Ambitious Couple Quotes

But the truly ambitious teams find relief in honesty when they’ve lost, because it’s the diagnostic tool that leads to a solution—here’s what we did wrong and let’s fix it, so we don’t ever have to feel this way again. Great teams explain their failure; they don’t excuse it. Then they pay a visit to Charles Atlas and get stronger. When you explain a loss aloud, it’s no longer a tormenting mystery. I believed in that brand of honesty my whole career, and I knew at least one other coach who believed in it too.

The other thing that’s happened with writing is that I’m not afraid it will go away. Up until a couple of years ago, I feared that sitting down with paper and pencil revealed too much desire and that for such ambition I would be punished. My vocabulary would contract anorexia, ideas would be born autistic, even titles would not come to flirt with me anymore. I suppose this was tied to that internal judge, the serpent who eats her own tail. She insinuates you’re not good enough; you believe her and try less, ratifying her assessment; so you try even less; and on and on. This snake survives on your dying. Finally, now, the elided words of my wisest writing teacher, the poet David Wojahn, make sense. “Be ambitious,” he said, “for the work.” Not for the in-dwelling editor. That bitch was impossible to please anyway.

At its deepest root, ambition is often a fight against powerlessness and a fight for control. The ambitious person is also inherently selfish. This search for control, unimpeded by thoughts of concern for another’s welfare, certainly provide a fertile seedbed for sexual lust, which may therefore find a particularly comfortable home in an ambitious soul. I was speaking to a group of Christian activists not that long ago, and I sobered them with the words, “The very qualities that help you succeed as an activist may tempt you to fail as a Christian.” Ambitious men and women need to allow others to hold them accountable. Ambition coupled with secrecy is a fertile ground for sexual sin; throw in fatigue, and you’re almost certain to embarrass yourself and the ministry God has given you. The activist may face more temptation in this regard than many of the other temperaments.

Ambitious Hunter – The Ambitious Hunter is always seeking out true challenges and the most powerful of prey. To you, the hunt is not only about the question of gaining power or death, but enjoying the journey itself. It is not something that can be taught, but is a part of who you are. A class focused on ranged combat, mainly using bow and arrow, coupled with light options for melee such as shortswords and daggers. The class is fast and flexible, focusing on Agility over Strength. The Ambitious Hunter's path to power may be more complicated than many others due to their endless thirst for worthy enemies, but power is inevitable if one survives. Stat bonuses per level: +5 Per, +4 Agi, +3 End, +2 Str, +4 Free Points.

An ambitious, ruthless but brilliant solicitor who normally encourages her clients to go along the no-comment route. She’s a cool fish. We’ve had her here a couple of times, but not many of our normal clients can afford her prices.

And you got over it?’ he asked. ‘It must have been tough if you were friends. Some friendships don’t recover from something like that: it can make things awkward.’ Thomas shrugged. ‘As I said, we had a couple of periods where we lost touch. That was one of those times, if you must know. We didn’t see each other much for a couple of years. But, we reconnected, and it became easier.’ ‘Just like that?’ ‘I said easier, not easy. It took time. I won’t pretend I was over the moon that she rejected me, but like anything else in life, I learned to live with it and KBO, as Churchill would say.’ ‘KBO?’ ‘Keep buggering on.’ Marr smiled. ‘Can you think of anyone who might have had a grudge against Anna? Anyone who might have wanted her dead?’ Thomas rumpled his brow. ‘No, not really. I mean, she was an ambitious professional. God knows how blood-thirsty it got

Instead of avoiding processing by leaping into the next project, Sam got ambitious about, well, peace... She mourned the all-hands-on-deck, everyone's emergency contact, always hustling version of herself, that she knew was not coming back. "So I mourned for a couple days - I mourned my youth, I mourned my innocence, I mourned everything"... That change in identity; changing as circumstances change, rather than clinging to a fixed goal that no longer feels true, can feel like racing a ghost of yourself. My ghost self, my former self, was faster, sharper, and willing to do anything. She said yes to everything and pleased everyone. She's who I see in the mirror sometimes when I say 'no I can't' or, 'no I won't.' Or when I wonder what happened to the girl who would prove herself a million times over to an audience of no one. And smile while she was doing it.

Well, then here we are,” Beth said. “We’ve got a couple of kids with a couple of kids on the way, and they clearly love each other. What are we going to do?” Susan took a sip of her martini. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to rest until I see them married.” Beth threw back her head and laughed loudly, earning a glance from Jack. “I love an ambitious woman. So, I have a favor to ask.” “Sure.” “I know you’ll be zipping down here the second the babies come and I know the mother’s mother gets special privileges. Let me come soon, please. I promise not to crowd the cabin and I’ll do all the shit work without getting in the way.” Susan looked up at the ceiling, thinking. Then she glanced back at Beth. “Give us three days. And I’ll split the snuggling and shit work with you.” Beth put a hand on her arm. “You are a good woman. I made my son-in-law’s mother wait a week.” They both laughed loudly. “Do you think we stand a chance of getting them married before the babies come?” Beth asked. “I don’t know. They seem to have made up their minds about certain things, not that they’re sharing. And Abby’s very stubborn when she’s made up her mind.” “She seems to be perfect for him. Everyone’s entitled to a mistake here and there. Not to mention they have babies coming. Any second…” “Maybe if we put our heads together….” The door to the bar opened and in came Ed Michaels, Chuck McCall, Abby and Cameron. They stood just inside the door and stared at Susan and Beth who had a couple of empty martini glasses apiece sitting at the bar. “Just what are you two up to?” Cameron asked. The women grinned largely and Beth said, “Just getting to know each other, Cameron.” Abby tugged on Cameron’s sleeve to bring his ear down to her lips. “I never once thought it might be worse if they liked each other,” she whispered. “They’re going to be a pot of trouble.” He grinned and slipped a kiss on her lips. “Nothing we can’t handle, baby. Stick with me.” *

This was in 1916, when Hortense had been in the city for barely a month, living with her husband and infant son in a cramped apartment in Brooklyn, filled with cheap vinyl furniture and a roommate to help them cover the rent. Floyd was working as a junior clerk at a white-shoe law firm in Manhattan. His paycheck was small, but the position had career potential and was a step forward for the ambitious young couple.

He turned away and began picking up the sheaf of papers he’d dumped on the desk earlier, shuffling them into some sort of order, and Helena watched him, her heart twisting suddenly. For all his bravado, he was definitely hurting. He’d fallen hard for Jasmine, a bright, ambitious medical registrar he’d met while interviewing a stabbing victim at Southmead Hospital, and who he’d been dating for the past year or so; he’d even, when Helena had joined him and some of the other detectives for a rare night in the pub a few months back, confided in her after several vodkas that he was considering proposing, once Jasmine had completed her training

By then I’d played with a couple of college bands, doing clumsy covers ofrock staples. There were other bands that would produce note-perfect imitationsof songs by Led Zeppelin or Pink Floyd and drive audiences wild. If a bandcould play something exactly as it was on tape, the consensus was that they mustbe good. But after a period of proving themselves this way, most bands became alittle more ambitious, and a day would come when they’d go up on stage duringa college festival and introduce a song with the dreaded words, ‘This is anoriginal composition.’ Almost always, these originals were listless pastiches ofthe covers the band played, the lyrics apparently not about anything at all. Thesewere skilled musicians, but their chosen form seemed to preclude any realengagement with their own lives or the lives of their audience. This was mostevident in the Death Metal bands, where you might have a good Hindu boygrowling menacingly about his affinity for Satan. This was a cargo-cult, amimicking of someone else’s rebellion.