh I don't do this to change the country. I do this so the country won't change me.

The body is but a vessel for the soul, a puppet which bends to the soul's tyranny. And lo, the body is not eternal, for it must feed on the flesh of others, lest it return to the dust from whence it came. Therefore must the soul deceive, despise and murder men.

What must be done must be done, whatever the price, the cost, the pain. One day we all must walk through fire.

There is no way to peace, peace is the way.

If you choose to keep your true face secret, then the people who know you by one mask, must never meet those who know you by another.

No Big Power in all history ever thought of itself as an aggressor. That is still true today.

Time spent worrying - about anything - provides no emotional or physical benefit to us; such things only weaken us for the fights we must endure in our lives.

The ignorance of the world often makes people believe that life should be black and white – that you must choose sides – and so the world of colourful gradients goes unadmired.

Books are knowledge weaponized. And what weapons you cannot steal, you must burn. Librarian Gregor Henry, 1986 CE

Our knees get dusty from time to time, but when they touch the ground, we must never allow the dust to convince us that our submission in that moment is the acceptance of our defeat for an entire lifetime.

The whole bible is the working out of the relationship between God and man. God is not a dictator barking out orders and demanding silent obedience. Were it so, there would be no relationship at all. No real relationship goes just one way. There are always two active parties. We must have reverence and awe for God, and honor for the chain of tradition. But that doesn't mean we can't use new information to help us read the holy texts in new ways.

I always wanted to try the Turkish Delight in Narnia. When I read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe as a boy, I used to think that Turkish Delight must be incredibly delicious if it made Edmund betray his family,” A.J. says. “I guess I must have told my wife this, because one year Nic gets a box for me for the holidays. And it turned out to be this powdery, gummy candy. I don’t think I’ve ever been so disappointed in my entire life.

To Succeed You Must Read

When you finally live out your biggest dream, the next step must always be "dream bigger.

War has always followed libraries, my apprentice. History has made no effort to hide that truth from us. Look at Rome; look at the Crusades. Vanquishing an enemy and taking his books was just as strategic as taking his cannons. Books are knowledge weaponized. And what weapons you cannot steal, you must burn.

We must humble ourselves before [others] so we may learn from what others have lived. It is only when we have added their expertise to our own that we can truly excel towards our most ambitious goals and reach our fullest potential.

To be in a war, you must learn the rules of survival… to win a war, you must break every fucking one of those rules.

We must always be careful never to make more enemies than we could handle if they were all to attack at once.

We are united by something greater and more valuable than our beliefs alone: the freedom to have those beliefs, and believe what we want without persecution - we must protect that at all costs.

Life is no straight and easy corridor along which we travel free and unhampered, but a maze of passages, through which we must seek our way, lost and confused, now and again checked in a blind alley.   But always, if we have faith, a door will open for us, not perhaps one that we ourselves would ever have thought of, but one that will ultimately prove good for us.”   A.J. Cronin

Night Must Fall,” he reads. “It’s a good one to start with. Suspenseful but not scary.

Don't overwork yourself,doctor. Sometimes a man must pay a tribute even to his senses

Life is no straight and easy corridor along which we travel free and unhampered, but a maze of passages, through which we must seek our way, lost and confused, now and again checked in a blind alley. But always, if we have faith, a door will open for us, not perhaps one that we ourselves would ever have thought of, but one that will ultimately prove good for us.” A.J. Cronin

You must always focus on and pursue the good, but when that darkness surges up from within, you need to know how to handle it, use it, and release it wisely, not just deny its presence or acceptability as you suppress it within you.

Like waking up in our home one night to find ourselves in a blazing fire, we must be arsonists of emotion, forcing ourselves to grab only what is truly important to us before our life-rafters collapse in on us and we can no longer escape alive.

We must be,” the President said, “the great arsenal of democracy.

Lambiase and the first Ms. Fikry speak variations on the phrase, “A town isn’t a town without a bookstore.” Surely, they both must have read American Gods by Neil Gaiman.

When I read The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe as a boy, I used to think that Turkish Delight must be incredibly delicious if it made Edmund betray his family,

Greatness is not a gift that one can give to another, but rather is a thief's relic that we must take for ourselves.

Island used to offer free gift wrap at Christmas, and he figures that diaper changing and gift-wrapping must be related proficiencies.

I was fighting for my life. So I must not want to die. And if I don't want to die, I've got to start living.

A man must think about battles, which he conquers alone, as well as the invisible victories. Instead, he thinks only about visible defeats.

...before the sunset shines,the man must rigorously seek paths, like a labyrinth, or tirelessly push boulder atop,like Sisyphus.

The power of an idea is never to be underestimated. Many a thought has survived long after its host has ceased to be. It is the power of an idea that no shield can defend against, nor sword divide, nor poison infect. As such, we must aspire to create ideas, rather than preserve life. In a sense, this is how we achieve true immortality and live on past our time.

When the baby sees Ismay, she bawls. “She must miss her mother,” Ismay says. “Maybe I remind her of her mother?” A.J. nods, though he thinks the real cause is that his sister-in-law frightens the baby.

Yes,” she says. “But this is not enough. You must find yourself good woman.” “I like my life,” A.J. says. “You think child is enough, but child grows old. You think work is enough, but work is not warm body.

A good leader must have the wisdom to know when a pursuit is no longer worthy of being pursued - a time when the losses of the present must be accepted - and cut - to preserve the gains and providence of the future.

say,” he said loudly. “I am here on behalf of the council. You ladies are blocking a public thoroughfare and must disperse.” It was a crass interruption. “Shame,” said someone behind me. “They’re not doing any harm,” said a young man.

A.J. has never changed a diaper in his life, though he is a modestly skilled gift wrapper. Back when Nic was alive, Island used to offer free gift wrap at Christmas, and he figures that diaper changing and gift-wrapping must be related proficiencies.

Her diaper is soiled. A.J. has never changed a diaper in his life, though he is a modestly skilled gift wrapper. Back when Nic was alive, Island used to offer free gift wrap at Christmas, and he figures that diaper changing and gift-wrapping must be related proficiencies.

The best laid schemes o’ mice and men often go astray.   Robert Burns 1759 -1796         “Life is no straight and easy corridor along which we travel free and unhampered, but a maze of passages, through which we must seek our way, lost and confused, now and again checked in a blind alley.   But always, if we have faith, a door will open for us, not perhaps one that we ourselves would ever have thought of, but one that will ultimately prove good for us.”   A.J. Cronin Parts of All of Us The Simple and The Complex   The four imaginary characters depicted in this story— the mice: “Sniff” and “Scurry,” and the Littlepeople: “Hem” and “Haw”— are intended to represent the simple and the complex parts of ourselves, regardless of our age, gender, race or nationality.   Sometimes we may act like Sniff Who sniffs out change

But I loved those books or at least that first one. And I felt somewhere down deep inside him the person who wrote it must be there. That you couldn't write such beautiful things and have such an ugly heart. But that is the truth. He was a beautiful writer and a terrible person.

But I loved his books, or at least that first one. And I felt that somewhere down deep inside him the person who wrote it must still be there. That you couldn't write such beautiful things and have such an ugly heart. But that is the truth. He was a beautiful writer and a terrible person.

I try not to react, but I must fail because Gabriel turns to look at me. “The world needs both butterflies and lions. One is not better than the other. They're both beautiful and brave in their own ways.” His hand covers mine as it fiddles with the blades of grass. “Ava.” I look up. “I do not wish you were a lion any more than I would have wished her to be a butterfly.

I suppose that if I'm grieving, then I must have loved whatever I lost, however I lost it. I suppose - it's like a scar reminding me of some adventure I had. Or like the end credits of a wonderful film. So... no, I'm not comfortable with it, but I'm grateful for it... Grief might feel like fear, but it also feels like a memory, and with memory, there's no - a story doesn't end.

YOU CAN KIND of see them if you get on your tippy toes and look over the fence,” A.J. says. “There, in the distance!” They had left Alice at seven that morning, taken the ferry to Hyannis, then driven two hours to Portsmouth only to discover that the Green Animals Topiary Garden is closed from November through May. A.J. finds that he cannot make eye contact with either his daughter or Lambiase. It is twenty-nine degrees, but shame is keeping him warm. Maya stands on her toes and when that doesn’t work, she tries hopping. “I can’t see anything,” she says. “Here, I’ll get you higher,” Lambiase says, lifting Maya onto his shoulders. “Maybe I can see a little bit,” Maya says doubtfully. “No, I definitely cannot see anything. They’re all covered.” Her lower lip begins to quiver. She looks at A.J. with pained eyes. He doesn’t think he can take any more of this. Suddenly, she smiles brightly at A.J. “But you know what, Daddy? I can imagine what the elephant looks like under the blanket. And the tiger! And the unicorn!” She nods at her father as if to say, Clearly this imaginative exercise must have been your point in taking me here in the middle of winter. “That’s

NOVEMBER 10 New Forces Now to Him who is able to keep you from stumbling, and to present you faultless before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy, to God our Savior, who alone is wise, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and forever. Amen. JUDE 1:24–25 Remember that life’s difficulties and troubles are not intended to arrest your progress, but to increase your speed. You must call new forces, new powers into action.

Oh, you must, Lambiase," Maya says. "You will love it. There's this girl and her brother, and they runaway—" "Running away's no laughing matter." Lambiase frowns. "As a police officer, I can tell you that kids don't do well on the streets." Maya continues, "They go to this big museum in New York City, and they hide out there. It's—" "It's criminal is what it is," Lambiase says. "It's definitely trespassing. It's probably breaking and entering, too." "Lambiase," Maya says, "you are missing the point.

Enforced military service is a monstrous institution - the greatest evil of our time. Why should men be forced into uniform in order that they may kill each other? In the days of chivalry the knights engaged in battle of their own free will. I was a sport to them - and they were good for nothing else. No one ever dreamed of bolting up a poet or a philosopher in armour and sending him to the battlefield. Even the peasants were exempt. But now we must all be made expert in the methods of slaughtering our fellow creatures.

Being a Sabbath-keeper is basically the art of letting people down at a rate they can handle. There are times we cannot meet the needs of others. There are times we trust God to help others through others. Not every need represents God’s will for our lives. How freeing! Sometimes we cannot do everything we desire, even if those desires are good and wholesome. Jesus is Lord—we are not. Paul had to learn that lesson through his Bithynia experience. If this remains true, we are freed from any kind of messiah complex that maintains that we must do something about everything. If Jesus said no, so can we.

The whole Bible is the working out of the relationship between God and man,” says Greenberg. “God is not a dictator barking out orders and demanding silent obedience. Were it so, there would be no relationship at all. No real relationship goes just one way. There are always two active parties. We must have reverence and awe for God, and honor for the chain of tradition. But that doesn’t mean we can’t use new information to help us read the holy texts in new ways. We don’t have to sit back and passively accept that Leviticus bans sex between men at all times and in all ways if other convincing ways of reading can be found.

It happens to be the case that we cannot, in our language, refer to the sensible properties of a thing without introducing a word or phrase which appears to stand for the thing itself as opposed to anything which may be said about it. And, as a result of this, those who are infected by the primitive superstition that to every name a single real entity must correspond assume that it is necessary to distinguish logically between the thing itself and any, or all, of its sensible properties. And so they employ the term “substance” to refer to the thing itself. But from the fact that we happen to employ a single word to refer to a thing, and make that word the grammatical subject of the sentences in which we refer to the sensible appearances of the thing, it does not by any means follow that the thing itself is a “simple entity,” or that it cannot be defined in terms of the totality of its appearances. It is true that in talking of “its” appearances we appear to distinguish the thing from the appearances, but that is simply an accident of linguistic usage. Logical analysis shows that what makes these “appearances” the “appearances of” the same thing is not their relationship to an entity other than themselves, but their relationship to one another. The metaphysician fails to see this because he is misled by a superficial grammatical feature of his language.

HER HUSBAND’S ALMOST HOME. He’ll catch her this time. There isn’t a scrap of curtain, not a blade of blind, in number 212—the rust-red townhome that once housed the newlywed Motts, until recently, until they un-wed. I never met either Mott, but occasionally I check in online: his LinkedIn profile, her Facebook page. Their wedding registry lives on at Macy’s. I could still buy them flatware. As I was saying: not even a window dressing. So number 212 gazes blankly across the street, ruddy and raw, and I gaze right back, watching the mistress of the manor lead her contractor into the guest bedroom. What is it about that house? It’s where love goes to die. She’s lovely, a genuine redhead, with grass-green eyes and an archipelago of tiny moles trailing across her back. Much prettier than her husband, a Dr. John Miller, psychotherapist—yes, he offers couples counseling—and one of 436,000 John Millers online. This particular specimen works near Gramercy Park and does not accept insurance. According to the deed of sale, he paid $3.6 million for his house. Business must be good. I know both more and less about the wife. Not much of a homemaker, clearly; the Millers moved in eight weeks ago, yet still those windows are bare, tsk-tsk. She practices yoga three times a week, tripping down the steps with her magic-carpet mat rolled beneath one arm, legs shrink-wrapped in Lululemon. And she must volunteer someplace—she leaves the house a little past eleven on Mondays and Fridays, around the time I get up, and returns between five and five thirty, just as I’m settling in for my nightly film. (This evening’s selection: The Man Who Knew Too Much, for the umpteenth time. I am the woman who viewed too much.) I’ve noticed she likes a drink in the afternoon, as do I. Does she also like a drink in the morning? As do I? But her age is a mystery, although she’s certainly younger than Dr. Miller, and younger than me (nimbler, too); her name I can only guess at. I think of her as Rita, because she looks like Hayworth in Gilda. “I’m not in the least interested”—love that line. I myself am very much interested. Not in her body—the pale ridge of her spine, her shoulder blades like stunted wings, the baby-blue bra clasping her breasts: whenever these loom within my lens, any of them, I look away—but in the life she leads. The lives. Two more than I’ve got.

I have a trainer,” she confirmed while searching for an escape route. Standing closer to this man is like being stuck in an elevator, she decided. You’d bargain with God to get free. “But not just any trainer. Not only does this woman tackle a stallion no one else can seem to tame but she resurrects the dead, n’est-ce pas? You have done wonders to stir McCloud’s blood again, or so I have heard.” A.J.’s mouth dropped open at the insinuation. “What are you talking about?” “Surely you jest. The news is all around.” He gesticulated with a limp wrist. “Although I must say, you are faithless to leave your family in favor of a man who is not your husband. No matter how good you find his services.” Her vision narrowed on the man’s jugular. “Why, you little—” Devlin appeared at her side. “A.J.! Time to go pace off the course.” “Ah,” Philippe said grandly. “And here is your good teacher, the man you gave up so much for. Myself, I could not imagine leaving my family for someone else’s stable, but I am French and we are known for our loyalty. Then again, I also don’t need the particular kind of instruction this McCloud offers.” A.J. could sense her face tuning brick red and felt like a boxer winding up for a punch. “Come on,” Devlin said. “Yes, run along, you two. I imagine there is much you must do to each other.” That did it. She lost it. “Why, you tar-mouthed gossip hound—” She was itching to go further but Devlin put a firm hand on her arm and began to lead her away. “And speaking of gossip,” the Frenchman called out as they left, “you would do well to keep your ear to the floor. I myself am going to make an announcement soon.” “That’s ‘ear to the ground,’ you—” “Enough,” Devlin hissed, dragging her off. When they were out of range from the crowd, A.J. whirled on him, eyes flashing turquoise. “How could you let him go on like that? You didn’t give me the chance to defend us!” Devlin said nothing, which infuriated her further. He just stood there, staring at her calmly. Didn’t he have any pride? “I mean, come on! Marceau made insinuations that were insane and you hauled me off before I could respond.” When that didn’t get any reaction, she frowned. “Hello?” “You finished?” he asked. “Or do you want to give him more of what he’s after?” A.J. looked confused. He said, “Tell me what you’re thinking about right now.” “How I’d like to crown him with a bag of feed.

Few would disagree with the statement: creation is not operating the way it’s supposed to. Through abuse, misuse, and selfishness, humans have been consumers rather than stewards of the created world. As a result, the well-being of creation, its shalom, is harmed. We must be cognizant that things are in disrepair and that humans are the only part of creation capable of reversing the damage done.

I think we’ve seen every movie Cary Grant ever made a dozen times.” She widened her eyes. “Me too. Nanna adored Cary Grant.” “‘Everybody wants to be Cary Grant. Even I want to be Cary Grant.’” “I love that line.” “How about this one. ‘Insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops.’” “Arsenic and Old Lace.” “That’s one point for you.” “My turn. ‘Not that I mind a slight case of abduction now and then, but I have tickets for the theater this evening.’” “Too easy.” AJ smirked. “North by Northwest.” “We’re tied. One point each.” “So it’s a competition now?” “For biggest Cary Grant fan.” “Okay. Try this one. ‘There must be something between us, even if it’s only an ocean.’” “Every woman in the world knows that one.” “Then what is it?” “An Affair to Remember.” Shelby sighed dreamily. “And you can’t watch that one without watching Sleepless in Seattle.” “Another of Gran’s favorites.” “Did you really watch all those movies with her?” “Sure did. About once a month or so on a Sunday afternoon, we’d have a movie marathon.” His eyes softened as he revisited the past, then he grinned. “Sometimes I drifted off to sleep. So did she, but we both pretended we didn’t.” “Sounds like a pleasant way to spend a Sunday.” “It was.

Khrushchev, too, looks like the kind of man his physicians must continually try to diet, and historians will some day correlate these sporadic deprivations, to which he submits “for his own good,” with his public tantrums. If there is to be a world cataclysm, it will probably be set off by skim milk, Melba toast, and mineral oil on the salad.

Bburke used to, whenever he went to the city to catch a Yankees game, throw his money around to every homeless man on the street, feeling it was the right thing to do; except one time he did that and he got to the stadium and realized he didn’t have enough money for the Bud Light tall boy he always got during the third inning. And in him he felt an unyielding rise of contempt for the himself of only hours ago, that he was something and now is something and that they aren’t the same somethings. But that the change was Barmecidal and it was just him, this moneyless and beerless man in the bleachers. Man made in God’s image, yet some men are homeless and some are beerless, and there must be this big bearded guy miles and miles in the sky who doesn’t have a home and can’t even catch a buzz.

He blurred his thens and his nows—in a fantastic drunken distortion—with the thisness and thenness of now and before, re-spectively; wisps of Bburke with Jane infiltrated him without her, the way dry oars still taste of salt. And it made Bburke trace Jane’s silhouette in his bedsheets with his lips, wondering if his sadness and loneliness was of any import to the grander human comedy, like the swooning soul of Joyce’s Gabriel, lost amidst a universe of snow—because, in small, unnoticeable ways, must not the sea taste of oars?

a no is the language of intention. No one accidentally says no these days. Except for laziness, a no actually comes from a place of self-knowledge, of self-restraint, of self-awareness. For the Christian, a no should be spoken with the discernment of what God has spoken yes over. We must be sensitive to what God has called us to in order to be free to say no to other prospects. We must have ground in our week that is fallow, free from commitments, free of obligations, a place where life can flourish.

Both Sabbath and worship have largely become individualized—a difficult reality we must be sensitive to when thinking through the Sabbath. Without being sentimental, I do wonder whether something critical is lost when we disconnect our corporate worship from our Sabbath. I even wonder whether something is lost when we stop donning our Sunday best.

If knowledge is freedom, then we must be chain breakers. If there’s one thing I learned from the specter of my predecessor, it is this: to be a librarian is to be in rebellion against time, against the world.

Sloth of spirit is the inability to say no and have boundaries. The Sabbath straightens up our spirits and awakens us from the lull of the eternal yes. Therefore, a no is the language of intention. No one accidentally says no these days. Except for laziness, a no actually comes from a place of self-knowledge, of self-restraint, of self-awareness. For the Christian, a no should be spoken with the discernment of what God has spoken yes over. We must be sensitive to what God has called us to in order to be free to say no to other prospects. We must have ground in our week that is fallow, free from commitments, free of obligations, a place where life can flourish. A no creates healthy margin in our lives. Have you said no to someone today?

Look at Rome; look at the Crusades. Vanquishing an enemy and taking his books was just as strategic as taking his cannons. Books are knowledge weaponised. And what weapons you cannot steal, you must burn.

I wake and in those first fuddled moments forget you’re not here. I must have been dreaming about you – a tense, erotic dream. I reach out in bed to the place your body should be. It’s cold and there is no hollow. Even the bed is forgetting you.

EPHESIANS 5:1–2 When supply seems to have failed, you must know it has not done so. But you must, at the same time, look around to see what you can give away. Give away something. There is always a stagnation, a blockage, when supply seems short. Your giving clears that away and lets the Spirit of My Supply flow clear.

The world expects a return, or gives only in return. Not so do I. My only stipulation is receive! But to receive My Power, My Gifts, you must have room for them, and, full of self, there is no room for Me and My Gifts. So all I desire of you is to be emptied of self, and to desire Me.

cannot bless a life that does not act as a channel. My Spirit brooks no stagnation, not even rest. Its Power must flow on. Pass on everything, every blessing. Abide in Me. See how many you can bless each day. Dwell much in My Presence.

You've got to be fucking kidding me!” The words are out of my mouth before I can put my brain into gear. He must have felt the pain from five pairs of eyes burning straight into the side of his head. Red hot, radioactive beams buzzing onto his temple as he quickly turns his attention to the group of people staring at him. Then his eyes fall on me. Yet again, I melt on the spot at the chocolate pools looking at me.

While every chapter should have goals to further the plot and delve our readers deeper into our world, there must be one goal above all else: Emotional Impact.

I suppose that if I’m grieving, then I must have loved whatever I lost, however I lost it. I suppose—it’s like a scar reminding me of some adventure I had. Or like the end credits of a wonderful film. So . . .

If I am to remake the Library, then it follows that I am to remake the librarians as well. No use modeling ourselves after the human equivalent—in my time, the only reason I had the education I did was because of the wealth and status of my family. Even then, I would never have been made a scholar in charge of learning. Scholars are more hungry for control and the blessings of the powerful than for knowledge. So this is my charge: We will be librarians. True to the books, but even more important, dedicated to those who have yet to read them. Understand that our duty does not end at the edge of a page. Stories must serve the living, not the reverse. If knowledge is freedom, then we must be chain breakers. If there’s one thing I learned from the specter of my predecessor, it is this: to be a librarian is to be in rebellion against time, against the world. Librarian Madiha al-Fihri, 612 CE

I quit my job as a caseworker and now proudly wear the title of stay at home mom to my four-and-a-half year old, black-haired, brown-eyed baby boy. And he’s so much like Twitch it’s scary. Same looks. Same attitude. Same everything. Sometimes I wonder if this kid is even a little bit mine. Knowing Twitch, his sperm probably got to my womb and decided he was going to do the whole baby thing on its own. The stubbornness must be in the genes, because AJ has it too

Night Must Fall,

It happens to be the case that we cannot, in our language, refer to the sensible properties of a thing without introducing a word or phrase which appears to stand for the thing itself as opposed to anything which may be said about it. And, as a result of this, those who are infected by the primitive superstition that to every name a single real entity must correspond assume that it is necessary to distinguish logically between the thing itself and any, or all, of its sensible properties. And so they employ the term “substance” to refer to the thing itself. But from the fact that we happen to employ a single word to refer to a thing, and make that word the grammatical subject of the sentences in which we refer to the sensible appearances of the thing, it does not by any means follow that the thing itself is a “simple entity,” or that it cannot be defined in terms of the totality of its appearances. It is true that in talking of “its” appearances we appear to distinguish the thing from the appearances, but that is simply an accident of linguistic usage. Logical analysis shows that what makes these “appearances” the “appearances of” the same thing is not their relationship to an entity other than themselves, but their relationship to one another. The metaphysician fails to see this because he is misled by a superficial grammatical feature of his language.

It happens to be the case that we cannot, in our language, refer to the sensible properties of a thing without introducing a word or phrase which appears to stand for the thing itself as opposed to anything which may be said about it. And, as a result of this, those who are infected by the primitive superstition that to every name a single real entity must correspond assume that it is necessary to distinguish logically between the thing itself and any, or all, of its sensible properties. And so they employ the term “substance” to refer to the thing itself. But from the fact that we happen to employ a single word to refer to a thing, and make that word the grammatical subject of the sentences in which we refer to the sensible appearances of the thing, it does not by any means follow that the thing itself is a “simple entity,” or that it cannot be defined in terms of the totality of its appearances. It is true that in talking of “its” appearances we appear to distinguish the thing from the appearances, but that is simply an accident of linguistic usage. Logical analysis shows that what makes these “appearances” the “appearances of” the same thing is not their relationship to an entity other than themselves, but their relationship to one another. The metaphysician fails to see this because he is misled by a superficial grammatical feature of his language.

But the eyes are blind. One must look with the heart.” –Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

To pursue truth we must doubt all things as much as possible.’ In other words, only those fooling themselves are cocksure.

I was fighting for my life. So I must not want to die. And if I don’t want to die, I’ve got to start living. What are you waiting for?

Every day, I forced myself to buy a little gift for Julie—marzipan, magnets, overpriced soap that smelled of guava. Once again, I outsmarted my brain. My brain thought: “I’m buying my wife these trinkets, I must really love her.” And my love got a little stronger.

The press is a function of our free institutions. If they are wrong in their attitude, try to make them see the true light, but under no circumstances attack them. Political parties are essential to our republic, our nation, and we must not attack them. What we’re doing is to show by our actions what we think our Party is destined to do: Provide basic laws for a more abundant life and the happiness and security of our people.

Christ, Christ. Everything must rest on Me. Force is born of rest. Only Love is a conquering force. Be not afraid, I will help you. Be channels both of you. My Spirit shall flow through and My Spirit shall, in flowing through, sweep away all the bitter past.

Unfortunately, life rarely allows INTPs to remain in a state of Ti utopia for long. At some point, they must poke their head out of their shell and engage with people. And where there are people, there are bound to be Fe problems.

Ooooo!” Ryan said. “A.J. and Andrea have great chemistry together. They must be in love!” “When are you gonna get married?” asked Michael.

The Bible's "it's better to give than receive" was not the raving of a lunatic. It goes back to a recurring theme that I've found in almost all my experiments: behaviour shapes your thoughts. My brain sees me giving a gift to Julie. My brain concludes I must really love her. I love her all the more. Which means I'm happier in my relationship, if a bit poorer.

In life you must write your own story, or one will be written for you.

For INTPs to remain fully committed to and invested in the relationship, there are times when they must review the reasons and rationale for the relationship. Of course, this can be extremely difficult and scary for most partners. Feeling types, in particular, may fail to see why INTPs cannot simply rely on feelings to stay connected. They may struggle to see how the elusive nature of INTPs’ feelings may cause them to lose sight of why they are in the relationship. It can also be beneficial for INTPs and their partners to periodically review the INTP’s Ti reasons for being in the relationship. This might include, for instance, highlighting the value of the relationship with respect to mutual learning and exploration.

Christmas is about bread. It’s hidden in plain sight on the first pages of the New Testament. Think about bread through these three words: Jesus, Bethlehem, Manger. Say them aloud with me. Jesus. Bethlehem. Manger. As we will see, all three words are related to bread, and connecting the dots will deepen your understanding of the Christmas story. First, consider the name Jesus. In John’s gospel, Jesus disclosed his identity through seven “I am” statements. One of the seven ways Jesus referred to himself was as Bread. To his disciples he said, “I am the Bread of Life. Those who feast on him will not go hungry.” Hold on to that idea. Next, consider the town of Bethlehem. In Hebrew, Bethlehem is a compound word, which simply means the word can be broken down into two separate words. Bethlehem = “Beit-lehem.” “Beit” means house. “Lechem” means bread. Bethlehem therefore means “House of Bread”. Hold on to that idea as well. Finally, consider the word Manger. Mangers are not wooden beds filled with pillows in the form of hay. A manger in the time of Jesus was cut from stone and served as a trough to hold feed for animals. In the cold winter months, animals, and mangers were sometimes placed within the front section of a home. … When we put the puzzle pieces together, we see that the New Testament is telling a story about the arrival of a man named Jesus (the Bread of Life) who is born in a town called Bethlehem (the House of Bread) and immediately placed in a manger (a feeding trough). So the Bread of Life was born in the House of Bread and placed in a feeding trough to satisfy the hunger of every human heart. That is the meaning of Christmas and we must never settle for less. We don’t need new stories from Hollywood on Christmas Day. Instead, we must reclaim the ancient depth and wonder of the Jesus Story. Christ our Savior is the Bread of Life. Let us keep the feast.

He who wants to enter the holiness of the day must first lay down the profanity of clattering commerce, of being yoked to toil. He must go away from the scratch of dissonant days, from the nervousness and fury of acquisitiveness and the betrayal in embezzling his own life.

The Truth About Mr. Harrison Mr. Harrison’s first name is George. “I know Mr. Harrison’s real name,” I told everybody after I handed back the wallet and he left. “What is it?” Ryan asked. “His name is . . . ,” I said. “I’m not telling.” “Come on, A.J.!” said Michael. “Spill the beans.”4 “I’ll be your best friend,” said Neil the nude kid. “Arlo, what’s Mr. Harrison’s first name?” said Andrea. “It’s George,” I said. “George?” said Alexia. “That’s not a weird name.” “I wonder why he wouldn’t tell us his name was George,” said Michael. “George Harrison,” said Andrea. “Wait a minute! George Harrison was somebody famous! He was one of the Beatles!” “One of the what?” asked Neil the nude kid. “That old rock group, dumbhead,” said Michael. Oh, yeah! My parents told me about the Beatles, and I played this video game called Rock Band, where you play Beatle songs. It’s cool. Everybody knows who the Beatles were. “Mr. Harrison was one of the Beatles?” asked Ryan. “Wait a minute,” Andrea said. “George Harrison of the Beatles died a long time ago.” “He must have faked his death,” I told her. “Famous people do that all the time, you know.” “That doesn’t make any sense, A.J.,” said Michael. “Why would a big rock star fake his death and get a job as a tech guy in a school?” “He probably hated being famous,” I told them. “Celebrities get sick of signing autographs and having people take pictures of them all the time. He must be hiding out in our school so his fans won’t bother him.” “Being a nerdy tech guy would be the perfect disguise,” Alexia admitted. “But Mr. Harrison doesn’t look anything like the other George Harrison,” Andrea said. “I’ve seen pictures of him.” “Haven’t you ever heard of plastic surgery?