Can You Patent Quotes

Sig Sauer. Nine millimetres. Thirteen in the magazine. Big bullets. One of these hits you and it could blow your head off; something even the magic can't fix. Other than that you should be all right, presuming you remembered to wear the regulation above-ground micro-fibre jumpsuit recently patented by me. Then again, being a Recon jock, you probably didn't.

It really is something ... that men disapprove even of our doing things that are patently good. Wouldn't it be possible for us just to banish these men from our lives, and escape their carping and jeering once and for all? Couldn't we live without them? Couldn't we earn our living and manage our affairs without help from them? Come on, let's wake up, and claim back our freedom, and the honour and dignity that they have usurped from us for so long. Do you think that if we really put our minds to it, we would be lacking the courage to defend ourselves, the strength to fend for ourselves, or the talents to earn our own living? Let's take our courage into our hands and do it, and then we can leave it up to them to mend their ways as much as they can: we shan't really care what the outcome is, just as long as we are no longer subjugated to them.

If you can’t communicate it, you can’t file a proper application. If you can’t file properly, you can’t secure a patent.

I’m fairly certain, Captain,” she said, “that the more you discover about me, the more you will dislike me. Therefore, let’s cut to the chase and acknowledge that we don’t like each other. Then we won’t have to bother with the in-between part.” She was so bloody frank and practical about the whole thing that Christopher couldn’t help but be amused. “I’m afraid I can’t oblige you.” “Why not?” “Because when you said that just now, I found myself starting to like you.” “You’ll recover,” she said. Her decisive tone made him want to smile. “It’s getting worse, actually,” he told her. “Now I’m absolutely convinced that I like you.” Beatrix gave him a patently skeptical stare. “What about my hedgehog? Do you like her, too?” Christopher considered that. “Affection for rodents can’t be rushed.” “Medusa isn’t a rodent. She’s an erinaceid.

IP filing is a race. The first person to file and get accepted wins and can shut you down, even if the idea was yours in the first place. Waiting too long means you don’t get a patent. Too many companies do just that.

I want to be able to listen to recording of piano sonatas and know who's playing. I want to go to classical concerts and know when you're meant to clap. I want to be able to 'get' modern jazz without it all sounding like this terrible mistake, and I want to know who the Velvet Underground are exactly. I want to be fully engaged in the World of Ideas, I want to understand complex economics, and what people see in Bob Dylan. I want to possess radical but humane and well-informed political ideals, and I want to hold passionate but reasoned debates round wooden kitchen tables, saying things like 'define your terms!' and 'your premise is patently specious!' and then suddenly to discover that the sun's come up and we've been talking all night. I want to use words like 'eponymous' and 'solipsistic' and 'utilitarian' with confidence. I want to learn to appreciate fine wines, and exotic liquers, and fine single malts, and learn how to drink them without turning into a complete div, and to eat strange and exotic foods, plovers' eggs and lobster thermidor, things that sound barely edible, or that I can't pronounce...Most of all I want to read books; books thick as brick, leather-bound books with incredibly thin paper and those purple ribbons to mark where you left off; cheap, dusty, second-hand books of collected verse, incredibly expensive, imported books of incomprehensible essays from foregin universities. At some point I'd like to have an original idea...And all of these are the things that a university education's going to give me.

I can explain nothing to you unless I first draw your attention to patent inadequacies in your knowledge; discontinuities in the relations between objects, or the presence of anomalies you cannot account for by any of the laws known to you. You will remain deaf to my explanations until you suspect yourself of falsehood.

It's a poem about moths. But it's also a poem about psychopaths. I get it copied. And stick it in a frame. And now it glowers redoubtably above my desk:an entomological keepsake of the horizons of existence. And the brutal, star-crossed wisdom of those who seek them out. i was talking to a moth the other evening he was trying to break into an electric bulb and fry himself on the wires why do you fellows pull this stunt i asked him because it is the conventional thing for moths or why if that had been an uncovered candle instead of an electric light bulb you would now be a small unsightly cinder have you no sense plenty of it he answered but at times we get tired of using it we get bored with routine and crave beauty and excitement fire is beautiful and we know that if we get too close it will kill us but what does that matter it is better to be happy for a moment and be burned up with beauty than to live a long time and be bored all the while so we wad all our life up into one little roll and then we shoot the roll that is what life is for it is better to be part of beauty our attitude toward life is come easy go easy we are like human beings used to be before they became too civilized to enjoy themselves and before i could argue him out of his philosophy he went and immolated himself on a patent cigar lighter i do not agree with him myself i would rather have half the happiness and twice the longevity but at the same time i wish there was something i wanted as badly as he wanted to fry himself

Bureaucracies excel at performing tasks that must be done consistently whether the people assigned to them are brilliant performers or bumbling fools. You can’t always count on having Albert Einstein in the patent office, so you design its procedures to work even if you hire Mr. Bean by mistake.

If you’re not filing patents, but your competitors are, all you have is risk. You’re taking a huge chance that no one else will enter your space and kick you out. That’s the benefit of patents; you don’t have to let everybody in. You can let just a few major players in because you want what they have, or you don’t want to worry about them. Remember, you’re not at the big boys’ lunch table. But if you partner with their competitor, they’ll be worried. Then they’ll want to see if your patent protection is strong or if they can exploit a weakness.

It was on the two little seats facing each other that are always the last ones left on the train. I was going up to New York to see my sister and spend the night. He had on a dress suit and patent leather shoes, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, but every time he looked at me I had to pretend to be looking at the advertisement over his head. When we came into the station he was next to me, and his white shirt-front pressed against my arm, and so I told him I’d have to call a policeman, but he knew I lied. I was so excited that when I got into a taxi with him I didn’t hardly know I wasn’t getting into a subway train. All I kept thinking about, over and over, was ‘You can’t live forever; you can’t live forever.

You can’t patent a recommendation to eat lots of fruits, vegetables, nuts, seeds, and whole grains. So there’s no incentive for industry to invest in such research and no incentive for researchers to study and validate such claims.

...Is there a more monstrous thought, a more convincing spectacle, a more patent affirmation of the impotence and madness of the brain? War. All our philosophies, religions, arts, techniques and trades lead to nothing but this. The finest flowers of civilization. The purest constructions of thought. The most generous and altruistic passions of the heart. The most heroic gestures of man. War. Now and thousand years ago. Tomorrow and a hundred thousand years ago. No, it's not a ...more "...Is there a more monstrous thought, a more convincing spectacle, a more patent affirmation of the impotence and madness of the brain? War. All our philosophies, religions, arts, techniques and trades lead to nothing but this. The finest flowers of civilization. The purest constructions of thought. The most generous and altruistic passions of the heart. The most heroic gestures of man. War. Now and thousand years ago. Tomorrow and a hundred thousand years ago. No, it's not a question of your country, my German or French friend, or yours, whether you're black or white or Papuan or a Borneo monkey. It's a question of your life. If you want to live, kill. Kill so that you can be free, or eat, or shit. The shameful thing is to kill in masses, at a predetermined hour on a predetermined day, in honour of certain principles, under cover of a flag, with old men nodding approval, to kill in a disinterested or passive way. Stand alone against them all, young man, kill, kill, you are unique, you're the only man alive, kill until the others cut you short with the guillotine or the cord or the rope, with or without ceremony, in the name of the Community or King. What a laugh.

You may set your mind at rest, Miss Anstruther-Wetherby." He glanced down, the planes of his face granite-hard. "I'm not marrying you because of any social stricture. That, if you consider it, is a nonsensical idea. Cynsters, as you well know, do not give a damn about social strictures. Society, as far as we're concerned, can think what it pleases—it does not rule us." "But… if that's the case—and given your reputation I can readily believe it is—why insist on marrying me?" "Because I want to." The words were delivered as the most patently obvious answer to a simple question. Honoria held on to her temper. "Because you want to?" He nodded. "That's it? Just because you want to?" The look he sent her was calculated to quell. "For a Cynster, that's a perfectly adequate reason. In fact, for a Cynster, there is no better reason." He looked ahead again; Honoria glanced at his profile. "This is ridiculous. You only set eyes on me yesterday, and now you want to marry me?" Again he nodded. "Why?" The glance he shot her was too brief for her to read. "It so happens I need a wife, and you're the perfect candidate." With that, he altered their direction and lengthened his stride even more. "I am not a racehorse." His lips thinned, but he slowed--just enough so she didn't have to run. They'd gained the graveled walk that circled the house. It took her a moment to replay his words, another to see their weakness. "That's still ridiculous. You must have half the female population of the ton waiting to catch your handkerchief every time you blow your nose." He didn't even glance her way. "At least half." "So why me?" Devil considered telling her--in graphic detail. Instead, he gritted his teeth and growled: "Because you're unique." "Unique?" Unique in that she was arguing.

Nor would I even begin to try to describe what she looks like as she’s telling the story, reliving it, she’s naked, hair spilling all down her back, sitting meditatively cross-legged amid the wrecked bedding and smoking ultralight Merits from which she keeps removing the filters because she claims they’re full of additives and unsafe—unsafe as she’s sitting there chain-smoking, which was so patently irrational that I couldn’t even bring—yes and some kind of blister on her Achilles tendon, from the sandals, leaning with her upper body to follow the oscillation of the fan so she’s moving in and out of a wash of moon from the window whose angle of incidence itself alters as the moon moves up and across the window—all I can tell you is she was lovely. The bottoms of her feet dirty, almost black. The moon so full it looks engorged.

The kind of happy I was that day at the Vet when "Hawk" Dawson actually doffed his red "C" cap to me, and everyone cheered and practically convulsed into tears - you can't patent that. It was one shining moment of glory that was instantly gone. Whereas life, real life, is different and can't even be appraised as simply "happy", but only in terms of "Yes, I'll take it all, thanks" or "No, I believe I won't." Happy, as my poor father used to say, is a lot of hooey. Happy is a circus clown, a sitcom, a greeting card. Life, though, life's about something sterner. But also something better. A lot better. Believe me.

What are you doing to me?” “I don’t know. What am I doing to you?” She drags her nails down my chest playfully. I stroke my thumb along her jaw and give her all my truths. “You make me feel so many things. You make me feel everything. For the longest time I never thought I would feel this way again.” She trembles, and her eyes flash with the same surrender that’s inside me. “How do you feel?” I don’t look away. I can’t. “I would hope it’s patently obvious that I’m in love with you. But just in case, let me say it.” I cup her cheeks. “I’m in love with you. And I love you madly.

Oh, this was getting better and better. Beau was making a valiant effort to remain stoic, but his face betrayed the long-suffering look of someone who had to listen to something patently idiotic. "What happened next?" an older female voice asked. "We got up to leave, and the girl wanted to come with us, and the first black guy, he, like, got up and he was all, 'You're not leaving!' and we were all like, 'Yes we are,' and then I threw some chicken at them so they'd know we meant business, and the white kid who was with them, he picked up Chad and threw him through the window." Drunk knights in shining armor, protecting the hapless female from the clutches of scary black guys. Give me a break. "Then what happened?" the older female asked. "Then they left and went up the street. And Chad was like, 'We can't let them get away with this shit,' so we followed them. And I said, 'Hey! What do you think you're doing with that throwing people through windows and shit.' And the white guy said, 'You must like going through windows.' And I told him 'Fuck you' in a polite voice and he threw me through the window." Beau clicked the recorder off. "It's good that he used his polite voice," I said. "Otherwise no telling what would've happened.

Why is my mother texting me about how hot you are?" "Weird. Think it has anything to do with the fact I just went to the bookstore in nothing but a patent leather trench coat?" Charlie replies with a screenshot of some texts between him and his mom. "Cottage guest is very pretty", Sally writes, then separately, "No ring." Charlie replied: "Oh? Thinking of leaving Dad?" She ignored his comment and instead said, "Tall. You always liked tall girls." "What are you talking about" Charlie wrote back, no question mark. "Remember your homecoming date? Lilac Walter-Hixton? She was practically a giant" "That was the eighth-grade formal" he said "it was before my growth spurt." "Well this girl's very pretty and tall but not too tall." "Tall but not TOO tall," I tell Charlie, "can also be added to my headstone. He says "I'll make a note." I say, "She told me you would bring wood over to the cottage for me." He says "Please swear to me you didn't make a 'too late for that' joke.

We’re pretty far from perfect, Kitten. I’m the most fucked up person you know.” “Yeah, but I’m the second most fucked up person I know, and when you put two negatives together, you get a positive. That’s math, Caleb. Math is the language of the universe. You can’t argue with the universe.” Her grin was patently ridiculous. I love you so goddamn much.

New Rule: America must stop bragging it's the greatest country on earth, and start acting like it. I know this is uncomfortable for the "faith over facts" crowd, but the greatness of a country can, to a large degree, be measured. Here are some numbers. Infant mortality rate: America ranks forty-eighth in the world. Overall health: seventy-second. Freedom of the press: forty-fourth. Literacy: fifty-fifth. Do you realize there are twelve-year old kids in this country who can't spell the name of the teacher they're having sex with? America has done many great things. Making the New World democratic. The Marshall Plan. Curing polio. Beating Hitler. The deep-fried Twinkie. But what have we done for us lately? We're not the freest country. That would be Holland, where you can smoke hash in church and Janet Jackson's nipple is on their flag. And sadly, we're no longer a country that can get things done. Not big things. Like building a tunnel under Boston, or running a war with competence. We had six years to fix the voting machines; couldn't get that done. The FBI is just now getting e-mail. Prop 87 out here in California is about lessening our dependence on oil by using alternative fuels, and Bill Clinton comes on at the end of the ad and says, "If Brazil can do it, America can, too!" Since when did America have to buck itself up by saying we could catch up to Brazil? We invented the airplane and the lightbulb, they invented the bikini wax, and now they're ahead? In most of the industrialized world, nearly everyone has health care and hardly anyone doubts evolution--and yes, having to live amid so many superstitious dimwits is also something that affects quality of life. It's why America isn't gonna be the country that gets the inevitable patents in stem cell cures, because Jesus thinks it's too close to cloning. Oh, and did I mention we owe China a trillion dollars? We owe everybody money. America is a debtor nation to Mexico. We're not a bridge to the twenty-first century, we're on a bus to Atlantic City with a roll of quarters. And this is why it bugs me that so many people talk like it's 1955 and we're still number one in everything. We're not, and I take no glee in saying that, because I love my country, and I wish we were, but when you're number fifty-five in this category, and ninety-two in that one, you look a little silly waving the big foam "number one" finger. As long as we believe being "the greatest country in the world" is a birthright, we'll keep coasting on the achievements of earlier generations, and we'll keep losing the moral high ground. Because we may not be the biggest, or the healthiest, or the best educated, but we always did have one thing no other place did: We knew soccer was bullshit. And also we had the Bill of Rights. A great nation doesn't torture people or make them disappear without a trial. Bush keeps saying the terrorist "hate us for our freedom,"" and he's working damn hard to see that pretty soon that won't be a problem.

research into the nutritional effects of whole plant foods doesn’t really have market potential. You can’t patent a recommendation to eat lots of fruits, vegetables, nuts, seeds, and whole grains.

I can think of two very good reasons for not splitting an infinitive. 1. Because you feel that the rules of English ought to conform to the grammatical precepts of a language that died a thousand years ago. 2. Because you wish to cling to a pointless affectation of usage that is without the support of any recognized authority of the last 200 years, even at the cost of composing sentences that are ambiguous, inelegant, and patently contorted.

I’m not sure how the ponies happened, though I have an inkling: “Can I get you anything?” I’ll say, getting up from a dinner table, “Coffee, tea, a pony?” People rarely laugh at this, especially if they’ve heard it before. “This party’s ‘sposed to be fun,” a friend will say. “Really? Will there be pony rides?” It’s a nervous tic and a cheap joke, cheapened further by the frequency with which I use it. For that same reason, it’s hard to weed it out of my speech – most of the time I don’t even realize I’m saying it. There are little elements in a person’s life, minor fibers that become unintentionally tangled with your personality. Sometimes it’s a patent phrase, sometimes it’s a perfume, sometimes it’s a wristwatch. For me, it is the constant referencing of ponies. I don’t even like ponies. If I made one of my throwaway equine requests and someone produced an actual pony, Juan-Valdez-style, I would run very fast in the other direction. During a few summers at camp, I rode a chronically dehydrated pony named Brandy who would jolt down without notice to lick the grass outside the corral and I would careen forward, my helmet tipping to cover my eyes. I do, however, like ponies on the abstract. Who doesn’t? It’s like those movies with the animated insects. Sure, the baby cockroach seems cute with CGI eyelashes, but how would you feel about fifty of her real-life counterparts living in your oven? And that’s precisely the manner in which the ponies clomped their way into my regular speech: abstractly. “I have something for you,” a guy will say on our first date. “Is it a pony?” No. It’s usually a movie ticket or his cell phone number. But on our second date, if I ask again, I’m pretty sure I’m getting a pony. And thus the Pony drawer came to be. It’s uncomfortable to admit, but almost every guy I have ever dated has unwittingly made a contribution to the stable. The retro pony from the ‘50s was from the most thoughtful guy I have ever known. The one with the glitter horseshoes was from a boy who would later turn out to be straight somehow, not gay. The one with the rainbow haunches was from a librarian, whom I broke up with because I felt the chemistry just wasn’t right, and the one with the price tag stuck on the back was given to me by a narcissist who was so impressed with his gift he forgot to remover the sticker. Each one of them marks the beginning of a new relationship. I don’t mean to hint. It’s not a hint, actually, it’s a flat out demand: I. Want. A. Pony. I think what happens is that young relationships are eager to build up a romantic repertoire of private jokes, especially in the city where there’s not always a great “how we met” story behind every great love affair. People meet at bars, through mutual friends, on dating sites, or because they work in the same industry. Just once a coworker of mine, asked me out between two stops on the N train. We were holding the same pole and he said, “I know this sounds completely insane, bean sprout, but would you like to go to a very public place with me and have a drink or something...?” I looked into his seemingly non-psycho-killing, rent-paying, Sunday Times-subscribing eyes and said, “Sure, why the hell not?” He never bought me a pony. But he didn’t have to, if you know what I mean.

You know what's wrong with scientific power? [...] It's a form of inherited wealth [...] Most kinds of power require a substantial sacrifice by whoever wants the power. There is an apprenticeship, a discipline lasting many years. Whatever kind of power you want. President of the company. Black belt in karate. Spiritual guru. Whatever it is you seek, you have to put in the time, the practice, the effort. You must give up a lot to get it. It has to be very important to you. And once you have attained it, it is your power. It can't be given away: it resides in you. It is literally the result of your discipline. Now, what is interesting about this process is that, by the time someone has acquired the ability to kill with his bare hands, he has also matured to the point where he won't use it unwisely. So that kind of power has a built-in control. The discipline of getting the power changes you so that you won't abuse it. But scientific power is like inherited wealth: attained without discipline. You read what others have done, and you take the next step [...] There is no discipline lasting many decades. There is no mastery: old scientists are ignored. There is no humility before nature. There is only a get-rich-quick, make-a-name-for-yourself-fast philosophy. Cheat, lie, falsify - it doesn't matter. [...] They are all trying to do the same thing: to do something big, and do it fast. And because you can stand on the shoulders of giants, you canaccomplish something quickly. You don't even know exactly what you have done, but already you have reported it, patented it, and sold it. And the buyer will have even less discipline than you. The buyer simply purchases the power

My favorite is called aniracetam, because it is fat soluble and documented to improve your memory. My second favorite is called phenylpiracetam, which gives you quite a lot of energy. Both of these drugs are available online and are virtually ignored in Western medicine because they’re off patent. I take 800 mg of aniracetam and 100 mg of phenylpiracetam most mornings, and I can feel the difference in my brain as a result. This entire book was written on higher doses of those two substances (as well as every other supplement in the book!).

I smiled despite myself. "We're pretty far from perfect, Kitten.'m the most fucked up person you know." "Yeah but I'm the most fucked up person I know, and when you put two negatives together, you get a positive. That's Math Caleb. Math is the language of universe. You can't argue with the universe." Her grin was patently ridiculous.

Edison’s “1,093 patents notwithstanding, the number of truly superlative creative achievements can probably be counted on the fingers of one hand.” It’s widely assumed that there’s a tradeoff between quantity and quality—if you want to do better work, you have to do less of it—but this turns out to be false. In fact, when it comes to idea generation, quantity is the most predictable path to quality.

It wasn’t until I got to the law firm that things started hitting me. First, the people around me seemed pretty unhappy. You can go to any corporate law firm and see dozens of people whose satisfaction with their jobs is below average. The work was entirely uninspiring. We were for the most part grease on a wheel, helping shepherd transactions along; it was detail-intensive and often quite dull. Only years later did I realize what our economic purpose was: if a transaction was large enough, you had to pay a team of people to pore over documents into the wee hours to make sure nothing went wrong. I had zero attachment to my clients—not unusual, given that I was the last rung down on the ladder, and most of the time I only had a faint idea of who my clients were. Someone above me at the firm would give me a task, and I’d do it. I also kind of thought that being a corporate lawyer would help me with the ladies. Not so much, just so you know. It was true that I was getting paid a lot for a twenty-four-year-old with almost no experience. I made more than my father, who has a PhD in physics and had generated dozens of patents for IBM over the years. It seemed kind of ridiculous to me; what the heck had I done to deserve that kind of money? As you can tell, not a whole lot. That didn’t keep my colleagues from pitching a fit if the lawyers across the street were making one dollar more than we were. Most worrisome of all, my brain started to rewire itself after only the first few months. I was adapting. I started spotting issues in offering memoranda. My ten-thousand-yard unblinking document review stare got better and better. Holy cow, I thought—if I don’t leave soon, I’m going to become good at this and wind up doing it for a long time. My experience is a tiny data point in a much bigger problem.

Their [plant secondary compounds] healthful effects in humans, however, are not well understood, in part because things in nature like coriander and basil can't be patented so there isn't a lot of money being thrown at them, and in part because long-term studies that measure small effects of low doses are expensive and don't yield the kind of unambiguous, major effects you get with pharmaceuticals, but mainly because preventions are never as exciting as cures.

He reached for Aiden’s hand, which was swinging by the side of Aiden’s chair in a convenient location for Harvard to grab in case Harvard might want to. Harvard not only laced their fingers together, but also brought Aiden’s hand to his lips and kissed the back. Then he let their joined hands rest on the lapel of his uniform blazer, against the golden crown over crossed swords of his captain’s pin… and his heart. Harvard did it all absentmindedly, as though he didn’t have to think about his actions because it came so naturally. Aiden lifted a coffee cup to his lips purely in order to make a Can you believe this? face behind it. There went Harvard again, raising the ideal boyfriend bar to the sky. Could the man not be stopped? “Aw, are you having faith in me, sweetheart?” Aiden murmured. “That’s so nice. And so misplaced.” Harvard murmured, a lovely little sound, patently unconvinced. This is the last time, Aiden thought, and held on. The others ignored Aiden and Harvard’s romantic moment in order to focus on crime.

The peril of a potent resource position is that success then arrives without careful ongoing strategy work. Own the original patent on the plain-paper photocopier, or own the Hershey’s brand name, or the Windows operating system franchise, or the patent on Lipitor, and there will be many years during which profits will roll in almost regardless of how you arrange your business logic. Yes, there was inventive genius in the creation of these strategic resources, but profits from those resources can be sustained, for a time, without genius.

...Is there a more monstrous thought, a more convincing spectacle, a more patent affirmation of the impotence and madness of the brain? War. All our philosophies, religions, arts, techniques and trades lead to nothing but this. The finest flowers of civilization. The purest constructions of thought. The most generous and altruistic passions of the heart. The most heroic gestures of man. War. Now and thousand years ago. Tomorrow and a hundred thousand years ago. No, it's not a question of your country, my German or French friend, or yours, whether you're black or white or Papuan or a Borneo monkey. It's a question of your life. If you want to live, kill. Kill so that you can be free, or eat, or shit. The shameful thing is to kill in masses, at a predetermined hour on a predetermined day, in honour of certain principles, under cover of a flag, with old men nodding approval, to kill in a disinterested or passive way. Stand alone against them all, young man, kill, kill, you are unique, you're the only man alive, kill until the others cut you short with the guillotine or the cord or the rope, with or without ceremony, in the name of the Community or King. What a laugh.

Jesus says, “When someone hits you on one cheek, give him the other. And if someone takes your coat, snatches it, give him your shirt also. And if someone forces you to carry his load for one mile, tell him that you are ready to carry it for two miles.” This is patent foolishness, but very meaningful. If you can do this, these techniques will be for you. Jesus is preparing his disciples for sudden enlightenment. Just think about it. If you can be so innocent, so trusting, that if the other is hitting you, he must be hitting you for your good – so give him the other cheek also, and let him hit it. The other’s goodness is believed in, trusted in; no one is your enemy. When Jesus says, “Love your enemies,” this is the meaning. No one is your enemy; don’t see the enemy anywhere. That doesn’t mean that there will not be enemies and there will not be people who will exploit you. There will be. They will exploit you. But be exploited – and don’t be cunning. Just look at that dimension: be exploited but don’t be cunning. Be exploited but don’t be mistrusting, don’t disbelieve, don’t lose faith. That is more valuable than anything others can cheat you of. Nothing else is so valuable. But

Connections? I will tell you about connections . . . An amateur German physicist works in a patent office in Bern in Switzerland. He comes up with a theory that, half a century later, will lead to whole Japanese cities being destroyed, along with much of their population. Husbands, wives, sons, daughters. He does not want that connection to form, but that does not stop it forming.’ ‘You’re talking about something very different.’ ‘No. No, I am not. This is a planet where a daydream can end in death, and where mathematicians can cause an apocalypse. That is my view of the humans. Is it any different from yours?

And what do you do with these stars?" "What do I do with them?" "Yes." "Nothing. I own them." "You own the stars?" "Yes" "But I have already seen a king who--" "Kings do not own, they reign over. It is a very different matter." "And what good does it do you to own the stars?" "It does me the good of making me rich." "And what good does it do you to be rich?" "It makes it possible for me to buy more stars, if any are ever discovered." "This man," said the little prince to himself, "reasons a little like my poor tippler..." Nevertheless, he still had some more questions. "How is it possible for one to own the stars?" "To whom do they belong?" the businessman retorted, peevishly. "I don't know. To nobody." "Then they belong to me, because I was the first person to think of it." "Is that all that is necessary?" "Certainly. When you find a diamond that belongs to nobody, it is yours. When you discover an island that belongs to nobody, it is yours. When you get an idea before any one else , you take out a patent on it: it is yours. So with me: I own the stars, because nobody else before me ever though about owning them." "Yes, that is true," said the little prince. "And what do you do with them?" "I administer them, " replied the businessman. "I count them and recount them. It is difficult. But I am a man who is naturally interested in matters of consequence. The little prince was still not satisfied. "If I owned a silk scarf," he said, "I could put it around my neck and take it away with me. If I owned a flower, I could pluck that flower and take it away with me. But you cannot pluck the stars from heaven..." "No. But I can put them in the bank." "Whatever does that mean?" "That means I write down the number of my stars on a little paper. And then I put this paper in a drawer and lock it with a key." "And that is all?" "That is enough," said the businessman. "It is entertaining," thought the little prince. "It is rather poetic. But it is of no great consequence." On matters of consequence the little prince had ideas which were very different from those of the grown-ups. "I myself own a flower," he continued his conversation with the businessman, "which I water every day. I own three volcanoes, which I clean out every week (for I also clean out the one that is extinct; one never knows). It is of some use to my volcanoes, and it is of some use to my flower, that I own them. But you are of no use to the stars..." The businessman opened his mouth, but he found nothing to say in answer. And the little prince went away.

I have an announcement,” her father said, brandishing a sheaf of official-looking papers. “Since Bramwell has failed to muster the appropriate enthusiasm, I thought I would share the good news with you, his friends.” He adjusted his spectacles. “In honor of his valor and contributions in the liberation of Portugal, Bramwell has been made an earl. I have here the letters patent from the Prince Regent himself. He will henceforth be known as Lord Rycliff.” Susanna choked on her tea. “What? Lord Rycliff? But that title is extinct. There hasn’t been an Earl of Rycliff since…” “Since 1354. Precisely. The title has lain dormant for nearly five centuries. When I wrote to him emphasizing Bramwell’s contributions, the Prince Regent was glad of my suggestion to revive it.” A powder blast in the Red Salon could not have stunned Susanna more. Her gaze darted to the officer in question. For a man elevated to the peerage, he didn’t look happy about it, either. “Good God,” Payne remarked. “An earl? This can’t be borne. As if it weren’t bad enough that he controls my fortune, my cousin now outranks me. Just what does this earldom include, anyhow?” “Not much besides the honor of the title. No real lands to speak of, except for the-“ “The castle,” Susanna finished, her voice remote. Her castle.

Forgetting herself entirely, Pandora let her head loll back against Gabriel's shoulder. "What kind of glue does Ivo use?" she asked languidly. "Glue?" he echoed after a moment, his mouth close to her temple, grazing softly. "For his kites." "Ah." He paused while a wave retreated. "Joiner's glue, I believe." "That's not strong enough," Pandora said, relaxed and pensive. "He should use chrome glue." "Where would he find that?" One of his hands caressed her side gently. "A druggist can make it. One part acid chromate of lime to five parts gelatin." Amusement filtered through his voice. "Does your mind ever slow down, sweetheart?" "Not even for sleeping," she said. Gabriel steadied her against another wave. "How do you know so much about glue?" The agreeable trance began to fade as Pandora considered how to answer him. After her long hesitation, Gabriel tilted his head and gave her a questioning sideways glance. "The subject of glue is complicated, I gather." I'm going to have to tell him at some point, Pandora thought. It might as well be now. After taking a deep breath, she blurted out, "I design and construct board games. I've researched every possible kind of glue required for manufacturing them. Not just for the construction of the boxes, but the best kind to adhere lithographs to the boards and lids. I've registered a patent for the first game, and soon I intend to apply for two more." Gabriel absorbed the information in remarkably short order. "Have you considered selling the patents to a publisher?" "No, I want to make the games at my own factory. I have a production schedule. The first one will be out by Christmas. My brother-in-law, Mr. Winterborne, helped me to write a business plan. The market in board games is quite new, and he thinks my company will be successful." "I'm sure it will be. But a young woman in your position has no need of a livelihood." "I do if I want to be self-supporting." "Surely the safety of marriage is preferable to the burdens of being a business proprietor." Pandora turned to face him fully. "Not if 'safety' means being owned. As things stand now, I have the freedom to work and keep my earnings. But if I marry you, everything I have, including my company, would immediately become yours. You would have complete authority over me. Every shilling I made would go directly to you- it wouldn't even pass through my hands. I'd never be able to sign a contract, or hire employees, or buy property. In the eyes of the law, a husband and wife are one person, and that person is the husband. I can't bear the thought of it. It's why I never want to marry.

Everything that NASA does—from the start by law—was to be open and unclassified and it has been. This is one of the things that I have cited—and that Arthur Clarke has cited—as being a payoff on the space program right now. Expensively as they've done it, nevertheless all that bread cast on the waters has already come back severalfold in the way of unclassified new technology that doesn't even have patents on it. You can get these things and you can use them all you please. I know that a lot of people are not aware of this but anyone in engineering that has any engineering interest is likely to be aware of it if he has taken the trouble to have himself placed on the mailing list.

To succeed at something: Know every product in the industry Know every patent Try out all the products Understand how the products are made Make a product that YOU would use every single day. You can’t sell it if you personally don’t LOVE it Cold-call. When I was trying to get people to use Stockpickr .com—a site I built from 2006 to 2007—I cold-called AOL, Yahoo, Google, Reuters, Forbes, etc. Guess what? Everyone responded, because I knew it was something they all needed. I had at least two to five meetings with each group and did deals of some sort or another with all of them. If you have something that’s worthwhile, you can’t be afraid to cold-call. They need you more than you need them.

industry. To succeed at something: Know every product in the industry Know every patent Try out all the products Understand how the products are made Make a product that YOU would use every single day. You can’t sell it if you personally don’t LOVE it Cold-call. When I was trying to get people to use Stockpickr .com—a site I built from 2006 to 2007—I cold-called AOL, Yahoo, Google, Reuters, Forbes, etc. Guess what? Everyone responded, because I knew it was something they all needed. I had at least two to five meetings with each group and did deals of some sort or another with all of them. If you have something that’s worthwhile, you can’t be afraid to cold-call. They need you more than you need them.

The waitress came over slowly, as if the effort of crossing the floor was synonymous with wading through deep snow and she should be rewarded for it. Myron warmed her up with one of his patented smiles. The Christian Slater model—friendly yet devilish. Not to be mistaken for the Jack Nicholson model which was also friendly yet devilish. “Hi,” he said. She put down a Rolling Rock cardboard coaster. “What can I get you?” she asked, trying to toss up a friendly tone and falling way short. You rarely find a friendly barmaid in Manhattan, except for those born-again waitresses at chains like TGI Friday’s or Bennigan’s where they tell you their name and that they’ll be your “server” like you might mistake them for something else, like your “legal consultant” or “medical advisor.

In the case of patentable ideas such as the wheelbarrow, the idea of unpriced spillovers is more plausible. Yet there is no reason to believe that it is of practical importance. Indeed, there is a modern example of the wheelbarrow – that of Travelpro – the inventor of the modern wheeled roll-on suitcase with a retractable handle. Obviously such an idea can not both be useful and be secret – and once you see a wheeled roll-on suitcase it is not difficult to figure out how to make one of your own. Needless to say, Travelpro was quickly imitated – and so quickly you probably have never even heard of Travelpro. Never-the-less – despite their inability to garner an intellectual monopoly over their invention – they found it worthwhile to innovate – and they still do a lucrative business today, claiming “425,000 Flight Crew Members Worldwide Choose Travelpro Luggage.

Most kinds of power require a substantial sacrifice by whoever wants the power. There is an apprenticeship, a discipline lasting many years. Whatever kind of power you want. President of the company. Black belt in karate. Spiritual guru. Whatever it is you seek, you have to put in the time, the practice, the effort. You must give up a lot to get it. It has to be very important to you. And once you have attained it, it is your power. It can’t be given away: it resides in you. It is literally the result of your discipline. “Now, what is interesting about this process is that, by the time someone has acquired the ability to kill with his bare hands, he has also matured to the point where he won’t use it unwisely. So that kind of power has a built-in control. The discipline of getting the power changes you so that you won’t abuse it. “But scientific power is like inherited wealth: attained without discipline. You read what others have done, and you take the next step. You can do it very young. You can make progress very fast. There is no discipline lasting many decades. There is no mastery: old scientists are ignored. There is no humility before nature. There is only a get-rich-quick, make-a-name-for-yourself-fast philosophy. Cheat, lie, falsify—it doesn’t matter. Not to you, or to your colleagues. No one will criticize you. No one has any standards. They are all trying to do the same thing: to do something big, and do it fast. “And because you can stand on the shoulders of giants, you can accomplish something quickly. You don’t even know exactly what you have done, but already you have reported it, patented it, and sold it. And the buyer will have even less discipline than you. The buyer simply purchases the power, like any commodity. The buyer doesn’t even conceive that any discipline might be necessary.

Things can get out of hand quickly, especially with Sid around. I also decide never to wear heels again when I'm out with him. I go to Holt's in Camden Town and buy a pair of black Dr Martens. (You can get them in black, brown or maroon, the skinhead boys at school used to buy the brown ones and polish them with Kiwi Oxblood shoe polish — this gives them a deep reddish brown colour, much subtler than the flat red of the originals. They also keep them pristinely clean and polished at all times.) I wear my new boots with everything — dresses, tutus — it’s a great feeling to be able to run again. No other girl wears DMs with dresses, so I get a lot of funny looks. (Skinhead girls only wear DMs with Sta-Prest trousers. With their boring grey skirts, they west plain white or holey ecru tights and black patent brogues.) Bit I wear them all the time to clubs and pubs, it eventually catches on with other girls and I don’t look so odd.

Ive and Jobs have even obsessed over, and patented, the packaging for various Apple products. U.S. patent D558572, for example, granted on January 1, 2008, is for the iPod Nano box, with four drawings showing how the device is nestled in a cradle when the box is opened. Patent D596485, issued on July 21, 2009, is for the iPhone packaging, with its sturdy lid and little glossy plastic tray inside. Early on, Mike Markkula had taught Jobs to “impute”—to understand that people do judge a book by its cover—and therefore to make sure all the trappings and packaging of Apple signaled that there was a beautiful gem inside. Whether it’s an iPod Mini or a MacBook Pro, Apple customers know the feeling of opening up the well-crafted box and finding the product nestled in an inviting fashion. “Steve and I spend a lot of time on the packaging,” said Ive. “I love the process of unpacking something. You design a ritual of unpacking to make the product feel special. Packaging can be theater, it can create a story.

The influence of religion upon conduct in its widest extent; the question whether 'duty' exists, or whether kindness is the only thing that matters; the value to be attached to purity, or decency, or self-control- all these questions, as if by an organized conspiracy, they leave on one side. They may have held that purity is a superstition and self-control a crime against nature, but why did they not say so? They leave off talking about religion just where becomes interesting to two Englishmen in every three. They make the old Victorian assumption, which in our time has patently broken down, that you can obliterate the religious beliefs of a nation without affecting its standards of morality. Ideally of course you can; ideally the pagan has the same ethical duties as the Christian. But in practice, after so many centuries of identification, religion and morals are deeply interconnected. And that plain fact is that whereas our fathers asked themselves whether the creed was true, their sons are asking whether the Ten Commandments matter.

Were those pictures really for an art project?” Con asked when they were well away from the office. She turned to take the pieces of her broken camera back from him. “Yeah,” she replied, shoving the bits into her bag. “Are they gone forever?” “No, the memory card should be fine.” “Got any other cameras like that one?” “Nope, that was it.” There was an awkward silence. Well, Dulcie felt awkward. Con looked completely at ease. She was beginning to wonder if anything made him uncomfortable. “Thanks for the help,” he finally said. She shrugged. “You're welcome. Can I ask a question?” “Go for it.” “Why did you set someone's car on fire?” She thought maybe it would rattle him – her thinking he'd actually done it. But of course it didn't. He chuckled, and she was treated to a patented Masters grin. It started at one corner of his mouth and eventually moved to the opposite corner, slowly revealing perfect white teeth and a razor sharp smile. He leaned close to her, and as his lips pressed against her ear, she could've sworn the temperature dropped. “Because I thought it would be fun.

Sixth of Ten Elegies for Fire and Oxycodone The Greek myth goes like this you probably know it but I had to look it up Prometheus steals fire from Zeus and the other gods gives it to humans heaven's prowess now mortal Zeus sticks it to Prometheus cause he knows knowledge knows how sharp its edge can be chains him to a rock an eagle eating his liver all day the liver regenerates every morning the eagle keeps eating keeps eating keeps eating with the patent for Oxycontin set to run out in 2013 Purdue Pharma reformulates it gets a new patent lobbies the old drug illegal no one steals from the gods no one dulls the blade of knowledge - That summer my first desk job insurance intakes at a doctor's office the relief of air conditioning pharma reps catering our lunches released from the fear of dropping a ladder on a foreman of threading my thumbnail with another drill bit the good doc scheduled in five minute increments I retyped patient addresses all hill towns sixty miles off the waiting room so full and grumpy I wondered about the etymology of patient but never what makes a person drive hours through the mountains wait hours for a flicker with the doc I was not paid to wonder I quit before I ever typed your name

Revitalized and healthy, I started dreaming new dreams. I saw ways that I could make a significant contribution by sharing what I’ve learned. I decided to refocus my legal practice on counseling and helping start-up companies avoid liability and protect their intellectual property. To share some of what I know, I started a blog, IP Law for Startups, where I teach basic lessons on trade secrets, trademarks, copyrights, and patents and give tips for avoiding the biggest blunders that destroy the value of intellectual assets. Few start-up companies, especially women-owned companies that rarely get venture capital funding, can afford the expensive hourly rates of a large law firm to the get the critical information they need. I feel deeply rewarded when I help a company create a strategy that protects the value of their company and supports their business dreams. Further, I had a dream to help young women see their career possibilities. In partnership with my sister, Julie Simmons, I created lookilulu.com, a website where women share their insights, career paths, and ways they have integrated motherhood with their professional pursuits. When my sister and I were growing up on a farm, we had a hard time seeing that women could have rewarding careers. With Lookilulu® we want to help young women see what we couldn’t see: that dreams are not linear—they take many twists and unexpected turns. As I’ve learned the hard way, dreams change and shift as life happens. I’ve learned the value of continuing to dream new dreams after other dreams are derailed. I’m sure I’ll have many more dreams in my future. I’ve learned to be open to new and unexpected opportunities. By way of postscript, Jill writes, “I didn’t grow up planning to be lawyer. As a girl growing up in a small rural town, I was afraid to dream. I loved science, but rather than pursuing medical school, I opted for low-paying laboratory jobs, planning to quit when I had children. But then I couldn’t have children. As I awakened to the possibility that dreaming was an inalienable right, even for me, I started law school when I was thirty; intellectual property combines my love of law and science.” As a young girl, Jill’s rightsizing involved mustering the courage to expand her dreams, to dream outside of her box. Once she had children, she again transformed her dreams. In many ways her dreams are bigger and aim to help more people than before the twists and turns in her life’s path.

Globalization has shipped products at a faster rate than anything else; it’s moved English into schools all over the world so that now there is Dutch English and Filipino English and Japanese English. But the ideologies stay in their places. They do not spread like the swine flu, or through sexual contact. They spread through books and films and things of that nature. The dictatorships of Latin America used to ban books, they used to burn them, just like Franco did, like Pope Gregory IX and Emperor Qin Shi Huang. Now they don’t have to because the best place to hide ideologies is in books. The dictatorships are mostly gone—Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay. The military juntas. Our ideologies are not secrets. Even the Ku Klux Klan holds open meetings in Alabama like a church. None of the Communists are still in jail. You can buy Mao’s red book at the gift shop at the Museum of Communism. I will die soon, in the next five to ten years. I have not seen progress during my lifetime. Our lives are too short and disposable. If we had longer life expectancies, if we lived to 200, would we work harder to preserve life or, do you think that when Borges said, ‘Jews, Christians, and Muslims all profess belief in immortality, but the veneration paid to the first century of life is proof that they truly believe in only those hundred years, for they destine all the rest, throughout eternity, to rewarding or punishing what one did when alive,’ we would simply alter it to say ‘first two centuries’? I have heard people say we are living in a golden age, but the golden age has passed—I’ve seen it in the churches all over Latin America where the gold is like glue. The Middle Ages are called the Dark Ages but only because they are forgotten, because the past is shrouded in darkness, because as we lay one century of life on top of the next, everything that has come before seems old and dark—technological advances provide the illusion of progress. The most horrendous tortures carried out in the past are still carried out today, only today the soldiers don’t meet face to face, no one is drawn and quartered, they take a pill and silently hope a heart attack doesn’t strike them first. We are living in the age of dissociation, speaking a government-patented language of innocence—technology is neither good nor evil, neither progress nor regress, but the more advanced it becomes, the more we will define this era as the one of transparent secrets, of people living in a world of open, agile knowledge, oceans unpoliced—all blank faces, blank minds, blank computers, filled with our native programming, using electronic appliances with enough memory to store everything ever written invented at precisely the same moment we no longer have the desire to read a word of it.

Winslow wants you to learn this"- he waved a few sheets of stapled pages- "and that." He pointed to the book in my lap. Fifty French Conversations. It was one of our textbooks. I'd stopped at the seventeenth: Mon hamster a mange trop de fromage. Il a mal au ventre maintenant. "The rest is the Bainbridge Method." "You have a method?" "Patented and proven." I waved the book. "Does it include greedy, cheese-guzzling hamsters with stomachaches?" He nodded. "Absolutely.French conversations is nothing without rodents and cheese.Is there something shameful in your past involving either?" "Not that I can think of off the top of my head." "Tant pis." "And that means...?" "Fuhgeddaboudit," he translated, grinning. I sighed. "Do people make Russian jokes in your presence?" "How do you get five Russians to agree on anything?" "How?" I asked. "Shoot four of them." I thought for a sec. "I'm not sure that's funny." "No," Alex said. "People don't tell many Russian jokes in my presence." "I should start my three things, huh?" "Yeah.That would be good." I did some speedy translating in my head. "Je n'ai jamais lu Huckleberry Finn, Beloved, ou Moby-Dick." "Ella,no one has read Moby-Dick. The French was passable, but as far as revelations go,that sucked." "Ah, but there's a part deux. All three of those books were required reading last year in my American lit class. I used SparkNotes." "You're kidding, right?" "See?" I daintily brushed Dorito crumbs from my fingertips. "Changes your perception of me, doesn't it?" "No,I mean, 'That's a revelation?' You can do better than that." "Maybe," I agreed, "but it's still early in the game.

solar panels are expensive, and, whatever the coating, they are manufactured by esoteric processes. But Tesla's solar panel is just a shiny metal plate with a transparent coating of an insulating material. Stick one of these antenna like panels up in the air, the higher the better, and wire it to one side of a capacitor, the other going to a good earth ground. Now the energy from the sun is charging that capacitor. Connect across the capacitor some sort of switching device so that it can be discharged at rhythmic intervals, and you have an electric output. Tesla’s patent tells us that it is very simple to get electric energy. The bigger the area of the insulated plate, the more energy you get.  However, this is more than a solar panel because it does not necessarily need sunshine to operate. It also produces power at night. Of course, this is impossible according to official science. For this reason, you could not get a patent on such an invention today. Tesla's free energy receiver refers to the sun, as well as other sources of radiant energy, like cosmic rays.  That the device works at night is explained in terms of the nighttime availability of cosmic rays.  Tesla also refers to the ground as a vast reservoir of negative electricity. Tesla was fascinated by radiant energy and its free energy possibilities. He called the Crooke's radiometer (a device which has vanes that spin in a vacuum when exposed to radiant energy) a beautiful invention.  He believed that it would become possible to harness energy directly by connecting to the very wheelwork of nature. This seems like a very straightforward design and would seem to fulfill

Simonton finds that on average, creative geniuses weren’t qualitatively better in their fields than their peers. They simply produced a greater volume of work, which gave them more variation and a higher chance of originality. “The odds of producing an influential or successful idea,” Simonton notes, are “a positive function of the total number of ideas generated.” Consider Shakespeare: we’re most familiar with a small number of his classics, forgetting that in the span of two decades, he produced 37 plays and 154 sonnets. Simonton tracked the popularity of Shakespeare’s plays, measuring how often they’re performed and how widely they’re praised by experts and critics. In the same five-year window that Shakespeare produced three of his five most popular works—Macbeth, King Lear, and Othello—he also churned out the comparatively average Timon of Athens and All’s Well That Ends Well, both of which rank among the worst of his plays and have been consistently slammed for unpolished prose and incomplete plot and character development. In every field, even the most eminent creators typically produce a large quantity of work that’s technically sound but considered unremarkable by experts and audiences. When the London Philharmonic Orchestra chose the 50 greatest pieces of classical music, the list included six pieces by Mozart, five by Beethoven, and three by Bach. To generate a handful of masterworks, Mozart composed more than 600 pieces before his death at thirty-five, Beethoven produced 650 in his lifetime, and Bach wrote over a thousand. In a study of over 15,000 classical music compositions, the more pieces a composer produced in a given five-year window, the greater the spike in the odds of a hit. Picasso’s oeuvre includes more than 1,800 paintings, 1,200 sculptures, 2,800 ceramics, and 12,000 drawings, not to mention prints, rugs, and tapestries—only a fraction of which have garnered acclaim. In poetry, when we recite Maya Angelou’s classic poem “Still I Rise,” we tend to forget that she wrote 165 others; we remember her moving memoir I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings and pay less attention to her other 6 autobiographies. In science, Einstein wrote papers on general and special relativity that transformed physics, but many of his 248 publications had minimal impact. If you want to be original, “the most important possible thing you could do,” says Ira Glass, the producer of This American Life and the podcast Serial, “is do a lot of work. Do a huge volume of work.” Across fields, Simonton reports that the most prolific people not only have the highest originality; they also generate their most original output during the periods in which they produce the largest volume.* Between the ages of thirty and thirty-five, Edison pioneered the lightbulb, the phonograph, and the carbon telephone. But during that period, he filed well over one hundred patents for other inventions as diverse as stencil pens, a fruit preservation technique, and a way of using magnets to mine iron ore—and designed a creepy talking doll. “Those periods in which the most minor products appear tend to be the same periods in which the most major works appear,” Simonton notes. Edison’s “1,093 patents notwithstanding, the number of truly superlative creative achievements can probably be counted on the fingers of one hand.

Most kinds of power require a substantial sacrifice by whoever wants the power. There is an apprenticeship, a discipline lasting many years. Whatever kind of power you want. President of the company. Black belt in karate. Spiritual guru. Whatever it is you seek, you have to put in the time, the practice, the effort. You must give up a lot to get it. It has to be very important to you. And once you have attained it, it’s your power. It can't be given away: it resides in you. It is literally the result of your discipline. Now what is interesting about this process is that, by the time someone has acquired the ability to kill with his bare hands, he has also matured to the point where he won't use it unwisely. So that kind of power has a built-in control. The discipline of getting the you so that you won't abuse it. But scientific power is like inherited wealth: attained without discipline. You read what others have done, and you take the next step. You can do it very young. You can make progress very fast. There is no discipline lasting many decades. There is no mastery: old scientists are ignored. There is no humility before nature. There is only a get-rich-quick, make-a-name-for-yourself-fast philosophy. Cheat, lie, falsify--it doesn't matter. Not to you, or to your colleagues. No one will criticize you. No one has any standards. They all trying to do the same thing: to do something big, and do it fast. "And because you can stand on the shoulders of giants, you can accomplish something quickly. Yon don't even-know exactly what you have done, but already you have reported it; patented it, and sold it. And the buyer will have even less discipline than you. The buyer simply purchases the power, like any commodity. The buyer doesn’t even conceive that any discipline might be necessary.

Stanford University’s John Koza, who pioneered genetic programming in 1986, has used genetic algorithms to invent an antenna for NASA, create computer programs for identifying proteins, and invent general purpose electrical controllers. Twenty-three times Koza’s genetic algorithms have independently invented electronic components already patented by humans, simply by targeting the engineering specifications of the finished devices—the “fitness” criteria. For example, Koza’s algorithms invented a voltage-current conversion circuit (a device used for testing electronic equipment) that worked more accurately than the human-invented circuit designed to meet the same specs. Mysteriously, however, no one can describe how it works better—it appears to have redundant and even superfluous parts. But that’s the curious thing about genetic programming (and “evolutionary programming,” the programming family it belongs to). The code is inscrutable. The program “evolves” solutions that computer scientists cannot readily reproduce. What’s more, they can’t understand the process genetic programming followed to achieve a finished solution. A computational tool in which you understand the input and the output but not the underlying procedure is called a “black box” system. And their unknowability is a big downside for any system that uses evolutionary components. Every step toward inscrutability is a step away from accountability, or fond hopes like programming in friendliness toward humans. That doesn’t mean scientists routinely lose control of black box systems. But if cognitive architectures use them in achieving AGI, as they almost certainly will, then layers of unknowability will be at the heart of the system. Unknowability might be an unavoidable consequence of self-aware, self-improving software.

And what’s the solution of preventing this debacle? Plenty of ‘em! The Communists have a patent Solution they know will work. So have the Fascists, and the rigid American Constitutionalists—who call themselves advocates of Democracy, without any notion what the word ought to mean; and the Monarchists—who are certain that if we could just resurrect the Kaiser and the Czar and King Alfonso, everybody would be loyal and happy again, and the banks would simply force credit on small business men at 2 per cent. And all the preachers—they tell you that they alone have the inspired Solution. “Well, gentlemen, I have listened to all your Solutions, and I now inform you that I, and I alone, except perhaps for Walt Trowbridge and the ghost of Pareto, have the perfect, the inevitable, the only Solution, and that is: There is no Solution! There will never be a state of society anything like perfect! “There never will be a time when there won’t be a large proportion of people who feel poor no matter how much they have, and envy their neighbors who know how to wear cheap clothes showily, and envy neighbors who can dance or make love or digest better.” Doremus suspected that, with the most scientific state, it would be impossible for iron deposits always to find themselves at exactly the rate decided upon two years before by the National Technocratic Minerals Commission, no matter how elevated and fraternal and Utopian the principles of the commissioners. His Solution, Doremus pointed out, was the only one that did not flee before the thought that a thousand years from now human beings would probably continue to die of cancer and earthquake and such clownish mishaps as slipping in bathtubs. It presumed that mankind would continue to be burdened with eyes that grow weak, feet that grow tired, noses that itch, intestines vulnerable to bacilli, and generative organs that are nervous until the age of virtue and senility. It seemed to him unidealistically probable, for all the “contemporary furniture” of the 1930’s, that most people would continue, at least for a few hundred years, to sit in chairs, eat from dishes upon tables, read books—no matter how many cunning phonographic substitutes might be invented, wear shoes or sandals, sleep in beds, write with some sort of pens, and in general spend twenty or twenty-two hours a day much as they had spent them in 1930, in 1630.

Globalization has shipped products at a faster rate than anything else; it’s moved English into schools all over the world so that now there is Dutch English and Filipino English and Japanese English. But the ideologies stay in their places. They do not spread like the swine flu, or through sexual contact. They spread through books and films and things of that nature. The dictatorships of Latin America used to ban books, they used to burn them, just like Franco did, like Pope Gregory IX and Emperor Qin Shi Huang. Now they don’t have to because the best place to hide ideologies is in books. The dictatorships are mostly gone—Brazil, Argentina, Uruguay. The military juntas. Our ideologies are not secrets. Even the Ku Klux Klan holds open meetings in Alabama like a church. None of the Communists are still in jail. You can buy Mao’s red book at the gift shop at the Museum of Communism. I will die soon, in the next five to ten years. I have not seen progress during my lifetime. Our lives are too short and disposable. If we had longer life expectancies, if we lived to 200, would we work harder to preserve life or, do you think that when Borges said, ‘Jews, Christians, and Muslims all profess belief in immortality, but the veneration paid to the first century of life is proof that they truly believe in only those hundred years, for they destine all the rest, throughout eternity, to rewarding or punishing what one did when alive,’ we would simply alter it to say ‘first two centuries’? I have heard people say we are living in a golden age, but the golden age has passed—I’ve seen it in the churches all over Latin America where the gold is like glue. The Middle Ages are called the Dark Ages but only because they are forgotten, because the past is shrouded in darkness, because as we lay one century of life on top of the next, everything that has come before seems old and dark—technological advances provide the illusion of progress. The most horrendous tortures carried out in the past are still carried out today, only today the soldiers don’t meet face to face, no one is drawn and quartered, they take a pill and silently hope a heart attack doesn’t strike them first. We are living in the age of dissociation, speaking a government-patented language of innocence—technology is neither good nor evil, neither progress nor regress, but the more advanced it becomes, the more we will define this era as the one of transparent secrets, of people living in a world of open, agile knowledge, oceans unpoliced—all blank faces, blank minds, blank computers, filled with our native programming, using electronic appliances with enough memory to store everything ever written invented at precisely the same moment we no longer have the desire to read a word of it.” ― John M. Keller, Abracadabrantesque

14. Procrastinator’s Clock. For those who are chronically late to meetings, there’s the Procrastinator’s Clock, a downloadable program for your computer, that displays a digital clock that is guaranteed to be up to fifteen minutes fast. How fast? Well, that’s the nudge. You are never exactly sure because the clock unpredictably speeds up and slows down. That assures that users can’t game the system. We think that this device might help the lawyer of this team (who shall remain nameless) get to Noodles on time for lunch. A physical version of this clock has already been patented by a company called Emergent Technologies.

Now that she knew she was boring and physically repulsive, even to a man who did spellchecking for a living, there was no harm in standing up and giving her tights and knickers a really good yank. Then she gingerly lowered herself back on to the sofa and stared at the toes of her black patent Mary-Janes until Celia and Yuri, her sister’s flatmate, sat down on either side of her. ‘How did it go with Martyn?’ Celia asked eagerly, replacing Neve’s glass, which she didn’t remember draining, with a full one. ‘It didn’t. Can I please go home now?’ ‘I told Celia that it would never work with you and that sub-editor,’ Yuri said conspiratorially. Douglas, Neve and Celia’s elder brother, insisted that Yuri was the most terrifying woman in the world, which was ironic considering who he’d married. If Neve hadn’t seen Yuri in her pyjamas practically every morning as she came up the stairs to borrow teabags, milk and occasionally a clean teaspoon, she would have been terrified of her too. Neve had never met a Japanese person with an afro before, or one who sounded like Carmela Soprano, courtesyof the language school in New Jersey where Yuri had learned English. If Celia hadn’t come back from New York a year ago with Yuri in tow and Neve wasn’t Celia’s older sister, which according to Yuri automatically gave her ‘eleventy billion cool points’, Neve wasn’t sure that Yuri would ever have acknowledged her existence. Or happily list all the reasons why Martyn from the subs desk wasn’t the right man for Neve. ‘He drinks shandy and he sweats a lot,’ she finished scathingly. ‘Hey, Celia, Neve can do so much better.’ ‘I just wanted to ease her in gently.’ Celia made her thinking face. ‘What about a male model? They’re not as out of reach as people think. Like, they’re dead insecure about their looks so the bar isn’t that high.’ ‘Thank you very much,

I can explain nothing to you unless I first draw your attention to patent inadequacies in your knowledge: discontinuities in the relations between objects, or the presence of anomalies you cannot account for by any of the laws known to you. You will remain deaf to my explanations until you suspect yourself of falsehood.

He can,” Leonard said. “He’s got patents on sex toys. Nice stuff—he ought to show you the line sometime. What’s in his catalog is for sale. There’s this one—a big purple rubber dick with metal studs on it—that will make you scream like there’s a man with a chain saw after you. And me, I got some serious-ass money. A white couple left me their estate. I was their gardener for about ten years. They didn’t know that secretly I hated them for their whiteness and called them ugly names behind their backs. Cracker, honky, and such. That old, wrinkly lady, and her having me stud her. Jesus. That was some tough work, I got to tell you. I’d rather have had a job wiping asses in hell. Dropped her drawers, lay down on the bed, that thing of hers looked like a taco rolled in hair rotting on a blanket. Paid all right, though. Still, you had to get past the smell and imagine it was a goddamn donkey to get a hard-on.” I thought: Gardener? White couple? Stud to a wrinkly old lady? Get past the smell? What the fuck?

outside your little hidey hole in Miami.” “OK, what do you want?” “We’re trying to track down a guy, a foreign national, on American soil. We believe New York.” “Face recognition should’ve picked him up if you have him on file.” “I would’ve thought so . . . but it hasn’t.” “Why is that?” “This man is an assassin. And we believe he’s about to carry out a terrorist attack. Maybe a hit. We don’t know.” “And you’ve used all face-recognition technology at your disposal?” Reznick turned and looked at O’Donoghue, who nodded. “Yes, we have.” “Then you got a problem.” “That’s why I’m calling. Can you help me or not?” There was a silence, as if the hacker was considering what he was about to say. “I might.” Reznick felt exasperation. “Look, I haven’t got time to play games, my friend.” “I’m working on some software. I hope to patent it later this year, once I’ve tested it more extensively. This is my intellectual property, so I’m reluctant to give out the details.” “What exactly does this software do?” “It recognizes people through how they walk. Their gait. And it’s phenomenally accurate.” “We’ve got footage of the guy we’re looking for walking in Tijuana.” “Send it to me.” “This is real classified stuff, my friend.” “I’m former NSA, cleared at the highest level. I know all about what you’re talking about.” “Where will we send the clip?” The hacker gave a ProtonMail address. “Swiss-based, encrypted, right?” “Exactly, Reznick. Why I use it.” O’Donoghue keyed in the email address and sent the covert footage of Andrej Dragović with Dimitri Merkov in Tijuana. A few moments later, the hacker spoke. “Which

Oh,” he said, stopping in the doorway. “I should probably warn you. Your beds might take a little getting used to.” “Why?” Tesla asked. “What’s wrong with them?” When Uncle Newt had shown them their room earlier, the beds had looked normal enough. Not that Nick and Tesla had paid much attention to them. They’d been distracted—and horrified—by the posters haphazardly stapled to the wall: Teletubbies, Elmo, Smurfs, Albert Einstein, and the periodic table. (Nick and Tesla had quickly agreed that the first three would “fall down” and “accidentally” “get ripped” at the first opportunity.) “There’s nothing wrong with your beds, and everything right!” Uncle Newt declared. “I’m telling you, kids. You haven’t slept till you’ve slept on compost!” “What?” Nick and Tesla said together. Even Uncle Newt couldn’t miss the disgust on their faces. “Maybe I’d better come up and explain,” he said. Uncle Newt pulled the comforter off Nick’s bed and revealed something that didn’t look like a bed at all. It was more like a lumpy black sleeping bag with tubes and wires poking out of one end. “Behold!” Uncle Newt said. “The biomass thermal conversion station!” Nick reluctantly gave it a test-sit. It felt like he was lowering himself onto a garbage bag stuffed with rotten old food. Because he was. “As you sleep,” Uncle Newt explained, “your body heat will help decompose food scraps pumped into the unit, which will in turn produce more heat that the convertor will turn into electricity. So, by the time you wake up in the morning, you’ll have enough power to—ta da!” Uncle Newt waved his hands at a coffeemaker sitting on the floor nearby. “Brew coffee?” Tesla said. Uncle Newt gave her a gleeful nod. “We don’t drink coffee,” said Nick. “Then you can have a hot cup of invigorating fresh-brewed water.” “Great,” Nick said. He experimented with a little bounce on his “bed.” He could feel slimy things squishing and squashing beneath his butt. “Comfy?” Uncle Newt asked. “Uhh … kind of,” Nick said. Uncle Newt beamed at his invention. “Patent pending,” he said. Uncle Newt was a gangly man with graying hair, but at that moment he looked like a five-year-old thinking about Christmas. Tesla gave the room a tentative sniff. “Shouldn’t the compost stink?” “Oh, no, no, no, no, no! Each biomass thermal conversion station is completely airtight!” Uncle Newt’s smile wavered just the teeniest bit. “In theory.” Nick opened his mouth to ask another question, but Uncle Newt didn’t seem to notice. “Well,” he said, slapping his hands together, “I guess you two should wash your teeth and brush your faces and all that. Good night!

Armorers wheeled bombs out to the Tu-4 on carts made of steel tubing with rubber tires. Watching them, Boris Gribkov remembered that the groundcrew men at airstrips during the Great Patriotic War hadn’t had such elegant transportation for their high explosives and incendiaries. They’d used whatever they could, sometimes panje wagons, sometimes raw muscle, to get bombs to the bombers. Anton Presnyakov was thinking along with him. “I’ve seen pictures of carts like that at American airstrips in England,” the copilot said. “Now that you mention it, so have I,” Boris replied. “Well, if we can borrow the design for the bomber, no reason we can’t borrow the design for the cart that feeds it, eh?” “We didn’t borrow. We invented,” Lev Vaksman said. “Comrade Reguspatoff is a very clever fellow.” “Reguspatoff?” Boris echoed, puzzled. It sounded as if it ought to be a Russian name, but it wasn’t one he’d ever heard before. “Of course.” The flight engineer’s eyes twinkled. “It’s the abbreviation the Americans put on things they make. It stands for Registered—U.S. Patent Office.

What in the—? My begonias!” he heard someone say behind him. Nick looked over his shoulder. A small but muscular woman in sweaty workout clothes was stepping out of a big shiny car in the neighbor’s driveway. She was gaping in horror at the chewed-up flowerbed and the smoking lawn mower. Scowling, she turned toward Uncle Newt’s house. And the scowl didn’t go away when she noticed Nick looking back at her. In fact, it got scowlier. Nick smiled weakly, waved, and hurried into the house. He closed the door behind him. “Whoa,” he said when his eyes adjusted to the gloom inside. Cluttering the long hall in front of him were dozens of old computers, a telescope, a metal detector connected to a pair of bulky earphones, an old-fashioned diving suit complete with brass helmet, a stuffed polar bear (the real, dead kind), a chainsaw, something that looked like a flamethrower (but couldn’t be … right?), a box marked KEEP REFRIGERATED, another marked THIS END UP (upside down), and a fully lit Christmas tree decorated with ornaments made from broken beakers and test tubes (it was June). Exposed wires and power cables poked out of the plaster and veered off around every corner, and there were so many diplomas and science prizes and patents hanging (all of them earned by Newton Galileo Holt, a.k.a. Uncle Newt) that barely an inch of wall was left uncovered. Off to the left was a living room lined with enough books to put some libraries to shame, a semitransparent couch made of inflated plastic bags, and a wide-screen TV connected by frayed cords to a small trampoline.

Patent Good and Public Good merge more often than you can imagine.

Because they are assertions about Being in the light of time properly understood, all ontological propositions are Temporal propositions. It is only because ontological propositions are Temporal propositions that they can and must be *a priori propositions*. It is only because ontology is a Temporal science that something like the *a priori* appears in it. *A priori* means "from the earlier" or "the earlier." "*Earlier*" is patently a *time-determination*. If we have been observant, it must have occurred to us that in our explications we employed no word more frequently than the expression "already." It "already antecedently" lies at the ground: "it must always already be understood beforehand": where beings are encountered, Being has "already beforehand" been projected. In using all of these temporal, really Temporal, terms we have in mind something that the tradition since Plato calls the *a priori*, even if it may not use the very term itself. In the preface to his *Metaphysische Anfangsgründe der Naturwissenschaft [Metaphysical principles of natural science], Kant says: "Now to cognize something *a priori* means to cognize it from its mere possibility." Consequently, *a priori* means that which makes beings as beings possible in *what* and *how* they are. But why is this possibility labeled by the term "earlier"? Obviously not because we recognize it earlier than beings. For what we experience first and foremost is beings, that which is; we recognize Being only later or maybe even not at all. This time-determination "earlier" cannot refer to the temporal order given by the common concept of time in the sense of intratemporality. On the other hand, it cannot be denied that a time determination is present in the concept of the *a priori*, the earlier. But, because it is not seen how the interpretation of Being necessarily occurs in the horizon of time, the effort has to be made to explain away the time determination by means of the *a priori*. Some go so far as to say that the *a priori*―the essentialities, the determination of beings in their Being―is extratemporal, supratemporal, timeless. That which does the enabling, the possibilities are characterized by a time-determination, the earlier, because in this *a priori* nothing of time is supposed to be present, hence *locus a non lucendo*? Believe it if you wish." ―from_The Basic Problems of Phenomenology_

Κι όμως κανένας δεν γνωρίζει καλύτερα από σας πώς η φύση χρησιμοποιεί την ανθρώπινη φαντασία για να συνεχίσει , σ' ένα επίπεδο ανώτερο , το δημιουργικό της έργο.

Our vision of the love of learning is distorted by notions of economic and civic usefulness. I can be more blunt. We do not see intellectual life clearly, because of our devotion to lifestyles rich in material comfort and social superiority. We want the splendor of Socratic thinking without his poverty. We want the thrill of his speaking truth to power without the full absorption in the life of the mind that made it possible. We want the profits of Thales’ stargazing without the ridicule. We want Einstein’s brilliant insights without the humiliation of joblessness followed by years of obscurity working in a patent office. Instead of facing reality head on and making a choice to accept the costs of a certain pursuit as they are, we pretend that there is no need to make a choice. Intellectual life can bring you wealth and high social status. We can have it all. So we lie to ourselves that what we really care about is the realm of the intellect, when in reality we would sacrifice it in a second to our idols—comfort, wealth, and status.

Ethics & Prototypes (The Sonnet) Take morality out of science and, All you've left is one big conspiracy theory. Abundance of facts doesn't make something right, If it has no regard for the supreme fact of humanity. Just because we can innovate, doesn't mean we should, Science can no more be measured by the query of could. In future we'll be able to pre-edit a newborn baby, But just because we could, doesn't mean we should. Only a true scientist will realize the truth in this, A mind that can look past the pomp into the purpose, While counterfeit tech giants try to turn the world, Into a giant lifeless robot made of bolts and nuts. So better keep radical designs hidden from public eyes. Some prototypes must never ever be commercialized.

More to Technology (The Sonnet) Some prototypes must never be commercialized, Not till we learn to look beyond monetary value. Write some fiction instead without revealing schematics, If you want the possibility to survive through. Technology is a stupidly predictable phenomenon, What one person can imagine another can rig together. All it takes is an infinite supply of persistence, Voila - fiction of today turns reality centuries later! So I say again, ask the question of "should" not "could", If you want some tech to bring light not silent regress. Because once you put the schematics out into the world, All your brilliance will fall short to undo the damage. There's more to technology than startups 'n entrepreneurship. Power without responsibility causes disparity not uplift.

They each had the role of feeding into ExCom input from the outside world. They weren’t supposed to be just giving their own opinions. “Whenever you open your mouth, I want pros and cons; I want for and against. I want you to represent the voices who disagree with you as well as those who agree. If I think you aren’t, you don’t belong here, is that clear?” Carliotti told them in laying out her ground rules. “You are all experts on each other’s business in here. There is no patent on the truth. I chose some of you because I don’t necessarily agree with you. I don’t want groupthink here. We argue, we weigh the odds, then we decide. And if we can’t agree, I decide.

So I think people are now starting to make a lot of money out of owning patents.Trademarks, of course, have always made people a lot of money. A trademark system is a wonderful thing for a big operation if it's well known. The exclusive franchise can also be wonderful. If there were only three television channels awarded in a big city and you owned one of them, there were only so many hours a day that you could be on. So you had a natural position in an oligopoly in the pre-cable days. And if you get the franchise for the only food stand in an airport, you have a captive clientele, and you have a small monopoly of a sort.

When evil manifests through a father's criminal actions, it can leave a legacy of darkness, transferring like a curse to future generations. But know this the power of redemption and forgiveness can break the cycle, shattering the chains of inherited evil and freeing you to forge a new path.

Has any experimentation ever been done to verify the presence of the chakras? One would think the best way to detect if there are chakras is by having an expert (such as a yogi or a guru) activate them and you can place sensors near where the chakras are located to detect change in electromagnetic field that is said to accompany the activation of the chakras. The name of the first human to do so is someone you have probably heard of and who is one of the great western scientists who built the foundation for industrial revolution. His name is Nikola Tesla, the father of the alternating current (AC). Anyone who knows Tesla knows that, while Thomas Edison believed the future was direct current (DC); Tesla stuck to his guns and made all his bets on AC. He acquired several patents and helped pioneer many inventions in this field. Tesla proved to be correct in predicting the future. Tesla was far ahead of his time and greatly influenced by the Vedas and Upanishads so much so that he even named fundamental concepts in energy and matter using Sanskrit language the same language with which the Vedas and Upanishads were authored thousands of years back.

In June 2008, Amazon.com filed for a new patent with a Microsoft Kinect–like feature for making purchases with body movements. Anticipating computers and other devices that can track a user’s movements, the new Amazon patent is titled “Movement recognition as input mechanism.” Forget keypads and mice, you may soon be able to make a purchase simply by nodding your head at your computer, Kindle, or cell phone. Industry wags have dubbed it the “1-Nod patent.

If you look for activation in any cortex, when language is spoken or comprehended, you will find it. Lieberman's studies of Parkinson's patents and Everest climbers, as well as Pinker's work on the past tense in English, show that there is an overlap between the parts of the brain that are used for speech and the parts that are used for syntax. In addition, the brain areas that are active when learning language are different from the ones that are active when using language once it has been learned. Moreover, different areas are activated depending on the specific language activity, like the comprehension of words, categorizing a word (in a new task versus a learned task), translating between languages, or making decisions about grammar. Modern brain imaging has also revealed that the spread of language activation across the two hemispheres of the brain can differ substantially for each individual.

I’ve felt how you feel,” he said simply. “As if another had all I needed and lacked, and he didn’t even appreciate what he had.” “You?” She expostulated in disbelief but walked more slowly and made no objection to his hand lightly touching her back. “What could you possibly want for? You’re the firstborn of a duke, titled, wealthy; you’ve survived battles, and you can charm little girls. How could you long for more than that?” “My brother will succeed Moreland, if the duke ever condescends to expire. This harum-scarum earldom is a sop thrown to my younger brother’s conscience, and his wife’s, I suppose. He and my father had considerable influence with the Regent, and Westhaven’s wife may well be carrying the Moreland heir. Anna made the suggestion to see Rosecroft passed along to me, and Westhaven would not rest until that plan had been fulfilled.” “How can that be?” Emmie watched their moon shadows float along the ground as they walked. “A duke cannot choose which of his offspring inherits his title.” “He cannot. According to the Moreland letters patent, it goes to the oldest legitimate son surviving at the time of the duke’s death.” “Well, you aren’t going to die soon, are you?” She glanced over at his obviously robust frame, puzzled and concerned for some reason to think of him expiring of a pernicious illness. “No, Miss Farnum, the impediment is not death, but rather the circumstances of my birth.” There was a slight, half-beat pause in the darkness, a hitch in her gait he would not have seen. “Oh.” “Oh, indeed. I have a sister similarly situated, though Maggie and I do not share even the same mother. The duke was a busy fellow in his youth.” “Busy and selfish. What is it with men that they must strut and carry on, heedless of the consequences to any save themselves?” “What is it with women,” he replied, humor lacing his tone, “that they must indulge our selfish impulses without regard to the consequences even to themselves?” “Point taken.

Christopher stood facing Beatrix, trying not to gape. And failing utterly. She might as well have been standing there in her undergarments. In fact, that would have been preferable, because at least it wouldn’t have seemed so singularly erotic. He could see the feminine outline of her hips and thighs clad in the masculine garments. And she didn’t seem at all self-conscious. Confound her, what kind of woman was she? He struggled with his reaction to her, a mixture of annoyance, fascination, and arousal. With her hair threatening to tumble from its pins, and her cheeks flushed from exertion, she was the epitome of glowing female health. “Why are you here?” she asked. “I came to apologize,” he said. “I was…discourteous yesterday.” “No, you were rude.” “You’re right. I’m truly sorry.” At her lack of response, Christopher fumbled for words. He, who had once spoken to women so glibly. “I’ve been too long in rough company. Since I left the Crimea, I find myself reacting irritably without cause. I…words are too important for me to be so careless with them.” Perhaps it was his imagination, but he thought her face softened a little. “You don’t have to be sorry for disliking me,” she said. “Only for being discourteous.” “Rude,” Christopher corrected. “And I don’t.” “You don’t what?” she asked with a frown. “Dislike you. That is…I don’t know you well enough to either like or dislike you.” “I’m fairly certain, Captain,” she said, “that the more you discover about me, the more you will dislike me. Therefore, let’s cut to the chase and acknowledge that we don’t like each other. Then we won’t have to bother with the in-between part.” She was so bloody frank and practical about the whole thing that Christopher couldn’t help but be amused. “I’m afraid I can’t oblige you.” “Why not?” “Because when you said that just now, I found myself starting to like you.” “You’ll recover,” she said. Her decisive tone made him want to smile. “It’s getting worse, actually,” he told her. “Now I’m absolutely convinced that I like you.” Beatrix gave him a patently skeptical stare. “What about my hedgehog? Do you like her, too?” Christopher considered that. “Affection for rodents can’t be rushed.” “Medusa isn’t a rodent. She’s an erinaceid.” “Why did you bring her to the picnic?” Christopher couldn’t resist asking. “Because I thought her company would be preferable to that of the people I would meet there.” A faint smile played at the corners of her lips. “And I was right.

I smiled despite myself. Caleb: "We're pretty far from perfect, Kitten. I'm the most fucked up person you know." Livvie: "Yeah but I'm the second most fucked up person I know, and when you put two negatives together, you get a positive. That's Math Caleb. Math is the language of universe. You can't argue with the universe." Her grin was patently ridiculous.

Well,” I said pleasantly, “if you know a way to make a database hurry up, I’m sure we’d all love to hear it.” “Goddamn it, you’re not even trying!” she said. I will freely admit that nine times out of ten, I would have had a little more patience with Deborah’s patently impossible request and rotten attitude. But with things as they were lately, I really didn’t want to knuckle my forehead and leap into worshipful compliance. I took a deep breath instead and spoke with audible patience and steely control. “Deborah. I am doing my job the best I can. If you think you can do it better, then please feel free to try.” She ground her teeth even harder, and for a moment I thought the canines might splinter and burst through her cheeks. But happily for her dental bill, they did not. She just glared at me instead, and then nodded her head twice, very hard. “All right,” she said. And then she turned around and walked rapidly away without even looking back at me to snarl one last time. I sighed. Perhaps I should have stayed home in bed, or at least checked my horoscope. Nothing seemed to be going right. The whole world was slightly off-kilter, leaning just a bit out of its normal axis. It had a strange and mean tint to it, too, as if it had sniffed out my fragile mood and was probing for further weakness. Ah,

So a patent is a pact between an inventor and society,” continued Altschuler. “In exchange for twenty years of exclusive use of an invention, the inventor is required to disclose the invention publicly, in writing. In enough detail so that others can duplicate it. And build upon it. You can still choose to keep an invention a trade secret, of course, but if you do, you don’t get protection. You basically take your chances that competitors won’t learn your secret.

In the world of premium, flame broils there are basically two roads that the makers appear to seek after. We have the do everything models and the particular objective models. Do everything flame broils concentrate on presenting to you a wide range of highlights for a better than average taste of close everything a barbecue can do while alternate concentrate on things like infrared barbecuing, warm maintenance or self-cleaning. This Weber Summit show is a do everything flame broil that matches premium stainless steel with different cooking alternatives, great power, and a cost around $1899 on the lower end for premium barbecues. Weber Summit 7170001 S-470 Stainless-Steel 580-Square-Inch 48,800-BTU Liquid-Propane Gas Grill With a ton of experience in grill design Weber brings to market this heavy duty premium grill. Here we have four main burners pumping 48,800 BTU’s of cooking power over propane gas. It doesn’t stop there though the highlight of this model is all of its grilling utility. Features 580-square-inch 48,800-BTU gas grill with stainless-steel cooking grates and Flavorizer bars Front-mounted controls; 4 stainless-steel burners; Snap-Jet individual burner ignition system Side burner, Sear Station burner, smoker burner, and rear-mounted infrared rotisserie burner Enclosed cart; built-in thermometer; requires a 20-pound LP tank (sold separately); LED fuel gauge - LP models only Measures 30 inches long by 66 inches wide by 57 inches high; 5-year limited warranty SABER SS 500 Premium Stainless Steel 3 Burner Gas Grill Silver is a valuable mineral and also an extravagant color as the natural color of stainless steel why would you not want to go all out. With that in mind, we have this Saber SS 500 premium gas grill. This grill features a completely stainless steel build housing three infrared burners for precise temperature contro Features Constructed with commercial grade 304 stainless steel for lasting durability Uses a patented infrared cooking system for even temperature, no flare-ups and 30% less propane consumption Dual tube side burner is ideal for greater versatility of using woks, skillets and pots, as well as boiling and frying side dishes and sauces 2 internal halogen lights so you can grill at any time of day Napoleon Grills PRO500RSIBPSS-2 Prestige Pro Series Gas Grills Propane The grilling extends beyond your basic setup with a heavy duty rear infrared rotisserie burner and a side infrared burner for searing purposes so whether you want a succulent roast of a hibachi style feast, burgers and hot dogs are just the beginning. Features 80, 000 BTU's Six burners 900 in total cooking area Premium stainless Steel construction

You can derive value from the Indian patent system, provided you know how it works. Stop cribbing about how it is not like another country’s system, and start thinking about how you can gain business value

Why do you think an egg yolk is full of cholesterol? Because it takes a lot of cholesterol to build a healthy chicken. It also takes a hell of a lot to build and maintain a healthy human being. “In fact, cholesterol is so vital that almost all cells can manufacture cholesterol; one of the key functions of the liver is to synthesize cholesterol. It's vital for the proper functioning of the brain and it's the building block for most sex hormones.” --

Stop talking. Now.” Deanna’s head fell back and she started laughing. It was a full-bodied belly laugh that spread over him like a breeze on a hot day. The sound was so sweet that it almost made up for how big of a disgusting pervert he felt like right now. While she was still chuckling, she touched his arm. “Don’t feel bad. How old were you then?” “It was senior year, so seventeen,” Lucky answered, still feeling gross. “See? You were a teenager, too. It’s fine. Really.” She continued giggling, and he had to admit that the sound made him so happy that he didn’t even care that it was at his expense. “It still feels wrong.” His shoulders shook as a chill ran through him, and it wasn’t the good kind. It was the grossed-out kind. “I think it’s hilarious,” she said, clearly enjoying seeing him squirm. “I’m so glad I can amuse you,” he said flatly. “Well, I think it’s only fair since I seemed to have offered hours of amusement for you—” Without even thinking, he reached over the seat and started tickling her. She wiggled and laughed, begging him to stop. He did, but only because a call came in. When he saw the picture on his console’s display, he knew he had to answer it. Pressing the answer button, he extended his patent greeting to his publicist. “Hello, beautiful.” “Why can’t you just play nice with others, especially the press?” Jessie Sloan-Courtland asked in her usual no nonsense tone. Jessie wasn’t one for niceties. She was all business, all the time. Deciding to ignore her rhetorical question and her dislike for small talk, he pushed on undeterred. “I’ve been good. How about you?” “Lucky. You can’t treat the press like that.” Jessie seemed to have the same game plan as he did. This conversation was going to happen, so he figured he might as well just get it over with. “I wasn’t there for them. I was there for the kids.” “It doesn’t matter. They were there, and whether you like it or not, you have a responsibility—” “I had a responsibility to visit the kids and their families. I had a responsibility to protect the people I brought with me. And I lived up to my responsibilities.” “I’m not going to argue with you. You’re supposed to be cleaning up your act. We agreed. And your image is your responsibility. When you elbow photographers in the nose, you open yourself up for lawsuits, and that is not something sponsors think is appealing. You know what’s on the line with this bout. Don’t screw it up.” “Yes, Mom,” he answered—his normal response for when Jessie was right. “You know, you’re not nearly as cute as you think you are,” she said, sounding less than impressed. “Awww, you think I’m cute. Does Zach know? I don’t want to come betw—” “Goodbye, Lucky.” “Bye, beautiful.” When the call disconnected, Lucky felt a little twinge of guilt that Jessie had even had to make that call. He knew better. “Wow. She’s awesome.” Unlike Jessie, Deanna did sound impressed. “Yeah. She is pretty awesome,” he agreed. “And so beautiful.” Deanna was still looking at Jessie’s picture on the console. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea just because he’d called her beautiful. “Her husband sure thinks so. He’s actually a friend of mine. Have you heard of Zach Courtland?” Deanna was quiet for a beat. Then she snapped her fingers. “Was he the one in the Calvin Klein ads?” “That’s him.” “Wow. She’s married to him? He’s…hot.” Well, this conversation had taken a turn Lucky didn’t like. Not one little bit.

If your business success depends in some way on patents or trademarks you hold, you’ll want to research intellectual property law in the market you’re considering. You’ll need to refile those trademarks and patents, but in some countries, being able to set up and protect your intellectual property can be maddeningly difficult. Even if you’re able to file the paperwork, the practical protection of your property is another matter.

The truth of the matter is that the system is not designed to allow for upstart third parties. It can adjust to accommodate a patently bogus third party, and it can tolerate the occasional Republican or Democrat bolting his party to pose as an ‘Independent,’ but a real third party doesn’t stand a chance. That is why you won’t find anything but Republicans and Democrats in the White House and the US Senate. Even the House of Representatives, reputedly the branch of the federal government most responsive to the people, counts just one Independent among its 435 members.34 That’s because we all know that voting for a third-party candidate is just throwing your vote away. Which is, sadly, quite true. True because the American system of ‘democracy’ is a winner-take-all system. And a minor party candidate, lacking funding and media support, has exactly no chance of winning. If, however, America were based on a representational system, as are the European democracies, winning would be a relative concept, and third-party votes would not be thrown away. For in that type of system, congressional or parliamentary seats are awarded proportionally based on the election outcome. In other words, your party need not ‘win’ to gain representation. Every vote for your party gains greater representation, and no votes are thrown away. It is easy to see how this type of democracy could quickly erode the entrenched ‘two-party’ system.

That’s in the actual patent. Really! You can find the patent and read it for yourself. All you have to do is Google its official USPTA number, which is US10144532B2.

DIVORCE ABROAD When a couple can be divorced in more than one country serious legal problems can develop. British nationals who live abroad can decide whether to be divorced at home or abroad. What matters is where it makes most sense for them to be divorced, and they should work out which jurisdiction is equally fair to both parties. One of the factors that will determine where the divorce takes place is who puts a petition in first. This will carry some weight when everything else is finely balanced. So if there is jurisdiction in Britain and another country and you would be better off in Britain, start proceedings quickly. But if the English courts would favour the husband more than the wife, a judge would be likely to tell them to use the jurisdiction that would be fairest to both. It creates a bad impression on a judge if you, as petitioner, have deliberately opted for the jurisdiction most favourable to you. One English woman, who had lived in France and was married to a Frenchman, decided to file her petition in the UK. Her husband was able to have the proceedings stopped completely, however, because the judge believed that justice would be served better in France. An American couple who were married in Italy but had lived in the UK for six years and wanted to divorce could have their case heard in any of the three countries. They could go to the States because they were still domiciled there (in the sense that that was where they came from and where they were both likely to die), but they could also use the English or Italian courts because in the first instance this would their country of residence and in the second this would be where their assets were. However, even if they had lived in Britain for a few years, if most of their assets were still in Italy it would be more sensible for the divorce to take place there. Under Moslem law a man divorces his wife simply by saying ‘I divorce you’ three times, and his liability to his wife is only five gold coins. That is patently unfair for a British woman or, say, an Iranian or an Iraqi living in Britain. While the British courts accept the divorce, it does not preclude the woman from gaining some settlement from her husband’s assets in Britain, provided, of course, he has not taken everything he owns out of the country. British courts can make orders for financial provision when a divorce or separation has taken place abroad, provided permission has been granted by a High Court judge. The judge will only give the go-ahead if he or she considers that the circumstances warrant it – if, for example, the person making the application now lives in Britain. When a divorce takes place abroad, provided that it was recognized the country which granted it, it will always be recognized in the UK. This is not always the case in reverse: if a couple were married in a Catholic country (which does not recognize divorce) and they came to live in the UK and subsequently divorce there, UK legislation would only cover them, their dependants and assets in the UK. We pointed out in Chapter 8 that when assets are held abroad, UK courts have only limited powers to make a husband transfer a share if his assets to his wife, or vice versa, particularly when the money is tied up in the Middle or Far East.

The only ones hoarding HCQ were Dr. Fauci and Rick Bright, who had padlocked 63 million doses in the Strategic National Stockpile79—more than enough to supply virtually every gerontology-ward patient in America. Despite such efforts to create a shortage, none existed. HCQ is cheap, quick, and easy to manufacture, and since its patent is expired, dozens of manufacturers around the world can quickly ramp up production to meet escalating demand. In July, Gates endorsed censorship of HCQ recommendations after a video touting its efficacy against coronavirus accumulated tens of millions of views.80 Gates called the video “outrageous,” and praised Facebook and YouTube for hastily removing it.

What exactly is NAD3 and how does it work? NAD3 is a patent-pending nutraceutical containing a unique Wasabi japonica extract, theacrine and copper(I)-niacin complex. Preliminary pre-clinical and human studies suggest that it turbocharges enzymes that boost the conversion of NAD+ precursors, such as NMN, to NAD+, while also suppressing the activity proteins that deplete NAD+. Dr. Lopez explains, “NAD3 co-supplementation with any NAD+ precursor (such as NMN) is like playing both on offense and defense at the same time.

The FDA has now made as “law” the following statement, “Only a drug can cure, prevent or treat a disease.” This is insane. Think about the ramifications. The FDA has now guaranteed and protected the profits of the drug companies! Only a patented drug, according to the FDA, can treat, prevent, or cure a disease. First off, we all know this is flat-out untrue. The disease scurvy, for example, which is simply a vitamin C deficiency, is treated, prevented, and cured by eating citrus fruit. According to the FDA’s law, however, if you were to hold up an orange and say “This orange is the cure for the disease of scurvy,” you would go to jail for selling a “drug” without a license.

Hair fall - The two words that make up for the shortest yet the scariest horror story that no woman would ever want to witness. However, many women suffer from it and get stuck in a loop of trying various solutions to take control of hair fall. It’s important to understand to what amount the hair fall is normal and to what is abnormal. We lose about 100 strands every day but anything more than that is excessive and alarming. HAIR FALL PROBLEM Hair is a big part of our identity and appearance. It adds confidence and resembles our style in ways more than one. When one loses hair, they lose self-esteem and self-confidence. Therefore, it is necessary to find an answer to the question of ‘How to control hair fall?’ Hair Fall Problem For most of us, a good hair day instantly puts us in a good mood. Such is the importance associated with the appearance of our hair. When even an occasional bad hair day can seriously put a damper on our mood, imagine how dreadful it’s to deal with your precious hair locks beginning to fall off. If you're looking for a basic brush that gets rid of tangles with no discomfort or pain, look no moreoverthan the Patented Venting hairbrush DoubleC. This universal brush is made to detangle wet hair of all kinds and forms with ease. Each brush is made with light, soft, and strong bristles that can painlessly get rid of despite the most serious knots. The points also highlight SofTips at the top that massage the scalp and help improve follicle stimulation. Patented Venting hairbrushes work best on women with long, thick hair for they're usually too large and unwieldy on short or thin hair. Most maximum paddle brushes are created for dry hair, as a regular detangler, and smoother. Hair Fall Problem Different Types of Hair Brush Our wide collection of Nuway4haiHair Brushes covers DoubleC Brush, C Brush, Travel C Brush, Traveler Brush, MagicSpell Combo Brush, and many more. Available in various forms and sizes, these hair brushes for women have two hair types namely. Specially created to serve, appearance, and smoothen up the hair of all dimensions and arrangements, all the hairbrushes come following three distinct ranges, that is, Basic, Premium, and Specialist. Nuway4hair Top Sellers to Choose From 1. Patented Venting hairbrush DoubleC - Purple 2. Patented Venting hairbrush DoubleC - Blue 3. DoubleC Brush- Black 4. Patented Venting hairbrush DoubleC PRO - Gray

Do you have gorgeous, lustrous curly hair? Well, you may wonder about different hairstyles or even complain about the magnificent curls. However, opting for a French braid on the curly mane can change your whole outlook. French braid, also known as French plait, is undoubtedly a timeless classic. It has the ability to give an air of sophistication and grace. The conventional French braid doesn’t strain the hair and causes few breakages, leading to healthy hair. How to French Braid Curly Hair Steps to French braid the curly hair? Follow these steps to French braid the curly hair. • Part the hair from the middle. • Now start a regular braid on the side. • Before crossing, get a little bit of the main hair and add it to the small section that is now taken to the middle area. • Repeat this addition till all the main hair gets used. • After that, proceed with the traditional braiding style and finish it off with a hairband. How to French Braid Curly Hair Can the right hairbrush aid in making the perfect French braid? Do you desire the perfect French braid on your curly tresses? Well, with the best styling brush, attaining that illustrious French braid is easy and manageable. If you are looking for the best brush for your hair, stop! Check out NuWay DoubleC Brush! It is a patented brush that comes with a multitude of features. Here, you will find a speedy dry, ergonomic shape to circular venting scheme. Why choosing NuWay DoubleC Brush is the best choice for a French braid? NuWay DoubleC Brush offers different features that inevitably make it the best scalp brush. • DoubleC Curve The Double C shape brush aids in offering depth and helps in lifting added volumes. • Carries hair care products With a broad curve, the NuWay DoubleC Brush can carry hair products with ease. It is indeed the best brush for applying hair care products. • Circular venting scheme The circular venting scheme decreases the drying time, thus offering speed dry. Moreover, it also protects against heat. • Ergonomic shape With an ergonomic shape, the brush assists in scalp care. Now, you can get the perfect braid with ease! • Non-slip grip The NuWay DoubleC Brush comes with a TPR handle. It indicates a non-slip grip and aids in detangling hairs. No wonder it is credited as the best brush for detangling tresses. • Easy to clean The brush is exceptionally easy to clean. You only need some detergent and water to wash off the dirt. Then, air dries it in a cool place for further use. • Tips diffused with argan oil The tips of the bristles are smeared with argan oil, maintaining the softness and shine of the hair. These also promote blood circulation and stimulate the hair follicles. These spectacular features definitely make the NuWay DoubleC Brush even more appealing. Magnificent, right? Get this impressive hairbrush on Amazon here!

I fully enjoyed “Imagineer Your Future” by Les LaMotte. This is a wonderful manual with an underlying Christian base that teaches how anyone can learn the principles of becoming an “Imagineer” like Les. The book begins by explaining the author’s own spiritual, life, and career journey that produced in him an Imagineer mindset. His grandfathers specific teaching the principles of a simple kite that in 50 years turned into his Xtra Lite Display System with five US patents and several international that opened sales in over 36 countries. The author explains, “To call yourself an Imagineer means you lead a complex life, schooled in enlightenment and problem solving with many hundreds of ideas of the past, present, and future technology, all while living your life in various stages of your own growth, development, and experience.” This creative and colorful book filled with photographs and illustrations has 20 sections ranging from important principles gleaned from childhood to helping the reader take necessary self assessments before launching into higher education without a well thought through plan. These sections are color coded using side tabs and there are vertical chapter titles present that allow the reader to quickly comb through the concepts and chapters that are most relevant to them. Dollar icons are present throughout to indicate where an Excel sheet is available to download free on LaMotte’s website. An Imagineer symbol targets areas of specific learning opportunities. To make this process even easier, the reader is provided with fill in the blank lists and links to online Core Passion assessments so they can discover their actual motivations in light of their gifts and how to apply their five top core passions to complete their own Imagineer journey. I really enjoyed how the author weaves his own experiences throughout each section and the heartfelt mentions of well known individuals that have Imagineered throughout recent and ongoing history. Les provides his own amazing pointers on how to stay on the path to leading a fulfilling life of an Imagineer. If you are looking for a cross between a creative and easy to understand manual on becoming an Imagineer and a heartfelt journey traveling the road to success this is the choice for you.

When Adolfe Sax patented the first saxophone on June 23, 1846, the Creek Nation was in turmoil. The people had been moved west of the Mississippi River after the Creek Wars which culminated in the Battle of Horseshoe Bend. We were putting our lives back together in new lands where we were promised we would be left alone. The saxophone made it across the big waters and was introduced in brass bands in the South. The music followed rivers into new towns, cities, all the way to our new lands. Not long after, in the early 1900s, my grandmother Naomi Harjo learned to play saxophone. I can feel her now when I play the instrument we both loved and love. The saxophone is so human. Its tendency is to be rowdy, edgy, talk too loud, bump into people, say the wrong words at the wrong time, but then, you take a breath all the way from the center of the earth and blow. All that heartache is forgiven. All that love we humans carry makes a sweet, deep sound and we fly a little.

I’ll focus on two of these patents, both issued in 2018,” I said to Mark Russell’s audience. “The first is entitled, Craft Using an Inertial Mass Reduction Device. This one involves an aerospace-underwater craft of incredible speed and maneuverability. A vehicle capable of flying just as well in space, air, or water without leaving a heat signature. “Sound familiar? If you’re thinking this patent has to have come from the reverse engineering of an alien craft, you aren’t alone.” I paused for effect as I put the title pages of both patents on the screen. “The how of it all is quite interesting, taking me back to my grad school days. The invention involves the creation of a quantum vacuum around a vehicle using a dense, spinning, electromagnetic energy field. Such a quantum vacuum would repel matter that would otherwise impede the craft, greatly reducing the ship’s inertia, decreasing resistance, and leading to extreme speeds.” I smiled. “Let me read you a sentence from the actual, issued patent. I’m a science fiction writer, and even I wouldn’t have been crazy enough to write a sentence this bold. Here it is: this invention would also enable us to ‘engineer the fabric of our reality at the most fundamental level.’ “That’s in the actual patent. Really! You can find the patent and read it for yourself. All you have to do is Google its official USPTA number, which is US10144532B2.

I will tell you what I am talking about,” he said. "Most kinds of power require a substantial sacrifice by whoever wants the power. There is an apprenticeship, a discipline lasting many years. Whatever kind of power you want. President of the company. Black belt in karate. Spiritual guru. Whatever it is you seek, you have to put in the time, the practice, the effort. You must give up a lot to get it. It has to be very important to you. And once you have attained it, it is your power. It can't be given away: it resides in you. It is literally the result of your discipline. "Now, what is interesting about this process is that, by the time someone has acquired the ability to kill with his bare hands, he has also matured to the point where he won't use it unwisely. So that kind of power has a built-in control. The discipline of getting the power changes you so that you won't abuse it. "But scientific power is like inherited wealth: attained without discipline. You read what others have done, and you take the next step. You can do it very young. You can make progress very fast. There is no discipline lasting many decades. There is no mastery: old scientists are ignored. There is no humility before nature. There is only a get-rich-quick, make-a-name-for-yourself-fast philosophy. Cheat, lie, falsify-it doesn't matter. Not to you, or to your colleagues. No one will criticize you. No one has any standards. They are all trying to do the same thing: to do something big, and do it fast. “And because you can stand on the shoulders of giants, you can accomplish something quickly. You don't even know exactly what you have done, but already you have reported it, patented it, and sold it. And the buyer will have even less discipline than you. The buyer simply purchases the power, like any commodity. The buyer doesn't even conceive that any discipline might be necessary.” “I'll make it simple,” Malcolm said. “A karate master does not kill people with his bare hands. He does not lose his temper and kill his wife. The person who kills is the person who has no discipline, no restraint, and who has purchased his power in the form of a Saturday night special. And that is the kind of power that science fosters, and permits. And that is why you think that to build a place like this is simple.