Beauty Consultant Quotes

USURY: Everybody's looking for the job in which you never have to pay anyone their pound of flesh. Self-employed nirvana. A lot of artists like to think of themselves as uncompromising; a lot of management consultants won't tell you what they do until they've sunk five pints. I don't think anybody should give themselves air just because they don't have to hand over a pound of flesh every day at 5pm, and I don't think anyone should beat themselves with broken glass because they do. If you're an artist, well, good for you. Thank your lucky stars every evening and dance in the garden with the fairies. But don't fool yourself that you occupy some kind of higher moral ground. You have to work for that. Writing a few lines, painting a pretty picture - that just won't do it.

Beauty Is the fume-track of necessity. This thought Is therapeutic. If, after several Applications, you do not find Relief, consult your family physician

If Los Angeles is a woman reclining billboard model and the San Fernando Valley is her teenybopper sister, then New York is their cousin. Her hair is dyed autumn red or aubergine or Egyptian henna, depending on her mood. Her skin is pale as frost and she wears beautiful Jil Sander suits and Prada pumps on which she walks faster than a speeding taxi (when it is caught in rush hour, that is). Her lips are some unlikely shade of copper or violet, courtesy of her local MAC drag queen makeup consultant. She is always carrying bags of clothes, bouquets of roses, take-out Chinese containers, or bagels. Museum tags fill her pockets and purses, along with perfume samples and invitations to art gallery openings. When she is walking to work, to ward off bums or psychos, her face resembles the Statue of Liberty, but at home in her candlelit, dove-colored apartment, the stony look fades away and she smiles like the sterling roses she has brought for herself to make up for the fact that she is single and her feet are sore.

I sputtered for a minute. Then I consulted the ceiling. It was silent on the matter and, strangely, didn't seem to share my outrage.

Art is the expression of human creativity and imagination, which produces works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty. It’s emotional. Commerce is the activity of buying and selling, particularly on a grand scale. It’s black and white: either a purchase is made or it isn’t. It’s practical.

Life, it has been agreed by everyone whose opinion is worth consulting, is the only fit subject for novelist or biographer; life, the same authorities have decided, has nothing whatever to do with sitting still in a chair and thinking. Thought and life are as the poles asunder. Therefore — since sitting in a chair and thinking is precisely what Orlando is doing now — there is nothing for it but to recite the calendar, tell one’s beads, blow one’s nose, stir the fire, look out of the window, until she has done… Surely, since she is a woman, and a beautiful woman, and a woman in the prime of life, she will soon give over this pretence of writing and thinking and begin at least to think of a gamekeeper (and as long as she thinks of a man, nobody objects to a woman thinking). And then she will write him a little note (and as long as she writes little notes nobody objects to a woman writing either) and make an assignation for Sunday dusk… She was kind to dogs, faithful to friends, generosity itself to a dozen starving poets, had a passion for poetry. But love — as the male novelists define it — and who, after all, speak with greater authority? — has nothing whatever to do with kindness, fidelity, generosity, or poetry. Love is slipping off one’s petticoat and — But we all know what love is… If then, the subject of one’s biography will neither love nor kill, but will only think and imagine, we may conclude that he or she is no better than a corpse and so leave her.

Sunlight was everywhere, glittering gold off the bright green leaves of the garden. A blackcap, concealed within the foliage of a nearby willow, sang a sweet fanfare and a pair of mallards fought over a particularly juicy snail. The orchestra was rehearsing a dance number and music skimmed across the surface of the lake. How lucky they were to get a day like this one! After weeks of agonizing, of their studying the dawn, of consulting Those Who Ought to Know, the sun had risen, burning off any lingering cloud, just as it should on Midsummer's Eve. The evening would be warm, the breeze light, the party as bewitching as ever.

home, alone in my room, with the sounds of #2 and #5 trains rumbling in the distance, I started with a letter to myself. Dear Juliet, Repeat after me: You are a bruja. You are a warrior. You are a feminist. You are a beautiful brown babe. Surround yourself with other beautiful brown and black and indigenous and morena and Chicana, native, Indian, mixed race, Asian, gringa, boriqua babes. Let them uplift you. Rage against the motherfucking machine. Question everything anyone ever says to you or forces down your throat or makes you write a hundred times on the blackboard. Question every man that opens his mouth and spews out a law over your body and spirit. Question every single thing until you find the answer in a daydream. Don’t question yourself unless you hurt someone else. When you hurt someone else, sit down, and think, and think, and think, and then make it right. Apologize when you fuck up. Live forever. Consult the ancestors while counting stars in the galaxy. Hold wisdom under tongue until it’s absorbed into the bloodstream. Do not be afraid. Do not doubt yourself. Do not hide Be proud of your inhaler, your cane, your back brace, your acne. Be proud of the things that the world uses to make you feel different. Love your fat fucking glorious body. Love your breasts, hips, and wide-ass if you have them and if you don’t, love the body you do have or the one you create for yourself. Love the fact that you have ingrown hairs on the back of your thighs and your grandma’s mustache on your lips. Read all the books that make you whole. Read all the books that pull you out of the present and into the future. Read all the books about women who get tattoos, and break hearts, and rob banks, and start heavy metal bands. Read every single one of them. Kiss everyone. Ask first. Always ask first and then kiss the way stars burn in the sky. Trust your lungs. Trust the Universe. Trust your damn self. Love hard, deep, without restraint or doubt Love everything that brushes past your skin and lives inside your soul. Love yourself. In La Virgen’s name and in the name of Selena, Adiosa.

... one turns away to ponder the question: Who has made the decision that sets in motion these chains of poisonings, this ever-widening wave of death that spreads out, like ripples when a pebble is dropped into a still pond? Who has placed in one pan of the scales the leaves that might have been eaten by the beetles and in the other the pitiful heaps of many-hued feathers, the lifeless remains of birds that fell before the unselective bludgeon of insecticidal poisons? Who has decided -- who has the right to decide -- for the countless legions of people who were not consulted that the supreme value is a world without insects, even though it be also a sterile world ungraced by the curving wing of a bird in flight? The decision is that of the authoritarian temporarily entrusted with power; he has made it during a moment of inattention by millions to whom beauty and the ordered world of nature still have a meaning that is deep and imperative.

People there were so kind. There’s a lovely word in Swahili: nishauri. It means “advise me. When someone was mad at you, they would come to your house and sit down and talk and say, This is very disrespectful and I think we should consult each other on how to move forward. Let’s make peace here and come to a conclusion that is beautiful.

Value, like beauty, may be in the eye of the beholder, but it’s nonetheless discussable and mutually appreciated.

Who has made the decision that sets in motion these chains of poisonings, this ever-widening wave of death that spreads out, like ripples when a pebble is dropped into a still pond? Who has placed in one pan of the scales the leaves that might have been eaten by the beetles and in the other the pitiful heaps of many-hued feathers, the lifeless remains of the birds that fell before the unselective bludgeon of insecticidal poisons? Who has decided - who has the right to decide - for the countless legions of people who were not consulted that the supreme value is a world without insects, even though it be also a sterile world ungraced by the curving wing of a bird in flight? The decision is that of the authoritarian temporarily entrusted with power; he has made it during a moment of inattention by millions to whom beauty and the ordered world of nature still have a meaning that is deep and imperative.

Some car had hit it after all, because it hadn’t had the courage to honor its own correct instinct. And I began to cry because I had this thought about people, that they do this all the time, deny the wise voice inside them telling them the right thing to do because it is different. I remembered once seeing a tea party some little girls had set up outside, mismatched china, decorations of a plucked pansy blossom and a seashell and a shiny penny and a small circle of red berries and a fern, pressed wetly into the wooden table, the damp outline around it a beautiful bonus. They didn’t consult the Martha Stewart guide for entertainment and gulp a martini before their guests arrived. They pulled ideas from their hearts and minds about the things that gave them pleasure, and they laid out an offering with loving intent. It was a small Garden of Eden, the occupants making something out of what they saw was theirs. Out of what they truly saw.

This time, there’s no question of freeing yourself from artifice to taste simple joys. Instead there is the promise of meeting a freedom head-on as an outer limit of the self and of the human, an internal overflowing of a rebellious Nature that goes beyond you. Walking can provoke these excesses: surfeits of fatigue that make the mind wander, abundances of beauty that turn the soul over, excesses of drunkenness on the peaks, the high passes (where the body explodes). Walking ends by awakening this rebellious, archaic part of us: our appetites become rough and uncompromising, our impulses inspired. Because walking puts us on the vertical axis of life: swept along by the torrent that rushes just beneath us. What I mean is that by walking you are not going to meet yourself. By walking, you escape from the very idea of identity, the temptation to be someone, to have a name and a history. Being someone is all very well for smart parties where everyone is telling their story, it’s all very well for psychologists’ consulting rooms. But isn’t being someone also a social obligation which trails in its wake – for one has to be faithful to the self-portrait – a stupid and burdensome fiction? The freedom in walking lies in not being anyone; for the walking body has no history, it is just an eddy in the stream of immemorial life.

We also lose the pleasure of the sensory world around us. Instead of enjoying the beauty of a flower, we imagine only how it would look in a vase on our kitchen table. Instead of smelling the morning air and looking at the sky, we consult the weather app on our smartphone, neck bent, oblivious to the world around us.

Now If diversity were inherently good, inherently valuable, inherently wonderful, why would we have to have the highly-paid profession know as 'diversity consultant' to manage it? Things that are inherently good, to enjoy them, or to make the most of them, you don't need a consultant. You don't need a consultant to make the most out of good-tasting food, beautiful weather, the affection of your friends. Those are inherently good things. Diversity required consultants because diversity is hard. Diversity is difficult. It's because it's difficult for people to try to work, to act, and live together with people are are unlike themselves.

Now If diversity were inherently good, inherently valuable, inherently wonderful, why would we have to have the highly-paid profession know as 'diversity consultant' to manage it? Things that are inherently good, to enjoy them, or to make the most of them, you don't need a consultant. You don't need a consultant to make the most out of good-tasting food, beautiful weather, the affection of your friends. Those are inherently good things. Diversity required consultants because diversity is hard. Diversity is difficult. It's because it's difficult for people to try to work, to act, and live together with people who are unlike themselves.

I feel sort of like I should talk to a psychologist or something about it, but they don’t do stuff like that here, there is no local friendly community health center; you have to ask your GP, who’d send you round the local loony bin for a consultation, and since they’re really big on drugs here, you’d probably just walk out with a prescription.

As you make those daily choices about what to spend your time on and which possibilities to pursue, the author and consultant John Hagel suggests you ask yourself13 this question: When I look back in five years, which of these options will make the better story? As Hagel points out, “No one ever regrets taking the path that leads to a better story.

She could smell the wrongness in the air and it made her wolf nervous. It felt like something was watching them, as if the wrongness had an intelligence— and it didn't help to remember that at least one of the people they were hunting could hide from their senses. Anna fought the urge to turn around, to take Charles's hand or slide under his arm and let his presence drive away the wrongness. Once, she would have, but now she had the uneasy feeling that he might back away as he almost had when she sat on his lap in the boat, before Brother Wolf had taken over. Maybe he was just tired of her. She had been telling everyone that there was something wrong with him...but Bran knew his son and thought the problem was her. Bran was smart and perceptive; she ought to have considered that he was right. Charles was old. He'd seen and experienced so much—next to him she was just a child. His wolf had chosen her without consulting Charles at all. Maybe he'd have preferred someone who knew more. Someone beautiful and clever who... "Anna?" said Charles. "What's wrong? Are you crying?" He moved in front of her and stopped, forcing her to stop walking, too. She opened her mouth and his fingers touched her wet cheeks. "Anna," he said, his body going still. "Call on your wolf." "You should have someone stronger," she told him miserably. "Someone who could help you when you need it, instead of getting sent home because I can't endure what you have to do. If I weren't Omega, if I were dominant like Sage, I could have helped you." "There is no one stronger," Charles told her. "It's the taint from the black magic. Call your wolf." "You don't want me anymore," she whispered. And once the words were out she knew they were true. He would say the things that he thought she wanted to hear because he was a kind man. But they would be lies. The truth was in the way he closed down the bond between them so she wouldn't hear things that would hurt her. Charles was a dominant wolf and dominant wolves were driven to protect those weaker than themselves. And he saw her as so much weaker. "I love you," he told her. "Now, call your wolf." She ignored his order—he knew better than to give her orders. He said he loved her; it sounded like the truth. But he was old and clever and Anna knew that, when push came to shove, he could lie and make anyone believe it. Knew it because he lied to her now—and it sounded like the truth. "I'm sorry," she told him. "I'll go away—" And suddenly her back was against a tree and his face was a hairsbreadth from hers. His long hot body was pressed against her from her knees to her chest—he'd have to bend to do that. He was a lot taller than her, though she wasn't short. Anna shuddered as the warmth of his body started to penetrate the cold that had swallowed hers. Charles waited like a hunter, waited for her to wiggle and see that she was truly trapped. Waited while she caught her breathe. Waited until she looked into his eyes. Then he snarled at her. "You are not leaving me." It was an order, and she didn't have to follow anyone's orders. That was part of being Omega instead of a regular werewolf—who might have had a snowball's chance in hell of being a proper mate. "You need someone stronger," Anna told him again. "So you wouldn't have to hide when you're hurt. So you could trust your mate to take care of herself and help, damn it, instead of having to protect me from whatever you are hiding." She hated crying. Tears were weaknesses that could be exploited and they never solves a damn thing. Sobs gathered in her chest like a rushing tide and she needed to get away from him before she broke. Instead of fighting his grip, she tried to slide out of it. "I need to go," she said to his chest. "I need—" His mouth closed over hers, hot and hungry, warming her mouth as his body warmed her body. "Me," Charles said, his voice dark and gravelly as if it had traveled up from the bottom of the earth,...

There was a gentle glow coming on in the sky to my right as I drove north through the cold and empty beauty of the Adirondack Park. I would have pointed the impending dawn out to the girl in the back of my Element if she wasn’t unconscious and bleeding on the easy-to-clean floor. I crossed the northern border of the Park at the same time that the sun crept over the white pines on the side of road. I don't know if that first ray of morning caught her eye, but my passenger groaned, cleared her throat a bit to try and speak, then clacked her teeth hard together again to hold back whatever she was starting to say. I consulted the map in my head, determined that I wouldn’t make it to the house before she started acting up, thought about Murphy's Law and the prevalence of state troopers on backcountry roads for only a moment, and then pulled over to deal with Sadie Hostetler.

Beyond the family or particular Christian tradition, how much effort do we make to consider what the Mennonites or the Episcopalians, the Baptists or the Pentecostals, the Methodists or the Presbyterians have to say to the rest of us out of their DIFFERENCES, as well as out of the affirmation in common with other Christians? As I suggested earlier, our patterns of ecumenicity tend to bracket out our differences rather than to celebrate and capitalize upon them. Finding common ground has been the necessary first step in ecumenical relations and activity. But the next step is to acknowledge and enjoy what God has done elsewhere in the Body of Christ. And if at the congregational level we are willing to say, 'I can't do everything myself, for I am an ear: I must consult with a hand or an eye on this matter,' I suggest that we do the same among whole traditions. If we do not regularly and programmatically consult with each other, we are tacitly claiming that we have no need of each other, and that all the truth, beauty, and goodness we need has been vouchsafed to us by God already. Not only is such an attitude problematic in terms of our flourishing, as I have asserted, but in this context now we must recognize how useless a picture this presents to the rest of society. Baptists, Presbyterians, and Roman Catholics failing to celebrate diversity provide no positive examples to societies trying to understand how to celebrate diversity on larger scales.

If Los Angeles is a woman reclining billboard model and the San Fernando Valley is her teenybopper sister, then New York is their cousin. Her hair is dyed autumn or aubergine or Egyptian henna, depending on her mood. Her skin is pale as frost and she wears beautiful Jil Sander suits and Prada pumps on which she walks faster than a speeding taxi (when it is caught in rush hour, that is). Her lips are some unlikely shade of copper or violet, courtesy of her local MAC drag queen makeup consultant.

For the next hour, the subject of Pandora's board game business was discarded as the group worked on the sandcastle. They paused at intervals to drink thirstily from jugs of cold water and lemonade that had been sent down from the house. Pandora threw herself into the project with enthusiasm, consulting with Justin, who had decided the castle must have a moat, square corner towers, a front gatehouse with a drawbridge, and battlement walls from which the occupants could drop scalding water or molten tar onto the advancing enemy. Gabriel, who'd been instructed to dig the moat, stole frequent glances at Pandora, who had enough energy for ten people. Her face glowed beneath her battered straw hat, which she had managed to pry away from Ajax. She was sweaty and covered in sand, a few escaped locks of hair trailing over her neck and back. She played with the unselfconscious ease of a child, this woman of radical thoughts and ambitions. She was beautiful. Complex. Frustrating. He'd never met a woman who was so wholly and resolutely herself. What the devil was he going to do about her?

Self-Management If you can read just one book on motivation—yours and others: Dan Pink, Drive If you can read just one book on building new habits: Charles Duhigg, The Power of Habit If you can read just one book on harnessing neuroscience for personal change: Dan Siegel, Mindsight If you can read just one book on deep personal change: Lisa Lahey and Bob Kegan, Immunity to Change If you can read just one book on resilience: Seth Godin, The Dip Organizational Change If you can read just one book on how organizational change really works: Chip and Dan Heath, Switch If you can read just two books on understanding that change is a complex system: Frederic Laloux, Reinventing Organizations Dan Pontefract, Flat Army Hear interviews with FREDERIC LALOUX, DAN PONTEFRACT, and JERRY STERNIN at the Great Work Podcast. If you can read just one book on using structure to change behaviours: Atul Gawande, The Checklist Manifesto If you can read just one book on how to amplify the good: Richard Pascale, Jerry Sternin and Monique Sternin, The Power of Positive Deviance If you can read just one book on increasing your impact within organizations: Peter Block, Flawless Consulting Other Cool Stuff If you can read just one book on being strategic: Roger Martin and A.G. Lafley, Playing to Win If you can read just one book on scaling up your impact: Bob Sutton and Huggy Rao, Scaling Up Excellence If you can read just one book on being more helpful: Edgar Schein, Helping Hear interviews with ROGER MARTIN, BOB SUTTON, and WARREN BERGER at the Great Work Podcast. If you can read just two books on the great questions: Warren Berger, A More Beautiful Question Dorothy Strachan, Making Questions Work If you can read just one book on creating learning that sticks: Peter Brown, Henry Roediger and Mark McDaniel, Make It Stick If you can read just one book on why you should appreciate and marvel at every day, every moment: Bill Bryson, A Short History of Nearly Everything If you can read just one book that saves lives while increasing impact: Michael Bungay Stanier, ed., End Malaria (All money goes to Malaria No More; about $400,000 has been raised so far.) IF THERE ARE NO STUPID QUESTIONS, THEN WHAT KIND OF QUESTIONS DO STUPID PEOPLE ASK?

I know without a doubt there's no such thing as death," said Tempe, Arizona, resident Alex Hermosillo. "I can tell you; it's a new beginning and it's beautiful. I had a near death experience that completely changed me forever. I've seen the afterlife. I have a wonderful feeling about life and what's important," Hermosillo said while sitting in the Tempe office he uses to consult with people. He calls his work Energy Healing. "I now help to heal people. I have been given a gift, a gift of life and energy of love, and for me, turning that positive energy towards helping people is amazing and it's working," he said.

If close local control and supervision of operations is essential to success the small firm may have an edge. In some industries, particularly services like nightclubs and eating places, an intense amount of close, personal supervision seems to be required. Absentee management works less effectively in such businesses, as a general rule, than an owner-manager who maintains close control over a relatively small operation.1 Smaller firms are often more efficient where personal service is the key to the business. The quality of personal service and the customer’s perception that individualized, responsive service is being provided often seem to decline with the size of the firm once a threshold is reached. This factor seems to lead to fragmentation in such industries as beauty care and consulting.

A well-known skin specialist patronized by many famous beauties charges seventy-five dollars for a twenty-minute consultation and eight dollars for a cake of sea-mud soap. I get more satisfaction and just as much benefit out of applying a purée of apples and sour cream! [...] Of course, all masques should COVER THE NECK too. [...] Masques should only be used ones or twice a week. [...] While the masque is working, place pads soaked in witch hazel or boric acid over your eyelids and put on your favorite music. [...] A masque really works only when you're lying down. Twenty minutes is the right length of time. Then wash the masque off gently with warm water and follow with a brisk splash of cold water to close the pores. [...] For a luxurious once-a-week treatment give your face a herbal steaming first by putting parsley, dill, or any other favorite herb into a pan of boiling water. (Mint is refreshing too.) Hold a towel over your head to keep the steam rising onto your face. The pores will open so that the masque can do a better job. [...] Here are a few "kitchen masques" that work: MAYONNAISE. [...] Since I'm never sure what they put into those jars at the supermarket, I make my own with whole eggs, olive or peanut oil, and lemon juice (Omit the salt and pepper!). Stir this until it's well blended, or whip up a batch in an electric blender. PUREED VEGETABLES - cucumbers, lemons, or lettuce thickened with a little baby powder. PUREED FRUITS - cantaloupe, bananas, or strawberries mixed to a paste with milk or sour cream or honey. A FAMOUS OLD-FASHIONED MIXTURE of oatmeal, warm water, and a little honey blended to a paste.

Well, she would marry a man who didn't need or want her fortune. Mr. Pinter didn't fall into that category. And given how blank his expression became as his gaze met hers, she'd been right to be skeptical. he would never be interested in her in that way. He confirmed it by saying, with his usual formality, "I doubt any man would consider your ladyship unacceptable as a wife." Oh, when he turned all hoity-toity, she could just murder him. "Then we agree that the gentlemen in question would find me satisfactory," she said, matching his cold tone. "So I don't see why you assume they'd be unfaithful." "Some men are unfaithful no matter how beautiful their wives are," Mr. Pinter growled. He thought her beautiful? There she went again, reading too much into his words. He was only making a point. "But you have no reason to believe that these gentleman would be. Unless there's some dark secret you already know about them that I do not?" Glancing away, he muttered a curse under his breath. "No." "Then here's your chance to find out the truth about their characters. Because I prefer facts to opinions. And I was under the impression that you do, too." Take that, Mr. Pinter! Hoist by your own petard. The man always insisted on sticking to the facts. And he was well aware that she'd caught him out, for he scowled, then crossed his arms over his chest. His rather impressive chest, from what she could tell beneath his black coat and plain buff waistcoat. "I can't believe I'm the only person who would object to these gentlemen," he said. "What about your grandmother? Have you consulted her?" She lifted her eyes heavenward. He was being surprisingly resistant to her plans. "I don't need to. Every time one of them asks to dance with me, she beams. She's forever urging me to smile at them or attempt flirtation. And if they so much as press my hand or take my for a stroll, she quizzes me with great glee on what was said and done." "She's been letting you go out on private strolls with these scoundrels?" Mr. Pinter said in sheer outrage. "They aren't scoundrels." "I swear to God, you're a lamb among the wolves," he muttered. That image of her, so unlike how she saw herself, made her laugh. "I've spent half my life in the company of my brothers. Every time Gabe went to shoot, I went with him. At every house party that involved his friends, I was urged to show off my abilities with a rifle. I think I know how to handle a man, Mr. Pinter." His glittering gaze bored into her. "There's a vast difference between gamboling about in your brother's company with a group of his friends and letting a rakehell like Devonmont or a devilish foreigner like Basto stroll alone with you down some dark garden path." A blush heated her cheeks. "I didn't mean strolls of that sort, sir. I meant daytime walks about our gardens and such, with servants in plain view. All perfectly innocent." He snorted. "I doubt it will stay that way." "Oh, for heaven's sake, why are you being so stubborn? You know I must marry. Why do you even care whom I choose?" "I don't care," he protested. "I'm merely thinking of how much of my time will be wasted investigating suitors I already know are unacceptable." She let out an exasperated breath. Of course. With him, it was always about money. Heaven forbid he should waste his time helping her.

You squeeze and crinkle the toothpaste tube even though you know it bothers your spouse. You complain about the dirty dishes instead of putting them in the dishwasher. You fight for your own way in little things, rather than seeing them as an opportunity to serve. You allow yourself to go to bed irritated after a little disagreement. Day after day you leave for work without a moment of tenderness between you. You fight for your view of beauty rather than making your home a visual expression of the tastes of both of you. You allow yourself to do little rude things you would never have done in courtship. You quit asking for forgiveness in the little moments of wrong. You complain about how the other does little things, when it really doesn’t make any difference. You make little decisions without consultation. You quit investing in the friendship intimacy of your marriage. You fight for your own way rather than for unity in little moments of disagreement. You complain about the other’s foibles and weaknesses. You fail to seize those openings to encourage. You quit searching for little avenues for expressing love. You begin to keep a record of little wrongs. You allow yourself to be irritated by what you once appreciated. You quit making sure that every day is punctuated with tenderness before sleep takes you away. You quit regularly expressing appreciation and respect. You allow your physical eyes and the eyes of your heart to wander. You swallow little hurts that you would have once discussed. You begin to turn little requests into regular demands. You quit taking care of yourself. You become willing to live with more silence and distance than you would have when you were approaching marriage. You quit working in those little moments to make your marriage better, and you begin to succumb to what is.

It seems to me that angels and bodhisattvas are everywhere available for consultation if only we can see them clear; they are unadorned, and joyous, and patient, and radiant, and luminous, and not disguised or hidden or filtered in any way whatsoever, so that if you see them clearly, which happens occasionally even to the most blinkered and frightened of us, you realize immediately who they are, beings of great and humble illumination dressed in the skins of new and dewy beings, and you realize, with a catch in your throat, that they are your teachers, and they are agents of an unimaginable love, and they are your cousins and companions in awe, and they are miracles and prayers and songs of inexplicable beauty whom no one can explain and no one own or claim or trammel, and that simply to perceive them is to be blessed beyond the reach of language, and that to be the one appointed to tow them along a beach, or a crowd, or home through the brilliant morning from the muddy hilarious peewee soccer game is to be graced beyond measure or understanding; which is what I was, and I am, and I will be, until the day I die, and change form from this one to another, in ways miraculous and mysterious, never to be plumbed by the mind or measures of man.

Let me return from history and draw my conclusion. What all this means to us at the present time is this: Our system has already passed its flowering. Some time ago it reached that summit of blessedness which the mysterious game of world history sometimes allows to things beautiful and desirable in themselves. We are on the downward slope. Our course may possible stretch out for a very long time, but in any case nothing finer, ore beautiful, and more desirable than what we have already had can henceforth be expected. The road leads downhill. Historically we are, I believe, ripe for dismantling. And there is no doubt that such will be our fate, not today or tomorrow, but the day after tomorrow. I do not draw this conclusion from any excessively moralistic estimate of our accomplishments and our abilities: I draw it far more from the movements which I see already on the way in the outside world. Critical times are approaching; the omens can be sensed everywhere; the world is once again about to shift its center of gravity. Displacements of power are in the offing. They will not take place without war and violence. From the Far East comes a threat not only to peace, but to life and liberty. Even if our country remains politically neutral, even if our whole nation unanimously abides by tradition (which is not the case) and attempts to remain faithful to Castalian ideals, that will be in vain. Some of our representatives in Parliament are already saying that Castalia is a rather expensive luxury for our country. The country may very soon be forced into a serious rearmament - armaments for defensive purposes only, of course - and great economies will be necessary. In spite of the government's benevolent disposition towards us, much of the economizing will strike us directly. We are proud that our Order and the cultural continuity it provides have cost the country as little as they have. In comparison with other ages, especially the early period of the Feuilletonistic Age with its lavishly endowed universities, its innumerable consultants and opulent institutes, this toll is really not large. It is infinitesimal compared with the sums consumed for war and armaments during the Century of Wars. But before too long this kind of armament may once again be the supreme necessity; the generals will again dominate Parliament; and if the people are confronted with the choice of sacrificing Castalia or exposing themselves to the danger of war and destruction, we know how they will choose. Undoubtedly a bellicose ideology will burgeon. The rash of propaganda will affect youth in particular. Then scholars and scholarship, Latin and mathematics, education and culture, will be considered worth their salt only to the extent that they can serve the ends of war.

Once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who was admired by all, but no one dared to ask for her hand in marriage. In despair, the king consulted the god Apollo. He told him that Psyche should be dressed in mourning and left alone on top of a mountain. Before daybreak, a serpent would come to meet and marry her. The king obeyed, and all night the princess waited for her husband to appear, deathly afraid and freezing cold. Finally, she slept. When she awoke, she found herself crowned a queen in a beautiful palace. Every night her husband came to her and they made love, but he had imposed one condition: Psyche could have all she desired, but she had to trust him completely and could never see his face.” How awful, I think, but I don’t dare interrupt him. “The young woman lived happily for a long time. She had comfort, affection, joy, and she was in love with the man who visited her every night. However, occasionally she was afraid that she was married to a hideous serpent. Early one morning, while her husband slept, she lit a lantern and saw Eros, a man of incredible beauty, lying by her side. The light woke him, and seeing that the woman he loved was unable to fulfill his one request, Eros vanished. Desperate to get her lover back, Psyche submitted to a series of tasks given to her by Aphrodite, Eros’s mother. Needless to say, her mother-in-law was incredibly jealous of Psyche’s beauty and she did everything she could to thwart the couple’s reconciliation. In one of the tasks, Psyche opened a box that makes her fall into a deep sleep.” I grow anxious to find out how the story will end. “Eros was also in love and regretted not having been more lenient toward his wife. He managed to enter the castle and wake her with the tip of his arrow. ‘You nearly died because of your curiosity,’ he told her. ‘You sought security in knowledge and destroyed our relationship.’ But in love, nothing is destroyed forever. Imbued with this conviction, they go to Zeus, the god of gods, and beg that their union never be undone. Zeus passionately pleaded the cause of the lovers with strong arguments and threats until he gained Aphrodite’s support. From that day on, Psyche (our unconscious, but logical, side) and Eros (love) were together forever.” I pour another glass of wine. I rest my head on his shoulder. “Those who cannot accept this, and who always try to find an explanation for magical and mysterious human relationships, will miss the best part of life.

If it were any of the other Sharpes, he wouldn’t balk. But the idea of spending serveral hours in her company was both intoxicating and terrifying. “If you don’t let me go along,” she continued, “I’ll just follow you. He scowled at her. She probably would; the woman was as stubborn as she was beautiful. “And don’t think you can outride me, either,” she added. “Halstead Hall has a very good stable, and lady Bell is one of our swiftest mounts.” “Lady Bell?” he said sarcastically. “Not Crack Shot or Pistol?” She glared over at him. “Lady Bell was my favorite doll when I was a girl, the last one Mama gave me before she died. I used to play with it whenever I wanted to remember her. The doll got so ragged that I threw her away when I outgrew her.” Her voice lowered. “I regretted that later, but by then it was too late.” The idea of her playing with a doll to remember her late mother made his throat tighten and his heart falter. “Fine,” he bit out. “You can go with me to High Wycombe.” Surprise turned her cheeks rosy. “Oh, thank you, Jackson! You won’t regret it, I promise you!” “I already regret it,” he grumbled. “And you must do as I say. None of your going off half-cocked, do you hear?” “I never go off half-cocked!” “No, you just walk around with a pistol packed full of powder, thinking you can hold men at bay with it.” She tossed her head. “You’ll never let me forget that, will you?” “Not as long as we both shall live.” The minute the words left his lips, he could have kicked himself. They sounded too much like a vow, one he’d give anything for the right to make. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to have noticed. Instead, she was squirming and shimmying about on her saddle. “Are you all right?” he asked. “I’ve got a burr caught in my stocking that keeps rubbing against my leg. I’m just trying to work it out. Don’t mind me.” His mouth went dry at her mention of stockings. It brought yesterday’s encounter vividly into his mind, how he’d lifted her skirts to reach the smooth expanse of calf encased in silk. How he’d run his hands up her thighs as his mouth had tasted- God save him. He couldn’t be thinking about such things while riding. He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle as they reached the road and settled into a comfortable pace. The road was busy at this early hour. The local farmers were driving their carts to market or town, and laborers were headed for the fields. To Jackson’s relief, that made it easy not to talk. Conversaing with her was bound to be difficult, especially if she started consulting him about her suitors.

In 1950, a thirty-year-old scientist named Rosalind Franklin arrived at King’s College London to study the shape of DNA. She and a graduate student named Raymond Gosling created crystals of DNA, which they bombarded with X-rays. The beams bounced off the crystals and struck photographic film, creating telltale lines, spots, and curves. Other scientists had tried to take pictures of DNA, but no one had created pictures as good as Franklin had. Looking at the pictures, she suspected that DNA was a spiral-shaped molecule—a helix. But Franklin was relentlessly methodical, refusing to indulge in flights of fancy before the hard work of collecting data was done. She kept taking pictures. Two other scientists, Francis Crick and James Watson, did not want to wait. Up in Cambridge, they were toying with metal rods and clamps, searching for plausible arrangements of DNA. Based on hasty notes Watson had written during a talk by Franklin, he and Crick put together a new model. Franklin and her colleagues from King’s paid a visit to Cambridge to inspect it, and she bluntly told Crick and Watson they had gotten the chemistry all wrong. Franklin went on working on her X-ray photographs and growing increasingly unhappy with King’s. The assistant lab chief, Maurice Wilkins, was under the impression that Franklin was hired to work directly for him. She would have none of it, bruising Wilkins’s ego and leaving him to grumble to Crick about “our dark lady.” Eventually a truce was struck, with Wilkins and Franklin working separately on DNA. But Wilkins was still Franklin’s boss, which meant that he got copies of her photographs. In January 1953, he showed one particularly telling image to Watson. Now Watson could immediately see in those images how DNA was shaped. He and Crick also got hold of a summary of Franklin’s unpublished research she wrote up for the Medical Research Council, which guided them further to their solution. Neither bothered to consult Franklin about using her hard-earned pictures. The Cambridge and King’s teams then negotiated a plan to publish a set of papers in Nature on April 25, 1953. Crick and Watson unveiled their model in a paper that grabbed most of the attention. Franklin and Gosling published their X-ray data in another paper, which seemed to readers to be a “me-too” effort. Franklin died of cancer five years later, while Crick, Watson, and Wilkins went on to share the Nobel prize in 1962. In his 1968 book, The Double Helix, Watson would cruelly caricature Franklin as a belligerent, badly dressed woman who couldn’t appreciate what was in her pictures. That bitter fallout is a shame, because these scientists had together discovered something of exceptional beauty. They had found a molecular structure that could make heredity possible.

There is an art to the business of making sandwiches which it is given to few ever to find the time to explore in depth. It is a simple task, but the opportunities for satisfaction are many and profound: choosing the right bread for instance. The Sandwich Maker had spent many months in daily consultation and experiment with Grarp the baker and eventually they had between them created a loaf of exactly the consistency that was dense enough to slice thinly and neatly, while still being light, moist and having that fine nutty flavour which best enhanced the savour of roast Perfectly Normal Beast flesh. There was also the geometry of the slice to be refined: the precise relationships between the width and height of the slice and also its thickness which would give the proper sense of bulk and weight to the finished sandwich: here again, lightness was a virtue, but so too were firmness, generosity and that promise of succulence and savour that is the hallmark of a truly intense sandwich experience. The proper tools, of course, were crucial, and many were the days that the Sandwich Maker, when not engaged with the Baker at his oven, would spend with Strinder the Tool Maker, weighing and balancing knives, taking them to the forge and back again. Suppleness, strength, keenness of edge, length and balance were all enthusiastically debated, theories put forward, tested, refined, and many was the evening when the Sandwich Maker and the Tool Maker could be seen silhouetted against the light of the setting sun and the Tool Maker’s forge making slow sweeping movements through the air trying one knife after another, comparing the weight of this one with the balance of another, the suppleness of a third and the handle binding of a fourth. Three knives altogether were required. First there was the knife for the slicing of the bread: a firm, authoritative blade which imposed a clear and defining will on a loaf. Then there was the butter-spreading knife, which was a whippy little number but still with a firm backbone to it. Early versions had been a little too whippy, but now the combination of flexibility with a core of strength was exactly right to achieve the maximum smoothness and grace of spread. The chief amongst the knives, of course, was the carving knife. This was the knife that would not merely impose its will on the medium through which it moved, as did the bread knife; it must work with it, be guided by the grain of the meat, to achieve slices of the most exquisite consistency and translucency, that would slide away in filmy folds from the main hunk of meat. The Sandwich Maker would then flip each sheet with a smooth flick of the wrist on to the beautifully proportioned lower bread slice, trim it with four deft strokes and then at last perform the magic that the children of the village so longed to gather round and watch with rapt attention and wonder. With just four more dexterous flips of the knife he would assemble the trimmings into a perfectly fitting jigsaw of pieces on top of the primary slice. For every sandwich the size and shape of the trimmings were different, but the Sandwich Maker would always effortlessly and without hesitation assemble them into a pattern which fitted perfectly. A second layer of meat and a second layer of trimmings, and the main act of creation would be accomplished.

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I already understood the beautiful and deeply theological significance of Jesus calling His mother “woman.” But what about the “to Me and to thee”? This was something new. Most modern translations have eliminated the “and to thee” part of the original text and I wondered what it meant. It turned out, after consulting a priest, that Our Lord was not rebuking His mother as so many people think, but instead was asking her if she was prepared to accept all that would occur if He should perform this first public miracle. He asked her, in essence, for her second fiat, to allow Him to take His first step towards Calvary. And without hesitating to take her own heart into account, Our Blessed Mother turns to the servants and tells them to do as Our Lord commands. Mother and Son, bound together, each carrying a cross designed for them, and each accepting fully God’s will and the suffering that comes with it.

I’m not real keen on Nicholas.” “Why not? He’s Zee’s boyfriend.” Zee had hired Nicholas Ackermann as a business consultant last year, then proceeded to fall in love with him.

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The clients who hired Drucker may have started out expecting the great consultant to offer brilliant solutions to all their problems. But as he told one client, “The answers have to be yours.

Let my heart and mind The heart loves, The mind thinks, The heart wants to believe in what it loves, But the mind denies to feel before it thinks, The day brings her forth in beauty’s all possible forms, The night hides her from the eyes desperate to see her, Then the mind creates her in all known and felt forms, While the heart begins to only beat for her, The pulse of life seeks her in everything, While the fear of death scares the mind, But the heart is busy creating her life’s impressions in everything, So that when the mind dies, it loves her with its own mind, But neither the heart nor the mind bother to consult me, For the mind believes what it thinks and the heart believes only what it feels, And my mind constantly thinks of her, my heart only loves to feel her, and ah what a joy they both bring to me, Because only when my heart is loving her, my mind the true pulse of life feels, So I finally get to know the heart in love, My mind that loves to think only her thoughts, And finally I allow my heart to be the heart of love, And my mind the mind of loving thoughts, Her thoughts, her love, her feelings, her everything, Until I lose every sense that defines me, Because now just like my heart, wherever I might be, I only see her in everything, Even her sensation now fills a major part of me, And finally I manage to give all these feelings a name, That always feels and sounds the same, She, her beauty, her feelings and her name, The world around me has not evolved, but it certainly has changed, but her feeling and my love for her remain the same, So my love Irma, let my heart feel you long enough, For it loves beating for you, Let my mind think of you long enough, For I love it, when it only thinks of you!

Let my heart and mind The heart loves, The mind thinks, The heart wants to believe in what it loves, But the mind denies to feel before it thinks, The day brings her forth in beauty’s all possible forms, The night hides her from the eyes desperate to see her, Then the mind creates her in all known and felt forms, While the heart begins to only beat for her, The pulse of life seeks her in everything, While the fear of death scares the mind, But the heart is busy creating her life’s impressions in everything, So that when the mind dies, it loves her with its own mind, But neither the heart nor the mind bother to consult me, For the mind believes what it thinks and the heart believes only what it feels, And my mind constantly thinks of her, my heart only loves to feel her, and ah what a joy they both bring to me, Because only when my heart is loving her, my mind the true pulse of life feels, So I finally get to know the heart in love, My mind that loves to think only her thoughts, And finally I allow my heart to be the heart of love, And my mind the mind of loving thoughts, Her thoughts, her love, her feelings, her everything, Until I lose every sense that defines me, Because now just like my heart, wherever I might be, I only see her in everything, Even her sensation now fills a major part of me, And finally I manage to give all these feelings a name, That always feels and sounds the same, She, her beauty, her feelings and her name, The world around me has not evolved, but certainly has changed, but her feeling and my love for her remain the same, So my love Irma, let my heart feel you long enough, For it loves beating for you, Let my mind think of you long enough, For I love it, when it only thinks of you!

I stopped him with a kiss, my body deciding in the moment to throw itself at him—at this beautiful man who I'd loved for most of my life, and who had stayed to protect me even when I'd told him to go—without bothering to consult my brain.

No writer ever knows enough words but he doesn’t have to try to use all that he does know. Tests would show that I had an enormous vocabulary and through the years it must have grown, but I never had a desire to display it in the way that John Updike or William Buckley or William Safire do to such lovely and often surprising effect. They use words with such spectacular results; I try, not always successfully, to follow the pattern of Ernest Hemingway who achieved a striking style with short familiar words. I want to avoid calling attention to mine, judging them to be most effective as ancillaries to a sentence with a strong syntax. My approach has been more like that of Somerset Maugham, who late in life confessed that when he first thought of becoming a writer he started a small notebook in which he jotted down words that seemed unusually beautiful or exotic, such as chalcedony, for as a novice he believed that good writing consisted of liberally sprinkling his text with such words. But years later, when he was a successful writer, he chanced to review his list and found that he had never used even one of his beautiful collection. Good writing, for most of us, consists of trying to use ordinary words to achieve extraordinary results. I struggle to find the right word and keep always at hand the largest dictionary my workspace can hold, and I do believe I consult it at least six or seven times each working day, for English is a language that can never be mastered.* [*Even though I have studied English for decades I am constantly surprised to find new definitions I have not known: ‘panoply’ meaning ‘a full set of armor’, ‘calendar’ meaning ‘a printed index to a jumbled group of related manuscripts or papers’. —Chapter IX “Intellectual Equipment”, page 306

RAND proved formative. Some of its employees joked that it stood for “Research And No Development,” and its intellectualism was inspiring to the young economist. The think tank’s ethos was to work on problems so hard that they might actually be unsolvable.9 Four days of the week were dedicated to RAND projects, but the fifth was free for freewheeling personal research. Ken Arrow, a famous economist, and John Nash, the game theorist immortalized in the film A Beautiful Mind, both consulted for RAND around the time Sharpe was there. The eclecticism of RAND’s research community is reflected in his first published works, which were a proposal for a smog tax and a review of aircraft compartment design criteria for Army deployments.

WORK MAKES MEN. A university is not merely a place for making scholars, it is a place for making Christians. A farm is not a place for growing corn, it is a place for growing character, and a man has no character except that which is developed by his life and thought. God's Spirit does the building through the acts which a man performs from day to day. A student who cons out every word in his Latin and Greek instead of consulting a translation finds that honesty is translated into his character. If he works out his mathematical problems thoroughly, he not only becomes a mathematician, but becomes a thorough man. It is by constant and conscientious attention to daily duties that thoroughness and conscientiousness and honorableness are imbedded in our beings. Character is

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He walked over to his place, the center of a U-shaped configuration of tables, and set his papers down, pretending to consult them. Instead, he inspected Lily covertly, hoping to detect a weakness, some tiny chink in her armor. Damn her for being more beautiful than ever, he thought. A single glance and he began wanting things he knew were impossible.

It was one of those unspoken truths, like you don’t make a pie for the Wates because it won’t be better than Amma’s; you don’t sit in front of Sissy Honeycutt in church because she talks the whole time right along with the preacher; and you don’t choose the paint color for your house without consulting Mrs. Lincoln, not unless your name happens to be Lila Evers Wate.

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Every great idea has a spark of inspiration. Divine…if the shoe fits. Every great spark of inspiration comes from a remarkably intense passion, love, or desire. It can be out of love for God, a family member, a lover, child, friend, or just out of a desire to be compassionate and help others. It can be an intense passion for music, art, physical comforts, or beauty. It can be from the desire to prove those who hurt, wrong, or doubt them wrong because they themselves are not yet capable of asking questions and chasing dreams which seem so far away. The paradox of any genius or creative virtuoso is that they see one plus one does not equal two and they do not consult the mathematicians to hear what they have to say about this. When the idea or project they desire to create is fueled from a combination of these previously mentioned factors and then ignited by a pure intention of their heart and soul it is more than the sum of its’ parts. It is no longer a song composed of a melody and words or a picture brushed with paint upon an easel. It is a masterpiece with an explanation which can only be hinted or pointed at. Just like the moon can only reflect the light passed on to it by the sun. Personally, a master watch maker is a person I look up to. They lovingly and thoughtfully put immense energy and concentration on putting seemingly small pieces into place that once put into place learn to work on their own in perfect synchronization and harmony. However, this working together of gears and pieces does not happen by itself; It happens because the master had a vision of what he wanted and put in the time, energy, love, and effort to make it happen. The designer didn’t have it materialize right in front of their face instantly. Rather, they had faith it would come together a piece at a time. It’s my mission to find as many of these Masters who don’t run away from their ability to love, be loved, and create. The more we present beauty to those around us, the quicker others will find light within themselves. The more assistance we give to those we know struggling with poverty both inside and externally, the quicker we change this world into what it’s meant to be.

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Don’t you want to know what your father and I discussed?” “No. I mean, not unless you want me to know. I understand that you might want to keep that conversation private.” “Really? That’s very mature of you.” He leaned back on the chaise, closing his eyes, a hint of a smile playing across his lips. “Thank you.” She folded her hands in her lap, not knowing what to say. She couldn’t ask. That wasn’t very ladylike. They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, until she was certain she would go mad with curiosity. “Fine! Yes! Of course, I want to know!” Before the words had left her lips, he had started to laugh. “Nine seconds. That’s how long you could go without asking.” She smiled. “Truly? It felt like much longer. A quarter of an hour at least.” He laughed again, pulling her to him, letting her rest her head on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat beneath her ear, slow and steady. When he spoke, she felt the words as much as she heard them. “We talked about my being in love with you. And about my wanting to court you.” Her heart began to pound. “And what did he say?” “He launched into a remarkably detailed lecture regarding the proper order of events when making this kind of request. Specifically, he thought the father should be consulted before the daughter runs any risk whatsoever of being ruined.” She winced, flushing with embarrassment at the idea that her father thought she might be ruined. She looked up at him and said, “What did you say?” “You have beautiful eyes.” “You told my father that he has beautiful eyes?” He smiled. “No. You distracted me. I told your father that, while I was very grateful for the lesson, I doubted I would ever have need of it again—because I was planning to court only one woman in my lifetime.” Her breath caught. “And what did he say?” “Does it matter?” “Not entirely, no.” “You realize that if you allow me to court you, all your opposition to marriage is going to have to be reconsidered.” She smiled, feigning innocence. “What opposition to marriage?” “Excellent.” “But I am thinking we should have a long courtship.” “Why?” He looked surprised. “Because I find I’ve developed a taste for adventure.” “That sounds dangerous. Not at all in character for a delicate flower.” She laughed. “We know I’ve never been good at being a delicate flower. Besides, it shan’t be too dangerous.” “How can you be so sure?” She smiled brilliantly at him, taking his breath away. “Because, on my next adventure, I’ll have you by my side.” He

When you ask people about the best leader they ever had, one quality is always mentioned: they are good listeners. These leaders have learned to “sort by others.” When someone says, “It’s a beautiful day,” they respond by keeping the focus on the speaker. For example, they’ll respond, “It sounds like you’re pretty happy today.” Poor listeners “sort by self.” If you express a concern you have, they will express a concern they have. Our senior consulting partner, Laurie Hawkins, is a great listener. Clients tell me, “I had the greatest dinner with Laurie recently. He’s a wonderful person.” When I ask what they know about Laurie—whether he’s married or has kids—they seldom know. They loved being with Laurie because he kept the conversation focused on them. Test the power of listening by taking time to truly listen and focus on others.

Language is my favorite tool, so I use it to help people build a bridge between what’s in front of them and what’s inside them. I have learned that if we want to hear the voice of imagination, we must speak to it in the language it understands. If we want to know who we were meant to be before the world told us who to be— If we want to know where we were meant to go before we were put in our place— If we want to taste freedom instead of control— Then we must relearn our soul’s native tongue. When women write to me in the language of indoctrination—when they use words like good and should and right and wrong—I try to speak back to them in the language of imagination. We are all bilingual. We speak the language of indoctrination, but our native tongue is the language of imagination. When we use the language of indoctrination—with its should and shouldn’t, right and wrong, good and bad—we are activating our minds. That’s not what we’re going for here. Because our minds are polluted by our training. In order to get beyond our training, we need to activate our imaginations. Our minds are excuse makers; our imaginations are storytellers. So instead of asking ourselves what’s right or wrong, we must ask ourselves: What is true and beautiful? Then our imagination rises inside us, thanks us for finally consulting it after all these years, and tells us a story.

If you desire to read the scripture in such a manner as may most effectually answer this end, would it not be advisable, 1. To set apart a little time, if you can, every morning and evening for that purpose 2. At each time if you have leisure, to read a chapter out of the Old, and one out of the New Testament: if you cannot do this, to take a single chapter, or a part of one. 3. To read this with a single eye, to know the whole will of God, and a fixt resolution to do it. In order to know his will, you should, 4. Have a constant eye to the analogy of faith; the connexion and harmony there is between those grand, fundamental doctrines, Original Sin, Justification by Faith, the New Birth, Inward and Outward Holiness. 5. Serious and earnest prayer should be constantly used, before we consult the oracles

How to Choose a Wedding Planner? – Nova DJs Sydney Are you interested in hiring a wedding planner? Then it’s time to choose the best fit for your party, and I’m saying it’s a complicated task. It’s not just hiring the first company with a beautiful website and beautiful pictures on the Internet. After all, it’s easy to do. Organizing a perfect wedding is hard! But follow our tips and choose the ideal wedding advice! Salient Feature: The ideal mentor should be a cheerful person, someone charming, who leaves you to give ideas and talk freely about the great day. You have to be a friend, be someone you trust. Imagine, it would be months of organizing, holding meetings, and planning the details together. At least a trace of sympathy is required. It should also be organized and committed to its work. Knowledge should be comprehensive with knowledge in various areas of wedding, such as sound, lighting, wedding dresses, buffet, etc., everything to quickly identify what is best for your wedding. Choose Based on Opinion The Internet is an inexhaustible source of information. And when it comes to finding out the truth about suppliers, this is the best place. View testimonials from the bride and groom who have already used the planner to find out their impressions and results. Take recommendations and avoid people who have a lot of complaints. Marriage History Check out the types of weddings the planner has helped put together. Do they fit what you want? For example, if you dream of a rustic wedding, hiring a consultant who does many luxurious weddings will not combine much and delay the process of organizing the wedding. When the planner is familiar with his style, finding the best suppliers is much faster and more effective. Trust the Planner As we say, the planner is the one you should trust and feel comfortable with while organizing the wedding. This is a person who has come to add and help, not a foot behind your opinion. Trust the professional with all your heart, that everything will be perfect! Be Concerned with 100% Preparation While some people don’t trust, others can imagine too much! What could never happen! The planner is the wedding assistant, not the one who has to do it all by himself. Stay on top of whatever you are doing. work together with him. Together, you will conquer the dream! Beware of Cheap Options You always have one company which is much cheaper than others. But as the saying goes, “You get what you paid for.” Instead of charging you the rate, the consultant may include the amount in the suppliers’ budget, making everything a little more expensive than the others and making the expense practically the same. so watch out! Remember the hint of the opinion of the bride and groom wedding planner for a destination wedding For those who are going to get married outside the city or country, it is important to have a consultant. However, he or she should know at least a little bit about the place where you intend to get married in order to accommodate the culture of the place to the style of wedding you expect. Knowledge of suppliers, in this case, will be a significant advantage for you in ensuring that everything goes according to plan. Check here for some references for the best wedding vendors and Wedding DJs in NSW, Australia.

Common Behavioural Problems in Children Raising a child is both beautiful and challenging. Raising a difficult child, on the other hand, can be life-disrupting. Being able to tell whether your child is going through a phase or if there’s an underlying issue is not easy. According to Dr Monika Chhajed, MBBS, Fellowship Paediatric Neurology and Epilepsy, DCH, DNB, Consultant- Paediatric Neurologist a child showing a tantrum does not necessarily mean a disorder. With too much information around, the doctor advised to keep labels to a minimum. If, however, you feel that your child’s behaviour is not normal, you can visit a top paediatrician in Chandigarh.

Around the center leader Muktesh Thomas Forsberg and Jivan Kavya Eva Wells at the Osho meditation Center in Stockholm have gathered people, who systematically have used their positions at the center for power abuses. By using lies and vicious gossip as a means of expressing aggressiveness  ,these people have systematically committed abuse of power and trying to dominate people.These people express envy, condemnation and domination through lies and gross slenderness. It is really the ego that wants to condemn and control.  But these women think that they are aware, but they are really just ignorant, which is the blindness of the ego.When I visited the center, which I had not visited for almost 15 years, I was met by the therapist Moa Bergmark, who told me: "You know that this is a dysfunctional group. But when I began to confront the lies and vicious rumors about me and the dysfunctional structure of the center, Moa Bergmark was suddenly very quiet. This made it obvious that Bergmark was actually a part of the collective unconscious of the dysfunctional group. When Teresa, the center leader who was appointed by Osho himself, invited me to work with therapy- and meditation courses together with her, I felt joy and support  from Teresa. But when Teresa left the center and Muktesh Thomas Forsberg became the center leader, the joy and support disappeared, and I felt that he was just trying to control me.Anutosh Malin William-Olsson, one of the current gossip mongers at the Osho center in Stockholm heard a private conversation between me and my friend Eric Rolf, former consultant to John Lennon, during the eighties, which she had nothing to do with and which she did not understand, but she used this  to spread a lie and a gross negative slender negative rumors about me. Pradeepa Eva Tallqvist, one of the other gossip mongers said: "Giten has suchan integrity" and I thought: "Do these people have any integrity at all." Anubhuti Cecelia Lind commented on two of my students by saying in a  negative way: "Here come the disciples of Giten." Premleena Lena Wettergran told Vanya Pernilla Mårtens that she had done a course with me and said: "It is good that we have someone like Giten in Sweden", which Vanya also turned into something negative and said that I was nothing compared to the visiting therapists. It was Premleena who told me this, but when Premleena got entangled in the involved the dysfunctional structure and the collective unconscious of the center she did not even say hello to me any longer. The center leader Muktesh also joined in with the old woman and confirmed the gross and negative slender by saying: "Giten is so stubborn." My former girlfriend Marga told me that Anna Ganga Hoffman was spreading lies and gross slenderabout me at the Osho center in Stockholm. Marga had been sitting together with Hoffman and the other gossip mongers at the center,and when Hoffman realized that Marga was sitting there, she wanted Marga to confirm  her lies. Marga knew that these were just vicious lies, but she remained quiet because she did not have the courage to confront Hoffman and the gossip mongers at the Osho center in Stockholm  about their sick lies and gross slender. Prem Pathik in Nepal commented: "This must be a few people, who are really not living their lives as they like. These women who are searching  for a deeper space can never know you." It was also these people that my friend, Eric Rolf ,former consultant to John Lennon, met at the Osho center  in Stockholm, and she commented:  "I have been around, but these people just wanted to  control me. I did not enjoy it so much." I wrote a letter to Osho himself about the situation and the reply I receivws was: "humor is the highest state of consciousness.

Simon Doiban is a name that is synonymous with the beauty industry. As a serial entrepreneur, Doiban has made a name for himself by launching and scaling successful beauty businesses. From his early beginnings in the industry to his current role as a beauty industry advisor, Doiban has demonstrated an innovative and entrepreneurial spirit that has enabled him to succeed in a highly competitive market. Doiban’s journey in Miami in the beauty industry began when he launched his first beauty startup, a Beauty Spa with updated technology. The startup was an instant hit and quickly gained a large following. However, Doiban was not content with just one successful business. He went on to launch several other beauty startups, each one building on the success of the previous one. Following the example of the first business, he launch a second location of the Beauty Spa in one of the most concurrent zones in Miami, Brickell City Center. This marked the beginning of Doiban’s career as a serial entrepreneur in the beauty industry in Miami Area. Over the years, Doiban has launched and scaled several other beauty startups, each one building on the success of the previous one. His latest venture is a beauty consulting academy. The company has been praised for its innovative approach to beauty and has already gained a large following. Doiban’s success in the beauty industry can be attributed to his entrepreneurial spirit and his willingness to take risks. He has a deep understanding of the beauty market and has been able to identify gaps in the market that he can fill with his innovative products and services. He has also been able to build a loyal following of customers who trust his brand and appreciate the high-quality products that he provides. In conclusion, Simon Doiban is a serial entrepreneur who has made a name for himself in the beauty industry. His innovative and entrepreneurial spirit has enabled him to launch and scale successful beauty businesses, and his latest venture is set to revolutionize the beauty industry even further. As the beauty industry continues to evolve, it will be exciting to see what Doiban has in store for us next.

First, the HMC dentist illegitimately extracted my solid and correct teeth without asking, and HMC dismissed my complaint. I wanted implants, but the dental surgeon turned them down. I became worried and went to another Haga hospital, where the fact appeared different, and implants remained impossible; the dental surgeon advised me to extract all my healthy teeth and try dentures instead of implants. Such a medical Mafia continued to cause me to suffer from it; before such victimization, such ones were responsible for spreading cancer in my body that brought me close to death, and this series stayed continued. I consulted a local private dentist and then from Turkey and Pakistan. As a result, I have professionally beautiful teeth, all with a crown like real ones that were impossible by the Dutch dental Mafia. I cannot understand where such a Mafia gained its license from. Why do the Dutch media and the government keep closing their eyes? There are several medical means of victimization that I have been dealing with for many years since the diagnosis of metastatic prostate cancer, which urologists also ignored deliberately. I also often question myself when I read this; "While a hemoglobin count slightly below the normal range can cause mild symptoms, it's unlikely to have a fatal outcome. Hemoglobin levels have to be severely low to be life-threatening. According to the NIH, a hemoglobin level below 6.5 g/dL is life-threatening and can cause death." - Dutch doctors did not care for it, while most of the time, I suffered from it, and still suffering from it.

1 am green. A lotus flower in full-bloom residing in the lushness of the heart. Reaching, embracing, nourishing all in need. Fragile as the morning dew, as expansive as the depth offragrant forests. Ultimate unconditional acceptance, like the Mother Earth's love for her children. I am blue. Calm and cool, a reflection in a mirrored pond. Diamond stars married to the nighttime sky. The ocean waves curling back to their source. Kind, compassionate words serving as our guide, teacher, and mentor. Father Sky carries truth in the celestial music of his voice. I am purple. The richness of velvet and the elegance of silk. Diamonds of intuition embedded in the space of all-knowingness. Imagination running through the vastness of the dreamscape, playing in afield of swaying lavender, swirling in the energy of dimensions. Insight radiates softly into the mind's eye. I am white. Living within us like the innocence of a child. Sitting quietly, still with peace and patience, ready to serve. Every sparkling, dazzling particle on our planet shining forth universal light. The phenomenal beauty of pure Spirit. I am many colors. NOTE TO READERS This book is intended as an informational guide and is not meant to treat, diagnose, or prescribe. For any medical condition, physical conditions, or symptoms, always consult with a qualified physician or appropriate health care professional. Neither the author nor the publisher accepts any responsibility for your health or how you choose to use the information contained in this book. Names and identifying details have

Drucker “understood that his job wasn’t to serve up answers,” according to Wartzman. Drucker once remarked that his greatest strength was “to be ignorant and ask a few questions.” Often those questions were deceptively simple, as in Who is your customer? What business are you in? The clients who hired Drucker may have started out expecting the great consultant to offer brilliant solutions to all their problems. But as he told one client, “The answers have to be yours.

Right/Wrong Things To Say To A Client About Hair and Makeup Don’t Say… Your hair and makeup say you’re trying too hard to look young. Do Say… Keys to beauty are finding the styles that work best for you now. Could we take a look at an idea book? When you look at your face we have internal and external lines. Let me show you how we can work on this to your advantage.

The fact is, your creative potential is unrealized without execution. You love Apple products not only because they’re beautiful, you love them because they work really well. You love your favorite restaurant not only because the food is great, but because it’s consistently great.

The beauty, quality, and deeply personal nature of Chapman’s music, which had clearly resonated with so many early listeners in Boston, did so in exactly the same way with a large national audience. While she didn’t fit into any clear category, the fact that she was different and had manifested a deeply personal message resonated powerfully with the world. Chapman was recently asked what advice she might have given herself when she was starting out, and she responded, “It really is okay to be yourself.... If you are living a life that feels right to you, if you’re willing to take creative chances or a creative path that feels like it’s mostly in keeping with your sensibilities, you know, aesthetic and artistic, then that’s what matters.

While the arrival alone was magnificent, it wasn’t until I entered the lobby that I was swept away: fifty-foot ceilings, a straight-shot visual hundreds of feet from the entrance to the rear orchard, and charming vignettes of whimsical seating and social areas throughout. The beauty was unmistakable, and the energy was so real you could almost drink it. Every step I took built on the drama of the experience. By the time I exited the lobby and stepped into the orchard, I felt changed, as if my appreciation for what the imagination could manifest had been heightened. I didn’t say a word for ten minutes after I walked outside. I just smiled, completely satisfied by what I had just consumed.

One would think he was going to have his throat cut," said the Controller, as the door closed. "Whereas, if he had the smallest sense, he'd understand that his punishment is really a reward. He's being sent to an island. That's to say, he's being sent to a place where he'll meet the most interesting set of men and women to be found anywhere in the world. All the people who, for one reason or another, have got too self-consciously individual to fit into community-life. All the people who aren't satisfied with orthodoxy, who've got independent ideas of their own. Every one, in a word, who's any one. I almost envy you, Mr. Watson." Helmholtz laughed. "Then why aren't you on an island yourself?" "Because, finally, I preferred this," the Controller answered. "I was given the choice: to be sent to an island, where I could have got on with my pure science, or to be taken on to the Controllers' Council with the prospect of succeeding in due course to an actual Controllership. I chose this and let the science go." After a little silence, "Sometimes," he added, "I rather regret the science. Happiness is a hard master–particularly other people's happiness. A much harder master, if one isn't conditioned to accept it unquestioningly, than truth." He sighed, fell silent again, then continued in a brisker tone, "Well, duty's duty. One can't consult one's own preference. I'm interested in truth, I like science. But truth's a menace, science is a public danger. As dangerous as it's been beneficent. It has given us the stablest equilibrium in history. China's was hopelessly insecure by comparison; even the primitive matriarchies weren't steadier than we are. Thanks, l repeat, to science. But we can't allow science to undo its own good work. That's why we so carefully limit the scope of its researches–that's why I almost got sent to an island. We don't allow it to deal with any but the most immediate problems of the moment. All other enquiries are most sedulously discouraged. It's curious," he went on after a little pause, "to read what people in the time of Our Ford used to write about scientific progress. They seemed to have imagined that it could be allowed to go on indefinitely, regardless of everything else. Knowledge was the highest good, truth the supreme value; all the rest was secondary and subordinate. True, ideas were beginning to change even then. Our Ford himself did a great deal to shift the emphasis from truth and beauty to comfort and happiness. Mass production demanded the shift. Universal happiness keeps the wheels steadily turning; truth and beauty can't. And, of course, whenever the masses seized political power, then it was happiness rather than truth and beauty that mattered. Still, in spite of everything, unrestricted scientific research was still permitted. People still went on talking about truth and beauty as though they were the sovereign goods. Right up to the time of the Nine Years' War. That made them change their tune all right. What's the point of truth or beauty or knowledge when the anthrax bombs are popping all around you? That was when science first began to be controlled–after the Nine Years' War. People were ready to have even their appetites controlled then. Anything for a quiet life. We've gone on controlling ever since. It hasn't been very good for truth, of course. But it's been very good for happiness. One can't have something for nothing. Happiness has got to be paid for. You're paying for it, Mr. Watson–paying because you happen to be too much interested in beauty. I was too much interested in truth; I paid too.

We need other women who know what it feels like to split into a thousand pieces as they give small pieces of themselves to their family, their job, their friends, and their neighbors, women who see our suffering and resist the natural impulse to shrink away, who meet it instead with an ear, a shoulder, an embrace, a meal. Women to teach us to stop apologizing for what we are not sorry for and to love ourselves enough to say no. Women who have taken their bodies back and learned to love the soft places. Women whose scars and stretch marks map a story of survival and strength for them to consult whenever they are feeling lost. And we need the women who create: babies or art or sustenance or beauty or words, worship, a testament of our feminine belief that yes, still, even now, the world is worth making better. Women who carry themselves and their babies through a world that still sometimes scares them with heads held high and shoulders back because they are the truest kind of warriors, those who are afraid and do it anyway.

When it was over, no one clapped or said a word. It seemed as if those sweet notes were still drifting around the room. “That was lovely, Sayeh. Thank you for sharing your beautiful voice with us,” Mrs. Brisbane said. I wish she’d speak that way to me someday. Nice. Encouraging. Friendly. Anyway, the tricks continued. And after A.J. told a few riddles, Mrs. Brisbane looked around the circle and said, “Did I miss anyone?” This was the moment I’d been waiting for. No one had noticed, but the night before, I had sneaked one of Aldo’s white dusting cloths into my sleeping hut. I had to act quickly. I pulled out the cloth and crawled under so it completely covered me. Then I stood up and began to shout like I’d never shouted before. “Trick or squeak!” I cried. “Trick or squeak!” Miranda noticed first. “Look!” she yelled. “It’s Humphrey!” I wish I could have seen the faces of my classmates, but it was DARK-DARK-DARK under the cloth. I could hear them, though. First there were gasps, then giggles, then shouts of “Look!” and “Humphrey’s a ghost!” I continued to squeak my heart out until I heard Mrs. Brisbane’s firm footsteps coming toward my cage. “Who did this?” she asked. “Who put that on Humphrey?” No one answered, of course. Not even me. “He could suffocate under that,” she said. “But he looks so cute,” Heidi called out. Mrs. Brisbane didn’t answer. She just said, “Will someone please uncover him?” Golden-Miranda opened the cage door and whisked the cloth away. “Humphrey, you are a riot,” she said. Only a riot? Let’s be honest here: I was a smash hit! Then the room mothers served up cupcakes with orange icing and cups of apple juice, and my classmates played games. Just before the bell rang, Mrs. Brisbane clapped her hands and made an announcement. “Mrs. Hopper and Mrs. Patel and I have consulted

I like to envision sitting by a beautiful stream, watching the water glide soothingly over rounded stones as I watch it pass by me believing it is directed by Gods hands to wash away our pain and grief. Sad events and memories should be soothed in such a way, as they are [in many cases] too much for us to withstand alone.” ― Marisa H. Anderson, Intuitive Consultant, Lecturer

. “And I came to know about the mistress. Andrea Darius. I met her for the first time before we were married. Beautiful woman, so beautiful. Smart, classy, very high-society type. She looked kind of like Katherine Heigl—that stately, confident, above-it-all look. I’d suspected from the first time I met her. There was something in the way she looked at him, it was just there. She was an image consultant, a public relations expert who specialized in the financial sector. Lenders and investors are constantly scrutinized, especially private companies and hedge fund managers. But that was just a front. That was one of the first issues I faced when I looked the other way. I made excuses to make my existence more acceptable in my own eyes.” She laughed hollowly. “While I’m a leper in Manhattan, Andrea is still a prominent figure in New York society. There’s been speculation that she’s a high-priced prostitute or even madam. Who knows? Who cares?

Today in El Paso all the planes are asleep on the runway. The world is in a delay. All the political consultants drinking whiskey keep their heads down, lifting them only to look at the beautiful scarred waitress who wears typewriter keys as a necklace. They jingle when she brings them drinks. Outside the giant plate glass windows the planes are completely covered in snow, it piles up on the wings. I feel like a mountain of cell phone chargers. Each of the various faiths of our various fathers keeps us only partly protected. I don’t want to talk on the phone to an angel. At night before I go to sleep I am already dreaming. Of coffee, of ancient generals, of the faces of statues each of which has the eternal expression of one of my feelings. I examine my feelings without feeling anything. I ride my blue bike on the edge of the desert. I am president of this glass of water.

데이트 작업용 로히프놀 문의 카톡【AKR331】텔레【RDH705】라인【SPR331】위커【SPR705】 로히프놀구입 로히프놀판매 로히프놀 가격 로히프놀 사용방법 로히프놀 복용량 The advice of the poor is not well received. Cervantes 좋은 수박을 얻으려거든 일단 좋은땅부터 찾으세요 제품구입도 마찬가지가 아닐까요 믿고 주문해주시는것만큼은 저희도 그에대한 보답을 해드리겠습니다 제품은 품질 효과가 제일중요합니다 수익금은 작을지라도 고객님들께 만족과 행복감을 드리면서 한분의 구매자분이라도 단골분으로 모셔셔 안전하고 깔끔한장기간거래 원합니다 클릭해주셔셔 감사하구요 24시간 언제든지문의주세요 Trees that are well-branched and supported by pedestals grow well, but trees that are left alone grow randomly. The same is true of men, and those who hear and correct what others point out for their own faults develop as much. -Confucius When I hear the word of grief, I think that I immediately disobey me, but if I put up with it, it becomes a long blessing to my country. Han Visa To give sound advice, we must be great. But in order to accept the advice gracefully, you must be greater. McCorley I learned four sayings in my life. Never speak words that harm others. Do not give advice that no one accepts. Do not complain. Do not explain. -R.F. Scott When a tree follows the food line, it is straightened; when a man accepts impulse, it becomes holy. -Confucius When we are reluctant, we tend to be so violent that we give advice that is difficult for even ourselves. William Penn Those who do not listen to the advice of others are foolish, impossible to save. Gracia Take the advice of others. But don't give advice or say too often to your superiors or friends. -Confucius Good horses also need a whip. Sage needs advice too. Even a beautiful and witty woman can't make a room without a man. Jewish proverbs If a person makes a mistake, slow him down and point out his mistake. If you can't do that, scold yourself, or don't even scold yourself. Aurelius Many are advised, but only the wise see the virtues of advice. Publyrius Syrus Fools sometimes give good advice. -Gelius I didn't ask, but it's like spitting on one's face. Bong-woo's dory should be advised and corrected if a friend misbehaves. But if you do not accept the advice, you must stop. If you are bothered too much, you will dishonor yourself. Confucius said. Elementary School 'Spigot' and 'compassion' are two good advisers. The former makes laughter and loves life, while the latter makes tears and sacred life. Anatole France The greatest trust in man-to-person contact is the trust that gives and receives advice. -bacon Those who can love think very carefully about giving advice. When people come to consult with themselves on matters, they seem to be seeking some advice, but they are more likely to be grateful because they have listened to them. Because he helped him to pick up the problem that was buried inside, the problem became clear and he could come to some conclusions on his own. Those who listen well to others give advice. Alan Roy McGuinness No matter how good your advice is, do not follow any advice until you are sure you need it. -David Sibery Be honest and honest in your advice. -Cicero Do not speak long in any advice. Horatius Do not give advice before being asked. Erasmus Advice is like snow. It stays long when it comes down gently. And it g

Should You Eat Dal Rice / Khichdi? Here's Why Research Now Backs This Protein Mix That Aids Weight Loss And Gut Health. Did you know dal rice is a dish with complete amino acid profile? Read here to know more benefits of this humble dish. 1. While dal and rice individually lack a few essential amino acids, the combination of the two make for a complete amino acid profile. Rice contains cysteine and methionine, both of which are lacking in lentils. Similarly, lentils contain lysine, the amino acid which grains lack. 2. The joy of eating dal rice is best with a lip-smacking tadka of ghee on it. Not only will ghee make the dish more delicious, it will also help you absorb all nutrients from dal rice and from spices like turmeric and cumin. However, you need to watch for the amount of ghee you use. Celebrity nutritionist Rujuta Diwekar says that you should add as much ghee to your food that enhances (and not kills) the original taste of it. 3. The beauty of dal rice and khichdi is that this simple dish can be prepared in unique ways. To make it more wholesome and nutritious, you can add a variety of lentils and grains (in your khichdi). And for the tadka, numerous spices can be added. Hing and jeera, for instance, are commonly added to dal and even khichdi. The two ingredients impart an earthy flavour to the dish and are excellent for digestion at the same time. 4. Turmeric is another essential ingredient in both dal rice and khichdi. This golden spice has numerous health benefits. Read here to know all about them. 5. Dal rice is high in fibre and antioxidants. You are likely to get Vitamin A, D, E and K all at once by eating this very easy-to-prepare staple Indian dish. It is one dish which can aid digestion, improve your metabolism, reduce inflammation in the body, promote weight loss and build immunity. * Subject to calorie controlled use for Weight Management.* Contact Sunrise Nutrition Hub 9820055036 Email: indar.rajani@gmail.com Address: Shop No 1&2, Bayview, Near Fortis Hospital, Opp Swamnarayan Kendra, Sector 10'A, Vashi, - 400703

The most important thing business leaders must do today is to be the ‘chief question-asker’ for their organization,” says the consultant Dev Patnaik of Jump Associates. However, Patnaik adds a cautionary note: “The first thing most leaders need to realize is, they’re really bad at asking questions.

Maintain Your Driveway for Long Term There are certain points that we should take into consideration if we want to increase the life of our driveways. First of all make sure that they are constructed with waterproof material and are properly sealed with quality products. Sealing is mandatory as it protects the driveway from chemicals, rusts, harsh and fluctuating weathers or any other uncalled for conditions and damaging products. If there is even a single opening then that can be a call for immediate attention and it should be immediately restored. It has been observed that improper drain system and severe temperature fluctuations are the main reasons for gaps and fractures to occur in driveways in Hexham and Durham. But this will not be the case with Driveways Newcastle as special care is taken while constructing them. It is highly recommended that heavy vehicles be kept away from the driveways because they do not have the capacity to hold such big automobiles and plus the driveways are not only meant to be parking zones. Vehicles like, trucks and cranes can instantly ruin the look of the driveways by spoiling their structure. Next thing to keep in mind is that you keep pulling out the weeds or the shrubs that tend to grow near your driveway. Even they have the tendency of harming your driveway by loosening the blocks. This will increase the longevity of your patio or the driveway. To clean the driveway of the oil stains, you can make use of foaming water or wire brush. Never use any type of chemical for cleaning purpose; it will damage your driveways. Driveways in Newcastle and near around areas have driveways Newcastle and driveways Sunderlands and they are very sturdy and durable compared to other driveways but nevertheless, even they have to be looked after with proper maintenance at regular level. The popularity of imprinted concrete driveways has suddenly surged because of their stylish look and durability. They are much in demand in Hexham and Durham for construction of patios, pathways, garden walls, etc. To decide on which driveway to construct you need to have a basic understanding of driveways and rest you can always consult a professional company who will advise you to the best as well as construct your driveways. It is recommended that these professionals be thoroughly knowledgeable and highly experienced. You will find many such companies if you search on the internet which have exceptional experience and an urge to provide you with beautiful driveways and patios.

She is often dismissed as being as shallow as the Hollywood beauties who lay claim to intellectual substance by embracing causes about which they know nothing more than what image consultants tell them.

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