C Block Quotes

There are three kinds of fighters: the aggressive fighter who charges in blindly trying to get the upper hand, the defensive fighter who blocks and evades until his opponent is tired, and then the most dangerous type of fighter, the one who waits for his opponent to make a mistake.

For all the woman who have done, or are doing the work to love yourself from the inside out. You’re allowed to take up space.

To me, there was nothing more powerful than a confident woman who didn’t take shit from anyone.

We have four blocks here. Block A, where we are now, is administration and recreation. Block B is software development. Block C is research and storage. Block D is where the main Stormbreaker assembly line is found.” “Where’s breakfast?” Alex asked.

He found her not even a block away from the house, sitting on a curb. As he approached, he saw her wiping her face with her forearm. Sabine was...crying? "What are you doing out here, cwena?" Over the past week, Rydstrom had been pleased when she'd worried about him, and gratified when she'd felt the sting of jealousy. Was he a terrible man to hope she was crying about him? She glared at him with her bottom lip quivering, allowing him to see her like this instead of using a mask. "I d-don't have anywhere else to g-go." Another swipe of her forearm over her eyes. "Lanthe's gone, and I c-can't get to her for six days. And I'm in a strange t-town and land, and Vrekeners are everywhere." Sabine hadn't even mentioned what they'd just gone through- "And you br-broke up with me!" she said, her tears falling faster. "Is that supposed to make me happy?" "Come inside, Sabine." "No! You t-told me not to." She sniffled, "You don't want me at your house." He swooped her up in his arms. "Will you shut up?" With his free hand, he brushed her tears. "I made it ten minutes before I came after you.

I have been told by the third grade teacher that my daughter Poppet is reading at middle school level. Yet if I leave Poppet a note in block letters telling her to feed the dogs I will come home to find the dogs have been ... given a swim in the above-ground pool, dressed in tutus, provided with hair weaves. What I will not find is that the dogs have been fed. 'I thought you wanted me to free the dogs,' says Poppet whose school district is not spending quite what D.C.'s is, thanks to voter rejection of the last school bond referendum.

Block D was at the farthest corner of the camp from Block C. Whoever had laid out the Camp of the Flies had no respect for alphabetical order.

Take up space, Beatrix. Don’t apologize, and don’t let the world shame you for being you.

Coincidences, in general, are great stumbling-blocks in the way of that class of thinkers who have been educated to know nothing of the theory of probabilities---that theory to which the most glorious objects of human research are indebted for the most glorious of illustration.

Even the leftover carats of tar in the gutter, so black they seemed to suck the light out of the air. By nightfall kids had come across them: every sidewalk on the block was scribbled with obscenities and hearts.

Live, Laugh, Love, Ms. Anketell's C Block Class

Yes, you’re mine, and I’ve waited a long time for you. So be a good girl and kiss me again like you know you belong with me.

It’s team and family, babe. You absolutely belong here with me.

There are two reasons why man loses contact with the regulating center of his soul. One of them is that some single instinctive drive or emotional image can carry him into a one-sidedness that makes him lose his balance. This also happens to animals; for example, a sexually excited stag will completely forget hunger and security. This one-sidedness and consequent loss of balance are much dreaded by primitives, who call it, "loss of soul." Another threat to the inner balance comes from excessive daydreaming, which in a secret way usually circles around particular complexes. In fact, daydreams arise just because they connect a man with his complexes; at the same time they threaten the concentration and continuity of his consciousness. The second obstacle is exactly the opposite, and is due to an over-consolidation of ego-consciousness. Although a disciplined consciousness is necessary for the performance of civilized activities (we know what happens if a railway signalman lapses into daydreaming), it has the serious disadvantage that it is apt to block the reception of impulses and messages coming from the center. This is why so many dreams of civilized people are concerned with restoring this receptivity by attempting to correct the attitude of consciousness toward the unconscious center of Self.

What's this?" Primage Dur squinted at the glow of magic in the forest before them. Twelve shining warriors in red leather stood interspaced between a line of gnarled trees, blocking the advance of the Eld. "Who are they?" "Dalh'reisen," Azurel hissed. "Are they... singing?

Well, Beatrix, if you ever want some Kingman in you, you know where to find me.

Many people go through life complaining, whining, and obsessing so much about what they don’t have that they are doing exactly what it takes to block it.

I was falling for my best friend.

She was my best friend besides my family, and best friends made the best lovers, and partners for life. And yeah, I could definitely see us together forever

I just... I don’t think any guy has ever held my hand in public like this before.

This gorgeous, amazing woman had become such a part of me, I didn’t know how to breathe without her on my mind, in my heart.

Luke,” Trixie shouted, “use the force you dumb rooster, use the force.

Instinctively, Damen moved his horse to block Laurent’s path. ‘No. The easiest way for your uncle to get rid of you is to separate you from your men, and you know it. You can’t go into town alone, you’re in danger just being here. We need to rejoin the troop. Now.’ Laurent

Sweetheart, I am a highly trained athlete and it’s the fucking off season. What the hell else do I have all these muscles for than to haul my girl, lush body and all, to bed?

God, you’re fucking sexier than in my wettest dreams. Now be a good girl and come for me, because I want you dripping when I taste your wet cunt.

Getting to finally touch her, taste her, claim her body, was just the cherry on top. She was the ice cream, the chocolate, and the sprinkles, and I would never get enough of her.

GOYKATTDLAGG

We blocked out all loud noise, all hurts. I continued loving Ms. Jennings until our eyes faded to rest. And then I loved her in my dreams.

In the constant pursuit of perfection, junk food will always be a rather painful stumbling block

Guymar pushed past his hesitation, said, ‘Our walls can withstand anything, but they’ll block the arrival of our reinforcements.’ He

I may want her to squeeze some parts of my anatomy, but not my throat. Well... maybe.

Then get on your knees and take this dick like a good girl.

maybe my heart melted a little, because this was definitely a Taylor Swift playlist.

Are you going to come for me? Are you gonna be my good fucking girl and come for me right now?

That’s usually how his father chose to fight. Blocked you in. Made you back up.

The Writer’s Oath By Beth Barany, c. 2007-2011 I will show up. I will write. I will let myself shine. I will honor the story and allow the words to serve the story. I write in the present because writing happens now.

The Block were not his enemy any more than the terror groups had been, however. They were just opponents in someone’s obscene game of chess. It was stupid for a knight to hate a pawn just because it flew a different flag.

To complicate matters further, proteins must catalyze formation of the basic building blocks of cellular life such as sugars, lipids, glycolipids, nucleotides, and ATP (adenosine triphosphate, the main energy molecule of the cell).

The two basic problems for any overarching classification scheme in it rapidly changing and complex field call be described as follows. First, any classificatory decision made now might by its nature block off valuable future developments.

It is okay to not know everything. It is okay to be wrong. We learn, grow, and develop from our mistakes. They become building blocks for success defined by character, humility, honesty, perseverance, integrity, hope, and most of all faith.

Try to write tests that force exceptions, and then add behavior to your handler to satisfy your tests. This will cause you to build the transaction scope of the try block first and will help you maintain the transaction nature of that scope.

Iinsisted on blasting Taylor Swift the entire car ride home and singing along just so I could avoid talking about that kiss. Because whenever anxiety hit me in the head, heart, or anywhere else... like say my lips, the cure was always my girl, Tay.

We should figure out how to block our thoughts?" Her smile slipped a little. His did too. "Or not", he said. "I kind of like having you in my head. Especially since I have to rule Eldr and you have to rule Ravenspire, so we'll be spending time apart." "Not too much time. I'm pretty sure I could find use for a dragon king--" "Could you now?" She laughed. "Of course. A dragon king to help me tour my kingdom--" "To kiss you senseless--" "To save me time when I need to light a winter's fire--" He leaned toward her. "To kiss you senseless--" "To help me find--" He kissed her. Her lips parted for his, her hands, full of magic, pressed against his hearts, and though he was miles from Eldr and everything he'd ever known, he knew he was home.

The blocks of the Healthy Eating Pyramid include: • vegetable oils such as olive and canola oil as the primary sources of fat • an abundance of vegetables and fruits, not including potatoes or corn • whole-grain foods at most meals • healthy sources of protein such as beans, nuts, seeds, fish, poultry, and eggs • a daily calcium supplement or dairy foods one to two times a day • a daily multivitamin • for those who choose to drink, alcohol in moderation • red meat, white bread, potatoes, soda, and sweets only occasionally if at all.

Rogers explains defensiveness as the tendency to unconsciously apply strategies to prevent a troubling stimulus from entering consciousness. We either deny (block out) or distort (reinterpret) what is really happening, essentially refusing to accept reality in order to stick with our preconceived ideas.

The value (“fitness”) of a given combination of building blocks often cannot be predicted by a summing up of values assigned to the component blocks. This nonlinearity (commonly called epistasis in genetics) leads to co-adapted sets of blocks (alleles) that serve to bias sampling and add additional layers to the hierarchy.

So what is it really like? What happens when people die?" Noor asks Alice Bhatti, who after finishing her shift has changed into a loose maxi and is lying down on a wheelie stretcher, her forearm covering her eyes. A half-torn poster on the wall behind the stretcher says : Bhai, your blood will bring a revolution. Someone has scrawled under it with a marker: And that revolution will bring more blood. Someone has added Insha'allah in an attempt to introduce divine intervention into the proceedings. Some more down-to-earth soul has tried to give this revolution a direction, and drawn an arrow underneath and scribbled, Bhai, the Blood Bank is in Block C.

I had a dim premonition that he was inescapably succumbing to his fate. He was lonely and had no friend to talk with. At least I knew no one among our acquaintances whom I would have trusted to say the saving word. Once I heard him praying. He struggled desperately to keep his faith. I was shaken and outraged at once, because I saw how hopelessly he was entrapped by the Church and its theological thinking. They had blocked all avenues by which he might have reached God directly, and then faithlessly abandoned him. Now I understood the deepest meaning of my earlier experience: God Himself had disavowed theology and the Church founded upon it. On the other hand God condoned this theology, as He condoned so much else. It seemed ridiculous to me to suppose that men were responsible for such developments. What were men, anyway? “They are born dumb and blind as puppies,” I thought, “and like all God’s creatures are furnished with the dimmest light, never enough to illuminate the darkness in which they grope.

He laughed with a mix of amusement and surprised appreciation. She couldn’t win. She had to know that. Yet still she fought. He hadn’t known there was a Summerlander alive still willing to confront him with such spirited defiance. Entire armies had fallen before him, yet this slight wisp of a girl dared to grapple, barehanded and defenseless, with the Winter King, a man who could slay with a glance. He dodged a fist meant to break his nose and laughed again, enjoying himself for the first time in a very long while. How lucky for him so few of Verdan’s soldiers had possessed such raw, reckless courage! A thousand like her in their ranks, and the war might have ended quite differently. His humor apparently didn’t sit well with her. She snarled and aimed another blow at his chin, which he blocked, as well as a vicious kick to his groin. He managed to block that, too—barely—but the hard toe of her boot still came close enough, with enough force, that his balls tingled from the near miss. He quit laughing. There were some things a man just didn’t find funny.

All that said, I don’t hesitate to refer to my son as my own personal ‘cock block.’ One day, he and I will talk, and I will explain the important shit to him. You don’t cry in the middle of the night needing your mother’s attention when your father has her pinned down long enough to get his cock wet inside her. No, this isn’t ‘biker code,’ my son will learn ‘guy code.

The largest locomotive in the New York Central system, while standing still, can be prevented from moving by a single one-inch block of wood placed in front of each of the eight drive wheels! The same locomotive, moving at 100 miles per hour, can crash through a wall of steel-reinforced concrete five feet thick. The only difference is momentum. Confidence gives you the momentum that makes the difference. You

The problem is that you are too much in love. You are here because your parents mentioned your name to someone who mentioned your parents' name to someone who mentioned your name to my superior who suggested that I might find a position for you. And so here you sit blocking my light and dripping on my floor, eager to tell me that you love the paintings in my museum. That you have known them, admired them, dreamt of them since you were a little girl. I wish it were otherwise but all this means nothing to me. Everyone who has sat on that stool has claimed your devotion.

A story is told about the medieval stone masons who carved the gargoyles that adorn the great Gothic cathedrals. Sometimes their creations were positioned high upon the cathedral, hidden behind cornices or otherwise blocked from view, invisible from any vantage point on the ground. They sculpted these gargoyles as carefully as any of the others, even knowing that once the cathedral was completed and the scaffolding was taken down, their work would remain forever unseen by any human eye. It was said that they carved for the eye of God. That, written in a thousand variations, is the story of human accomplishment.

Alors toi, le moins qu'on puisse dire, c'est que je t'aurais méritée. Primo, ça faisait des années que je t'attendais. Des années que j'avais juste le droit de tremper mes lèvres dans le bonheur et puis pas plus. Deusio, quand je te rencontre il faut que tu sois maquée avec un poulpe qui te colle de partout. Et tertio, quand enfin mademoiselle est dispo, il faut que tu me fasses poireauter des semaines et des semaines, genre laisse-moi digérer mon histoire avec Dudulle et faire mon rot. Tu crois que ça peut être simple ? Comme à la télé ou sur grand écran ? Ils se rencontrent, ils se plaisent, ils s'aiment, allez zou ! emballez, c'est pesé. Eh ben, nan ! Il faut que ça soit compliqué, il faut que mademoiselle prenne tout son temps, qu'elle s'ébroue un peu, qu'elle remette de l'ordre sans sa tête, qu'elle fasse une pose, alors que moi, je suis là, tendu comme un arc, les pieds bien calés dans les starting-blocks, les doigts bien posés sur la ligne, concentré, parce qu'un début d'histoire, faut surtout pas le rater, faut se donner à fond, je le sais, c'est pas une première pour moi, avec toutes les histoires foireuses que je viens d'enquiller, j'ai largement eu le temps de m'entraîner. Comme un sportif, je me suis entraîné. Je suis prêt, moi. Y a plus qu'à donner le départ. Quand mademoiselle sera disposée.

We can educate our conscience by: • reading and pondering over the wisdom literature of the ages to broaden our awareness of the true north principles that run as common themes throughout time • standing apart from and learning from our own experience • carefully observing the experience of others • taking time to be still and listen to that deep inner voice • responding to that voice It’s not enough just to listen to conscience; we must also respond. When we fail to act in harmony with our inner voice, we begin to build a wall around the conscience that blocks its sensitivity and receptivity. As C. S. Lewis observed, “disobedience to conscience makes conscience blind.

My approach to creating an outline is completely systematic: first I brainstorm, next I categorize, and then I outline the final product. • Brainstorm: I take a blank piece of paper and jot down all my thoughts on the relevant subject. My goal is to get down as many ideas as possible, not to put them into any particular order. • Categorize: Next I put the ideas into various categories and subcategories. This process helps me organize my ideas into groupings, which will become the building blocks of an outline. • Outline: Then I arrange and rearrange the groupings in various combinations. In the end, I try to find a logical order for the groupings, which can serve as a writing outline.

He glanced back and saw a Gestapo man standing in his window, aiming his Luger at him and firing again and again. Without thinking, Jacob turned now and began to run. He was scared of slipping in the rain and falling ten or fifteen meters and breaking every bone in his body. But he was even more scared of being shot down like a dog. He had no choice. It was flee or perish. So he was running now atop his neighbor’s roof, and soon he was leaping from roof to roof. He could hear yelling and more gunfire. But he would not look back again. He could not. There was no time. He knew every step could be his last. He raced down the entire block, twenty-two houses in a row. Soon all sound faded away.

Lost Wax" My love gives me some wax, so for once instead of words I work at something real; I knead until I see emerge a person, a protagonist; but I must overwork my wax, it loses it's resiliency, comes apart in crumbs. I take another block; this work, I think, will be a self; I can feel it forming, brow and brain; perhaps it will be me, perhaps, if I can create myself, I'll be able to amend myself; my wax, though, freezes this time, fissures, splits. Words or wax, no end to our self-shaping, our forlorn awareness at the end of which is only more awareness. Was ever truth so malleable? Arid, inadhesive bits of matter. What might heal you? Love. What might make you whole? Love. My love.

[After a period of separation, Phaeton and Daphne are cuddling.] Diomedes, meanwhile, was leaning to look behind Helion, staring with open fascination at the display Phaethon and Daphne made. “I have not seen non-parthenogenic bioforms before. Are they going to copulate?” Atkins and Helion looked at him, then looked at each other. A glance of understanding passed between them. Atkins put his hand on Diomedes’s elbow, and pulled him back in front of Helion. “Perhaps not at this time,” Atkins said, straight-faced. “They are young and in love,” explained Helion, stepping so as to block Diomedes’s view. “So perhaps the excesses and, ah, exuberance of their, ah, greeting, can be overlooked this once.” Diomedes craned his neck, trying to peer past Helion. “There’s nothing like that on Neptune.” Helion murmured, “Perhaps certain peculiarities of the Neptunian character are thereby clarified, hmm…?” “It looks very old-fashioned,” said Diomedes. Helion said, “It is that most ancient and most precious romantic character of mankind which impels all great men to their greatness.” Atkins said, “It’s what young men do before they go to war.” Diomedes said, “It is not the way Cerebellines or Compositions or Hermaphrodites or Neptunians arrange these matters. I’m not sure I see the value of it. But it looks interesting. Do all Silver-Gray get to do that? I wonder if Phaethon would mind if I helped him.” “He’d mind.” Atkins interrupted curtly. “Really. He’d mind.

Ten minutes later, Charlie eased their black Buick Skylark onto Ferdowsi Avenue, dubbed “Embassy Row” by local diplomats. Were other Western missions under siege, he wondered, or just his own? The boulevard was as congested as ever, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. No protests. No demonstrations. No presidents or prime ministers being burned in effigy here, even though hideous mock-ups of President Carter were being torched just a few blocks away. It was odd. They were so close to the student mob, but here he could detect no hostilities of any kind. Still, Charlie could tell Claire was getting anxious. If they were going to get out of this city, they needed to do it quickly. “Where will we go?” she asked her husband. “I’m not sure,” Charlie conceded. “Even if we could make it to the airport, they’d never let us out of the country. Especially not with U.S. diplomatic passports.

In an earlier paragraph we traced the checking of the instincts back to fear of the very real dangers of existence in this world. But external reality is not the only source of this instinct-inhibiting fear, for primitive man is often very much more afraid of an “inner” reality—the world of dreams, ancestral spirits, demons, gods, magicians, and witches. Although we, with our rationalism, think we can block this source of fear by pointing to its unreality, it nevertheless remains one of those psychic realities whose irrational nature cannot be exorcized by rational argument. You can free the primitive of certain superstitions, but you cannot talk him out of his alcoholism, his moral depravity, and general hopelessness. There is a psychic reality which is just as pitiless and just as inexorable as the outer world, and just as useful and helpful, provided one knows how to circumvent its dangers and discover its hidden treasures.

The very next day, delegates from Moscow visited mining towns around the USSR to recruit miners for an operation to cool the ground beneath the destroyed reactor. They were bussed to Chernobyl and began work on the 13th. One miner described the plan: “Our mission was this: dig a 150-meter tunnel, from the third block to the fourth. Then dig a room 30 meters long and 30 meters wide [and 2 meters tall] to hold a refrigeration device for cooling down the reactor.”210 Scientists worried that pneumatic drills would stress the building’s fragile foundations, so the miners were ordered to dig their tunnel by hand. To limit exposure, they dug down 12 meters before heading towards Unit 4. The project took one month and four days, with miners digging 24 hours a day - in a normal mine, that distance would have taken three times as long. Due to the nature of the dig, it wasn’t possible to install ventilation holes, so there was a lack of oxygen and the temperature reached highs of 30°C.

In 1968, at fifteen, she turned on the television and watched chaos flaring up across the country like brush fires. Martin Luther King, Jr., then Bobby Kennedy. Students in revolt at Columbia. Riots in Chicago, Memphis, Baltimore, D.C.—everywhere, everywhere, things were falling apart. Deep inside her a spark kindled, a spark that would flare in Izzy years later. Of course she understood why this was happening: they were fighting to right injustices. But part of her shuddered at the scenes on the television screen. Grainy scenes, but no less terrifying: grocery stores ablaze, smoke billowing from their rooftops, walls gnawed to studs by flame. The jagged edges of smashed windows like fangs in the night. Soldiers marching with rifles past drugstores and Laundromats. Jeeps blocking intersections under dead traffic lights. Did you have to burn down the old to make way for the new? The carpet at her feet was soft. The sofa beneath her was patterned with roses. Outside, a mourning dove cooed from the bird feeder and a Cadillac glided to a dignified stop at the corner. She wondered which was the real world.

When she was gone, Belliard turned to his brother warriors. Tiny, nearly imperceptible tremors were shaking his body. He touched his cheek, still feeling the warmth, the very subtle yet incredibly strong power that had moved from her fingertips to him. He had so much death on his soul that all but the strongest women among the Fey had avoided touching him centuries ago, unable to bear the pain of his sorrow, the ruthlessly self-enforced emotionlessness, and the dark burden of the lives he’d taken to protect the Fey. Even the shei’dalins only touched him when they needed to heal wounds he gained in battle. Yet this child, this incredible child whose soul called a tairen’s, had reached out to touch him and sent a flood of healing warmth and love so strong that it burned straight through the block of black ice that encased what remained of his gentle Fey emotions. He looked at Kieran, Kiel, Rowan, and Adrial. They could not feel what he felt, but they could hear his thoughts, and as Fey warriors they would understand. «My heart weeps again,» he told them, nodding when their faces mirrored his astonishment. «She is more powerful than any of us suspected. »

We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. —Romans 8:26 (NIV) C’mon guys, it's time to leave!” I call. The younger kids head toward the door. “No!” John bellows so loudly that Stephen clasps his ears. I take a deep breath. It’s my fifteen-year-old’s Sunday-morning anxiety attack, which manifests itself as belligerence. I have Andrew go on ahead with the other kids. It’s better to handle this without an audience. I talk to John for a bit. It is the usual problem: He is afraid God is angry and will not forgive him for some of the things he’s done in the past. We talk about grace, mercy, and love. We discuss the irrationality of thinking you’re the only unforgivable person in the world. I pray for him silently, because he won’t let me pray out loud. Then I have to decide: Is he safe and capable of calming down on his own? Should I stay home to make sure he’s okay? I head out the door, hoping John will join us at church in a little while. A deep ache grows in my heart as I walk the two blocks to church, the grief of a mother whose teenager’s troubles stretch far beyond her ability to solve. I try to articulate my feelings in prayer but cannot. Not knowing what else to do, I shove the groan in my soul God-ward, as if to say, “Here. This is what I mean. You know.” And God does. Holy Spirit, speak the words I cannot utter. —Julia Attaway Digging Deeper: Rom 8:26–28;1 Thes 5:17

While I am free to speak my mind, Kelly, now 14, is not so fortunate. Kelly has yet to receive rehabilitation for her shattered personality and programmed young mind. The high tech sophistication of the Project Monarch trauma based mind-control procedures she endured, literally since birth, reportedly requires highly specialized, qualified care to aid her in eventually gaining control of her mind and life. Due to the political affluence of our abusers, all efforts to obtain her inalienable right to rehabilitation and seek justice have been blocked under the guise of so-called "National Security." As a result, Kelly remains warehoused in a mental institution in the custody of the state of Tennessee--a victim of the system—a system controlled and manipulated by our abusive government "leaders" a system where State Forms make no allowances to report military TOP SECRET abuses--a system that exists on federal funding directed by our perverse, corrupt abusers in Washington, D.C. She remains a political prisoner in a mental institution to this moment, waiting and hurting! Violations of laws and rights, Psychological Warfare intimidation tactics, threats to our lives, and various other forms of CIA Damage Containment practices thus far have remained unhindered and unchecked due to the National Security Act of 1947 AND the 1986 Reagan Amendment to same which allows those in control of our government to censor and/or cover up anything they choose.

Sometimes you don’t just want to risk making mistakes; you actually want to make them—if only to give you something clear and detailed to fix. Making mistakes is the key to making progress. Of course there are times when it is really important not to make any mistakes—ask any surgeon or airline pilot. But it is less widely appreciated that there are also times when making mistakes is the only way to go. Many of the students who arrive at very competitive universities pride themselves in not making mistakes—after all, that’s how they’ve come so much farther than their classmates, or so they have been led to believe. I often find that I have to encourage them to cultivate the habit of making mistakes, the best learning opportunities of all. They get “writer’s block” and waste hours forlornly wandering back and forth on the starting line. “Blurt it out!” I urge them. Then they have something on the page to work with. We philosophers are mistake specialists. (I know, it sounds like a bad joke, but hear me out.) While other disciplines specialize in getting the right answers to their defining questions, we philosophers specialize in all the ways there are of getting things so mixed up, so deeply wrong, that nobody is even sure what the right questions are, let alone the answers. Asking the wrongs questions risks setting any inquiry off on the wrong foot. Whenever that happens, this is a job for philosophers! Philosophy—in every field of inquiry—is what you have to do until you figure out what questions you should have been asking in the first place. Some people hate it when that happens. They would rather take their questions off the rack, all nicely tailored and pressed and cleaned and ready to answer. Those who feel that way can do physics or mathematics or history or biology. There’s plenty of work for everybody. We philosophers have a taste for working on the questions that need to be straightened out before they can be answered. It’s not for everyone. But try it, you might like it. In

Writing requires a high degree of concentration. You should try to find a place that is a little out of the flow and clear your plate of possible distractions such as computer games and ringing cell phones. Personally, I like to write early in the morning before the buzz of the day begins. I have a friend who can write only in the evening after everyone has left the office and it is very quiet. Both of us like to write on long plane or train rides, where we can get a several-hour block of undisturbed time. You should write regularly at the time of day that works best for you.

These books, which cover many of the topics discussed in this book, may be helpful further reading. GENERAL REFERENCE American Academy of Pediatrics. Caring for Your Baby and Young Child: Birth to Age Five. New York: Bantam, 2004. Druckerman, P. Bringing Up Bébé: One American Mother Discovers the Wisdom of French Parenting. New York: Penguin, 2014. Eliot, L. What’s Going On in There?: How the Brain and Mind Develop in the First Five Years of Life. New York: Bantam, 2000. Nathanson, L. The Portable Pediatrician for Parents: A Month-by-Month Guide to Your Child’s Physical and Behavioral Development from Birth to Age Five. New York: HarperCollins, 1994. DISCIPLINE Phelan, T. W. 1-2-3 Magic: Effective Discipline for Children 2–12. Naperville, IL: ParentMagic, Inc., 2010. Webster-Stratton, C. The Incredible Years: A Trouble-Shooting Guide for Parents of Children Aged 2–8. Toronto: Umbrella Press, 1992. SLEEP Ferber, R. Solve Your Child’s Sleep Problems. Rev. ed. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2006. Karp, H. The Happiest Baby on the Block: The New Way to Calm Crying and Help Your Newborn Baby Sleep Longer. Rev. ed. New York: Bantam, 2015. Weissbluth, M. Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child: A Step-by-Step Program for a Good Night’s Sleep. 4th ed. New York: Ballantine Books, 2015. POTTY TRAINING Glowacki, J. Oh Crap! Potty Training: Everything Modern Parents Need to Know to Do It Once and Do It Right. New York: Touchstone, 2015.

Personally, I type the left-hand side of my calendar on Microsoft Outlook, then print out the pages and write the right-hand side in longhand. That way I can easily revise my goals throughout the day using a pen, instead of tapping on my BlackBerry’s keyboard. Other people manage their calendar exclusively on their computer or smartphone, through Outlook or products such as Google Calendar. It doesn’t matter—do whichever works best for you. The Left-Hand Side: Meetings, Phone Calls, and Other Assignments Take a look at my schedule for the day. Note that I have not filled up every hour—there are several blocks of “free time” in my schedule.

the purpose of the finally block is to contain cleanup code that should always be executed, the compiler will flag an error if you place a return statement inside a finally block. An

tagged along. He felt that Marvin was now his responsibility, and he wanted to keep an eye on him. No telling what the captain might say that could possibly upset Marvin. A brisk, cold wind was blowing as the passengers stepped from the ferry onto the dock at Ostend. Marvin later commented that he had never felt such raw weather, but his memory was short. He had forgotten the freezing winters we had lived through when we were growing up in Washington, D.C. From the waterfront at Ostend, Freddy led Marvin, Bubby, and Eugenie to a small boarding house at 77 Rue Promenade, just a block from the beach. Freddy’s wife, Lilliane, a joyous woman, was waiting for them with open arms. She had already prepared a room on the fifth floor for Freddy’s guests and had a hot meal simmering on the stove. The boarding house was owned by Freddy and managed by his wife. They lived in the basement apartment, along with their two young daughters. Lilliane had told them that a new playmate would be arriving, and they had eagerly anticipated meeting Bubby. Freddy seemed happy too, now that Marvin was safely in tow. As for Marvin, he was simply relieved to be warm again and on dry land. From the moment she first saw Marvin,

Zev’s heart thumped wildly, and he somehow managed to increase his speed, running faster than he’d ever previously managed. Jonah was a big kid, almost as big as Zev. And he was strong. But shifters were stronger than humans, even when wearing their human skins. And with three of them surrounding Jonah, he didn’t stand a chance. Hell, even very few shifters would manage to come out victorious against those odds. The sounds of fists hitting bodies intermingled with shouting ratcheted Zev’s anxiety even higher. Just as he was about to turn the corner, the noise stopped. That unexpected silence increased the fear that racked Zev’s body to such high proportions that he thought he might vomit. “Get away from….” Zev’s warning stuck in his throat as he finally managed to get around the edge of the building to survey the scene in front of him. Brian was lying on the ground, cradling his arm. A shifter who was two years older than Zev was flat on his back with his eyes closed. The third shifter who’d threatened Jonah was holding his nose, trying to block the blood that poured out from between his fingers. And in the center of the damage stood Jonah, his fists clenched, face sweaty, blond hair disheveled, and expression fierce.

Who has the moral high ground? Fifteen blocks from the whitehouse on small corners in northwest, d.c. boys disguised as me rip each other’s hearts out with weapons made in china. they fight for territory. across the planet in a land where civilization was born the boys of d.c. know nothing about their distant relatives in Rwanda. they have never heard of the hutu or tutsi people. their eyes draw blanks at the mention of kigali, byumba or butare. all they know are the streets of d.c., and do not cry at funerals anymore. numbers and frequency have a way of making murder commonplace and not news unless it spreads outside of our house, block, territory. modern massacres are intraethnic. bosnia, sri lanka, burundi, nagorno-karabakh, iraq, laos, angola, liberia, and rwanda are small foreign names on a map made in europe. when bodies by the tens of thousands float down a river turning the water the color of blood, as a quarter of a million people flee barefoot into tanzania and zaire, somehow we notice. we do not smile, we have no more tears. we hold our thoughts. In deeply muted silence looking south and thinking that today nelson mandela seems much larger than he is.

Breakfast Burrito Serves: 2 ½ cup chopped onion 1 cup chopped green bell pepper 1 cup sliced mushrooms 1 cup diced tomatoes 3 cups baby spinach or baby kale 8 ounces (½ block) firm tofu (or 3 eggs whites, see Note) 1 tablespoon nutritional yeast 1 teaspoon MatoZest*, Mrs. Dash, or other no-salt seasoning blend to taste 2 (100% whole grain) flour tortillas Water-sauté onions, peppers, mushrooms, and tomatoes until onion is translucent. Add greens and continue cooking until just wilted. Squeeze out as much water as possible from the tofu, then crumble it over the vegetable mixture and cook until tofu is just starting to turn golden. Stir in nutritional yeast and seasoning. Spread the cooked mixture on the tortillas and roll up to form burritos. Note: This recipe can be made with egg whites instead of or in addition to the tofu. Blend egg whites with ¼ cup nondairy milk, pour over the vegetable tofu mixture, and cook until eggs are done. PER SERVING: CALORIES 370; PROTEIN 26g; CARBOHYDRATE 50g; TOTAL FAT 9.6g; SATURATED FAT 1.5g; SODIUM 234mg; FIBER 12.4g; BETA-CAROTENE 9832mcg; VITAMIN C 199mg; CALCIUM 377mg; IRON 6.7mg; FOLATE 69mcg; MAGNESIUM 67mg; ZINC 1.8mg; SELENIUM 4.4mcg

However, there was one crucial difference between the narrator and myself: the narrator, as you mentioned, stayed true to her beliefs, even when no one would listen to them, and even though her husband did not approve of her writing, she still kept writing all her thoughts about that resting cure in her diary. On the other hand, I always thought I was hopeless, and although I was aware that my desires and my cousin’s and uncle’s desires are polar opposites, I never internally believed that my thoughts were well-justified, like you and the narrator have done. I even had an empty journal with me, and I was tempted to write down all my thoughts, but I felt so ashamed of my own beliefs that I could not write them down at all---another difference between me and the narrator. But now, you gave this lesson for the C.I.L. where the main character stayed true to herself and was unafraid of writing down her thoughts and experiences---she wrote spontaneously and unreluctantly, while I suffered from severe writer’s block.

Several of the windows had been blocked up from the days when owners tried to avoid the window tax.

An even earlier example was the rise of dark pool stock trading. In 1979, the U.S. Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) instituted Rule 19c3, which allowed stocks listed on one exchange, such as the New York Stock Exchange (NYSE), to be traded off-exchange. Many large institutions moved their trading large blocks to these dark pools, where they traded peer to peer with far lower costs than traditional exchange-based trading.

C'est pour ça que je me bats. Je me bats pour ceux que j'aime, un sentiment auquel vous ne comprendrez jamais rien parce qu'une machine peut apprendre a penser, mais pas à aimer.

Asteria’s Ship’s Library Sailing Books Admiralty, NP 136, Ocean Passages of the World, 1973 (1895).  Admiralty, NP 303 / AP 3270, Rapid Sight Reduction Tables for Navigation Vol 1 & Vol 2 & Vol3. Admiralty, The Nautical Almanac 2018 & 2019. Errol Bruce: Deep Sea Sailing, 1954. K. Adlard Coles: Heavy Weather Sailing, 1967. Tom Cunliffe: Celestial Navigation, 1989. Andrew Evans: Single Handed Sailing, 2015. Rob James: Ocean Sailing, 1980. Robin Knox-Johnston: A World of my Own, 1969. Robin Knox-Johnston: On Seamanship & Seafaring, 2018. Bernard Moitessier: The Long Route, 1971. Hal Roth: Handling Storms at Sea, 2009. Spike Briggs & Campbell Mackenzie: Skipper's Medical Emergency Handbook, 2015 Essays Albert Camus: The Myth of Sisyphus & Other Essays, 1955. Biographies Pamela Eriksson: The Duchess, 1958. Olaf Harken: Fun Times in Boats, Blocks & Business, 2015. Martti Häikiö: VA Koskenniemi 1–2, 2009. Eino Koivistoinen: Gustaf Erikson – King of Sailing Ships, 1981. Erik Tawaststjerna: Jean Sibelius 1–5, 1989. Novels Ingmar Bergman: The Best Intentions, 1991. Bo Carpelan: Axel, 1986. Joseph Conrad: The End of the Tether, 1902. Joseph Conrad: Youth and Other Stories 1898–1910.  Joseph Conrad: Heart of Darkness, 1902. Joseph Conrad: Lord Jim, 1900. James Joyce: Ulysses, 1922, (translation Pentti Saarikoski 1982). Volter Kilpi: In the Alastalo Hall I – II, 1933. Thomas Mann: Buddenbrooks, 1925. Harry Martinson: The Road, 1948. Hjalmar Nortamo: Collected Works, 1938. Marcel Proust: In Search of Lost Time 1–10, 1922. Poems Aaro Hellaakoski: Collected Poems. Homer: Odysseus, c. 700 BC (translation Otto Manninen). Harry Martinson: Aniara, 1956. Lauri Viita: Collected Poems. Music Classic Jean Sibelius Sergei Rachmaninov Sergei Prokofiev Gustav Mahler Franz Schubert Giuseppe Verdi Mozart Carl Orff Richard Strauss Edvard Grieg Max Bruch Jazz Ben Webster Thelonius Monk Oscar Peterson Miles Davis Keith Jarrett Errol Garner Dizzy Gillespie & Benny Dave Brubeck Stan Getz Charlie Parker Ella Fitzgerald John Coltrane Other Ibrahim Ferrer, Buena Vista Social Club Jobim & Gilberto, Eric Clapton Carlos Santana Bob Dylan John Lennon Beatles Sting Rolling Stones Dire Straits Mark Knopfler Moody Blues Pink Floyd Jim Morrison The Doors Procol Harum Leonard Cohen Led Zeppelin Kim Carnes Jacques Brel Yves Montand Edit Piaf

LEARN TO VIEW YOUR PROBLEMS AS TEMPORARY STUMBLING BLOCKS.

Cracked Skill Description: Channel mana into the skill to activate [Phantom Armor], which will then block physical and elemental damage with efficiency depending on the rate at which mana is channeled into the skill. Rating: Detrimental - Extremely niche or limited use due to mana cost being continuous. Crack turns a highly sought-after, life-saving skill into a costly and inefficient general defense skill. Possibly recommended for mages with a strong emphasis on Mana Regeneration cultivation.

Single clean. The single clean is a natural progression from the swing and is the intermediary point between the swing and many of the overhead lifts. The clean introduces hand insertion, alignment points connected to the rack position, and positioning of the kettlebell in the hand in order to avoid injury and grip fatigue. It also teaches you how to use your legs to transmit vertical power from the lower to upper body. With practice, your clean becomes a smooth, rhythmic movement that you can sustain for extended lengths of time, although it may take hundreds of practice repetitions before it flows and becomes polished. Resting the kettlebell on the forearm is a distinguishing characteristic of kettlebells that makes them behave differently than dumbbells and makes them effective for developing the fitness that comes with high-repetition resistance training. By placing most of the load on the forearm, the muscles of the hand and grip are able to relax. It takes practice before the kettlebell will move smoothly in your hand and into position. Sometimes you will have bad repetitions and the kettlebell will crash into your forearm. To make this learning process a little kinder, you can wear wrist wraps or wristbands. In time your technique will become more polished and the kettlebell will just float into position on your arm in cleans and snatches, and at that point you may prefer to not use any wraps at all. However, it is an option for those with more tender arms—no sense giving yourself bruises if you do not need to. With the kettlebell on the floor, sit back with your hips and grip the handle with the fingers of one hand (see figure 7.11, a and b). Swing the kettlebell back through your legs as you did in the one-handed swing (see figure 7.11c), and as it swings forward, keep your forearm braced against your body (see figure 7.11d). During the swing, your arm comes away from the body as inertia pulls the kettlebell forward and up. During the clean, on the other hand, the arm does not disconnect from body, and at the point where the arm would disconnect during the swing, it instead moves vertically along the front of your body. Imagine you are standing inside a chimney. The walls of the chimney block you so that you cannot move out or to the side; you can only move the kettlebell up and down the chimney wall. When the hips reach forward extension, pull with the hip on the working side and give a gentle tug with your trapezius on the same side, pulling the kettlebell up the chimney (see figure 7.11e). Before the kettlebell settles to the chest, loosen your grip and open your hand to insert your fingers as deeply into the handle as you can at a curved angle until the medial portion of your forearm, the ulna, blocks you from inserting the hand any further (see figure 7.11f). Complete the vertical pull by letting the kettlebell rest on your chest and arm (see figure 7.11g) into what is called the rack position. This

Words of caution, you must take. Should you push her, she will break. Chaos abounds in a room left locked. The lives of Gods and mortals blocked.

Oh, it is on like Donkey Kong.

Chris waggled his eyebrows at me and his hand stayed over my mouth while he thrust faster. He didn’t relent for a second, there was no way we weren’t going be discovered at any moment. Not with the rhythmic banging of my ass against the lockers. “You like this don’t you, my naughty girl?

Good fucking boy,” Lincoln screamed as Walker blocked a shot. I swear Walker preened.

Luke, if you weren’t so adorable, I’d cook you for dinner. Come here you little rat.

During that second year of law school, Usha and I traveled to D.C. for follow-up interviews with a few law firms. I returned to our hotel room, dejected that I had just performed poorly with one of the firms I really wanted to work for. When Usha tried to comfort me, to tell me that I’d probably done better than I expected, but that even if I hadn’t, there were other fish in the sea, I exploded. “Don’t tell me that I did fine,” I yelled. “You’re just making an excuse for weakness. I didn’t get here by making excuses for failure.” I stormed out of the room and spent the next couple of hours on the streets of D.C.’s business district. I thought about that time Mom took me and our toy poodle to Middletown’s Comfort Inn after a screaming match with Bob. We stayed there for a couple of days, until Mamaw convinced Mom that she had to return home and face her problems like an adult. And I thought about Mom during her childhood, running out the back door with her mother and sister to avoid another night of terror with her alcoholic father. I was a third-generation escaper. I was near Ford’s Theatre, the historic location where John Wilkes Booth shot Abraham Lincoln. About half a block from the theater is a corner store that sells Lincoln memorabilia. In it, a large Lincoln blow-up doll with an extraordinarily large grin gazes at those walking by. I felt like this inflatable Lincoln was mocking me. Why the hell is he smiling? I thought. Lincoln was melancholy to begin with, and if any place invoked a smile, surely it wouldn’t be a stone’s throw away from the place where someone shot him in the head. I turned the corner, and after a few steps I saw Usha sitting on the steps of Ford’s Theatre. She had run after me, worried about me being alone. I realized then that I had a problem—that I must confront whatever it was that had, for generations, caused those in my family to hurt those whom they loved. I apologized profusely to Usha. I expected her to tell me to go fuck myself, that it would take days to make up for what I’d done, that I was a terrible person. A sincere apology is a surrender, and when someone surrenders, you go in for the kill. But Usha wasn’t interested in that. She calmly told me through her tears that it was never acceptable to run away, that she was worried, and that I had to learn how to talk to her. And then she gave me a hug and told me that she accepted my apology and was glad I was okay. That was the end of it. Usha hadn’t learned how to fight in the hillbilly school of hard knocks.

I can’t see my wienie, my little pecker, my loving love rod, unless I lean forward. My belly blocks it from view.

For all the women who have done, or are doing the work to love yourself from the inside out. You’re allowed to take up space.

We’re just pals and have been since high school when she friend zoned me so hard, I still haven’t recovered. Doesn’t mean I don’t still jerk off in the shower thinking about her. But my mamma didn’t raise no jackasses, and my father ground into all seven of us boys to be gentlemen.

While my image of unstarted art was an empty canvas, my guide told me that his was an uncarved block of jade, like the one that ultimately became the Buddha in front of us. My work of art doesn’t exist until I add images and paint. His already exists but is not visible until he takes away the stone that is not part of the sculpture within the block.

Hell naw, this motherfucking man is insaneeeeee. All I need him to do is show me where my cell block is, and he will not have to worry about me.

good girl.

good girl

Well, I didn’t. I loved myself more today than I had a day ago, a week ago, a year ago. And I was loved. By my family, by my friends, and my Chris.

I see you, Rachel. I’ve known you and people like you my whole life. You honestly think that because my body is bigger than yours, that I should be ashamed and sad and hide myself away from the world. Because I don’t fit the ideal beauty standard of the day, I’m not deserving of love and happiness. But that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

WILD GREENS—BOTH FOOD AND MEDICINE The wild greens that hunter-gatherers consumed were so rich in phytonutrients that they used them as medicine as well as food. The leaves of wild lamb’s-quarters (Chenopodium album), also known as goosefoot and fat hen, were consumed by hunter-gatherers from North America to Africa. The greens were eaten raw, fried in fat, dried, added to soups, or mixed with meat. The Pomo people, who lived in northern California, steamed the leaves and used them to treat stomachaches. The Potawatomi of the upper Mississippi region used lamb’s-quarters to cure a condition that we now know to be scurvy, a nutritional deficiency caused by a lack of vitamin C. The Iroquois made a paste of the fresh greens and applied it to burns to relieve pain and speed healing. Many tribes consumed the seeds of the plant as well as the leaves, even though the seeds were very small and tedious to gather. Americans are now eating the seeds of domesticated varieties of lamb’s-quarters, which are unusually high in protein. They go by the name quinoa. Lamb’s-quarters may prove to be a potent healer in twenty-first-century medicine as well. Recent studies show that the greens are rich in phytonutrients, fight viruses and bacteria, and block the growth of human breast cancer cells. More investigations are under way. Dandelions, the plague of urban

Middle toddlers (24 to 36 months): Middle toddlers hate unexpected changes because they work so hard to figure things out (“C’mon! I just finally got it…. Don’t go changing it on me!”). That’s why routines are such a huge bonus at this age. They fill your two-year-old’s need for things to “follow the rules” and be “just so.