Braves World Series Quotes

Be brave, Tris!

In the world’s broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

If you have read this far in the chronicle of the Baudelaire orphans - and I certainly hope you have not - then you know we have reached the thirteenth chapter of the thirteenth volume in this sad history, and so you know the end is near, even though this chapter is so lengthy that you might never reach the end of it. But perhaps you do not yet know what the end really means. "The end" is a phrase which refers to the completion of a story, or the final moment of some accomplishment, such as a secret errand, or a great deal of research, and indeed this thirteenth volume marks the completion of my investigation into the Baudelaire case, which required much research, a great many secret errands, and the accomplishments of a number of my comrades, from a trolley driver to a botanical hybridization expert, with many, many typewriter repairpeople in between. But it cannot be said that The End contains the end of the Baudelaires' story, any more than The Bad Beginning contained its beginning. The children's story began long before that terrible day on Briny Beach, but there would have to be another volume to chronicle when the Baudelaires were born, and when their parents married, and who was playing the violin in the candlelit restaurant when the Baudelaire parents first laid eyes on one another, and what was hidden inside that violin, and the childhood of the man who orphaned the girl who put it there, and even then it could not be said that the Baudelaires' story had not begun, because you would still need to know about a certain tea party held in a penthouse suite, and the baker who made the scones served at the tea party, and the baker's assistant who smuggled the secret ingredient into the scone batter through a very narrow drainpipe, and how a crafty volunteer created the illusion of a fire in the kitchen simply by wearing a certain dress and jumping around, and even then the beginning of the story would be as far away as the shipwreck that leftthe Baudelaire parents as castaways on the coastal shelf is far away from the outrigger on which the islanders would depart. One could say, in fact, that no story really has a beginning, and that no story really has an end, as all of the world's stories are as jumbled as the items in the arboretum, with their details and secrets all heaped together so that the whole story, from beginning to end, depends on how you look at it. We might even say that the world is always in medias res - a Latin phrase which means "in the midst of things" or "in the middle of a narrative" - and that it is impossible to solve any mystery, or find the root of any trouble, and so The End is really the middle of the story, as many people in this history will live long past the close of Chapter Thirteen, or even the beginning of the story, as a new child arrives in the world at the chapter's close. But one cannot sit in the midst of things forever. Eventually one must face that the end is near, and the end of The End is quite near indeed, so if I were you I would not read the end of The End, as it contains the end of a notorious villain but also the end of a brave and noble sibling, and the end of the colonists' stay on the island, as they sail off the end of the coastal shelf. The end of The End contains all these ends, and that does not depend on how you look at it, so it might be best for you to stop looking at The End before the end of The End arrives, and to stop reading The End before you read the end, as the stories that end in The End that began in The Bad Beginning are beginning to end now.

Virtue” can seem old-fashioned. Yet virtue—arete—translates to something very simple and very timeless: Excellence. Moral. Physical. Mental. In the ancient world, virtue was comprised of four key components. Courage. Temperance. Justice. Wisdom.

That’s the question the world is asking sometimes. It knows we’re brave, so it wants to know: Death or kintsugi? Will you find a way to become stronger at the broken places? Or will you so cling to your old ways that you will be shattered? A hero gets back up. They heal. They grow. For themselves and others.

Remember: Leaders are dealers in hope. Nobody wants to live in a world without a tomorrow, without a reason to continue, without some dot on the horizon they’re aiming at. And if we want that, we’re going to have to make it. For them and for ourselves, heroically.

In one of Hemingway’s most beautiful passages, he writes: If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break, it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially.

In the fable “The Golden Key,” the Old Man of the Earth shows a young boy the reality of the world, that there is no progress without risk. Moving an enormous stone from the floor of the cave, he shows the boy a hole that seems to go on forever. “That is the way,” he says. “But there are no stairs,” the boy replies. “You must throw yourself in,” he’s told. “There is no other way.” It’s scary, but there’s no way around it.

From the Introduction to Christopher Columbus and the Age of Exploration for Kids: In 1892, with the 400th anniversary of Christopher Columbus’s arrival in the West Indies, the world rushed to celebrate—or at least the United States did. In America, the glorifying of the Discoverer took its most lofty form in the Columbian Exposition, held in Chicago. In a nation with 63 million people, the fair attracted 24 million visitors. It cost as much to put on the extravaganza as it would to build the Panama Canal more than a decade later. The Columbian Exposition had but one purpose: to celebrate America’s magnificence—a result of Columbus’s brave and daring initial voyage, its surprising revelation, and its marvelous impact on world history. Clearly, in 1892, Christopher Columbus held center stage. Not so a hundred years later, in 1992, when the 500th, anniversary of the Discovery rolled around. No longer, it was said, should Columbus’s achievement be considered an unmixed blessing. Nor should the man, himself, be viewed with uncritical reverence. Columbus, many historians were now willing to concede, had numerous character flaws that resulted in misadventures and moral failure. The Admiral was seen as the first of many Europeans, who, in coming to the New World, would ravage the land, plunder its wealth, and eventually introduce African slavery. There was no Columbian Exposition in 1992. In the United States, Columbus was hardly mentioned at all. Christopher Columbus is possibly the most researched and written about individual in history. That is not surprising. No matter what one may think of Columbus, hero, heel, or both, the significance of what he did, however interpreted, is monumental. Christopher Columbus changed the world. For that, the Admiral of the Ocean Sea deserves to be known and explored. What follows, hopefully, will be your own act of discovery.

Life has been reduced to a series of long periods of boredom in the office punctuated by high-octane “experiences” which you can rack up on your list of things to do before you die. That’s not really living: that is slavery with the occasional circus thrown in.

There are so many ways to be brave in this world. Sometimes bravery involves laying down your life for something bigger than yourself, or for someone else. Sometimes it involves giving up everything you have ever known, or everyone you have ever loved, for the sake of something greater. But sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it is nothing more than gritting your teeth through pain, and the work of every day, the slow walk toward a better life.

was the rationale of the cowardly and selfish, those that always found a way to justify their choices and decisions afterwards. The world has always been full of people that rode on the coattails of the brave and the enterprising that made decisions in the instant of need, and the new west of the territories was no different. Many of the pilgrims that set out to pioneer the new lands would turn back because of hardships, and others would simply give up because they were unprepared, physically and mentally, to face up to the challenges of a new world. It was the few individuals that always found a way to do right and were willing to make the sacrifice necessary, no matter the circumstances, that would build a strong and free nation.

When we understand the fragility of life, we live consciously. People generally live as if they have all the time in the world. They don’t. They have the time of one lifetime, however long that will be. It’s not a lot. We don’t have enough time to procrastinate and waste large chunks of our lives. It is a valuable offering when we give our attention and love to anything in life. What we spend our time on will determine the course of our life. If we know that we are here for a short time, our choices will become more meaningful and satisfying. We don’t have to be told to be brave and follow our inner leanings when we are aware of our limited time. Who cares what other people think of us when we are busy living a brief life to the best of our ability? We will want to use it every day to better ourselves and the world we live in. 

Stoicism—deep, deep courage—is there to help you recover when the world breaks you and, in the recovering, to make you stronger at a much more profound level. The Stoic heals themselves by focusing on what they can control: Their response. The repairing. The learning of the lessons. Preparing for the future. Making a difference for others. Requesting help. Changing. Sacrificing for a greater good.

I discovered that the world should be divided not into good and bad people but into cowards and non-cowards,” he wrote. “Ninety-five percent of cowards are capable of the vilest things, lethal things, at the mildest threat.

Just about the craziest, bravest thing you can do in this damned world of ours is to keep hoping.

He began to talk a lot of incomprehensible and dangerous nonsense. Lenina did her best to stop the ears of her mind; but every now and then a phrase would insist on becoming audible. "… to try the effect of arresting my impulses," she heard him say. The words seemed to touch a spring in her mind. "Never put off till to-morrow the fun you can have to-day," she said gravely. "Two hundred repetitions, twice a week from fourteen to sixteen and a half," was all his comment. The mad bad talk rambled on. "I want to know what passion is," she heard him saying. "I want to feel something strongly." / Bernard empezó a soltar una serie de tonterías incomprensibles y peligrosas. Lenina hizo todo lo posible por cerrar los oídos de su mente; pero de vez en cuando una que otra frase se empeñaba en hacerse oír: ... probar el efecto que produce detener los propios impulsos, le oyó decir. Fue como si aquellas palabras tocaran un resorte de su mente. —No dejes para mañana la diversión que puedes tener hoy —dijo Lenina gravemente. —Doscientas repeticiones, dos veces por semana, desde los catorce años hasta los dieciséis y medio —se limitó a comentar Bernard. Su alocada charla prosiguió—. Quiero saber lo que es la pasión —oyó Lenina, de sus labios—. Quiero sentir algo con fuerza.

Today many families, dysfunctional or not, are without men. The worst learning situation for a boy is when he observes his own father ignoring his responsibilities, and that includes ignoring the needs of his son. The boy is left with a negative male image that is hard to overcome and even harder to accept, because it has been reinforced by his own father. The rage that begins with the absence of the father will continue to grow if there is also the absence of a mentor. A man who has compassion and respect for others can set a great example for a boy. To be an effective mentor, a man should spend time with a boy over a period of time, but even a “mentor moment” can be very powerful. Can you remember such a moment in your life when a mentor affected your life in such a way that you will always remember him? During the fifth game of the 1991 World Series between the Atlanta Braves and the Minnesota Twins, Joe Cozart took his son, Joe, Jr., to the parking lot of the Atlanta stadium to soak up the atmosphere even though they did not have tickets. The series was tied (two games each) and scalpers were selling tickets for as much as $700 a seat. A stranger approached the father and son and asked them if they would like to see the game from the inside. The man gave them two tickets five rows behind the Twins’ dugout. The stranger stopped by during the game to see how Mr. Cozart and Joe, Jr., were enjoying the game. When Joe and his son asked the man’s name, he told them to have a good time and walked away. That day a dream came true for a 10-year-old boy in Atlanta. His life was forever touched by a kind, generous stranger.

My dick bobs up and down in satisfaction, loving that we did this to her. I thought once I had her cunt, and then her asshole, it would go down, but it’s only gotten harder. I lean in, not able to help myself, and give her gentle licks. “Daddy, I love your kisses on my kitty. They make me feel like such a special princess.” Looking up, I see her lazing against the cool tile, legs spread, and the biggest smile on her face. I suck her clit a little, trying not to be too rough, but giving her the feeling she wants. “You are my special princess, baby girl. You are the most special princess in the world.” It doesn’t take me long to bring her to the edge again, her body primed and ready to take what I give it. I’m so fucking hard. I know she’s sore, but I need her just one more time. I sit up on my knees and position the tip of my slick cock at her opening. “I know you’re sore, sweet princess, but Daddy needs you to be brave and let me fuck your kitty one more time.” “Okay, Daddy. Do you want my bottom instead?” My dick weeps a little cum, and I moan at her

We know that vulnerability is the cornerstone of courage-building, but we often fail to realize that without vulnerability there is no creativity or innovation. Why? Because there is nothing more uncertain than the creative process, and there is absolutely no innovation without failure. Show me a culture in which vulnerability is framed as weakness and I’ll show you a culture struggling to come up with fresh ideas and new perspectives. I love what Amy Poehler had to say in her web series Smart Girls: Ask Amy: It’s very hard to have ideas. It’s very hard to put yourself out there, it’s very hard to be vulnerable, but those people who do that are the dreamers, the thinkers, and the creators. They are the magic people of the world.

I heard the footfalls, but it’s stopped now. It’s watching us, I can feel it.’ At that moment a small cloud passed over the moon and the world turned dark. ‘The moon will come out again soon.’ Centaine hugged the infant so hard that Shasa gave a little bleat of protest. ‘I’m sorry, baby.’ She relaxed her grip and then stumbled as she started forward. ‘I wish we hadn’t come – no, that’s not true. We had to come. We must be brave, Shasa. We can’t follow the spoor without the moon.’ She sank down to rest, looking up into the sky. The moon was a pale nimbus through the thin gunmetal cloud, and then it broke out into a hole in the cloud layer and for a moment flooded the glade with soft platinum light. ‘Shasa!’ Centaine’s voice rose into a high thin scream. There was something out there, a huge pale shape, as big as a horse, but with sinister, stealthy, unhorselike carriage. At her cry, it sank out of sight below the tops of the grass. Centaine leapt to her feet and raced towards the trees, but before she reached them the moon was snuffed out again, and in the darkness Centaine fell full length. Shasa wailed fretfully against her chest. ‘Please be quiet, baby.’ Centaine hugged him, but the child sensed her terror and screamed. ‘Don’t, Shasa. You’ll bring it after us.’ Centaine was trembling wildly. That big pale thing out there in the darkness was possessed of an unearthly menace, a palpable aura of evil, and she knew what it was. She had seen it before. She pressed herself flat to the earth, trying to cover Shasa with her own body. Then

The world is in a constant conspiracy against the brave. ’It’s the age-old struggle: the roar of the crowd on the one side, and the voice of your conscience on the other. —Douglas MacArthur