Allergic To People Quotes

Lonely people tend, rather, to be lonely because they decline to bear the psychic costs of being around other humans. They are allergic to people. People affect them too strongly.

The reason people use a crucifix against vampires is because vampires are allergic to bullshit.

We got so much food in America we're allergic to food. Allergic to food! Hungry people ain't allergic to shit. You think anyone in Rwanda's got a fucking lactose intolerance?!

I'm allergic to stupidity.

Some people are allergic to your success. Such people...when you smile...they cry, and wish you were dead.

I can’t believe I’m mated to someone who’s allergic to me. (Ravyn) You? I’m the one who should be having a hissy. How do I introduce you to people? Hi, this is my…what? Significant other? Mate? Pet? (Susan)

I suppose there are people who can pass up free guacamole, but they're either allergic to avocado or too joyless to live.

If you have to ask someone to change, to tell you they love you, to bring wine to dinner, to call you when they land, you can’t afford to be with them. It’s not worth the price, even though, just like the Tiffany catalog, no one tells you what the price is. You set it yourself, and if you’re lucky it’s reasonable. You have a sense of when you’re about to go bankrupt. Your own sense of self-worth takes the wheel and says, Enough of this shit. Stop making excuses. No one’s that busy at work. No one’s allergic to whipped cream. There are too cell phones in Sweden. But most people don’t get lucky. They get human. They get crushes. This means you irrationally mortgage what little logic you own to pay for this one thing. This relationship is an impulse buy, and you’ll figure out if it’s worth it later.

Danger comes in many forms, I suppose. For some people, it might be jumping off a bridge or climbing impossible moutains. For others, it could be a tawdry love affair or telling off a mean-looking bus driver because he doesn't like to stop for noisy teenagers. It could be cheating at cards or eating a peanut even though you're allergic. For me, danger might be getting out from the protective cloak of my family and venturing into the world more of my own, even though I don't know what- or who- awaits me.

The reason people use a crucifix against vampires is that vampires are allergic to bull shit.

Authoritarianism appeals, simply, to people who cannot tolerate complexity: there is nothing intrinsically “left-wing” or “right-wing” about this instinct at all. It is anti-pluralist. It is suspicious of people with different ideas. It is allergic to fierce debates. Whether those who have it ultimately derive their politics from Marxism or nationalism is irrelevant. It is a frame of mind, not a set of ideas.

I know that fat girls are supposed to be allergic to pools or whatever, but I love swimming. I mean, I’m not stupid. I know people stare, but they can’t blame me for wanting to cool off. And why should it even matter? What about having huge, bumpy thighs means that I need to apologize?

People with ADD are forever told that they are “too sensitive” or that they should stop being “so touchy.” One might as well advise a child with hay fever to stop being “so allergic.

I believe that people were not so allergic to their environment until they began polluting themselves and their world with so many drugs and toxins.

CPUs. Cayce Pollard Units. That’s what Damien calls the clothing she wears. CPUs are either black, white, or gray, and ideally seem to have come into this world without human intervention. What people take for relentless minimalism is a side effect of too much exposure to the reactor-cores of fashion. This has resulted in a remorseless paring-down of what she can and will wear. She is, literally, allergic to fashion. She can only tolerate things that could have been worn, to a general lack of comment, during any year between 1945 and 2000. She’s a design-free zone, a one-woman school of anti whose very austerity periodically threatens to spawn its own cult.

Reading for me, was like breathing. It was probably akin to masturbation for my brain. Getting off on the fantasy within the pages of a good novel felt necessary to my survival. If I wasn't asleep, knitting, or working, I was reading. This was for several reasons, all of them focused around the infititely superior and enviable lives of fictional heroines to real-life people. Take romans for instance. Fictional women in romance novels never get their period. They never have morning breath. They orgasm seventeen times a day. And they never seem to have jobs with bosses. These clean, well-satisfied, perm-minty-breathed women have fulfilling careers as florists, bakery owners, hair stylists or some other kind of adorable small business where they decorate all day. If they do have a boss, he's a cool guy (or gal) who's invested in the woman's love life. Or, he's a super hot billionaire trying to get in her pants. My boss cares about two things: Am I on time ? Are all my patients alive and well at the end of my shift? And the mend in the romance novels are too good to be true; but I love it, and I love them. Enter stage right the independently wealthy venture capitalist suffering from the ennui of perfection until a plucky interior decorator enters stage left and shakes up his life and his heart with perky catch phrases and a cute nose that wrinkles when she sneezes. I suck at decorating. The walls of my apartment are bare. I am allergic to most store-bought flowers. If I owned a bakery, I'd be broke and weigh seven hundred pounds, because I love cake.

I just hate Paris. I’m surprised more people don’t have some sort of allergic reaction.’ Thaniel decided to let it lie, whatever it was. ‘Only you could hate Paris.’ ‘Thaniel, I grew up bowing to immediate family. Every random Frenchman thinks that the only proper way to say hello is indecent assault. I thoroughly hate Paris.

And sometimes we discuss frightening and troublesome animals that might be nearby, and this topic always leads to much disagreement over which part of a frightening and troublesome beast is the most frightening and troublesome. Some say the teeth of the beast, because teeth are used for eating children, and often their parents, and gnawing on their bones. Some say the claws of the beast, because claws are used for ripping things to shreds. And some say the hair of the beast, because hair can make allergic people sneeze. But I always insist that the most frightening part of any beast is its belly, for the simple reason that if you are seeing the belly of the beast it means you have already seen the teeth of the beast and the claws of the of the beast and even the hair of the beast, and now you are trapped and there is probably no hope for you.

Some people behave as though they are having an allergic reaction to feelings.

Asking people for advice and getting mad when it's not what you wanna hear is like eating food you know you are allergic to.

Love had done this to her, for the second time. Love was bad for her. There must be certain people who were allergic to love, and she was one of them. Not only was it bad for her; it made her bad; it poisoned her. Before she knew him, not only had she been far, far happier but she had been nicer. Loving him was turning her into an awful person, a person she hated.

Why are entire flocks of industrial birds dying at once? And what about the people eating those birds? Just the other day, one of the local pediatricians was telling me he's seeing all kinds of illnesses that he never used to see. Not only juvenile diabetes, but inflammatory and autoimmune diseases that a lot of the docs don't even know what to call. And girls are going through puberty much earlier; and kids are allergic to just about everything, and asthma is out of control. Everyone knows it's our foods... Kids today are the first generation to grow up on this stuff...

Willingness to take risks and reactions to failure differ dramatically around the world. In some cultures the downside for failure is so high that individuals are allergic to taking any risks at all. These cultures associate shame with any type of failure, and from a young age people are taught to follow a prescribed path with a well-defined chance of success, as opposed to trying anything that might lead to disappointment. In some places, such as Thailand, someone who has failed repeatedly might even choose to take on a brand-new name in an attempt to reboot his or her entire life. In fact, in the 2008 Olympics, a Thai weight lifter attributed her victory to changing her name before the games.

One day in my pharmacology class, we were discussing the possibility of legalizing marijuana. The class was pretty evenly divided between those that advocated legalizing marijuana and those that did not. The professor said he wanted to hear from a few people on both sides of the argument. A couple students had the opportunity to stand in front of the class and present their arguments. One student got up and spoke about how any kind of marijuana use was morally wrong and how nobody in the class could give him any example of someone who needed marijuana. A small girl in the back of the classroom raised her hand and said that she didn’t want to get up, but just wanted to comment that there are SOME situations in which people might need marijuana. The same boy from before spoke up and said that she needed to back up her statements and that he still stood by the fact that there wasn’t anyone who truly needed marijuana. The same girl in the back of the classroom slowly stood up. As she raised her head to look at the boy, I could physically see her calling on every drop of confidence in her body. She told us that her husband had cancer. She started to tear up, as she related how he couldn’t take any of the painkillers to deal with the radiation and chemotherapy treatments. His body was allergic and would have violent reactions to them. She told us how he had finally given in and tried marijuana. Not only did it help him to feel better, but it allowed him to have enough of an appetite to get the nutrients he so desperately needed. She started to sob as she told us that for the past month she had to meet with drug dealers to buy her husband the only medicine that would take the pain away. She struggled every day because according to society, she was a criminal, but she was willing to do anything she could to help her sick husband. Sobbing uncontrollably now, she ran out of the classroom. The whole classroom sat there in silence for a few minutes. Eventually, my professor asked, “Is there anyone that thinks this girl is doing something wrong?” Not one person raised their hand.

It's not like I'm dead inside. It's that I'm allergic to manufactured, insincere emotion. A lifetime of people saying one thing but doing the opposite has inoculated me, and now I understand how to survive with my freedom and sanity intact until I'm eighteen.

I can teach you how to swim, if you want.' I kind of liked his voice. He sounded like he had a cold, you know, like he was about to lose his voice. 'You talk funny,' I said. 'Allergies,' he said. 'What are you allergic to?' 'The air,' he said. That made me laugh. 'My name's Dante,' he said. That made me laugh harder. 'Sorry,' I said. 'It's okay. People laugh at my name.' 'No, no,' I said, 'See, it's just that my name is Aristotle.

... television looks to be an absolute godsend for a human subspecies that loves to watch people but hates to be watched itself. For the television screen affords access only one-way. A psychic ball-check valve. We can see Them; They can’t see Us. We can relax, unobserved, as we ogle. I happen to believe this is why television also appeals so much to lonely people. To voluntary shut-ins. Every lonely human I know watches way more than the average U.S. six hours a day. The lonely, like the fictive, love one-way watching. For lonely people are usually lonely not because of hideous deformity or odor or obnoxiousness—in fact there exist today support- and social groups for persons with precisely these attributes. Lonely people tend, rather, to be lonely because they decline to bear the psychic costs of being around other humans. They are allergic to people. People affect them too strongly. Let’s call the average U.S. lonely person Joe Briefcase. Joe Briefcase fears and loathes the strain of the special self-consciousness which seems to afflict him only when other real human beings are around, staring, their human sense-antennae abristle. Joe B. fears how he might appear, come across, to watchers. He chooses to sit out the enormously stressful U.S. game of appearance poker. But lonely people, at home, alone, still crave sights and scenes, company. Hence television. Joe can stare at Them on the screen; They remain blind to Joe. It’s almost like voyeurism.

Peter always brings death with him, along with spinach or nuts. He said he'd seen 20 cases of West Nile during the week and five deaths from it. He also said two people had died from food allergies. "They're so hungry they're taking their chances eating foods they're seriously allergic to," he said.

in my experience, the minute you mention you’re allergic to bees, people start mentally replaying that scene from My Girl, and that scene’s a bit of a boner-shrinker to be honest.)

I’m allergic to everything contact.” “No you’re not,” he says at once. “You’re not allergic to brain contact. I mean you write notes. You talk. You still want to talk to people, you just can’t. So your body needs to catch up with your brain.

And to the extent that it can train viewers to laugh at characters’ unending put-downs of one another, to view ridicule as both the mode of social intercourse and the ultimate art-form, television can reinforce its own queer ontology of appearance: the most frightening prospect, for the well-conditioned viewer, becomes leaving oneself open to others’ ridicule by betraying passé expressions of value, emotion, or vulnerability. Other people become judges; the crime is naïveté. The well-trained viewer becomes even more allergic to people. Lonelier. Joe B.’s exhaustive TV-training in how to worry about how he might come across, seem to watching eyes, makes genuine human encounters even scarier. But televisual irony has the solution: further viewing begins to seem almost like required research, lessons in the blank, bored, too-wise expression that Joe must learn how to wear for tomorrow’s excruciating ride on the brightly lit subway, where crowds of blank, bored-looking people have little to look at but each other.

More recently, Karen Stenner, a behavioral economist who began researching personality traits two decades ago, has argued that about a third of the population in any country has what she calls an authoritarian predisposition, a word that is more useful than personality, because it is less rigid. An authoritarian predisposition, one that favors homogeneity and order, can be present without necessarily manifesting itself; its opposite, a “libertarian” predisposition, one that favors diversity and difference, can be silently present too. Stenner’s definition of authoritarianism isn’t political, and it isn’t the same thing as conservatism. Authoritarianism appeals, simply, to people who cannot tolerate complexity: there is nothing intrinsically “left-wing” or “right-wing” about this instinct at all. It is anti-pluralist. It is suspicious of people with different ideas. It is allergic to fierce debates. Whether those who have it ultimately derive their politics from Marxism or nationalism is irrelevant. It is a frame of mind, not a set of ideas.

Welcome to my world,Gary." Savannah was flashing a mischievous smile. "He considers you family and under his protection now, so he's bound to be impossibly bossy." Gary groaned. "I didn't consider that. Damn. You're right.He can't help himself;it's his nature." "Do not start,you two. I did not think what it would be like to have the two of you driving me insane." Gregori sounded disgusted, but Gary was beginning to understand him a little. He never really changed expression, and his eyes gave nothing away, but Gary could almost feel Gregori's silent laughter. "You do have a sense of humor," he accused him. "Well,do not blame me.It is Savannah's fault.She insists on it," Gregori replied in disgust. "Let us go and get you something decent to eat." "Am I going to crave blood, raw steak, that kind of thing?" Gary asked, straight-faced. "Well,actually..." Savannah started. "I do not have rabies." Gregori silenced her with a look. "I am not contagious." "All the books say if you drink my blood, I get to drink your bloodd, and them I'm like you." Gary sounded slightly disappointed. "Some people grow bat wings," Savannah admitted, her teeth tugging at her lower lip. "That's where Batman came from. And capes,all those swirling capes. A regular epidemic. It's from our blood, a kind of allergic reaction. Don't worry,you would be showing signs already if you were one of those with a problem." "Is she always like this?" Gary aksed Gregori. "She gets worse," Gregori said truthfully.

These people, I’m afraid, include those who suffer from ‘wheat intolerance’. I know there is such a thing, which can afflict even the sturdiest, most no-nonsense of souls and causes the consumption of foods containing wheat to bring on unpleasant symptoms that, while not at the same level as an allergic reaction, the sufferer would still want to do something about, such as stopping eating wheat, and that wouldn’t necessarily make them a tedious, attention-seeking wuss. However, I think the vast majority of people who cite the condition are tedious, attention-seeking wusses who mistake the normal symptoms of daily life – feeling sluggish after meals, tired in the morning, hungry before breakfast and generally not as though they want to leap around like someone in an advert – for there being something wrong with them. It’s not just wheat they’re intolerant of, it’s everything. They’re so dissatisfied with the sensation of being human, with the world’s constant assaults on the temples that are their bodies, that they’re now unwilling even to coexist with a grain.

Still allergic to PowerPoints and formal presentations, he insisted that the people around the table hash out issues from various vantages and the perspectives of different departments. Because he believed that Apple's great advantage was its integration of the whole widget- from design to hardware to software to content-he wanted all departments at the company to work together in parallel. The phrases he used were "deep collaboration" and "concurrent engineering." Instead of a development process in which a product would be passed sequentially from engineering to design to manufacturing to marketing and distribution, these various departments collaborated simultaneously. " Our method was to develop integrated products, and that meant our process had to be integrated and collaborative," Jobs said. This approach also applied to key hires. He would have candidates meet the top leaders-Cook, Tevanian, Schiller, Rubinstein, Ive- rather than just the managers of the department where they wanted to work. " Then we all get together without the person and talk about whether they'll fit in," Jobs said.

But, looking into it, one saw that people who tried to escape at this time were prompted by quite understandable motives. Some of them plague had imbued with a skepticism so thorough that it was now a second nature; they had become allergic to hope in any form. Thus even when the plague had run its course, they went on living by its standards. They were, in short, behind the times.

The marketing techniques were getting refined. There had been a trend away from conventional political consultants and the traditional campaign philosophy of “getting our message out to the people.” Surveys showed the people were allergic to messages and refused to listen, even if the president was on TV saying the water supply was radioactive and giant spiders were running the government. The strategy shifted from “the message” to brand recognition after it was learned that most campaigns were decided during the selection of color scheme, typeface and logo. Campaigns began aggressively headhunting at Coca-Cola and Procter & Gamble. They spent heavily on focus groups and test markets. Conference rooms full of average citizens ate potato chips and pickle spears while campaign workers auditioned fonts and swatches.

Everybody needs somebody. Sorry. If you were thinking you could get through life completely on your own, you're wrong. It's a proven fact that people need people. Sure, there are those who try to stuff their lives full of cats in an effort to fill the void, but, for the most part, people thrive, live, and do better if their existences are full of interaction with other humans. Some people find people to interact with at school. Some people run with people they meet at church. Work is a half-decent place to find acquaintances. Or maybe one day last May you were flying a kite in Central Park and a couple of nice people commented on how high the kite was, and that sparked a conversation that led to the three of you having dinner together at a small restaurant in Times Square and then catching a Broadway show about friendly cats. That could have happened -- which just goes to show you that, either way, you are going to end up surround by cats. Let's hope you're not allergic.

Anonymous. He doesn’t care if I tell you that ’cause he’s proud of it. He hasn’t touched a drop in almost a year. All that time we’ve had a quart of whiskey in the pantry for company and he hasn’t even gone near it. Doesn’t even want to. You know, alcoholics can’t drink like ordinary people; they’re allergic to it. It affects them different. They get started drinking and can’t stop. Liquor transforms them. Sometimes they get mean and violent and wanta fight, but if they let liquor alone, they’re perfectly all right, just like you and me.

Using hypnosis you can significantly affect the mind-body system – people can become hypnotically blind and deaf (Erickson did this in the early 20th century,) allergic reactions can be stopped in their tracks and reversed. A woman’s breast size can be increased and if she fails to reach orgasm she can be hypnotised into being able to have one. In fact it is possible to talk a woman into an orgasm. Sexual arousal for women is mainly something that takes place primarily in the mind. She imagines the act before doing it and it turns her on.

I’m not interested in you. I will never be interested in you. In fact, I’m fucking allergic,” he says, his jaw clenched. “To you. I’m allergic to your big silver eyes and your pouty pink lips. To your blushing cheeks and your breathy voice. I’m allergic to the way you can’t stop watching me. I told you I’m not interested in Disney movies, didn’t I? I meant it. So I suggest you find someone else to play damsel in distress with. Someone else to solve your teenage problems. Someone your age, someone who’s probably still going through a fucking growth spurt or someone who spends his weekends playing video games and jerking off. From now on, if I catch you looking at me across the hallway or if I find you within ten feet of my office or me without reason, my sister’s best friend or not, I’ll personally make sure you never see the outside of that brick wall and those black metal gates for the rest of the year.” And then before he straightens up, he adds, “And I might be closer to your dad’s age than yours, but I do remember what people call you. And I also know what your name is, Bronwyn.

I know there are people who get addicted to marijuana. I don’t want my kids to smoke it. I plan on lying to my children about most of my drug use. I had a friend who told her adolescent son he was allergic to pot, and if he tried it he would break out into hives. This lasted for a while until one of his friends gently suggested maybe she had made that fact up. His whole world was blown. He came to her asking, “Did you make that up? How could you?” and she said, “Of course I did. Let me make you a BLT.” I think this is a terrific idea. I think we don’t lie to our children enough.

Success-minded people have no trouble at all following proven instructions. We all would be happy to follow a map if the map came with a guarantee. There is no guarantee, though. There are no maps. They’ve all been taken, and their value is not what it used to be, because your competitors have maps, too. The opportunity lies in pursuing your curiosity instead. Curiosity is not allergic to failure. Curiosity drives us to the haunted house because the thrills lie in what we don’t expect, not in what’s safe. Curiosity can start us down the path to shipping, to bringing things to the world, to examining them, refining them, and repeating the process again (and again).

... television looks to be an absolute godsend for a human subspecies that loves to watch people but hates to be watched itself. For the television screen affords access only one-way. A psychic ball-check valve. We can see Them; They can’t see Us. We can relax, unobserved, as we ogle. I happen to believe this is why television also appeals so much to lonely people. To voluntary shut-ins. Every lonely human I know watches way more than the average U.S. six hours a day. The lonely, like the fictive, love one-way watching. For lonely people are usually lonely not because of hideous deformity or odor or obnoxiousness—in fact there exist today support- and social groups for persons with precisely these attributes. Lonely people tend, rather, to be lonely because they decline to bear the psychic costs of being around other humans. They are allergic to people. People affect them too strongly. Let’s call the average U.S. lonely person Joe Briefcase. Joe Briefcase fears and loathes the strain of the special self-consciousness which seems to afflict him only when other real human beings are around, staring, their human sense-antennae abristle. Joe B. fears how he might appear, come across, to watchers. He chooses to sit out the enormously stressful U.S. game of appearance poker. But lonely people, at home, alone, still crave sights and scenes, company. Hence television. Joe can stare at Them on the screen; They remain blind to Joe. It’s almost like voyeurism.

Am I going to crave blood, raw steak, that kind of thing?” Gary asked, straight-faced. “Well, actually…” Savannah started. “I do not have rabies.” Gregori silenced her with a look. “I am not contagious.” “All the books say if you drink my blood, I get to drink your blood, and then I’m like you.” Gary sounded slightly disappointed. “Some people grow bat wings,” Savannah admitted, her teeth tugging at her lower lip. “That’s where Batman came from. And capes, all those swirling capes. A regular epidemic. It’s from our blood, a kind of allergic reaction. Don’t worry, you would be showing signs already if you were one of those with a problem.” “Is she always like this?” Gary asked Gregori. “She gets worse,” Gregori said truthfully.

Patriotism comes from the same Latin word as father. Blind patriotism is collective transference. In it the state becomes a parent and we citizens submit our loyalty to ensure its protection. We may have been encouraged to make that bargain from our public school education, our family home, religion, or culture in general. We associate safety with obedience to authority, for example, going along with government policies. We then make duty, as it is defined by the nation, our unquestioned course. Our motivation is usually not love of country but fear of being without a country that will defend us and our property. Connection is all-important to us; excommunication is the equivalent of death, the finality we can’t dispute. Healthy adult loyalty is a virtue that does not become blind obedience for fear of losing connection, nor total devotion so that we lose our boundaries. Our civil obedience can be so firm that it may take precedence over our concern for those we love, even our children. Here is an example: A young mother is told by the doctor that her toddler is allergic to peanuts and peanut oil. She lets the school know of her son’s allergy when he goes to kindergarten. Throughout his childhood, she is vigilant and makes sure he is safe from peanuts in any form. Eighteen years later, there is a war and he is drafted. The same mother, who was so scrupulously careful about her child’s safety, now waves goodbye to him with a tear but without protest. Mother’s own training in public school and throughout her life has made her believe that her son’s life is expendable whether or not the war in question is just. “Patriotism” is so deeply ingrained in her that she does not even imagine an alternative, even when her son’s life is at stake. It is of course also true that, biologically, parents are ready to let children go just as the state is ready to draft them. What a cunning synchronic-ity. In addition, old men who decide on war take advantage of the timing too. The warrior archetype is lively in eighteen-year-olds, who are willing to fight. Those in their mid-thirties, whose archetype is being a householder and making a mark in their chosen field, will not show an interest in battlefields of blood. The chiefs count on the fact that young braves will take the warrior myth literally rather than as a metaphor for interior battles. They will be willing to put their lives on the line to live out the collective myth of societies that have not found the path of nonviolence. Our collective nature thus seems geared to making war a workable enterprise. In some people, peacemaking is the archetype most in evidence. Nature seems to have made that population smaller, unfortunately. Our culture has trained us to endure and tolerate, not to protest and rebel. Every cell of our bodies learned that lesson. It may not be virtue; it may be fear. We may believe that showing anger is dangerous, because it opposes the authority we are obliged to appease and placate if we are to survive. This explains why we so admire someone who dares to say no and to stand up or even to die for what he believes. That person did not fall prey to the collective seduction. Watching Jeopardy on television, I notice that the audience applauds with special force when a contestant risks everything on a double-jeopardy question. The healthy part of us ardently admires daring. In our positive shadow, our admiration reflects our own disavowed or hidden potential. We, too, have it in us to dare. We can stand up for our truth, putting every comfort on the line, if only we can calm our long-scared ego and open to the part of us that wants to live free. Joseph Campbell says encouragingly, “The part of us that wants to become is fearless.” Religion and Transference Transference is not simply horizontal, from person to person, but vertical from person to a higher power, usually personified as God. When

Carefully, he twisted the clasp, securing it to my wrist before brushing his thumb across my knuckles. “Do you like it?” Did I like it? No. I loved it. Loved it so much I couldn’t utter a word. I could only stare at it, even if my vision swam and I’d suddenly suffered an allergic reaction that made my eyes leak. I wasn’t crying. I was simply expelling excess saltwater. From my eyes. Which some people might’ve thought were tears. But they weren’t. I. Was not. Crying. “Holly?” “Yes,” I croaked, my voice sounding like a squeaky hinge. “It’s beautiful. I’m not crying.” “I didn’t say you were.” I could hear the amusement in Kye’s voice, even if I couldn’t look away from the damn bracelet on my wrist. “You were thinking it.” “It does look like you’re crying.” “I’m not. It’s water retention in reverse.” Kye and my family chuckled before he said, “I don’t think it works that way.” “It does,” I insisted, swallowing repeatedly and sniffling. “I’m sure of it.” I’m a mess. A complete and utter mess.

Everyone matters, Elena.” “But don’t some people matter more than others?” I asked. “I mean, if we’re talking about saving humanity, doesn’t it make sense to save the best and brightest of us?” Freddie’s laughter had faded. “So you’re saying it’s better to save a world-famous physicist than say, a modest merchant who was a partner in a bed feathers company.” “That’s a really odd comparison, but yeah.” “Except no,” Freddie said. “That merchant and his wife would go on to birth and raise Albert Einstein.” She paused dramatically. “Hermann and Pauline Einstein might not have seemed like anyone special at the time, but their son changed how we look at the universe.” “That’s one example.” “Here’s another. Who should you save? A genius mathematician admitted to Harvard at sixteen or a single mom living on welfare?” “This is a trick question.” “Are you allergic to answering questions, or what?” “The mathematician,” I said. “Ted Kaczynski. Otherwise known as the Unabomber. And that single mom would go on to write Harry Potter.

Sadhana The body responds the moment it is in touch with the earth. That is why spiritual people in India walked barefoot and always sat on the ground in a posture that allowed for maximum area of contact with the earth. In this way, the body is given a strong experiential reminder that it is just a part of this earth. Never is the body allowed to forget its origins. When it is allowed to forget, it often starts making fanciful demands; when it is constantly reminded, it knows its place. This contact with the earth is a vital reconnection of the body with its physical source. This restores stability to the system and enhances the human capacity for rejuvenation greatly. This explains why there are so many people who claim that their lives have been magically transformed just by taking up a simple outdoor activity like gardening. Today, the many artificial ways in which we distance ourselves from the earth—in the form of pavements and multi-storied structures, or even the widespread trend of wearing high heels—involves an alienation of the part from the whole and suffocates the fundamental life process. This alienation manifests in large-scale autoimmune disorders and chronic allergic conditions. If you tend to fall sick very easily, you could just try sleeping on the floor (or with minimal organic separation between yourself and the floor). You will see it will make a big difference. Also, try sitting closer to the ground. Additionally, if you can find a tree that looks lively to you, in terms of an abundance of fresh leaves or flowers, go spend some time around it. If possible, have your breakfast or lunch under that tree. As you sit under the tree, remind yourself: “This very earth is my body. I take this body from the earth and give it back to the earth. I consciously ask Mother Earth now to sustain me, hold me, keep me well.” You will find your body’s ability to recover is greatly enhanced. Or if you have turned all your trees into furniture, collect some fresh soil and cover your feet and hands with it. Stay that way for twenty to thirty minutes. This could help your recovery significantly.

The point is that the fatigue characteristic of such depression reasserts itself every time we repress strong emotions, play down the memories stored in the body, and refuse them the attention they clamor for. Why are such positive developments the exception rather than the rule? Why do most people (including the “experts”) greatly prefer to believe in the power of medication rather than let themselves be guided by the knowledge stored in their own bodies? Our bodies know exactly what we need, what we have been denied, what disagrees with us, what we are allergic to. But many people prefer to seek aid from medication, drugs, or alcohol, which can only block off the path to the understanding of the truth even more completely. Why? Because recognizing the truth is painful? This is certainly the case. But that pain is temporary. With the right kind of therapeutic care it can be endured. I believe that the main problem here is that there are not enough such professional companions to be had. Almost all the representatives of what I’ll call the “caring professions” appear to be prevented by our morality system from siding with the children we once were and recognizing the consequences of the early injuries we have sustained. They are entirely under the influence of the Fourth Commandment, which tells us to honor our parents, “that thy days may be long upon the land the Lord thy God giveth thee.

I don't even have a dog. I tell people I'm allergic so they won't think less of me. Instead I have a cat, the pet that ranks just above a throw pillow in terms of responsibility required.

Many people who begin the Paleo diet aren’t aware that they’re suffering from allergic symptoms until they notice the symptoms have disappeared. Some of these symptoms include frequent headaches, stuffy nose, nausea, swelling of the hands and feet, or general bloating and puffiness. All of these are common immune responses and may go away when you stop exposing your body to the wheat, flours, additives and other ingredients that could be causing them.

So what can we generalize about Victorian vampires? They are already dead, yet not exactly dead, and clammy-handed. They can be magnetically repelled by crucifixes and they don’t show up in mirrors. No one is safe; vampires prey upon strangers, family, and lovers. Unlike zombies, vampires are individualists, seldom traveling in packs and never en masse. Many suffer from mortuary halitosis despite our reasonable expectation that they would no longer breathe. But our vampires herein also differ in interesting ways. Some fear sunlight; others do not. Many are bound by a supernatural edict that forbids them to enter a home without some kind of invitation, no matter how innocently mistaken. Dracula, for example, greets Jonathan Harker with this creepy exclamation that underlines another recurring theme, the betrayal of innocence (and also explains why I chose Stoker’s story “Dracula’s Guest” as the title of this anthology): “Welcome to my house! Enter freely and of your own will.” Yet other vampires seem immune to this hospitality prohibition. One common bit of folklore was that you ought never to refer to a suspected vampire by name, yet in some tales people do so without consequence. Contrary to their later presentation in movies and television, not all Victorian vampires are charming or handsome or beautiful. Some are gruesome. Some are fiends wallowing in satanic bacchanal and others merely contagious victims of fate, à la Typhoid Mary. A few, in fact, are almost sympathetic figures, like the hero of a Greek epic who suffers the anger of the gods. Curious bits of other similar folklore pop up in scattered places. Vampires in many cultures, for example, are said to be allergic to garlic. Over the centuries, this aromatic herb has become associated with sorcerers and even with the devil himself. It protected Odysseus from Circe’s spells. In Islamic folklore, garlic springs up from Satan’s first step outside the Garden of Eden and onion from his second. Garlic has become as important in vampire defense as it is in Italian cooking. If, after refilling your necklace sachet and outlining your window frames, you have some left over, you can even use garlic to guard your pets or livestock—although animals luxuriate in soullessness and thus appeal less to the undead. The vampire story as we know it was born in the early nineteenth century. As

It's very hard to reach people in Greymouth with pottery or any form of art because they're allergic to it. Allergic to it ever since they began really because they've taken from the ground in the mining spirit without making or creating, and therefore anything that is creative they do not understand.

I suppose there are people who can pass up free guacamole, but they're either allergic to avocado or to joyless to live.

The world is divided into normal people and us drunks. And you’re a drunk like me. You have a mental obsession combined with an allergy of the body. You’re allergic to alcohol and obsessed with it at the same time. The combination is fatal and unstoppable. Once booze hits your system, the jig’s up: you must drink. It’s not the normal drinkers who end up in the park, it’s not them who die in the gutter. It’s us, with a condition that is recognized by the American Medical Association as incurable, and Alan, it’s killing you.

As the end approaches, people are going to be self-absorbed, money-hungry, self-promoting, stuck-up, profane, contemptuous of parents, crude, coarse, dog-eat-dog, unbending, slanderers, impulsively wild, savage, cynical, treacherous, ruthless, bloated windbags, addicted to lust, and allergic to God. They’ll make a show of religion, but behind the scenes they’re animals. Stay clear of these people.

He is susceptible to conference room boredom and is incapable of talking to businessmen, particularly the run-of-the-mill variety. Nero is allergic to the vocabulary of business talk, not just on plain aesthetic grounds. Phrases like “game plan,” “bottom line,” “how to get there from here,” “we provide our clients with solutions,” “our mission,” and other hackneyed expressions that dominate meetings lack both the precision and the coloration that he prefers to hear. Whether people populate silence with hollow sentences, or if such meetings present any true merit, he does not know; at any rate he did not want to be part of it.

You know, there are crazy speciest Aandrisks, too,” Sissix said. “But they don’t go bugging other people about it.” “What do your crazy speciests do?” Kizzy asked. Sissix shrugged. “Live on gated farms and have private orgies.” “How is that any different from what the rest of you do?” “We don’t have gates and anybody can come to our orgies. Except the Laru. They’re allergic to us.

There appears to be an adaptation process that occurs in people that have been exposed to high levels of solar radiation. That adaptation makes them 'allergic' to the low levels of indoor light and may bring on symptoms of depression, such as fatigue. I call this process 'Magee's High Light Adaptation'.

Electromagnetic Hypersensitivity (EHS) is a fascinating medical condition! People who have it become allergic to modern society. They start living in Faraday cages, withdraw from society and many go and live in the forest where they feel better. It is a severely disabling condition.

Okay, sorry, I’ll try again… “I’m sorry to hear that,” said McAlex. “Lots of sad things have happened to me too. Once I saw a puppy crying, and I asked him why he was crying, and he said that he was allergic to cake, then I started crying too. Then all the other puppies in town started to cry, and that made all the people in town cry. There was so much crying that the town began to flood, and we all had to escape on boats, but because we kept crying, the water kept getting bigger and bigger until it was an entire ocean. And that ocean’s name… was Detective Alex McAlex. Yes, I was that ocean.

Some negative people are allergic to positivity .Be so positive that they can't stand being near you

well-trained viewer becomes even more allergic to people. Lonelier. Joe B.’s exhaustive TV-training in how to worry about how he might come across, seem to watching eyes, makes genuine human encounters even scarier.

the paradigm for teaching that I absorbed in graduate school was disastrous when it came to actually teaching young people. The notion of teaching that I had imbibed was actually allergic to formation, to the notion that I might have a sense of what students ought to be. So the “heresy” I began to entertain was a historic notion of the faculty in loco parentis (“in place of parents”). I was a heretic precisely because I started to entertain the thought that good teaching might actually be paternalistic. In the environs of educational progressivism, this would be seen as just plain loco.

The pharmaceutical companies - those who profit from the misery of others - could have asked for no greater income-generating scenario than a cold, wet winter full of flue shots and NyQuil, followed by a hot spring and record-breaking pollen counts. (I believe that people were not so allergic to their environment until they began polluting themselves and their world with so many drugs and toxins. But then, nobody asked me.)

I have a half-drunk bottle of cheap white wine—she strikes me as the red type—a bouquet of flowers that I put on my chair and bounced on with my ass, and a box of coconut chocolates on the table. Ambrosia hates coconut like normal people hate expired milk or wasp stings. Probably because she’s allergic. If this doesn’t say I hate you, let’s go fuck in the back alley, I’ll have to accept the fact that I’ll spend

She covered the bread dough with plastic wrap and put it in the sun, she pulled out her blender and added the ingredients for the pots de crème: eggs, sugar, half a cup of her morning coffee, heavy cream, and eight ounces of melted Schraffenberger chocolate. What could be easier? The food editor of the Calgary paper had sent Marguerite the chocolate in February as a gift, a thank-you- Marguerite had written this very recipe into her column for Valentine's Day and reader response had been enthusiastic. (In the recipe, Marguerite had suggested the reader use "the richest, most decadent block of chocolate available in a fifty-mile radius. Do not- and I repeat- do not use Nestlé or Hershey's!") Marguerite hit the blender's puree button and savored the noise of work. She poured the liquid chocolate into ramekins and placed them in the fridge. Porter had been wrong about the restaurant, wrong about what people would want or wouldn't want. What people wanted was for a trained chef, a real authority, to show them how to eat. Marguerite built her clientele course by course, meal by meal: the freshest, ripest seasonal ingredients, a delicate balance of rich and creamy, bold and spicy, crunchy, salty, succulent. Everything from scratch. The occasional exception was made: Marguerite's attorney, Damian Vix, was allergic to shellfish, one of the selectmen could not abide tomatoes or the spines of romaine lettuce. Vegetarian? Pregnancy cravings? Marguerite catered to many more whims than she liked to admit, and after the first few summers the customers trusted her. They stopped asking for their steaks well-done or mayonnaise on the side. They ate what she served: frog legs, rabbit and white bean stew under flaky pastry, quinoa.

I got rid of my husband. The cat was allergic. — Unknown

I’m terrified of bees, even though I’ve never been stung. I have this irrational thought that I’d be highly allergic to them. Strawberries make me itch. I think spring is the best season because things start returning to life. If I could live anywhere else, I’d live in Seattle because rain soothes me. I lose my keys regularly, and most of the time, they are right in my back pocket. I hate mean people and love squirrels.

People with allergic conditions are the canaries in the environmental change coal mine.

My friends had said more than a few times that I was allergic to having people mad or disappointed with me.

Conjunctivitis: Types, Symptoms, Prevention & Treatment Conjunctivitis, eye flu or pink eye, is an inflammation of the conjunctiva. The conjunctiva is a transparent membrane covering the eyelid and a part of the eye. Usually, eye flu is caused in the monsoon season by viruses, bacteria, allergies, or other irritants. According to Dr Sunny Narula, MBBS, MD, Consultant- Paediatrician and Neonatologist, eye flu is very common in children during the monsoon. Moreover, in the past few weeks, there has also been a spike in the eye flu cases. Hence, you must take necessary precautions to prevent this from spreading. If you notice any symptoms, visit the best pediatricians in Chandigarh for consultation at the earliest. What are the Symptoms of Eye Flu? The most common symptom of eye flu is redness or inflammation of the eye. Other symptoms include: Itching or burning sensation in the eye. Watering of the eyes. Sensitivity to light. Discharge from eyes. Sticking of eyelids together. What are the Types of Conjunctivitis? The best child specialist doctor in Mohali tells us that there are 3 main types of conjunctivitis: 1.Viral Conjunctivitis This type is caused by a viral infection including cold or flu. It is highly contagious and lasts up to 2 weeks. 2.Bacterial Conjunctivitis This type is caused by a bacterial infection. Bacterial conjunctivitis can also cause yellowish-green discharge from the eye. 3.Allergic Conjunctivitis This type is caused by allergens including pollen or pet dander. It can occur any time of the year and is usually less contagious. How to Prevent Conjunctivitis? Conjunctivitis can be prevented by taking the following measures: Wash your hands frequently, especially before touching your eyes. Avoid sharing pillows, towels, or other personal items. Avoid touching your eyes with your hands. Practice good hygiene, especially during cold or flu season. Use protective eyewear when swimming or doing any activity with the potential risk of eye exposure. How to Treat Conjunctivitis? If you suspect eye flu, the best paediatrician in Mohali recommends the following at-home care tips: 1.Practice Good Hand Hygiene: The hands of your children can be a potential carrier of viruses or bacteria. Inculcate good hand hygiene habits in them. Wash their hands frequently. Avoid sharing towels, eye drops, or any other item that can spread infection. 2.Warm or Cold Compress: Apply a clean, warm compress or ice packs to closed eyes as it helps in soothing eyes and reducing swelling. You can use a soft, lint-free cloth soaked in warm water and place it gently over the closed eyelids for a few minutes. Repeat as needed throughout the day. 3.Clean Eyeglasses: If your child wears glasses, make sure to clean them with mild soap and water to remove any potential contamination. 4.Artificial Tears: Over-the-counter lubricating eye drops called artificial teas in general can keep eyes moist and prevent irritation. Discuss this with your pediatrician and do not self-medicate. 5.Avoid Eye Touching or Rubbing: Children can be easily frustrated with the constant eye irritation. They might find comfort in rubbing their eyes. This, however, can further irritate the conjunctiva and spread the infection to the other eye or other people around. Hence, make sure that your child does not touch the infected eye at all.

The indigenous people were dying anyway. The natives had no natural immunity to European illnesses, so entire Caribbean populations died from diseases. Hispaniola’s native Taíno population went from half a million to two hundred in less than fifty years because they were literally allergic to white people. It took forty years for 90 percent of Cuba’s population to disappear. Puerto Rico took thirty years.7

You certainly can be allergic to milk, and probably have been all your life. Descendants of people from countries who herded dairy animals and lived on a dairy diet are usually tolerant to milk. Their intestines contain the enzyme lactase that breaks down milk sugar or lactose. Now those whose ancestors never used milk are usually intolerant.

When we revise, we're getting our written house in order to host our readerly guests. As with a house, a strong foundation and good structural integrity are of utmost importance. Just as we wouldn't want to invite people to visit our home during a big remodeling project, we don't want them to spend time with our half-formed and disorganized ideas. Once we have the foundation and structure in place, we can turn our attention to the paragraphs and sentences. Like the décor and furniture in the rooms of our house, we want our argument's parts to work well together and to make our readers feel that they belong. If things are too spartan, we may need to add a familiar example or two, like repainting a wall to make it pop or buying a few new decorative pillows. If we're prone to hoarding, we must get rid of extraneous material - the empty boxes and stacks of magazines that will get in our guests' way as they move about the house. Then we ought to concern ourselves with the preferences of our guests. Have we stocked the fridge with their favorite drinks? Are we planning meals that they like and aren't allergic to? As the hosting draws closer, we should turn our attention to beautifying the entryway and our housekeeping tasks. Does our title have enough "curb appeal"? Did we fix the light bulbs in the introduction? Then it's time to straighten things up and clean. Editing grammar and spelling is a bit like dusting and vacuuming: the reader won't notice when you've done it, but it'll be conspicuous if you don't.

In a thousand years, however, Mormonism will no longer be an upstart religion, with all the volatility and vulnerability of adolescence. People will no more leave Mormonism over the Mountain Meadows Massacre than modern Jews leave Judaism over biblical genocide. Mormon polygamy will be no more (and no less) vexing than ancient polygamy. The Book of Abraham will be no more textually troubling than the Bible’s Deuteronomists or multiple Isaiahs. Multiple versions of Joseph Smith’s first vision will be no more faith-shaking than varying accounts of Paul’s conversion or the disharmony of the Gospels. But we live now, not a thousand years from now. The scandals are real, and the doubt and pain they cause are real. To explain a problem and reconcile it in our minds is not to deny its existence or significance. Having spent my professional life working in an academy largely allergic to the extrarational claims of faith, and in a field of religious history where many colleagues are devoted evangelicals or Catholics, I know well that in the view of Enlightenment rationalism and scientism on the one hand and historic Christianity on the other, much of Mormonism appears foolish and scandalous. That the same can be said of every other religion hardly puts salve in the wound. We are not called to abandon our natural reason; to do so would not only lead to fanaticism but also to reject one of our greatest divine inheritances. Yet to remain open to all the infinite possibilities of an inexplicable cosmos, we have to humbly acknowledge the limits of human rationality and accept complementary ways of knowing and being. We do not proceed merely on faith, but we do recognize that faith and trust are essential ingredients in a holistic approach to life. By definition, to have faith—in God, in Mormonism, in anything—is to act on claims that in the end can be neither proven nor disproven. To base one’s life on unfalsifiable claims is not a sign of intellectual weakness or antirationality, but rather a perfectly normal human response to the uncertainty that is the lot of mortality.

One thing an early-on writer has to learn, is to be comfortable with and responsive to critique. When five people in a group tell you this chapter sucks; don’t snap back at them with, “Sure, but it gets better in another 6 or 7 chapters!” Listen. – Thank them. – Consider. They can look from a fresh perspective, and catch things that you might be too close to see. But, you will also learn along the way that not everyone in a group of relative amateurs themselves, is going to catch everything, and there will be a few who seem to never understand much of anything. Some will always want paragraphs chopped down to explosive missiles of passion, while others are more used to long composite paragraphs that I myself find impossible to wade through. You may, once you have hit your full stride and power, feel comfortable telling a few of them, “Look. This isn’t a diner. I don’t take orders: ‘I’m gluten intolerant; he can’t do salt; she’s allergic to peanuts ...’ “If what I offer is a salad bar, then No; I am not going to fry you up a cheesesteak!

We believe . . . that the action of alcohol on these chronic alcoholics is a manifestation of an allergy; that the phenomenon of craving is limited to this class [of people] and never occurs in the average temperate drinkers. These allergic types can never safely use alcohol in any form at all; and once having formed the habit [they have] found they cannot break it, once having lost their self.36

People forget that saffron is the backbone of a flower," he said, still sniffing. "They get so preoccupied with saffron's cost that they forget what saffron really is." "My boyfriend used to study crocuses in college," I said, unsure where the conversation was going, but determined to set it on stable ground. 'He harvested the strands for a pilot dining hall program, but gave me the best ones to cook with." "A match made in heaven." "Yeah," I said. "He's great..." But we weren't here to discuss my love life. What were we here to discuss? "And what did you make with the saffron?" Michael Saltz asked. "My specialty is a rice stew with ginger and flounder." He had brought the conversation back to food and I felt more at ease. "Like a paella?" "No, not like a paella. I don't use shellfish, because..." "Oh, right, allergic! Yes, how could I forget?" He had an excellent memory. Or maybe just for me. "It has an Asian flair," I continued. "The saffron adds a taste of the sun. You have the pillowy sea element of the flounder and the earthiness of the rice, and I think the farminess of the saffron- that rustic, rough flavor- brings the dish together.

She ignored his expression, watching Hallie. "People might judge you for her supposed defect." As he stared at his complicated fiancée, the fiancée that he knew thought of her shyness as a flaw, that tight feeling in his chest constricted to the point where dragging in a breath was a great achievement. His luck, he was allergic to his damn familiar. "I really don't give a shit what people think of me," he told Emma honestly. "Let them say what they want-- their funeral. And I don't see imperfection when I look at Hallie." His eyes caressed Emma's downturned face. "I see strength.

Always expect the unexpected. Never get too when things are going well, because otherwise the fall will be a lot harder. dinosaurs: triceratops and stegosaurus. Weather forecasters are like prison visitors. Nice people but usually misguided. The answer was yes, no, and maybe all rolled in one. She added that she hoped she might see him again. Not if I catch sight of you first, he thought. But like anything in life, you can never quite tell. People you know always have the ability to shock you. The label said it was "just like the mama used to cook" but if that was the case mama had obviously long since been banned from the kitchen. He wasn't work-shy. He was work-allergic. The problem these days is that gangsters, whether they be small time drug dealers with guns and attitude or wannabe urban godfathers like Nicholas Tyndall, have no qualms about using serious violence and the treat of it to get what they want, because they know that neither the judicial system nor the police service have the wherewithal or the powers to protect those who speak out against them. English prisons are roughly on a par with English traffic, English weather and English hospitals. In other words, fucking terrible. The striation marks on a bullet are the microscopic scratches caused by imperfections on the surface of the interior of a gun's barrel that are unique to each individual firearm, and act as its calling card.The same striation marks will appear on a bullet every time a particular gun is fired. 'The last time I spent quality time with you was Heathrow last week and five people ended up shot' The thing with me is that I am pessimist who's constantly trying to be optimistic, but can't quite manage it. Experience gained through years of policework doesn't allow for that sort of naivety. They say its a grand life if you don't weaken and for so long I've tried to live my life like that, but at that moment in time, weakness felt so tempting that I almost open my arms to greet it. 'And the whole time I couldn't wait to leave. And you know what, thy were the best years of my life.

Millions of people, some my age but most younger, have been keeping lifelogs for years, wearing personal cams that capture continuous video of their entire lives. People consult their lifelogs for a variety of reasons—everything from reliving favorite moments to tracking down the cause of allergic reactions—but only intermittently; no one wants to spend all their time formulating queries and sifting through the results. Lifelogs are the most complete photo album imaginable, but like most photo albums, they lie dormant except on special occasions.

Guilt wanted her most when she least wanted it. Cats always loved people who were allergic to them.

Human beings are the only animals that experience denial. All creatures will try to survive under attack, will burrow when under siege or limp through the forest. But they recognize trouble when it hits. Not one fish, in the history of fish, having gotten its fins chewed off, needs another fish's perspective: I don't know, Tom, that looks pretty bad. Denial is humankind'a specialty, our handy aversion. We are so allergic to our own mortality; we'll do anything to make it not so. Denial is also the weirdest stage of grief because it so closely mimics stupidity. But it can't be helped.

What filled his head was how bad he was at all this. He hated being flirted with but he fell in love all the time, and never with people who loved him back—generally the ones who would never have dreamed of flirting with him. He was like one of those cats that only wanted to be stroked by people who were allergic to cats.