C Mac Quotes

You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it himself. (Quoted by C.S.Lewis in Mere Christianity)

At the foundation of moral thinking lie beliefs in statements the truth of which no further reason can be given.

Moral judgments are linguistic survivals from the practices of classical theism which have lost the context provided by these practices.

An almost perfect relationship with his father was the earthly root of all his wisdom. From his own father, he said, he first learned that Fatherhood must be at the core of the universe. [speaking of George MacDonald]

I only got to see three songs, Mac" "That does not entitle you to take home the lead singer, Jody" "I know" "Most people settle for a T-shirt or a poster. Not Jody. Jody wants actual band members

The longest way round is the shortest way home. (Quoting Alexander MacLaren, The Wearied Christ and Other Sermons)

For Kant one can be both good and stupid; but for Aristotle stupidity of a certain kind precludes goodness.

Imprisoning philosophy within the professionalizations and specializations of an institutionalized curriculum, after the manner of our contemporary European and North American culture, is arguably a good deal more effective in neutralizing its effects than either religious censorship or political terror

In reading Chesterton, as in reading MacDonald, I did not know what I was letting myself in for. A young man who wishes to remain a sound Atheist cannot be too careful of his reading. There are traps everywhere — "Bibles laid open, millions of surprises," as Herbert says, "fine nets and stratagems." God is, if I may say it, very unscrupulous.

Shaunee was digging in her purse like she'd misplaced a tube of one of MAC's seasonal lipsticks that you buy and fall in love with AND THEN THEY DISCONTINUE IT BECAUSE THEY REALLY HATE US AND WANT US TO BE CRAZY.

The C part is in here and it wants to play. Do you want to see it? Or are you going to pussy out on me again?" This quote is taken from "As Easy As ABC", written in 2014, scheduled to be included in the as yet unpublished 3rd book of the Killing Time Legacy Series (expected c.2023).

You make me want to do things I’ve never done before. Never wanted to do before,’ she whispered.

The anti-government rhetoric that continues to saturate our political life is rooted in [support for] slavery rather than liberty. The paralyzing suspicion of government so much on display today, that is to say, came originally not from average people but from elite extremists such as [John C.] Calhoun who saw federal power as a menace to their system of racial slavery.

To have understood the polymorphous character of pleasure and happiness is of course to have rendered those concepts useless for utilitarian purposes; if the prospect of his or her own future pleasure or happiness cannot for reasons which I have suggested provide criteria for solving the problems of action in the case of each individual, it follows that the notion of the greatest happiness of the greatest number is a notion without any clear content at all. It is indeed a pseudo-concept available for a variety of ideological uses, but no more than that.

There is no way to understand the character of the taboo rules, except as a survival from some previous more elaborate cultural background. We know also and as a consequence that any theory which makes the taboo rules ... intelligible just as they are without any reference to their history is necessarily a false theory... why should we think about [the theories of] analytic moral philosophers such as Moore, Ross, Prichard, Stevenson, Hare and the rest in any different way? ... Why should we think about our modern use of good, right and obligatory in any different way from that in which we think about late eighteenth-century Polynesian uses of taboo?

You went back in time,” he repeated, “and you expect his cell phone to work?” “Well, no, I just, I mean, I came back and he hasn’t! Shouldn’t he have?” Morrison, very steadily, said, “Were you together?” “No! I just said he went to fight the Morrigan!” “I see.” There was a pause. “The man is seventy-four years old, Joanie. He can take care of himself. If you were,” a great and patient pause filled the line before he went on, “time traveling. If you were time traveling and got separated, then I can’t think of any reason he would necessarily come back to the present at the same time you did.” “Except I was the focal point, it was my fault, it --!” “Joanne. Siobhan. Siobhan Grainne MacNamarra Walkingstick.” I didn’t think anybody had ever said my name like that before. I gulped down a hysterical sob and whispered, “Yeah?” Morrison, with gentle emphasis, said, “I love you. Now pull yourself together and go find the bad guy,” and hung up.

Kant was right; morality did in the eighteenth century, as a matter of historical fact, presuppose something very like the teleological scheme of God, freedom and happiness as the final crown of virtue which Kant propounds. Detach morality from that framework and you will no longer have morality; or, at the very least, you will have radically transformed its character.

The last song recorded for Abbey Road was Lennon’s BECAUSE - a three-part harmony in C sharp minor inspired by hearing Yoko Ono play the Adagio sostenuto of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 14, Op. 27 No. 2 (Moonlight).

C-PTSD sufferers who experienced abuse may engage in mental arguments with their abusers long after the abuse has ended. Most people with C-PTSD experienced ongoing abuse from someone (or multiple people) who repeatedly betrayed their trust, and blamed them for this betrayal. They were made the scapegoat of someone else’s shame, which eventually caused them to absorb this shame themselves.

Mrs. Wellington was wearing a voluminous flannel nightgown when she answered the door. Hamish was glad Mr. Wellington had found God, because it certainly looked as if he would need to wait until he got to heaven to get his reward.

All the books were beginning to turn against me. Indeed, I must have been blind as a bat not to have seen it long before, the ludicrous contradiction between my theory of life and my actual experiences as a reader. George MacDonald had done more to me than any other writer; of course it was a pity that he had that bee in his bonnet about Christianity. He was good in spite of it. Chesterton has more sense than all the other moderns put together; bating, of course, his Christianity. Johnson was one of the few authors whom I felt I could trust utterly; curiously enough, he had the same kink. Spenser and Milton by a strange coincidence had it too. Even among ancient authors the same paradox was to be found. The most religious (Plato, Aeschylus, Virgil) were clearly those on whom I could really feed. On the other hand, those writers who did not suffer from religion and with whom in theory my sympathy ought to have been complete -- Shaw and Wells and Mill and Gibbon and Voltaire -- all seemed a little thin; what as boys we called "tinny". It wasn't that I didn't like them. They were all (especially Gibbon) entertaining; but hardly more. There seemed to be no depth in them. They were too simple. The roughness and density of life did not appear in their books.

How to Win Against an Abuser? I get this question all the time, and my answer is always the same: Don’t try to win. As soon as we engage in this win/lose mentality, we abandon our hearts and forget what’s really important: vulnerability and love. Yes, absolutely you should remove toxic people from your life, but it should be from the perspective of self-love, not “winning.” As long as we maintain this false illusion of control, we’re still connected to the person in our psyches. A hallmark of C-PTSD is fantasizing about gaining some power over an otherwise powerless situation.

You know as well as we do that right, as the world goes, is only in question between equals in power, while the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must.” THUCYDIDES, THE HISTORY OF THE PELOPONNESIAN WAR, 5TH CENTURY B.C.

She was still doing forty knots, driving in under the guns of the enemy, guns at maximum depression, when "A" magazine blew up, blasted off the entire bows in one shattering detonations. For a second, the lightened fo'c'sle reared high into the air" then it plunged down, deep down, into the shoulder of a rolling sea. She plunged down and kept on going down, driving down to the black floor of the Arctic, driven down by the madly spinning screws. The still thundering engines her own executioners.

He rallied a little. "Who are you? What do you know about this? Disease control is our job, not yours. Who are you?" "My name," I said, mostly uner my breath, "is Siobhan Grainne MacNamarra Walkingstick, and I'm the answer to all your prayers.

We are so accustomed to classifying judgments, arguments and deeds in terms of morality that we forget how relatively new the notion was in the culture of the Enlightenment.

I believe in reverencing anything in the life of man which has the testimony of the ages as being unexcelled, whether it be literature, paintings, poetry, tombs -- even a golf hole.

Notre génération est trop superficielle pour le mariage. On se marie comme on va au MacDo. Après, on zappe. Comment voudriez-vous qu'on reste toute sa vie avec la même personne dans la société du zapping généralisé? Dans l'époque où les stars, les hommes politiques, les arts, les sexes, les religions n'ont jamais été aussi interchangeables? Pourquoi le sentiment amoureux ferait-il exception à la schizophrénie générale? Et puis d'abord, d'où nous vient donc cette curieuse obsession: s'escrimer à tout prix pour être heureux avec une seule personne? Sur 558 types de sociétés humaines, 24 % seulement sont monogames. La plupart des espèces animales sont polygames. Quant aux extraterrestres, n'en parlons pas: il y a longtemps que la Charte Galactique X23 a interdit la monogamie dans toutes les planètes de type B#871. Le mariage, c'est du caviar à tous les repas: une indigestion de ce que vous adorez, jusqu'à l'écœurement. “ Allez, vous en reprendrez bien un peu, non? Quoi? Vous n'en pouvez plus? Pourtant vous trouviez cela délicieux il y a peu, qu'est-ce qui vous prend? Sale gosse, va!” La puissance de l'amour, son incroyable pouvoir, devait franchement terrifier la société occidentale pour qu'elle en vienne à créer ce système destiné à vous dégoûter de ce que vous aimez.

His goal was to be vigilant against " the bozo explosion" that leads to a company's being larded with second rate talent: For most things in life, the range between best and average is 30% or so. The best airplane flight, the best meal, they may be 30% better than your average one. What I saw with Woz was somebody who was fifty times better than the average engineer. He could have meetings in his head. The Mac team was an attempt to build a whole team like that, A players. People said they wouldn't get along, they'd hate working with each other. But I realized that A players like to work with A players, they just didn't like working with C players. At Pixar, it was a whole company of A players. When I got back to Apple, that's what I decided to try to do. You need to have a collaborative hiring process. When we hire someone, even if they're going to be in marketing, I will have them talk to the design folks and the engineers. My role model was J. Robert Oppenheimer. I read about the type of people he sought for the atom bomb project. I wasn't nearly as good as he was, but that's what I aspired to do.

He fished steadily, trying to fight down a dragging, aching sense of loss, wondering how one’s brain should know all the sensible answers while one’s emotions longed for the unattainable.

I see we have a problem.’ Lucas gripped her other arm and gave her a non-too-gentle shake. ‘Are you in a relationship? or...’ Those dark eyes searching hers narrowed into slits. ‘Are you married?

Not of course that I can pretend for a moment to be able to feel it as you do. If I did, you would say to yourself (like the man in MacBeth), "He has no children." A few years ago when I was in my own trouble you said as much to me. You wrote, "I know I'm outside. My voice can hardly reach you." And that was one reason why your letter was more like the real grasp of a real hand than any other I got.

All Summer in a Day” by Ray Bradbury Because of Winn-Dixie by Kate DiCamillo Big Nate series by Lincoln Peirce The Black Cauldron (The Chronicles of Prydain) by Lloyd Alexander The Book Thief  by Markus Zusak Brian’s Hunt by Gary Paulsen Brian’s Winter by Gary Paulsen Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson Bud, Not Buddy by Christopher Paul Curtis The Call of the Wild by Jack London The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White The Chronicles of Narnia series by C. S. Lewis Diary of a Wimpy Kid series by Jeff Kinney Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury The Giver by Lois Lowry Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown Harry Potter series by J. K. Rowling Hatchet by Gary Paulsen The High King (The Chronicles of Prydain) by Lloyd Alexander The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien Holes by Louis Sachar The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins I Am LeBron James by Grace Norwich I Am Stephen Curry by Jon Fishman Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O’Dell Johnny Tremain by Esther Hoskins Forbes Julie of the Wolves by Jean Craighead George Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson LeBron’s Dream Team: How Five Friends Made History by LeBron James and Buzz Bissinger The Lightning Thief  (Percy Jackson and the Olympians) by Rick Riordan A Long Walk to Water by Linda Sue Park The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood by Howard Pyle Number the Stars by Lois Lowry The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton The River by Gary Paulsen The Sailor Dog by Margaret Wise Brown Sarah, Plain and Tall by Patricia MacLachlan Shiloh by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor “A Sound of Thunder” by Ray Bradbury Star Wars Expanded Universe novels (written by many authors) Star Wars series (written by many authors) The Swiss Family Robinson by Johann D. Wyss Tales from a Not-So-Graceful Ice Princess (Dork Diaries) by Rachel Renée Russell Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing by Judy Blume “The Tell-Tale Heart” by Edgar Allan Poe Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson Tuck Everlasting by Natalie Babbitt Under the Blood-Red Sun by Graham Salisbury The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle

It may even be one of the greatest arts; for it produces works which give us (at the first meeting) as much delight and (on prolonged acquaintance) as much wisdom and strength as the works of the greatest poets. It is in some ways more akin to music than to poetry or at least to most poetry. It goes beyond the expression of things we have already felt. It arouses in us sensations we have never had before, never anticipated having, as though we had broken out of our normal mode of consciousness and 'possessed joys not promised to our birth.' It gets under our skin, hits us at a level deeper than our thoughts or even our passions, troubles oldest certainties till all questions are re-opened, and in general shocks us more fully awake than we are for most of our lives. It was in this mythopoeic art that MacDonald excelled.

Dysfunctional Healing Approach: C-PTSD causes the sufferer’s thinking to become very rigid and analytical. This was (at some point) a necessary survival skill in order to identify threats and stay safe. However, once the threat is over, those with C-PTSD may still have a lot of trouble “feeling” emotions, and may end up trying to “think” them instead. As they begin recovery, they are likely to use this same analytical and rigid thinking against themselves, embarrassed or impatient by their inability to get in touch with their own feelings. They are also likely to have an extremely negative reaction to the idea of forgiveness, equating that with “letting them win,” and seeing forgiveness as something that abusers use to keep hurting victims. And they’re not wrong! I’ll explore this topic in Part 4 when we come back to forgiveness.

As a great Christian writer (George MacDonald) pointed out, every father is pleased at the baby’s first attempt to walk: no father would be satisfied with anything less than a firm, free, manly walk in a grown-up son. In the same way, he said, ‘God is easy to please, but hard to satisfy.

The codependent’s unbalanced relationship patterns eventually lead to serious emotional issues, which they may continue to ignore until it becomes so serious that they begin to manifest symptoms of C-PTSD—hypervigilance, revenge fantasies, mood swings, and isolation. This severe discomfort may feel unfair and wrong, but it’s actually a blessing in disguise.

Meg MacKenzie who said raising her two sons is like living with a tornado.

What makes a lad? What makes a lass? Memories just, when time does pass!

The sixteenth-century scholar, O’Flaherty, fixes the Milesian invasion of Ireland at about 1000 B. C. — the time of Solomon.

Aye, it’s an unfair world when you think of it. If that man had been a woman, he’d have been called a harlot!

Secrets and lies and words unspoken bred mistrust, hurt feelings and broke hearts beyond pain.

A genuine work of art must mean many things. The truer its art, the more things it will mean. ~George MacDonald, mentor to C.S, Lewis

No one could remain an atheist with larks around, he thought dreamily.

like most thin-skinned people who have been snubbed, he could not leave the snubbers alone.

See, the happy moron, He doesn’t give a damn, I wish I were a moron, My God! perhaps I am! —Anonymous

… one of those people who would be enormously improved by death. —Saki

McGrath, Rita Gunther, and Ian C. MacMillan. The

Iran out of there like a cockroach fleeing a freshly lit torch.

Comme Bancroft, MacIntyre avait été un homme de pouvoir et, comme tous les hommes de pouvoir, quand il parlait de prix, vous pouviez être sûr d’une chose : C’était quelqu’un d’autre qui payait.

If anything wants Andrew MacPhee to believe in its existence, I’ll be obliged if it will present itself in full daylight, with a sufficient number of witnesses present, and not get shy if you hold up a camera or a thermometer.

The notion that the salvation of Jesus is a salvation from the consequences of our sins is a false, mean, low notion...Jesus did not die to save us from punishment; He was called Jesus because He should save His people from their sins.

Never make trouble in the village’ is an unspoken law, but it’s a binding law. You may know about your neighbours’ sins and shortcomings, but you must never name them aloud. It’d make trouble, and small societies want to avoid trouble.

Beginning in about 3200 b.c.—roughly during the same period when the Egyptians were building their first pyramids—people on Peru’s northern coast began building terraced mounds alongside large plazas, ceremonial architecture, and large-scale settlements.

Any Justification that does not lead to Biblical sanctification and mortification of sinful desires is a false justification no matter how many Solas you attach to it”. “See that your chief study be about the heart, that there God’s image may be planted, and his interest advanced, and the interest of the world and flesh subdued, and the love of every sin cast out, and the love of holiness succeed; and that you content not yourselves with seeming to do good in outward acts, when you are bad yourselves, and strangers to the great internal duties. The first and great work of a Christian is about his heart.” ~ Richard Baxter Never forget that truth is more important to the church than peace ~ JC Ryle "Truth demands confrontation. It must be loving confrontation, but there must be confrontation nonetheless.” ~ Francis Schaeffer I am not permitted to let my love be so merciful as to tolerate and endure false doctrine. When faith and doctrine are concerned and endangered, neither love nor patience are in order...when these are concerned, (neither toleration nor mercy are in order, but only anger, dispute, and destruction - to be sure, only with the Word of God as our weapon. ~ Martin Luther “Truth must be spoken, however it be taken.” ~ John Trapp “Hard words, if they be true, are better than soft words if they be false.” – C.H. Spurgeon “Oh my brethren, Bold hearted men are always called mean-spirited by cowards” – CH Spurgeon “The Bible says Iron sharpens Iron, But if your words don't have any iron in them, you ain't sharpening anyone”. “Peace often comes as a result of conflict!” ~ Don P Mt 18:15-17 Rom 12:18 “Peace if possible, truth at all costs.” ~ Martin Luther “The Scriptures argue and debate and dispute; they are full of polemics… We should always regret the necessity; but though we regret it and bemoan it, when we feel that a vital matter is at stake we must engage in argument. We must earnestly contend for the truth, and we are all called upon to do that by the New Testament.” Martyn Lloyd-Jones (Romans – Atonement and Justification) “It is one of the severest tests of friendship to tell your friend his faults. So to love a man that you cannot bear to see a stain upon him, and to speak painful truth through loving words, that is friendship.” ~ Henry Ward Beecher “Truth bites and it stings and it has a blade on it.” ~ Paul Washer Soft words produce hard hearts. Show me a church where soft words are preached and I will show you a church of hard hearts. Jeremiah said that the word of God is a hammer that shatters. Hard Preaching produces soft hearts. ~ J. MacArthur Glory follows afflictions, not as the day follows the night but as the spring follows the winter; for the winter prepares the earth for the spring, so do afflictions sanctified, prepare the soul for glory. ~ Richard Sibbes “Cowards never won heaven. Do not claim that you are begotten of God and have His royal blood running in your veins unless you can prove your lineage by this heroic spirit: to dare to be holy in spite of men and devils.” ~ William Gurnall

Autumn was a harvest of big-box stores and their back-to-school sales: fruit leather, instant mac 'n' cheese, and bread that we unhusked, crinkling, from its plastic sleeve. My mouth watered for the sweetness of processed wheat sown thick through gas stations from California to New York. Honey Buns and Wonder Breads, in perfect squares and machined circles, and the ripe weight of a Danish, mass-produced, that attempts no fidelity to the country after which it is named--- no country but this one ambered by waves of industrial grain.

Rivelerò un segreto: a volte sono contenta che Henry non ci sia. A volte mi piace stare sola. A volte, a tarda notte, passeggio per la casa e fremo di piacere all'idea di non dover parlare né toccare, di poter camminare e basta, o restarmene seduta o fare un bagno. A volte mi sdraio sul pavimento del soggiorno ad ascoltare i Fleetwood Mac, i Bangles, i B-52's, gli Eagles, gruppi che Henry non sopporta. A volte faccio lunghe passeggiate con Alba senza lasciare un biglietto per dire dove sono. A volte mi vedo con Celia per un caffè e parliamo di Henry, e di Ingrid, e di chiunque Celia stia frequentando quella settimana. A volte sto con Charisse e Gomez, non parliamo di Henry e riusciamo a divertirci. Una volta sono andata nel Michigan e al mio ritorno Henry non c'era ancora e io non gli ho mai detto di essere stata via. A volte chiamo una baby-sitter e vado al cinema o a fare un giro in bicicletta al calar della notte lungo la pista ciclabile che costeggia la spiaggia di Montrose senza luci; è come volare. A volte sono contenta che Henry non ci sia, ma sono sempre contenta quando torna.

Even Europe joined in. With the most modest friendliness, explaining that they wished not to intrude on American domestic politics but only to express personal admiration for that great Western advocate of peace and prosperity, Berzelius Windrip, there came representatives of certain foreign powers, lecturing throughout the land: General Balbo, so popular here because of his leadership of the flight from Italy to Chicago in 1933; a scholar who, though he now lived in Germany and was an inspiration to all patriotic leaders of German Recovery, yet had graduated from Harvard University and had been the most popular piano-player in his class—namely, Dr. Ernst (Putzi) Hanfstängl; and Great Britain's lion of diplomacy, the Gladstone of the 1930's, the handsome and gracious Lord Lossiemouth who, as Prime Minister, had been known as the Rt. Hon. Ramsay MacDonald, P.C. All three of them were expensively entertained by the wives of manufacturers, and they persuaded many millionaires who, in the refinement of wealth, had considered Buzz vulgar, that actually he was the world's one hope of efficient international commerce.

There’s such a thing as loyalty,” said Jane. MacPhee, who had been carefully shutting up the snuffbox, suddenly looked up with a hundred covenanters in his eyes. “There is, Ma’am,” he said. “As you get older you will learn that it is a virtue too important to be lavished on individual personalities.

C. S. Lewis, who called pride “the great sin,” and “spiritual cancer,” wrote: It is Pride which has been the chief cause of misery in every nation and every family since the world began . . . Pride always means enmity—it is enmity. And not only enmity between man and man, but enmity to God. In God you come up against something which is in every respect immeasurably superior to yourself. Unless you know God as that—and therefore know yourself as nothing in comparison—you do not know God at all. As long as you are proud you cannot know God. A proud man is always looking down on things and people: and, of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something that is above you. That raises a terrible question. How is it that people who are quite obviously eaten up with Pride can say they believe in God and appear to themselves very religious? I am afraid it means they are worshipping an imaginary God.1

The word for the system driving those feelings starts with c, but if no one ever taught you how capitalism works, and instead told you it was all about freedom and sunshine and Big Macs and playing by the rules to get the life you deserve, then it’s easy to see how you might confuse it with another c-word: conspiracy.

- [...] Honnêtement, je sais plus si c'est une histoire vraie ou une histoire inventée, mais je sais que c'est toute la littérature que je sortirai jamais d'une MacCroquette. Au final, je me retrouve toujours là. Les MacCroquettes ne sont pas des madeleines, l'oubli est plus fort que la mémoire et on peut pas écrire toute sa vie sur l'impossibilité de raconter.

I find I must borrow yet another parable from George MacDonald. Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on: you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently he starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of—throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.

Well, this was predictable. House Republicans last week acceded to an extension of the Export-Import Bank for at least the next nine months. The Export-Import Bank is far from the worst example of government-business cronyism. I just completed a history of American political corruption and actually had to leave Ex-Im on the cutting room floor. Its cronies are pikers compared with the corporate moguls that take advantage of tax preferences like the G.E. and Apple loopholes. They also cannot hold a candle to the American Medical Association, which is basically free to write the reimbursement rates for Medicare Part B. And nothing compares to Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac from 1991-2008. The two mortgage giants kept the entire D.C. political class bent over a barrel for almost 20 years as its top executives reaped enormous bonuses while putting the broader economy at risk.

What they said, none of the party could ever afterwards remember. Dimble maintained that they had been chiefly engaged in making puns. MacPhee denied that he had ever, even that night, made a pun, but all agreed that they had been extraordinarily witty. If not plays upon words, yet certainly plays upon thoughts, paradoxes, fancies, anecdotes, theories laughingly advanced yet (on consideration) well worth taking seriously, had flowed from them and over them with dazzling prodigality.

For most things in life, the range between best and average is 30% or so. The best airplane flight, the best meal, they may be 30% better than your average one. What I saw with Woz was somebody who was fifty times better than the average engineer. He could have meetings in his head. The Mac team was an attempt to build a whole team like that, A players. People said they wouldn’t get along, they’d hate working with each other. But I realized that A players like to work with A players, they just didn’t like working with C players. At Pixar, it was a whole company of A players. When I got back to Apple, that’s what I decided to try to do. You need to have a collaborative hiring process. When we hire someone, even if they’re going to be in marketing, I will have them talk to the design folks and the engineers. My role model was J. Robert Oppenheimer. I read about the type of people he sought for the atom bomb project. I wasn’t nearly as good as he was, but that’s what I aspired to do.

Manufacturing a solar panel consumes more energy than it will ever deliver. False. The energy yield ratio (the ratio of energy delivered by a system over its lifetime, to the energy required to make it) of a roof-mounted, grid-connected solar system in Central Northern Europe is 4, for a system with a lifetime of 20 years (Richards and Watt, 2007); and more than 7 in a sunnier spot such as Australia. (An energy yield ratio bigger than one means that a system is A Good Thing, energy-wise.) Wind turbines with a lifetime of 20 years have an energy yield ratio of 80.

in Scotland—used to say, ‘Show it to me in the word of God.’ And then he’d slap the big Bible on the table. It was a way he had of shutting up people that came to him blathering about religious experiences. And granting his premises, he was quite right. I don’t hold his views, Mrs. Studdock, you understand, but I work on the same principles. If anything wants Andrew MacPhee to believe in its existence, I’ll be obliged if it will present itself in full daylight, with a sufficient number of witnesses present, and not get shy if you hold up a camera or a thermometer.

—Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position? —c'est le pigeon, Joseph. Patrice, home on furlough, lapped warm milk with me in the bar MacMahon. Son of the wild goose, Kevin Egan of Paris. My father's a bird, he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face. Lap, lapin. He hopes to win in the gros lots. About the nature of women he read in Michelet. But he must send me La Vie de Jesus by M. Leo Taxil. Lent it to his friend. —C'est tordant, vous savez. Moi, je suis socialiste. Je ne crois pas en l'existence de Dieu. Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. —Il croit? —Mon pere, oui.

Like my doppelganger projecting all of our surveillance fears on a vaccine app, conspiracy theorists get the facts wrong but often get the feelings right—the feeling of living in a world with Shadow Lands, the feeling that every human misery is someone else’s profit, the feeling of being exhausted by predation and extraction, the feeling that important truths are being hidden. The word for the system driving those feelings starts with c, but if no one ever taught you how capitalism works, and instead told you it was all about freedom and sunshine and Big Macs and playing by the rules to get the life you deserve, then it’s easy to see how you might confuse it with another c-word: conspiracy.

When you eagerly give your life in submission to the Lord, He takes over and everything begins to unfold, and from there on He begins to empower and change you. C. S. Lewis has a marvelous illustration of this: When I was a child I often had a toothache, and I knew that if I went to my mother she would give me something which would deaden the pain for that night and let me get sleep. But I did not go to my mother—at least, not till the pain became very bad. And the reason I did not go was this. I did not doubt she would give me the aspirin; but I knew she would also do something else. I knew she would take me to the dentist next morning. I could not get what I wanted out of her without getting something more, which I did not want. I wanted immediate relief from pain; but I could not get it without having my teeth set permanently right. And I knew those dentists; I knew they started fiddling about with all sorts of other teeth which had not yet begun to ache. They would not let sleeping dogs lie.3 Our Lord is like that dentist. If you give Him one problem to fix, He’ll fix them all. That’s why He warned people to count the cost before becoming Christians. He will make you perfect—nothing less. That process begins the moment you trust Him and continues until the moment you arrive in heaven and are instantly glorified. When you put yourself in His hands, that’s what you’re in for, whatever it takes.

Once upon a time I'd left Los Angeles and been swallowed down the throat of a life in which my sole loyalty was to my tongue. My belly. Myself. My mother called me selfish and so selfish I became. From nineteen to twenty-five I was a mouth, sating. For myself I made three-day braises and chose the most marbled meats, I played loose with butter and cream. My arteries were young, my life pooling before me, and I lapped, luxurious, from it. I drank, smoked, flew cheap red-eyes around Europe, I lived in thrilling shitholes, I found pills that made nights pass in a blink or expanded time to a soap bubble, floating, luminous, warm. Time seemed infinite, then. I begged famous chefs for the chance to learn from them. I entered competitions and placed in a few. I volunteered to work brunch, turn artichokes, clean the grease trap. I flung my body at all of it: the smoke and singe of the grill station, a duck's breast split open like a geode, two hundred oysters shucked in the walk-in, sex in the walk-in, drunken rides around Paris on a rickety motorcycle and no helmet, a white truffle I stole and shaved in secret over a bowl of Kraft mac n' cheese for me, just me, as my body strummed the high taut selfish song of youth. On my twenty-fifth birthday I served black-market fugu to my guests, the neurotoxin stinging sweetly on my lips as I waited to see if I would, by eating, die. At that age I believed I knew what death was: a thrill, like brushing by a friend who might become a lover.

En primer lugar, parece haber inconsistencia interna en la información dada. Por ejemplo, 1 R 16.23 afirma que Omri, rey de Israel, comenzó a reinar en el año 31 de Asa, rey de Judá, y que él reinó doce años. Pero de acuerdo a 1 R 16.29, Omri fue seguido por su hijo Acab en el año 38 de Asa, dándole a Omri un reinado de solo siete años, no doce. En segundo lugar, a partir de fuentes extrabíblicas (griegas, asirias y babilónicas), correlacionadas con información astronómica, una serie confiable de fechas puede ser calculada desde el 892 hasta el 566 A.C. Debido a que se cree que Acab y Jehú, reyes de Israel, son mencionados en registros Asirios, 853 A.C. puede ser fijado como el año de la muerte de Acab y 841 A.C. como el año en el que Jehú comenzó a reinar.

Here’s the second way a conversation with an MS employee ends. (MS—oh, God, they’ve got me doing it now!) Let’s say I’m at the playground with my daughter. I’m bleary-eyed, pushing her on the swings, and one swing over there’s an outdoorsy father—because fathers only come in one style here, and that’s outdoorsy. He has seen a diaper bag I’m carrying which isn’t a diaper bag at all, but one of the endless “ship gifts” with the Microsoft logo Elgie brings home. OUTDOORSY DAD: You work at Microsoft? ME: Oh, no, my husband does. (Heading off his next question at the pass) He’s in robotics. OUTDOORSY DAD: I’m at Microsoft, too. ME: (Feigning interest, because really, I could give a shit, but wow, is this guy chatty) Oh? What do you do? OUTDOORSY DAD: I work for Messenger. ME: What’s that? OUTDOORSY DAD: You know Windows Live? ME: Ummm… OUTDOORSY DAD: You know the MSN home page? ME: Kind of… OUTDOORSY DAD: (Losing patience) When you turn on your computer, what comes up? ME: The New York Times. OUTDOORSY DAD: Well, there’s a Windows home page that usually comes up. ME: You mean the thing that’s preloaded when you buy a PC? I’m sorry, I have a Mac. OUTDOORSY DAD: (Getting defensive because everyone there is lusting for an iPhone, but there’s a rumor that if Ballmer sees you with one, you’ll get shitcanned. Even though this hasn’t been proven, it hasn’t been disproven either.) I’m talking about Windows Live. It’s the most-visited home page in the world. ME: I believe you. OUTDOORSY DAD: What’s your search engine? ME: Google. OUTDOORSY DAD: Bing’s better. ME: No one said it wasn’t. OUTDOORSY DAD: If you ever, once, went to Hotmail, Windows Live, Bing, or MSN, you’d see a tab at the top of the page that says “Messenger.” That’s my team. ME: Cool! What do you do for Messenger? OUTDOORSY DAD: My team is working on an end-user, C Sharp interface for HTML5…

Cher Monsieur Waters, Je reçois votre courrier électronique en date du 14 avril dernier et suis comme il se doit impressionné par la complexité shakespearienne de votre drame. Chaque personnage dans votre histoire a une harmatia en béton. La sienne : être trop malade. La vôtre : être trop bien portant. Fût-ce le contraire, vos étoiles n'auraient pas été aussi contrariées, mais c'est dans la natures des étoiles d'être contrariées. A ce propos, Shakespeare ne s'est jamais autant trompé qu'en mettant ces mots dans la bouche de Cassius : « La faute, cher Brutus, n'en est pas à nos étoiles ; elle en est à nous-mêmes. » Facile à dire lorsqu'on est un noble romain (ou Shakespeare!), mais nos étoiles ne sont jamais à court de tort. Puisque nous en sommes au chapitre des défaillances de ce cher vieux William, ce que vous me dites de la jeune Hazel me rappelle le sonnet 55, qui commence, bien entendu ainsi : « Ni le marbre, ni les mausolées dorés des princes ne dureront plus longtemps que ma rime puissante. Vous conserverez plus d'éclat dans ces mesures que sous la dalle non balayée que le temps barbouille de sa lie. (Hors sujet, mais : quel cochon, ce temps ! Il bousille tout le monde.) Un bien joli poème, mais trompeur : nul doute que la rime puissante de Shakespeare nous reste en mémoire, mais que nous rappelons-nous de l'homme qu'il célèbre ? Rien. Nous sommes certains qu'il était de sexe masculin, le reste n'est qu'une hypothèse. Shakespeare nous raconte des clopinettes sur l'homme qu'il a enseveli à l'intérieur de son sarcophage linguistique. (Remarquez que, lorsque nous parlons littérature, nous utilisons le présent. Quand nous parlons d'un mort, nous ne sommes pas aussi gentils.) On ne peut pas immortaliser ceux qui nous ont quittés en écrivant sur eux. La langue enterre, mais ne ressuscite pas. (Avertissement : je ne suis pas le premier à faire cette observation, cf le poème d'Archibald MacLeish « Ni le marbre, ni les mausolées dorés » qui renferme ce vers héroïque : « Vous mourrez et nul ne se souviendra de vous ») Je m'éloigne du sujet, mais votre le problème : les morts ne sont visibles que dans l’œil dénué de paupière de la mémoire. Dieu merci, les vivants conservent l'aptitude de surprendre et de décevoir. Votre Hazel est vivante, Waters, et vous ne pouvez imposer votre volonté contre la décision de quelqu'un d'autre, qui plus est lorsque celle-ci est mûrement réfléchie. Elle souhaite vous épargner de la peine et vous devriez l'accepter. Il se peut que la logique de la jeune Hazel ne vous convainque pas, mais j'ai parcouru cette vallée de larmes plus longtemps que vous, et de mon point de vue, Hazel n'est pas la moins saine d'esprit. Bien à vous Peter Van Houten

Não, não há escapatória. Não existe céu com um pouco de inferno nele – não tentemos reter isso ou aquilo do mal em nossos corações ou em nossos bolsos. Satanás deve sair, cada fiapo, cada fio de cabelo.” (George MacDonald) O poeta inglês William Blake (1757-1827) escreveu 'O Casamento do Céu e do Inferno'. Se escrevo sobre o Divórcio, não é porque me julgue à altura para antagonizar com tão grande gênio, nem porque tenha pleno conhecimento do que ele queria dizer. No entanto, em um sentido ou outro, é constante a tentativa de fazer tal casamento. Essa tentativa baseia-se na crença de que a realidade nunca se apresenta a nós como uma escolha inevitável entre 'isso ou aquilo'; de que, com habilidade, paciência e (sobretudo) tempo suficiente, seria possível encontrar uma maneira de acomodar as duas alternativas; e de que a simples evolução, adaptação ou refinamento conseguirá, de algum jeito, transformar o mal em bem, sem que sejamos interpelados a rejeitar, de modo definitivo e integral, aquilo que desejamos conservar. Essa crença é, a meu juízo, um erro desastroso. Você não pode levar toda a bagagem consigo em todas as viagens; em alguma jornada, sua mão e seu olho direitos podem estar entre as coisas que você terá de deixar para trás. Não vivemos num mundo onde todos os caminhos são como raios de um círculo, que, se suficientemente percorridos, gradualmente se aproximariam um do outro e, ao fim, convergiriam no centro; vivemos, sim, num mundo onde cada caminho, depois de alguns quilômetros, se bifurca e onde cada uma das duas ramificações, por sua vez, se biparte novamente; e, em cada encruzilhada, você precisa tomar uma decisão. Mesmo no nível biológico, a vida não é como um rio, e sim como uma árvore. A vida não flui no sentido da unidade, mas, ao contrário, afasta-se dela, e as criaturas se diferenciam entre si à medida que se aprimoram. O bem, quando amadurece, distingue-se não apenas do mal, mas também de outro bem. Não creio que todos aqueles que optam por caminhos equivocados pereçam, mas seu resgate consiste em serem colocados de volta na estrada certa. Uma operação de adição pode ser corrigida: mas isso só pode ser feito retornando até encontrar o erro e refazendo o cálculo a partir dali; nunca simplesmente prosseguindo. O mal pode ser desfeito, mas não pode 'evoluir' para o bem. O tempo não o cura. O feitiço deve ser revertido, aos poucos, 'com sussurros de trás para frente, de poder disjuntivo' (peça ‘Comus’, do poeta inglês John Milton – 1608-1674) – ou, então, o encanto não cessará. É 'uma coisa ou outra'. Se insistirmos em preservar o Inferno (ou mesmo a Terra), não veremos o Céu: se aceitarmos o Céu, não poderemos guardar sequer o menor e o mais íntimo 'suvenir' do Inferno. Acredito, com efeito, que toda pessoa que alcançar o Céu descobrirá que o que abandonou (mesmo que seja arrancando seu olho direito) na verdade não era nada: que o cerne daquilo que estava ansiosamente procurando, mesmo em seus desejos mais pervertidos, estará lá, além das expectativas, aguardando por ela nos 'Países Altos'. Nesse sentido, os que tiverem completado a jornada (e somente estes) poderão verdadeiramente dizer que o bem está em tudo, e o Céu, em todo lugar. Entretanto, deste lado da estrada, não devemos tentar antecipar essa observação retrospectiva. Se o fizermos, provavelmente estaremos abraçando o falso e desastroso avesso e fantasia de que tudo é bom e de que todo lugar é o Céu. Mas e a terra? – você perguntará. Imagino que, no fim, ninguém a achará um lugar muito diferente. Penso que, se escolhida em prejuízo do Céu, a terra acabará se revelando uma mera região no Inferno e, se colocada em segundo lugar, depois do Céu, se mostrará desde o início como uma parte do próprio Céu.

Jesus lives forever, he has a permanent priesthood.z 25Therefore he is able to savea completely3 those who come to Godb through him, because he always lives to intercede for them.c 26Such a high priestd truly meets our need—one who is holy, blameless, pure, set apart from sinners,e exalted above the heavens.f 27Unlike the other high priests, he does not need to offer sacrificesg day after day, first for his own sins,h and then for the sins of the people. He sacrificed for their sins once for alli when he offered himself.

Bach—Prelude in C, No. 1 in The Well-Tempered Clavichord Beethoven—Minuet in G Chopin—Prelude in A, Op. 28, No. 7 Grieg—Nocturne in C, Op. 54, No. 4 MacDowell—To a Wild Rose Bach—Two-Part Invention No. 1 Chopin—Mazurka in A minor, Op. 68? No. 2 Chopin—Prelude in E minor, Op. 28, No. 3 Navarro—Spanish Dance (often played as an encore by Jose Iturbi) Cyril Scott—Lento Bach—Two-Part Invention No. 13 Beethoven—Album Leaf, “For Elise” Godowsky—Alt Wien Granados-—Play era Mendelssohn—Consolation (Song Without Words No. 9) Chopin—Etude in A flat (posthumous) Chopin—Prelude in B minor, Op. 28, No. 6 Chopin—Prelude in D flat, Op. 28, No. 15 Mendelssohn—Confidence (Song Without Words No. 9) Schumann—Warum? Chopin—Nocturne in E minor, Op. 72, No. 1 Debussy—La Fille aux cheveux de lin Liszt—Consolation No. 3 Palmgren—May Night Schumann—The Prophet Bird

Table of Content Chapter 1 - Basic Networking Elements 1) Network Types 2) Network Topologies 3) Network Components A. END DEVICES & MEANS FOR TRANSMISSION B. SWITCH C. ROUTER 4) How can we represent (or “draw”) a network ? 5) How computers communicate over the Internet ? Chapter 2 – Switches, Ethernet and MAC addresses What’s Ethernet ? Chapter 3 – Routers, IPv4 & IPv6 addresses Basic Routing concepts The IPv4 Protocol IPv4 Classes Public IP vs Private IP Configuring an IP address on Windows 7/8/10 The IPv6 Protocol Chapter 4 – TCP, UDP, Ports and Network Applications 1) TCP and UDP 2) Ports 3) Network Applications Chapter 5 - Cisco IOS & Intro to the CLI Introduction to the CLI - Basic Router Configurations LAB #1

MacDonald hinted at one of his objectives in using the genre of the fairy tale. “The best thing you can do for your fellow, next to rousing his conscience, is—not to give him things to think about, but to wake things up that are in him; or say, to make him think things for himself.

I adore macaroni and cheese. Whenever I see it on a menu at a restaurant, I have to order it. I’ve had (and consequently made) fried mac and cheese balls, lobster mac and cheese, truffle mac and cheese, quattro formaggi mac and cheese, and Kraft mac and cheese. Now, don’t get me wrong—all of the fancy macaroni and cheese dishes have been delectable and enjoyable, but at home, I like a simple, delicious mac and cheese. So here’s my recipe. This dish is best when served during a game or movie night with family and friends. Serves 8 to 10 8 ounces (225 g) elbow macaroni 1½ cups Velveeta cheese (about 7 ounces/190g), cut into ½-inch cubes 2 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon all-purpose flour 1½ teaspoons kosher salt 1½ teaspoons dry mustard ¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper ¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg ⅛ teaspoon cayenne pepper ⅔ cup (165 ml) sour cream 2 large eggs, lightly beaten 1½ cups (360 ml) half-and-half 1½ cups (360 ml) heavy cream ⅓ cup (55 g) grated onion 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce 2 cups grated sharp Cheddar cheese (about 8 ounces/230g) • Preheat the oven to 350°F (175°C). Grease a 9-by-13-inch (23-by-33-cm) baking dish. Bring a 4-quart (3.8-L) saucepan of salted water to a boil. Add the pasta and cook it halfway through, about 3 minutes. Drain the pasta and transfer it to the baking dish. Stir in the cubed Velveeta. • Combine the flour, salt, mustard, black pepper, nutmeg, and cayenne in a large mixing bowl. Add the sour cream and eggs and whisk until smooth. Whisk in the half-and-half, cream, onion, Worcestershire sauce, and a sprinkle of black pepper. Pour the egg mixture over the pasta mixture in the prepared baking dish and stir to combine. Sprinkle the Cheddar cheese evenly over the surface. Bake until the pasta mixture is set around the edges but still a bit loose in the center, about 30 minutes. Let it cool for 10 minutes before serving.

and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation Reports on Digital Media and Learning The Future of Learning Institutions in a Digital Age by Cathy N. Davidson and David Theo Goldberg with the assistance of Zoe Marie Jones Living and Learning with New Media: Summary of Findings from the Digital Youth Project by Mizuko Ito, Heather Horst, Matteo Bittanti, danah boyd, Becky Herr-Stephenson, Patricia G. Lange, C. J. Pascoe, and Laura Robinson with Sonja Baumer, Rachel Cody, Dilan Mahendran, Katynka Z. Martinez, Dan Perkel, Christo Sims, and Lisa Tripp Young People, Ethics, and the New Digital

How did you get your drag name, dear?” “The usual way.” “Street of birth and pet’s first name?” “It appeared to fit, although my Nicky doesn’t care for Brooks MacDonald. He says it makes me sound like a farm.” “If I went by that rule, I would have been Fido Flushing.

General Douglas MacArthur said, “Youth is not entirely a time of life; it is a state of mind. Nobody grows old by merely living a number of years. People grow old by deserting their ideals.… You are as young as your faith, as old as your doubt; as young as your self-confidence, as old as your fear; as young as your hope, as old as your despair.

Tut! I have done a thousand dreadful things As willingly as one would kill a fly. —SHAKESPEARE

L’ho messo per iscritto in parte per occupare il poco tempo che mi rimane e in parte per dimostrare che in ogni storia c’è un’altra campana da ascoltare, anche quando si tratta di dominio del pianeta.

Companies also contribute to the daily codswallop as they tell us how wonderful they are, or how they can help us “do our bit.” BP’s website, for example, celebrates the reductions in carbon dioxide (CO2) pollution they hope to achieve by changing the paint used for painting BP’s ships. Does anyone fall for this? Surely everyone will guess that it’s not the exterior paint job, it’s the stuff inside the tanker that deserves attention, if society’s CO2 emissions are to be significantly cut? BP also created a web-based carbon absolution service, “targetneutral.com,” which claims that they can “neutralize” all your carbon emissions, and that it “doesn’t cost the earth” – indeed, that your CO2 pollution can be cleaned up for just £40 per year. How can this add up? – if the true cost of fixing climate change were £40 per person then the government could fix it with the loose change in the Chancellor’s pocket!

The basic change was the famous substitution of “Q”, the sound now represented by a hard “C”, into “P”. To give a simple example, the word for “son” in Irish is mac, in Welsh this became map and in modern Welsh is shortened to ap. “Everyone”, or cách, in Old Irish, is paup in Old Welsh. The word for a “feather” in Old Irish, clúmh, became pluf in Old Welsh. Thus the “Q” is substituted for the “P” and hence the identification of “P” and “Q” Celtic and perhaps the origin of the phrase about “minding your ‘p’s’ and ‘q’s’ ”.

And when Lindsey dedicated ‘Save Me A Place’ to his mother I thought ‘Well, somebody has to remember his father, because he was so strong behind us’. And when I walked out there and said ‘This is for Lindsey’s father who should be here; I just went ‘BI-e-e-e-e-e-c-c-c-c-chhhhhhhh’. You know how it is when you start to cry and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. And I just couldn’t do it. But at least I felt it was important for Buck that I remember he was a mainstay in the creativity and careers of Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks. Without him it wouldn’t have happened.

PSALM 127 [†] Unless the LORD builds the house,         those who build it labor in vain.     Unless the LORD  x watches over the city,         the watchman stays awake in vain. 2[†]     It is in vain that you rise up early         and go late to rest,     eating the bread of anxious  y toil;         for he gives to his  z beloved  a sleep.     3[†] Behold,  b children are a heritage from the LORD,          c the fruit of the womb a reward. 4[†]     Like arrows in the hand of  d a warrior         are the children [1] of one’s youth. 5    Blessed is the man         who fills his quiver with them!     He shall not be put to shame         when he speaks with his enemies  e in the gate. [2]

Human nature really hasn’t changed much throughout history; shame and honor were as big a deal in the ancient world as they are today. Back in the ninth century B.C., the epic poet Homer wrote, “The chief good was to be well spoken of, the chief evil, to be badly spoken of by one’s society.” In the first century A.D., the apostle Paul ministered in a shame-sensitive, honor-seeking culture, shamelessly preaching a shameful message about a publicly shamed person. And so the message was offensive. It was scandalous. It was stupid. It was foolish. It was moronic. Yet, as 1 Corinthians 1:21 says, “it pleased God through the foolishness of the message preached to save those who believe.” It was this scandalous, offensive, foolish, ridiculous, bizarre, absurd message of the cross that God used to save those who believe. Roman authorities executed His Son, the Lord of the world, by a method they reserved only for the dregs of society; His followers had to be faithful enough to risk meeting the same shameful end.

However, it must be noted that while MacArthur had much leeway regarding how the occupation would be implemented and its day-to-day operation, the overarching policies and reforms of the effort had been debated and agreed upon by U.S. policymakers prior to the end of the war and had been approved by President Truman.21 MacArthur also kept in constant contact with Washington, D.C., through the issuance of reports regarding

One more thing that stands in the middle of the road of easy-believism is the truth of the sovereignty of God. Years ago, I used to hear people say, “Don’t ever preach the doctrine of the sovereignty of God when you have nonbelievers in the audience.” People literally warned me against that. But here is another offensive bit of news for the unbeliever: God is sovereign, and you are not. You are not the captain of your soul or the master of your fate. You do not hold your destiny in your own hand. According to 1 Corinthians 1:24, those who believe are those whom God calls and sovereignly draws. God calls them because He has chosen them (v. 27), eklegomi, picked them out for Himself. The word appears again in verse 28. How could anybody get saved under those terms? You’ve got nothing left! You’re absolutely stripped of everything. Verse 30: “But of Him you are in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God—and righteousness and sanctification and redemption.” So, if it’s all God’s doing anyway, why would I tamper with the message? Why would I try to manipulate the results? Verse 31: “He who glories, let him glory in the LORD.” My friend R. C. Sproul has said that “God’s favorite doctrine is sovereignty, and if you were God, it would be yours too.” A wonderful sentiment like that helps offset the sick feeling I get when I hear contemporary evangelicals attack the sovereignty of God. His elective purpose is salvation, because if God isn’t saving people, they won’t be saved. This is a hard truth that many prominent evangelicals deny, stealing glory from God and overestimating the ability of the spiritually dead!

THE DREADFUL DOCTRINE One more thing that stands in the middle of the road of easy-believism is the truth of the sovereignty of God. Years ago, I used to hear people say, “Don’t ever preach the doctrine of the sovereignty of God when you have nonbelievers in the audience.” People literally warned me against that. But here is another offensive bit of news for the unbeliever: God is sovereign, and you are not. You are not the captain of your soul or the master of your fate. You do not hold your destiny in your own hand. According to 1 Corinthians 1:24, those who believe are those whom God calls and sovereignly draws. God calls them because He has chosen them (v. 27), eklegomi, picked them out for Himself. The word appears again in verse 28. How could anybody get saved under those terms? You’ve got nothing left! You’re absolutely stripped of everything. Verse 30: “But of Him you are in Christ Jesus, who became for us wisdom from God—and righteousness and sanctification and redemption.” So, if it’s all God’s doing anyway, why would I tamper with the message? Why would I try to manipulate the results? Verse 31: “He who glories, let him glory in the LORD.” My friend R. C. Sproul has said that “God’s favorite doctrine is sovereignty, and if you were God, it would be yours too.” A wonderful sentiment like that helps offset the sick feeling I get when I hear contemporary evangelicals attack the sovereignty of God. His elective purpose is salvation, because if God isn’t saving people, they won’t be saved. This is a hard truth that many prominent evangelicals deny, stealing glory from God and overestimating the ability of the spiritually dead!

A value of the timeuuid data type is a Type 1 UUID which includes the time of its generation and is sorted by timestamp. It is therefore ideal for use in applications requiring conflict-free timestamps. A valid timeuuid uses the time in 100 intervals since 00:00:00.00 UTC (60 bits), a clock sequence number for prevention of duplicates (14 bits), and the IEEE 801 MAC address (48 bits) to generate a unique identifier, for example, 74754ac0-e13f-11e3-a8a3-a92bc9056ee6.

There were three small thirty-inch televisions in his office, all fastened to the wall above the desk, so he could work on the iMac and watch C-SPAN, Fox, and CNN all at once. A sixty-inch LED screen hung on the living room wall opposite the couch where he’d been napping.

17Though the afig tree should not blossom† And there be no 1fruit on the vines, Though the yield of the bolive should fail And the fields produce no food, Though the cflock should be cut off from the fold And there be dno cattle in the stalls, 18Yet I will aexult in the LORD, I will brejoice in the cGod of my salvation. 19The Lord 1GOD is my astrength,† And bHe has made my feet like hinds’ feet, And makes me walk on my chigh places.

When the iPhone app is built, the Xamarin C# compiler generates C# Intermediate Language (IL) as usual, but it then makes use of the Apple compiler on the Mac to generate native iPhone machine code just like the Objective-C compiler. The calls from the app to the iPhone APIs are the same as though the application were written in Objective-C. For the Android app, the Xamarin C# compiler generates IL, which runs on a version of Mono on the device alongside the Java engine, but the API calls from the app are pretty

I’m Captain Florida, the state history pimp Gatherin’ more data than a DEA blimp West Palm, Tampa Bay, Miami-Dade Cruisin’ the coasts till Johnny Vegas gets laid Developer ho’s, and the politician bitches Smackin’ ’em down, while I’m takin’ lots of pictures Hurricanes, sinkholes, natural disaster ’Scuse me while I kick back, with my View-Master (S:) I’m Captain Florida, obscure facts are all legit (C:) I’m Coleman, the sidekick, with a big bong hit (S:) I’m Captain Florida, staying literate (C:) Coleman sees a book and says, “Fuck that shit” Ain’t never been caught, slippin’ nooses down the Keys Got more buoyancy than Elián González Knockin’ off the parasites, and takin’ all their moola Recruiting my apostles for the Church of Don Shula I’m an old-school gangster with a psycho ex-wife Molly Packin’ Glocks, a shotgun and my 7-Eleven coffee Trippin’ the theme parks, the malls, the time-shares Bustin’ my rhymes through all the red-tide scares (S:) I’m the surge in the storms, don’t believe the hype (C:) I’m his stoned number two, where’d I put my hash pipe? (S:) Florida, no appointments and a tank of gas (C:) Tequila, no employment and a bag of grass Think you’ve seen it all? I beg to differ Mosquitoes like bats and a peg-leg stripper The scammers, the schemers, the real estate liars Birthday-party clowns in a meth-lab fire But dig us, don’t diss us, pay a visit, don’t be late And statistics always lie, so ignore the murder rate Beaches, palm trees and golfing is our curse Our residents won’t bite, but a few will shoot first Everglades, orange groves, alligators, Buffett Scarface, Hemingway, an Andrew Jackson to suck it Solarcaine, Rogaine, eight balls of cocaine See the hall of fame for the criminally insane Artifacts, folklore, roadside attractions Crackers, Haitians, Cuban-exile factions The early-bird specials, drivin’ like molasses Condo-meeting fistfights in cataract glasses (S:) I’m the native tourist, with the rants that can’t be beat (C:) Serge, I think I put my shoes on the wrong feet (S:) A stack of old postcards in another dingy room (C:) A cold Bud forty and a magic mushroom Can’t stop, turnpike, keep ridin’ like the wind Gotta make a detour for a souvenir pin But if you like to litter, you’re just liable to get hurt Do ya like the MAC-10 under my tropical shirt? I just keep meeting jerks, I’m a human land-filler But it’s totally unfair, this term “serial killer” The police never rest, always breakin’ in my pad But sunshine is my bling, and I’m hangin’ like a chad (S:) Serge has got to roll and drop the mike on this rap . . . (C:) Coleman’s climbin’ in the tub, to take a little nap . . . (S:) . . . Disappearin’ in the swamp—and goin’ tangent, tangent, tangent . . . (C:) He’s goin’ tangent, tangent . . . (Fade-out) (S:) I’m goin’ tangent, tangent . . . (C:) Fuck goin’ platinum, he’s goin’ tangent, tangent . . . (S:) . . . Wikipedia all up and down your ass . . . (C:) Wikity-Wikity-Wikity . . .

He lay back unfazed, in a confidence unknown to me. “The Holy Spirit,” he whispered with the patience of a sage, “gives us time to make fools of ourselves, so we will long to see with Jesus’s eyes.” He imitated a blind person suddenly seeing. His words reminded me of George MacDonald’s. “This is how we learn. As we do, we see people, even the Romans, with new eyes.” “But