Boys Motivational Quotes

But one of the worst results of being a slave and being forced to do things is that when there is no one to force you any more you find you have almost lost the power of forcing yourself.

A mother gives you a life, a mother-in-law gives you her life.

The job of feets is walking, but their hobby is dancing.

Dreams dress us carefully in the colors of power and faith.

It's faith that will take you through and determination that will drive you.

Death, I've dreamed of it, I've desired it, but what real happiness can come from it?

When you pray and hope for a change. Don't expect a change to come. Expect the opportunity for a change to come.

The destructive effects of video games are not on boys' cognitive abilities or their reaction times, but on there motivation and their connectedness with the real world.

Dear Young Black Males, Encourage yourself, believe in yourself, and love yourself. Never doubt who you are. Always believe in yourself, even if nobody else does. Strive to be self-motivated!

Tell you what." I closed the blade with a satisfying snick. "Remember that time you tried to kill me because I wouldn't open a gate to hell?" "The memory's a bit fuzzy..." I opened the knife again. "Yes, now that you mention it, I do recall something like that happening, although my motivation was certainly never to kill you. Can't you view it as me inspiring you to figure out how to use the Paths? I didn't actually want you to die.

Everything which made Abraham Lincoln the loved and honored man he was, it is in the power of the humblest American boy to imitate.

The destructive effects of video games are not on boys' cognitive abilities or their reaction times, but on their motivation and their connectedness with the real world.

Men have selfish motivation, want, and desire tainting their vision; little girls have dreams, ambition, and honesty turning theirs crystal clear

say she had nefarious motives.” Davis looked over at Jack with a bemused grin. “Nefarious. This is what we get when we hire a Yale boy.” “You missed sacrosanct earlier. And taciturn and glowering,” Jack said. “What’s glowering?” “Me, apparently.

We're all made the same but then born to change. Which then don't make us the same.

If a monster says hello to you, you should say hello to it. If you don’t, then I have to wonder which one of you is really the monster.

How to be jolly even when times are bad 1. Eat more gingerbread, chocolate, jam and cake. 2. Say the word ‘Christmas’. 3. Give someone a present. Like a toy, or a book, or a kind word, or a big hug. 4. Laugh, even if there is nothing to laugh about. Especially then. 5. Think of a happy memory. Or a happy future. 6. Wear something red. 7. Believe. (extract from How to Be Jolly: The Father Christmas Guide to Happiness)

Once, Gansey had overhead his father saying, Why in the world did he even want that car? and his mother replying, Oh, I know why. One day he would find an opportunity to bring up that conversation with her, because he wanted to know why she thought he had bought it. Analyzing what motivated him to put up with the Camaro made Gansey feel unsettled, but he knew it had something to do with how sitting in this perfectly restored Peugeot made him feel. A car was a wrapper for its contents, he thought, and if he looked on the inside like any of the cars in this garage looked on the outside, he couldn’t live with himself. On the outside, he knew he looked a lot like his father. On the inside, he sort of wished he looked more like the Camaro. Which was to say, more like Adam.

Will I fail or will I succeed and accomplish the unexpected?

People are straightforward enough, on the whole, till one starts to look for crooked motives, and then, oh boy, how crooked can they be!

We were made from stardust, like everything in the universe, and we - each of us - carried a power inside us. A power that couldn't be destroyed anymore than the universe could be destroyed.

Dear Fathers of the Fatherless Children, Sadly, there are a lot of little boys in the world today, taking on your role to help support their mother put food on the table, pay bills, etc. You say to yourself, I do not care and I do not want to know. You should care. You should want to know; because that little boy is a part of you.

We've also evolved the ability to simply 'pay it forward': I help you, somebody else will help me. I remember hearing a parable when I was younger, about a father who lifts his young son onto his back to carry him across a flooding river. 'When I am older,' said the boy to his father, 'I will carry you across this river as you now do for me.' 'No, you won't,' said the father stoically. 'When you are older you will have your own concerns. All I expect is that one day you will carry your own son across this river as I no do for you.' Cultivating this attitude is an important part of Humanism--to realize that life without God can be much more than a series of strict tit-for-tat transactions where you pay me and I pay you back. Learning to pay it forward can add a tremendous sense of meaning and dignity to our lives. Simply put, it feels good to give to others, whether we get back or not.

When I was a boy of seven or eight I read a novel untitled "Abafi" — The Son of Aba — a Servian translation from the Hungarian of Josika, a writer of renown. The lessons it teaches are much like those of "Ben Hur," and in this respect it might be viewed as anticipatory of the work of Wallace. The possibilities of will-power and self-control appealed tremendously to my vivid imagination, and I began to discipline myself. Had I a sweet cake or a juicy apple which I was dying to eat I would give it to another boy and go through the tortures of Tantalus, pained but satisfied. Had I some difficult task before me which was exhausting I would attack it again and again until it was done. So I practiced day by day from morning till night. At first it called for a vigorous mental effort directed against disposition and desire, but as years went by the conflict lessened and finally my will and wish became identical.

I've been through hell in this life, yet risen up and survived. I felt pity after heard that boy's preaching about motivation.

That’s the problem with boys: They tend to help you only ’cause they fancy you, but there’s no unembarrassing way to find out their real motives till it’s too late.

And most of us feel powerless. Motivated but powerless. Entertained but powerless. Informed but powerless. Fleetingly content, most of the time broke, sometimes hopeful, but ultimately powerless. And angry. Don't forget angry.

Now there was some motivation to get over this problem quickly. Chloe was a notorious betty.On the rare occasion when she graced the slopes with her prescence, boys zoomed toward her because she was so cute in her pink snowsuit,then zoomed away again as she lost control and threatened to crash into them. She'd made the local snowboarding news a few years ago when she lost control at the bottom of the main run, boarded right through the open door of the ski lodge,skidded to a stop at the entrance to the cafe,and asked for a table for one.

[T]he more we do this, the more I learn about what I think Chains was really training us for. And this is it. He wasn't training us for a calm and orderly world where we could pick and choose when we need to be clever. He was training us for a situation that was fucked up on all sides. Well, we're in it, and I say we're equal to it. I don't need to be reminded that we're up to our heads in dark water. I just want you boys to remember that we're the gods-damned sharks." "Right on," cried Bug. "I knew there was a reason I let you lead this gang!

He has me pinned on my back in record time, his mouth crashing against mine as we frantically devour one another. “Awesome speech,” he murmurs, pushing my sweater up and planting his hot mouth against my equally hot skin. “Very motivational.

It's a simple choice! We can all be good boys and wear our letter sweaters around and get our little degrees and find some nice girl to settle, you know, down with... Take up what a friend of ours calls the hearty challenges of lawn care... Or we can blaze! Become legends in our own time, strike fear in the hearts of mediocre talent everywhere! We can scald dogs, put records out of reach! Make the stands gasp as we blow into an unearthly kick from three hundred yards out! We can become God's own messengers delivering the dreaded scrolls! We can race satan himslef till he wheezes fiery cinders down the back straight away... They'll speak our names in hushed tones, 'those guys are animals' they'll say! We can lay it on the line, bust a guy, show them a clean pair of heels. We can sprint the turn on a spring breeze and feel the winter leave our feet! We can, by god, let out demons loose and just wail on!

The real strength of a man is not in the size of his muscles, but in the size of his heart.

Even if you can’t see any proof right now, you must believe. Sometimes, you must believe first before you can see!

Typical of you father, more worried about the common man than your son.", said Ranga. "We are also the common man, son.", replied Vediyya

Never forget where you started even if you become a king.

Only if you work as hard as you can, and more, Chinnaya. Only if you work your hardest.

There is something about yourself that you don't know. Something that you will deny even exists until it's too late to do anything about it. It's the only reason you get up in the morning, the only reason you suffer the shitty boss, the blood, the sweat and the tears. This is because you want people to know how good, attractive, generous, funny, wild and clever you really are. "Fear or revere me, but please think I'm special." We share an addiction. We're approval junkies. We're all in it for the slap on the back and the gold watch. The "hip, hip, hoo-fucking-rah." Look at the clever boy with the badge, polishing his trophy. Shine on, you crazy diamond. Cos we're just monkeys wrapped in suits, begging for the approval of others.

It happened to me just this year with a beautiful boy I started hanging out with. Call me a hormonal teenager if you want, but evidently I haven’t grown out of this experience. His name, his voice, his face, his laugh - anything was enough to make my heart start beating faster. It’s the spark.

We all have received the divine injunction: ‘Follow thou me.’ It guided Peter. It motivated Paul. It can determine our personal destiny. Can we make the decision to follow in righteousness and truth the Redeemer of the world? With his help, a rebellious boy can become an obedient man, a wayward girl can cast aside the old self and begin anew. Indeed, the gospel of Jesus Christ can change lives.

As parents we carry the blueprints, the dreams of what our family could be. The plans change, the whole thing goes way over budget, there are unexpected additions, and the work never ends. Still, through the messiness of construction we see each other with such depth and hope. Our five year-old boy is still so clearly the baby he once was and sometimes—can you see it?—the young man he will one day be. We draw energy and inspiration from our dreams; our simple, common motivations. --SIMPLICITY PARENTING

In his twenties, John Bridgens most identified with Hamlet. The strangely aging Prince of Denmark—Bridgens was quite sure that the boy Hamlet had magically aged over a few theatrical weeks to a man who was, at the very least, in his thirties by Act V—had been suspended between thought and deed, between motive and action, frozen by a consciousness so astute and unrelenting that it made him think about everything, even thought itself.

Discouraged? As I was driving home from work one day, I stopped to watch a local Little League baseball game that was being played in a park near my home. As I sat down behind the bench on the first-baseline, I asked one of the boys what the score was. "We’re behind 14 to nothing,” he answered with a smile. “Really,” I said. “I have to say you don’t look very discouraged.” “Discouraged?” the boy asked with a puzzled look on his face. “Why should we be discouraged? We haven’t been up to bat yet.

All acts of sex were forms of degradation. ... What do you do with the Serious Young Woman (short hair, flat shoes, body slightly hunched, head drifting back and forth between the books she's read)? You slap her, fuck her up the ass and treat her like a boy. The Serious Young Woman looked everywhere for sex but when she got it it became an exercise in disintegration. What was the motivation of these men? Was it hatred she evoked? Was it some kind of challenge, trying to make the Serious Young Woman femme?

I truly believe that success is determined not on Friday nights during games but rather in practice away from the lights and glimmer where coaches and players only have each other, their sweat, their discipline and their loyalty to each other. It is at practice where the boys of America become men through hard work, dedication and perseverance.

It remains one of the great inequalities of the world that some children are born light years ahead of others. They may come from more stable homes, from wealthy homes, from homes with cleaners and domestic staff, cooks and tutors. Everything is easier, more streamlined, more conducive to educational and career success. Others will come from one-bedroom huts with no running water and no electricity, little chance of a good education, and little time to do anything besides work. The child born into a rich family will, no doubt, progress at a faster rate and develop the sort of self-assurance that comes from stability. This is the case wherever you’re from; it is as true of communist societies as it is of capitalist ones. I have travelled the world and seen these inequalities. I have witnessed the problems such different starting blocks can bring. But if I’ve learned anything, it is that success is possible, whatever your situation and however your life begins. I hope that this story, my story, will prove inspirational and that it will encourage others to dream big, take a plunge, use whatever resources are available. If a small poor boy fishing for prawns on a lake in Ningbo can do it, then so can you.

Yes, my path was a rocky one, but now I can look down on it from the hill with a smile—that is the ether to fill you.

The greatest feeling in the world to me is triumph.

For you the guy should be the one who will look like the God among the guys.

Wishes Are For Kids, Dreams Are For Boys. Goals Are For Men

A gorgeous boy is in love with you, and you're not even gonna try to make it work?

Boredom in teenage boys is a powerful motivation to create chaos.

It’s amazing how something beautiful can suddenly change the way you feel, how it can comfort you and heal you and give you peace.

you were a kid and couldn’t defend yourself. Girls wear pink, boys wear blue. Boys are tough. Girls are sweet. Women are caregivers with soft bodies. Men are leaders with hard muscles. Girls get looked at. Guys do the looking. Hairy armpits. Pretty fingernails. This one can but that one can’t. The Gender Commandments were endless, once you started thinking about them, and they were enforced 24/7 by a highly motivated volunteer army of parents, neighbors, teachers, coaches, other kids, and total strangers—basically, the whole human race.

Like money, approval from others is a form of extrinsic reward. Our culture has educated us to hunger for reward. We attended schools that used extrinsic means to motivate us to study; we grew up in homes where we were rewarded for being good little boys and girls, and were punished when our caretakers judged us to be otherwise. Thus, as adults, we easily trick ourselves into believing that life consists of doing things for reward; we are addicted to getting a smile, a pat on the back, and people’s verbal judgments that we are a “good person,” “good parent,” “good citizen,” “good worker,” “good friend,” and so forth. We do things to get people to like us and avoid things that may lead people to dislike or punish us.

But the greatest paradox of the sport has to do with the psychological makeup of the people who pull the oars. Great oarsmen and oarswomen are necessarily made of conflicting stuff—of oil and water, fire and earth. On the one hand, they must possess enormous self-confidence, strong egos, and titanic willpower. They must be almost immune to frustration. Nobody who does not believe deeply in himself or herself—in his or her ability to endure hardship and to prevail over adversity—is likely even to attempt something as audacious as competitive rowing at the highest levels. The sport offers so many opportunities for suffering and so few opportunities for glory that only the most tenaciously self-reliant and self-motivated are likely to succeed at it. And yet, at the same time—and this is key—no other sport demands and rewards the complete abandonment of the self the way that rowing does. Great crews may have men or women of exceptional talent or strength; they may have outstanding coxswains or stroke oars or bowmen; but they have no stars. The team effort—the perfectly synchronized flow of muscle, oars, boat, and water; the single, whole, unified, and beautiful symphony that a crew in motion becomes—is all that matters. Not the individual, not the self.

-“I think everyone has ‘good’ inside him. Everyone can feel happiness, and sadness and loneliness. But sometimes people think someone’s a monster. But that’s only because they can’t see the ‘good’ that’s there inside him. And then a terrible thing happens.” -“They kill him?” -“No, even worse. They call him a monster, and other people start calling him a monster, and everyone treats him like a monster, and then after a while, he starts believing it himself. He thinks he’s a monster too. So he acts like one. But he still isn’t a monster. He still has lots of good, buried deep inside him.

Since dad is most at risk of being both bad-mouthed and less involved, lets look at three reasons bad-mouthing sin is in conflict with your child's best interest: 1. Your children grow up feeling, "I hate who I am." 2. Your children fear that "loving dad is betraying mom." 3. Bad-mouthing undermines dad's motivation to invest money and time in the bank of love and to become responible in response to the hope for love.

• “…it is easy to read that this game is more than just a game, it is a culmination of a group of coaches and boys on a mission to not just experience, but rather to achieve something that only they believe is truly possible.

Eat your greens; put your napkin on your lap; if it doesn't belong to you, don't touch it. No running in the house (no, not even with scissors); call your mama; I love you and shut the door before all my ideas get out. - to my boys

The problem with feminists is that they're so motivated by competing against men that they end up becoming more masculine than men themselves, which makes them start complaining that men aren't masculine enough. Well, when you become more masculine than men, only a gorilla can satisfy you, and that's why such women end up with bad boys. When they marry them, they then complain that their husband is an idiot. This whole time, they can't see that they've destroyed everything along the way by simply refusing to just, and simply, be a woman. Because, you see, there's nothing wrong with that. There's nothing wrong with being a woman. But there are many things terribly wrong with being a feminist.

I will not promise boys positions, I will not promise any of you football success, I will demand discipline, character, respect, and work ethic throughout the program. If I succeed in getting people to believe then success will follow.

What’s a boy-friendly way for a nonacademically inclined boy to use his mind? Having a concrete goal. If a boy has a concrete goal of being a welder, that catalyzes motivation to study the physics and chemistry necessary to become a high-paid welder.

So maybe you're asexual. But that is not all bad! I know it feels bad. You're pretty much in you're own version of the closet trying to figure it out. I've been there. I thought my liking boys was a phase I would grow out of if I just ignored it. ...but I want to tell you, as someone who thought they were broken and everyone was staring at them and knew that you, that are not broken. Plus you might [be somewhere else on the sexuality spectrum]...or [you might] only be interested in sex with people once you know them, and have a bond with them [Demisexual]. Or maybe you're only turned on by a very particular kind of sex or fetish that you haven't discovered. But as long as everyone is consenting, there's nothing wrong with your desire, or you're not having desire! We're all wired differently.

In psychotherapy, a child is never told, “You are a good little boy.” “You are great.” Judgmental and evaluative praise is avoided. Why? Because it is not helpful. It creates anxiety, invites dependency, and evokes defensiveness. It is not conducive to self-reliance, self-direction, and self-control, qualities that demand freedom from outside judgment. They require reliance on inner motivation and evaluation. Children need to be free from the pressure of evaluative praise so that others do not become their source of approval. Isn't

He wrote extensively on how schools should be made more attractive to boys and girls and thus more productive. His own co-educational school at Santiniketan had many progressive features. The emphasis here was on self-motivation rather than on discipline, and on fostering intellectual curiosity rather than competitive excellence.

Women are born with an inherent strength. One can observe this by how young girls always mature faster than the boys in the same age group. But, boys grow up to be men. And most men feel intimidated by the strength of women. Unfortunately, those types of men will try to break strong women. They view women's strength as intimidating. It's a vicious cycle.

The teacher gave up yelling encouragement and tried insults instead. He was an old man but a fit, flinty one, a Scottish shinty champion in his day. When they banned the cane a few years before he thought he might give up teaching altogether. In the end it made little difference; after all the years of peering into the dark corners of little boys’ souls, he knew where real pain and motivation lay.

The noise of the town some floors below was greatly muted. In a state of complete mental detachment, he went over the events, the circumstances and the stages of destruction in their lives. Seen in the frozen light of a restrictive past, everything seemed clear, conclusive and indisputable. Now it seemed unthinkable that a girl of seventeen shoudl be so naive; it was particularly unbelieveable that a girl of seventeen should set so much store by love. If the surveys in the magazines were to be believed, things had changed a great deal in the twenty-five years since Annabelle was a teenager. Young girls today were more sensible, more sophisticated. Nowadays they worried more about their exam results and did their best to ensure they would have a decent career. For them, going out with boys was simply a game, a distraction motivated as much by narcissism as by sexual pleasure. They later would try to make a good marriage, basing their decision on a range of social and professional criteria, as well as on shared interests and tastes. Of course, in doing this they cut themselves off from any possibility of happiness--a condition indissociable from the outdated, intensely close bonds so incompatible with the exercise of reason--but this was their attempt to escape the moral and emotional suffering which had so tortured their forebears. This hope was, unfortunately, rapidly disappointed; the passing of love's torments simply left the field clear for boredom, emptiness and an anguished wait for old age and death. The second part of Annabelle's life therefore had been much more dismal and sad than the first, of which, in the end, she had no memory at all.

Nevertheless many a civilized man, or even boy, who never before risked his life for another, but full of courage and sympathy, has disregarded the instinct of self-preservation, and plunged at once into a torrent to save a drowning man, though a stranger. Such actions as the above appear to be the simple result of the greater strength of the social or maternal instincts rather than that of any other instinct or motive.

Motivation, inspiration were not the problem; on the contrary I was always cheerful and workmanlike at the typewriter and had never suffered from what’s called writer’s block; I didn’t believe in it. The problem, if anything, was precisely the opposite. I had too much to write: too many fine and miserable buildings to construct and streets to name and clock towers to set chiming, too many characters to raise up from the dirt like flowers whose petals I peeled down to the intricate frail organs within, too many terrible genetic and fiduciary secrets to dig up and bury and dig up again, too many divorces to grant, heirs to disinherit, trysts to arrange, letters to misdirect into evil hands, innocent children to slay with rheumatic fever, women to leave unfulfilled and hopeless, men to drive to adultery and theft, fires to ignite at the hearts of ancient houses.

No shortage in terrorists, " Grant observed grimly. They came in all dimensions: groups of political fanatics with blind obedience and perverted social conscience; the trained assassin tracking down their victim in a peaceful Austrian village; a boy in a quiet Washington street killing on vicious impulse. All of them, however different they seemed, bent on destruction. All of them, however motivated, with total contempt for human life.

An e-reader is super helpful. And no more toe paper cuts. 10. Some kind of sport or recreational activity—soccer, dance, swimming, professional hopscotch. You can do it! I’m trying out my motivational speaking skills here. 11. Pants that button easily. Trust me, when nature calls at school, you’ll be grateful you listened. 12. Your handy-dandy hook. From buttoning pants to lifting a dollar out of your pocket, a good hook is essential. 13. A wide variety of nail polishes. Boys probably don’t care much about this, but when people are staring at our feet as much as they do, we want to look our best. Am I right, ladies, or am I right? 14. Nunchuks. At least until bully spray becomes available. 15. An open heart and eyes. You think you’re the only one out there who feels different? What about that kid sitting alone in the library or out on the sidewalk? 16. Awesome parents. This is a must. 17. Friends who listen.

Dear Young Black Males… I encourage you to upgrade your thinking! Read books, articles, quotes, and other materials that will enhance your thinking and mindset. Embrace literature that will help propel you to greatness! Read information that will educate, empower, inspire, and motivate you. If you don’t understand the definition of a word, look it up in a dictionary. Broaden your vocabulary by utilizing the thesaurus, too. Knowledge is power, so make sure that you fill your mind with things that make you more and more powerful every day!

NATO itself funds think tanks because its messaging helps keep the alliance alive, by convincing the media, and policymakers, that it still has some sort of purpose. The U.S. State Department’s main motivation appears to be to provide “jobs for the boys,” given that so many former U.S. diplomats and government figures end up in the think tank racket after leaving the political fray. Meanwhile, other actors from oil-rich gulf dictatorships to Ukrainian oligarchs throw in money to obtain access to powerful people in Washington and other western capitals. Basically, the whole thing is a massive money racket, chasing ghosts to keep the cash spigot open.

If you care so much about it,” she asks him, “then why did you run?” He takes a moment before answering, shifting his weight and grimacing again. “Their work is good,” he says. “It just isn’t mine.” This baffles her. His motives—his hazy integrity. It was easy to dismiss Lev as “part of the problem” when she did not know him, but now it’s not so easy. He’s a paradox. This is a boy who almost blew himself to bits in an attempt to kill others, and yet he offered himself to the parts pirate in order to save Miracolina’s life. How could someone go from having no respect for one’s own existence to being willing to give himself as a sacrifice for someone he barely knows? It flies in the face of the truths that have defined Miracolina’s life. The bad are bad, the good are good, and being caught in between is just an illusion. There is no gray.

I don't know what kind of man I would have grown to be had I not served time at The Wilkinson Home for Boys. I don't know how those months and the events that occurred there shaped the person I became, how much they colored my motives or my actions. I don't know if they made me any braver or any weaker. I don't know if the illnesses I've suffered as an adult have been the result of those ruinous months. I'll never know if my distrust of most people and my unease when placed in group situations are byproducts of those days or simply the result of a shy personality. I do know the dreams and nightmares I've had all these years are born of the nights spent in that cell at Wilkinson. That the scars I carry, both mental and physical, are gifts of a system that treated children as prey. The images that screen across my mind in the lonely hours are mine to bear alone, shared only by the silent community of sufferers who once lived as I did, in a world that was deaf to our screams.

Since Jonathan, I had not slept with anyone. I know. Aren’t you disappointed? There was kissing; there were bodies pressed up against the various walls of Cork city night clubs; there were hands in my knickers. There were boys—cute ones, nice ones—who had walked me home after the club kicked out, their jackets draped around my shoulders, their hands laced through mine. But whenever they would imply that they had walked me home for sex, had understood that I wanted to have sex also, I acted all disgraced. “You think I’m that easy, huh?” I said to them, feigning shock that a twenty-one-year-old boy standing without a jacket in February at two in the morning might have an ulterior motive. I would send them packing, triumphant, then I would go inside and feel depressed, stupid and horny. I don’t know who I was trying to impress. I did not want a boyfriend; I did want romance. I wanted passion; I did not want to be someone who was known as easy. I was desperate to be touched; I was terrified of being ruined.

Lest some might gather an impression that this story is an exposé, I wish to say I have no intention of such. If I had chosen to write an exposé, I could have taken fiendish delight in doing a dilly fifteen years ago, when even our government was not too certain about things that went on. But to make one man’s story interesting to others he must run into good and bad situations. I have long since discovered that there is no such thing as bad people. There are just two kinds of people, because people are people. There are those who know and those who don’t know. And I don’t wish you to think I have any intention of shoving onto a few the entire blame for China becoming communistic instead of something else. In a way, even though I didn’t make a fortune like some of the others, and my main motives were not greed and power, I honestly feel that I am guilty along with them. And even though my main crime was ignorance, which is a by-product of emotional immaturity, I deserve to be included with the China gang.

One possible motive in the murder was an article Litvinenko wrote claiming Putin was a pedophile. The article said: After graduating from the Andropov Institute, which prepares officers for the KGB intelligence service, Putin was not accepted into the foreign intelligence. Instead, he was sent to a junior position in KGB Leningrad Directorate. This was a very unusual twist for a career of an Andropov Institute’s graduate with fluent German. Why did that happen with Putin? Because, shortly before his graduation, his bosses learned that Putin was a pedophile. So say some people who knew Putin as a student at the Institute… Many years later, when Putin became the FSB director and was preparing for the presidency, he began to seek and destroy any compromising materials collected against him by the secret services over earlier years. It was not difficult, provided he himself was the FSB director. Among other things, Putin found videotapes in the FSB Internal Security directorate, which showed him [having] sex with some underage boys.

Lest some might gather an impression that this story is an exposé, I wish to say I have no intention of such. If I had chosen to write an exposé, I could have taken fiendish delight in doing a dilly fifteen years ago, when even our government was not too certain about things that went on. But to make one man’s story interesting to others he must run into good and bad situations. I have long since discovered that there is no such thing as bad people. There are just two kinds of people, because people are people. There are those who know and those who don’t know. And I don’t wish you to think I have any intention of shoving onto a few the entire blame for China becoming communistic instead of something else. In a way, even though I didn’t make a fortune like some of the others, and my main motives were not greed and power, I honestly feel that I am guilty along with them. And even though my main crime was ignorance, which is a by-product of emotional immaturity, I deserve to be included with the China gang. My only hope is that we didn’t louse up the future generations too greatly, so that they may have a chance in the years to come.

[J.Ivy:] We are all here for a reason on a particular path You don't need a curriculum to know that you are part of the math Cats think I'm delirious, but I'm so damn serious That's why I expose my soul to the globe, the world I'm trying to make it better for these little boys and girls I'm not just another individual, my spirit is a part of this That's why I get spiritual, but I get my hymns from Him So it's not me, it's He that's lyrical I'm not a miracle, I'm a heaven-sent instrument My rhythmatic regimen navigates melodic notes for your soul and your mental That's why I'm instrumental Vibrations is what I'm into Yeah, I need my loot by rent day But that is not what gives me the heart of Kunte Kinte I'm tryina give us "us free" like Cinque I can't stop, that's why I'm hot Determination, dedication, motivation I'm talking to you, my many inspirations When I say I can't, let you or self down If I were of the highest cliff, on the highest riff And you slipped off the side and clinched on to your life in my grip I would never, ever let you down And when these words are found Let it been known that God's penmanship has been signed with a language called love That's why my breath is felt by the deaf And why my words are heard and confined to the ears of the blind I, too, dream in color and in rhyme So I guess I'm one of a kind in a full house Cuz whenever I open my heart, my soul, or my mouth A touch of God reigns out [Chorus] [Jay-Z (Kanye West)] Who else you know been hot this long, (Oh Ya, you know we ain't finished) Started from nothing but he got this strong, (The ROC is in the building) Built the ROC from a pebble, pedalled rock before I met you, Pedalled bikes, got my nephews pedal bikes because they special, Let you tell that man I'm falling, Well somebody must've caught him, Cause every fourth quarter, I like to Mike Jordan 'em, Number one albums, what I got like four of dem, More of dem on the way, The Eight Wonder on the way, Clear the way, I'm here to stay, Y'all can save the chitter chat, this and that, this and Jay, Dissin' Jay 'ill get you mased, When I start spitting them lyrics, niggas get very religious, Six Hail Maries, please Father forgive us, Young, the Archbishop, the Pope John Paul of y'all niggas, The way y'all all follow Jigga, Hov's a living legend and I tell you why, Everybody wanna be Hov and Hov still alive.

From Nowhere On The Map, Lana's plaything. Maggie chuckled, it had not occurred to her before now. True, she had drawn an assumption about Lana when the woman initially never called or visited. This impression certainly did not improved when she finally met her. Then there was the girl’s pole dancing moves last night that did nothing to endear her. However, Jon brought the picture into focus for her. She could not believe he had not guessed at the woman’s motives before now. “Jon, really you have no idea why?” Maggie decided to clue him in; “Jon, she keeps coming back because you're her sure thing.” She allowed the words to sink in. She heard Jon repeat 'sure thing' as he wrangled with this and it’s association with him. Like a bell, she could almost hear the thought hit his brainpan. “Oh hell, you really think so?” Maggie laughed, poor City Cat, he was nothing but a big handsome sex toy to Lana. Maggie wanted to feel empathy for him but really, guys do this to girls all the time. She was impressed with Lana for having turned the tables on the boys. “Well now that we have this settled, drink plenty of water and again don't toss your cookies on my stuff. I hope you feel better…about everything.” Maggie had to add the last barb, she could not resist it was in her nature. Jon chuckled she was unsure but she swore he muttered something like ‘gee thanks’ adding he would talk to her later.

It doesn’t seem like Christmas. I cannot say just why. I see the gifts and mistletoe and snowflakes falling from the sky. It doesn’t feel like Christmas. Though snow is on the ground. I watch old Rudolph, Frosty too. I serve hot cocoa all around. But still it doesn’t feel like Christmastime. There’s something missing, something more sublime. My heart tells me this holiday was meant to make me feel something deeper, something warm and real. It doesn’t sound like Christmas. The air is filled with noise. I hear a thousand loud requests yet see unhappy girls and boys. It doesn’t feel like Christmas. Though Santa’s on his way. So why this dullness in my heart as if it’s just another day? It really doesn’t feel like Christmastime. There’s something missing, something more sublime. My heart tells me this holiday was meant to make me feel something deeper, something warm and real. I close my eyes, I bow my head, and drop down to my knees. I talk to God and bear my soul. At length, my spirit warms with peace. It feels much more like Christmas. My heart o’er flows with love. I look at you through caring eyes, the way God sees from up above. It surely is like Christmas. Good will pervades my soul. For Christ was born in Bethlehem to ransom all; my joy is full. It’s starting now to feel like Christmastime. My heart is new, my outlook more sublime. I’ll love the world as God loves me and practice charity. Help and comfort, share with those in need, and it will feel like Christmastime indeed.

The moment before the gun goes off is always the most silent. Your world is quiet, but it is not calm. The runners around you bounce and flex and relax, flex and relax. They slap their faces for motivation, they look to the sky and mumble prayers to God. The coaches shout instructions and the teammates cheer as do the fans in the stands, but you cannot hear because you are somewhere else, somewhere deep inside, preparing your body to deal with the coming pain, the breath sucked from you, your limbs on fire and the voices that won't let you stop. They say keep moving, it gets better, it will be better if you can only break through this pain. They say there's another life after this torture, a new level, just keep breathing. Then the gunshot and your body no longer belongs to you. Yes, you are there, you are present but you are no longer in control. Whatever happens from this point happens and all you can do, all you must do now is breathe, keep breathing, don't lose your nerve, don't choke, no matter how much it hurts, don't stop breathing otherwise it will all be over before it's time. They cheer for me. I can't breathe. Harvard isn't going to know what hit them, I hear. I can't breathe. We are the champions, I hear, we are the champions, they sing around me. I can't breathe. Your personal best by a long shot. That's Coach Erickson's voice. That's my boy. It's my father. It's like I'm dying, trying to hold on. My body says oh no, and my knees buckle but so many arms are around me, they hold me up. The voices they say breathe, keep breathing. They bring me water, they bring me something sweet and then they lay me down in the soft grass where I feel the blades against my tingling skin.

Sharon passed around a handout: "Triangle of Self-Actualization" by Abraham Maslow. The levels of human motivation. It resembled the nutrition triangle put out by the FDA, with five horizontal levels of multiple colors. I vaguely remembered it from my one college psychology course in the 1970's. "Very applicable with refugees," Sharon said. "Maslow theorized that one could not move to a higher level until the prior level was satisfied. The first level, the triangle base, is physiological needs. Like food and water. Until a person has enough to eat and drink, that's all one would be concerned with." I'd never experienced not being able to satisfy my thirst or hunger, but it sounded logical that that would be my only concern in such a situation. For the Lost Boys, just getting enough food and water had been a daily struggle. I wondered what kind of impact being stuck at the bottom level for the last fourteen years would have on a person, especially a child and teen. "The second level is safety and security. Home. A sanctuary. A safe place." Like not being shot at or having lions attack you. They hadn't had much of level two, either. Even Kakuma hadn't been safe. A refugee camp couldn't feel like home. "The third level is social. A sense of belonging." Since they'd been together, they must have felt like they belonged, but perhaps not on a larger scale, having been displaced from home and living in someone else's country. "Once a person has food, shelter, family and friends, they can advance to the fourth level, which is ego. Self-esteem." I'd never thought of those things occurring sequentially, but rather simultaneously, as they did in my life. If I understood correctly, working on their self-esteem had not been a large concern to them, if one at all. That was bound to affect them eventually. In what way remained to be seen. They'd been so preoccupied with survival that issues of self-worth might overwhelm them at first. A sure risk for insecurity and depression. The information was fascinating and insightful, although worrisome in terms of Benson, Lino, and Alepho. It also made me wonder about us middle-and upper-class Americans. We seldom worried about food, except for eating too much, and that was not what Maslow had been referring to. Most of us had homes and safety and friends and family. That could mean we were entirely focused on that fourth level: ego. Our efforts to make ourselves seem strong, smart, rich, and beautiful, or young were our own kind of survival skill. Perhaps advancing directly to the fourth level, when the mind was originally engineered for the challenges of basic survival, was why Prozac and Zoloft, both antidepressants, were two of the biggest-selling drugs in America. "The pinnacle of the triangle," Sharon said, "is the fifth level. Self-actualization. A strong and deeply felt belief that as a person one has value in the world. Contentment with who one is rather than what one has. Secure in ones beliefs. Not needing ego boosts from external factors. Having that sense of well-being that does not depend on the approval of others is commonly called happiness." Happiness, hard to define, yet obvious when present. Most of us struggled our entire lives to achieve it, perhaps what had brought some of us to a mentoring class that night.

According to folk belief that is reflected in the stories and poems, a being who is petrified man and he can revive. In fairy tales, the blind destructiveness of demonic beings can, through humanization psychological demons, transformed into affection and love of the water and freeing petrified beings. In the fairy tale " The Three Sisters " Mezei de-stone petrified people when the hero , which she liked it , obtain them free . In the second story , the hero finding fairy , be petrified to the knee , but since Fairy wish to marry him , she kissed him and freed . When entering a demonic time and space hero can be saved if it behaves in a manner that protects it from the effects of demonic forces . And the tales of fortune Council hero to not turn around and near the terrifying challenges that will find him in the demon area . These recommendations can be tracked ancient prohibited acts in magical behavior . In one short story Penina ( evil mother in law ) , an old man , with demonic qualities , sheds , first of two brothers and their sister who then asks them , iron Balot the place where it should be zero as chorus, which sings wood and green water . When the ball hits the ground resulting clamor and tumult of a thousand voices, but no one sees - the brothers turned , despite warnings that it should not , and was petrified . The old man has contradictory properties assistants and demons . Warning of an old man in a related one variant is more developed - the old man tells the hero to be the place where the ball falls to the reputation of stones and hear thousands of voices around him to cry Get him, go kill him, swang with his sword , stick go ! . The young man did not listen to warnings that reveals the danger : the body does not stones , during the site heroes - like you, and was petrified . The initiation rite in which the suffering of a binding part of the ritual of testing allows the understanding of the magical essence of the prohibition looking back . MAGICAL logic respectful direction of movement is particularly strong in relation to the conduct of the world of demons and the dead . From hero - boys are required to be deaf to the daunting threats of death and temporarily overcome evil by not allowing him to touch his terrible content . The temptation in the case of the two brothers shows failed , while the third attempt brothers usually releases the youngest brother or sister . In fairy tales elements of a rite of passage blended with elements of Remembrance lapot . Silence is one way of preventing the evil demon in a series of ritual acts , thoughts Penina Mezei . Violation of the prohibition of speech allows the communication of man with a demon , and abolishes protection from him . In fairy tales , this ritual obligations lost connection with specific rituals and turned into a motive of testing . The duration of the ban is extended in the spirit of poetic genre in years . Dvanadestorica brothers , to twelve for saving haunted girls , silent for almost seven years, but eleven does not take an oath and petrified ; twelfth brother died three times , defeat the dragon , throw an egg at a crystal mountain , and save the brothers ( Penina Mezei : 115 ) . Petrify in fairy tales is not necessarily caused by fear , or impatience uneducated hero . Self-sacrificing hero resolves accident of his friend's seemingly irrational moves, but he knows that he will be petrified if it is to warn them in advance , he avoids talking . As his friend persuaded him to explain his actions , he is petrified ( Penina Mezei : 129 ) . Petrified friends can save only the blood of a child , and his " borrower " Strikes sacrifice their own child and revives his rescuers . A child is a sacrificial object that provides its innocence and purity of the sacrificial gift of power that allows the return of the forces of life.

All motives can be explained under the letter L: lust, lucre, loathing and love. They'll tell you the most dangerous is loathing but don't you believe it, boy; the most dangerous is love.

I am made of light," the little boy declared. "Indeed," the old man replied. "That is why it is easy for you to shine.

Like all great nations it is not only a leader that builds a true nation but it's people . The responsibility of the leader is to motivate and inspire to set a flame in each man , boy , woman and girl so as to see themselves as the creators and with the combined efforts of every individual we will accomplish this dream and many more to come .

If you permit God to test you at the beginning, you will stand every trial for a long time. Don't plan to drive a Mercedes jeep as a boy and ride a bicycle in your adult age. Every trial given to you while you are young is made to prepare you for your old, age so that you can proclaim; I was young and now I am old, I have never seen the righteousness forsaken nor their children begging for bread.

About three quarters through the program, the head counselor invited me to share my thoughts on the matter. I walked to the front of the group. “I need an open communication connection between us,” I said, as if I were my son. “I would be open, honest, and express my feelings without any concern for judgmental perspectives. There would be complete confidence that I was loved for being me. I’d feel free to discuss my issues, often asking questions, searching for advice and guidance to learn from my father’s past experiences. My family would be loved and appreciated by all of its members. The household rules and contents would be respected. I would strive for success, giving it my best effort to improve on my education and work toward an enjoyable career. Goals would be set to stay motivated, reassessing the long-term goals when the shorter goals are met. My main goal would be to work on a healthy state of mind and body by staying active, striving to do healthy and pleasant activities, without the need of getting high to enjoy them.” When I finished, the head counselor asked Julian for a response. I was proud of his courage to express his opinion and draw attention to himself in front of the group. The boy I knew a few weeks before wouldn’t have been able to stammer through a poorly structured sentence, let alone present his thought processes in an organized manner. Julian began by saying, “I’d be more understanding of my son’s feelings, patient and supportive in whatever he wanted out of life. If he was in trouble, I’d do whatever I could to help him, but be more strict and tough so he wouldn’t get into trouble in the first place. If the rules were broken, there’d be a fair punishment. I would love my son no matter what.” As

You said you’re certain the person the two of you ran off this property is a woman?” Both Keston and Jaden nodded. “What makes the two of you so certain of your observation? It is considerably dark in here as well as outdoors. Did anyone get a close up of ‘her’ before she began running?” Norman asked. Keston and Jaden looked at each other. Each brother soon realized this report that’s underway comes with more complexities than what they were originally expecting for this time of night. The detectives conduct this type of questioning from sun up to sundown. “Although she was dressed in all black, her attire was close fitting, covering her arms to both wrists,” Keston shared with the officers and Cantor. “So, she wore a cat suit but without the tail?” Mike couldn’t help but to make light of what is being shared. Boys will be boys. A small amount of delight had shown in their eyes before they each gathered their composure to again devote their attention to the police report.

In Freud’s account, the male superego is established under the threat of castration anxiety, which forces the boy to abandon his oedipal ambitions, but little girls experience themselves as already castrated, and thus have less motivation to keep infantile instinctual impulses in check; consequently they have less energy available for the sublimation that fuels higher-level organization and

limbic system commands feelings, behaviors, motivations, and memories. It’s the risk/reward region, the part that seeks novelty with its resultant emotional or physical high. By the time a kid hits middle school, his limbic system is pretty much fully mature, its neurons thoroughly insulated and therefore able to send and receive signals at warp speed. Kids this age can form memories they will keep for the rest of their lives; they are motivated by people around them and the stories they hear; they develop passions; they invent games and strategies; and they also happen to be really good at being impulsive and emotional. Thank you, limbic system.

There’s nothing wrong with being motivated and driven, just like there’s nothing wrong with being a party boy. You’ve only got one life; you do you, be proud, and to hell with anyone who has a problem with it.

Boy meets girl, they butt heads, he falls for her, she misconstrues his motivations, they work it out, and live happily ever after. Bah.” “Nailed it. You sure you didn’t watch it?” I ask. “Call me Mr. Darcy if you want.” He does a weird bow, then puts his hand over his heart. “‘You have bewitched me, body and soul.

reward system But there’s a reward system you can use to keep yourself motivated. Here are some suggestions: Buy yourself an advent calendar, and for each day you don’t look at his profile or engage with him in any capacity, enjoy the treat for that day. If you can’t afford an advent calendar or can’t find one in the shops, make yourself a journal – on each successful day, write something amazing about yourself, and on a day where you did trip up, write something that reminds you of why you started doing this thirty-day challenge. Getting into the habit of saying nice things about yourself prepares you to become so used to compliments that you aren’t dangerously swooned when others recognise your greatness. Every ten days that pass without you breaking the rule, take yourself on a really nice solo date to an upscale bar, or your favourite club or restaurant, and imagine the room is full of men who are all waiting to be picked by you, the goddess. For even spicier results, wear something red so you feel even sexier. Getting into the habit of going out to bars and social environments alone will not just put you in a position of meeting new people, it will also quell your fear of being alone. There’s nothing more powerful than a woman who knows how to hold her own in a room full of strangers. Or, if you feel ready, each time you make it to the ten-day mark, why don’t you try practising your new confidence on your dating apps and let yourself be taken out? By the time the thirty-day window ends, you will have gone on three different dates with three new guys, which will significantly lower the hype around the man you’ve been thinking of. You never know: one of these guys could end up being far more interesting, way hotter and maybe even richer. As you get closer to the end of the thirty-day period, why not have a spa booked to mark the last day? It will be a period of reflection, relaxation, and remembering how far you’ve come within just a month of leaving a situation that could have dragged your life in a completely different direction. You deserve to meet the woman you’re destined to become: take the time to do so. Set a reminder on your phone every couple of days that says ‘It’s time to finally choose yourself for once. Don’t let him win!’ When it gets hard, ask yourself: At what point will I be the victor here? When will I finally walk away with my head held high? This must end at some point – why not now?

Later I was to wonder at this instinctive assumption of Kay's, her unsupported but ultimately prescient conclusion that my dad and I and Emory were in need of some sort of assistance. We certainly hadn't sent out an appeal. But at the time I was more struck by the sort of person Kay was - someone so motivated to help other people she would lay her head on a young boy's shoulder to erase his humiliation in front of his friends. That she was on my front porch to 'help' now was entirely in keeping with her character.

It was friendly. That was a friend thing." He seemed anxious for Gansey to believe that his motives were pure, so Gansey said quickly, "I know that. Just--I don't meet many people who make friends like I do. So--fast." Henry flipped crazy devil horns at him. "Jeong, bro." "What's that mean?" "Who knows," Henry said. "It means being Henry. It means being Richardman. Jeong. You never say the word, but you live it anyway. I will be honest, I did not expect to find it in a guy such as yourself. It's like we've met each other before. No, not really. We are friends are once, we would instantly do what friends would do for each other. Not just pals. Friends. Blood brothers. You just feel it. We instead of you and me. That's jeong." Gansey was aware on a certain level that the description was melodramatic, heightened, illogical. But on a deeper level, it felt, true, familiar, and like it explained much of Gansey's life. It was how he felt about Ronan and Adam and Noah and Blue. With each of them, it had felt instantly right: relieving. Finally, he'd thought, he'd found them. We instead of you and me.

Thane turned to the side to look at me. “Good try, boy-o… but not good enough!” he yelled, then he fed his pig a chunk of his carrot and they boosted off to the finish line. I gasped as my pig finished off my carrot and we started slowing down. “Nooooooo!” Thane zoomed off to the pig stable and left me in his dust. My pig was done with the carrot now, so he lost motivation to listen to me. He started wandering all over the place, probably looking for more food. “No, go straight! Go straight! The finish line is over there!” I yelled. Oink! The crowd cheered in an uproar as Thane crossed the finish line.