Alex Morton Quotes

Debes llegar a ser un obseso con lo que tú quieres. Profesores, padres, o tu esposa podrán decirte otra cosa, pero no me importa: si quieres dar grandes pasos en tu vida y ganar mucha pasta, debes de convertirte en un obseso. Llegar a estar tan obsesionado que apagarás la televisión, pero cogerás un libro. Tan obsesionado para apagar la radio, pero escuchar cintas de auto-desarrollo. Transformarás tu mente en una máquina para atraer el éxito, y harás lo que sea necesario para conseguir tus metas deseadas.

According to the man, who identified himself as Morton Thornton, the night got real long and by midnight, he was darn well wed to one of the lovelier inhabitants of the dish, a comely middle-aged amoeba of unknown parentage named Rita. When he was rescued on the morning of the following day, Morton plumb forgot about his single-celled nuptials and went back to his daytime job tasting the contents of open pop bottles for backwash and cigarette butts. Only sixteen years later, when a brilliant Sacajawea Junior High roving reporter—who shall remain nameless—discovered the product of this union lurking among us right here at Sac Junior High, was Morton’s long-held secret discovered. “This intrepid reporter was present three weeks into Dale Thornton’s third try at seventh grade, when the young Einstein bet this reporter and several other members of the class that he could keep a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth from the beginning of fifth period Social Studies until the bell. The dumb jerk only lasted twenty minutes, after which he sprinted from the room, not to be seen for the rest of the day. When he returned on the following morning, he told Mr. Getz he had suddenly become ill and had to go home, but without a written excuse (he probably didn’t have a rock big enough for his dad to chisel it on) he was sent to the office. The principal, whose intellectual capacities lie only fractions of an IQ point above Dale’s, believed his lame story, and Dale was readmitted to class. Our dauntless reporter, however, smelled a larger story, recognizing that for a person to attempt this in the first place, even his genes would have to be dumber than dirt. With a zeal rivaled only by Alex Haley’s relentless search for Kunta Kinte, he dived into Dale’s seamy background, where he discovered the above story to be absolutely true and correct. Further developments will appear in this newspaper as they unfold.

Rebekah knew Morton was studying at Cambridge. He was easy for me to find from there. I was fairly sure he had not fought in the war, even though he would have been of the correct age. Did you know he’d had polio as a child, he was a cripple?” Alex did not, but recalled that evening at the riverside mansion in Phnom Penh when he’d first noticed Smith’s slight limp. It seemed a lifetime ago. “And you’ve been in touch ever since?” “Yes. The early days in Israel were difficult ones. He would send money to help out, still does, even though we don’t need it anymore.

was one night early on in our time at the camp that Rebekah told me about the boy she’d met at boarding school in England, just before the war. It was a strange name, and I never forgot it. Morton. Morton Smith.” Alex swallowed, throat dry. He realized he had goose bumps. Finally they were getting to the truth. He took a sip of his tea and nodded for the old woman to continue.

But really, it is no surprise, the Nazis were cunning. In those days, it seemed they knew everything. They had eyes and ears everywhere. Nobody was safe or beneath suspicion. Neighbors turned on each other, families were divided. Morton said they approached him in the lobby of his guesthouse in Jerusalem. No beating about the bush, very matter of fact. They said he would work for them and Rebekah and his daughter would receive favorable treatment in the camp. He was stunned, of course. This was the first he knew of the child. Morton had no choice, he loved her desperately, and would do whatever it took to preserve her life, and that of the daughter he had not yet met…” Alex interjected, “And he kept his side of the bargain. The Nazis did not keep theirs.” “Yes.

It was now clear why the aircraft was so far off course when it went down. He continued staring at the translation. The British agent who recruited Otto was not named, yet Alex easily recognized his friend from the description. He was dumbfounded. Morton Smith must have gone to the Brits soon after being recruited by the Nazis, told them his story, and offered his services. He had been working for both sides, a double agent.

Berry and three other old Etonians, James Bolton, Alex Lyle and Christian De Lotbiniere, were the brains behind “Ski Bob” travel. This was a company, named after their Eton housemaster Bob Baird, which had been formed when they discovered that they were too young legally to book holidays themselves. So these young entrepreneurs started their own company and within the twenty-strong group, which mainly compromised old Etonians, the greatest accolade was to be called “Bob.” Diana was soon Bob, Bob, Bobbing along. “You’re skating on thin ice,” she yelled in her Miss Piggy voice as she skied dangerously close behind members of the group. She joined in the pillow fights, charades, and satirical singsongs. Diana was teased mercilessly about a framed photograph of Prince Charles, taken at his Investiture in 1969, which hung in her school dormitory. Not guilty, she said. It was a gift to the school. When she stayed in the Berry chalet she slept on the living-room sofa. Not that she got much sleep. Medical student, James Colthurst, liked to regale the slumbering throng with unwelcome early morning renditions of Martin Luther King’s famous “I had a dream” speech or his equally unamusing Mussolini impersonation.

If you've been mocked, ridiculed, betrayed and lied to remember that Jesus can relate. All others may forsake you but he never will.

There's no need for striving, no need for straining, submit to the Divine King and his perfect will and he will make you his vessel.