Auburn University Quotes

The second follow-up, which examined changes in specialty, showed how often doctors of each type changed to a more typical specialty (to one more generally chosen by their type) and how often to one less typical. The results strikingly confirmed the conclusion suggested by the answers of the Auburn University freshmen that sensing types either know much less or care much less than do intuitives about the suitability of any given job for their type

There’s a widespread conviction, spoken and unspoken, that the road to riches is trimmed in Ivy and the reins of power held by those who’ve donned Harvard’s crimson, Yale’s blue and Princeton’s orange, not just on their chests but in their souls. No one told that to the Fortune 500. They’re the American corporations with the highest gross revenues. The list is revised yearly. As I write this paragraph in the summer of 2014, the top ten are, in order, Wal-Mart, Exxon Mobil, Chevron, Berkshire Hathaway, Apple, Phillips 66, General Motors, Ford Motor, General Electric and Valero Energy. And here’s the list, in the same order, of schools where their chief executives got their undergraduate degrees: the University of Arkansas; the University of Texas; the University of California, Davis; the University of Nebraska; Auburn; Texas A&M; the General Motors Institute (now called Kettering University); the University of Kansas; Dartmouth College and the University of Missouri–St. Louis. Just one Ivy League school shows up.

I could come up with no answer. He had kissed my hand. The forces of gravity came unraveled; there was no cohesion at the core of the world, no order in the universe. Clouds and trees and birds and suns spun around of their own volition, freed from their laws and routines. Bryan had kissed my hand. I could not be rational; and so nothing in the world would make sense again.

Their idea of better has nothing to do with any measure of worth I value. I don’t care what yer bloodline is or yer bank account or whether or not ye went to a fancy university. Anyone who spends ten minutes with ye can sense yer value. Yer one of the smartest, kindest, bravest, most authentic people I’ve ever met and yer heart holds a capacity for love and acceptance I’ve never seen rivaled.

Near our old apartment in Auburn, there is a trail of trees called the George Bengtson Historic Tree Trail, named after a white research forester and plant physiologist at the University of Auburn, Alabama. A great man, I’m sure. These trees are grafted from scions of heritage trees. Among the trees planted: Lewis & Clark Osage Orange. Trail of Tears Water Oak. General Jackson Black Walnut. General Robert E. Lee Sweetgum. Southern Baldcypress. Johnny Appleseed Apple Tree. Mark Twain Bur Oak. Lewis & Clark Cottonwood. Helen Keller Southern Magnolia. Amelia Earhart Sugar Maple. Chief Logan American Elm. Lincoln’s Tomb White Oak. John F. Kennedy Crabapple. John James Audubon Japanese Magnolia. No trees are named for Muskogee, the First People who died in the millions during epidemics, displacement, and land raids. Under the buildings and homes and replanted forests are remnants of Muskogee earthwork mounds, temples, and trenches, a complex network of pre-American cities. There is a single scion named for a northern Indian Iroquois, Chief Logan, another for the Trail of Tears, the only nod to the suffering of Indigenous people. There is no mention of Sacajawea, never mind that Lewis and Clark would’ve been lost in the American wilderness without her. George Washington Carver Green Ash is the only scion named after the Black inventor and scientist. No Black or Native women or femmes are named. No mention of a single civil rights leader, which Alabama birthed aplenty: Coretta Scott King, Rosa Parks, Angela Y. Davis. Imagine a Zora Neale Hurston Sweetgum or a Margaret Walker Poplar.

Lissy McIntyre sat on the side of the old sailing ship as it rounded the point into Butterfly Bay, curly, sun-streaked strands of auburn hair pushed across her face by the breeze. She imagined the reaction of her history colleagues at the university if they could see Dr. McIntyre in backpacker mode. The days spent basking in the warmth around the pool at Hamilton Island over the last week had made her almost forget it was winter back home on the New England tablelands of Australia.

Auburn University has a hotline for answering any question you can think of. The number is (334) 844-4244.

After earning a degree in Marketing at Auburn University, I spent the next five years in the business world, which is a polite way of saying that I had eleven jobs in a five-year period, including door to door sales, skip tracing people who didn’t want to be found, repossessing cars and collecting on defaulted student loans. During this five-year period, I did an in-depth study of abnormal psychology and sociopathic behavior – and then I divorced him.

In college in Austin, I clocked the auburn-haired Asian kids who smoked Marlboro Light 100s and drove Mitsubishi 3000 GTs and Toyota Celicas with swooping, pearlized spoilers. They talked about AKs, were seemingly very good at pool, hailed mostly from Houston, and were decidedly cooler than church nerds or extracurricular-scholastic-group nerds. We didn’t interact much beyond the shade they’d throw as I walked by with my white boyfriend. “He’s half Mexican!” I wanted to tell them, but of course, that proved nothing. The other Asian crews were part of the Greek system, and I was leery of them as well. I knew them only because the housing administration of the University of Texas at Austin automatically roomed you with an Asian kid in a larger suite of Asian kids, and my Chinese suitemates rushed for Asian Panhellenic sororities. My roommate was a gorgeous socialite from Taiwan who spoke little English and dated guys who bought her clothes. She wore only Armani. We all kept a healthy distance.

I tell her, "I thought you wanted to save the world." "I did. Still do. It turned out that my degree was useless in the real world, and broke girls with dumb degrees and no money to pay their rent can't help themselves, much less anyone else. Saving the world is a lot easier when you've got more than two pennies to rub together.

he presses his mouth to my abdomen, delicately peels my underwear off, and moves south like a heat-seeking missile. A brief flash of embarrassment goes through me at the reminder of how long it's been since I shaved—prisons and mausoleums aren't really great places to go bushwhacking, and I wasn't exactly expecting this momentous future to come so soon. But he shows nothing but enthusiasm as he pushes my thighs wide and presses his mouth against me.