Casper Quotes

Casper, she said someone has to hold your leash.” The dog barked. Then he dipped his head, picked up the end of the leash in his mouth, and trotted after his master.

Can I keep you? he whispered, laughing and pulling away from her as soon as the words came out. "Whats wrong with me? I'm quoting Casper.

If people knew what I was up to, they'd probably try to stop me. The idiots would take Casper's side, and then I'd have to kill Casper and them after Casper bit their throats out. I'm no superhero.

She was starting to get a little breathless from trailing Casper, though the guys weren’t having any trouble. “How far have we gone? Like three miles?” Gabriel gave her a look. “Like one.” So she needed more cardio.

Who's possessing who now, Casper?

Nick! Wait!” – Kyrian ‘Wait, my gluteus maximus. Vampire was shy of a few quarts of blood if he thought Nick had any intention of not going Casper on him.’ – Nick

I also told Nick she's a player, and I'm not interested." Becca smiled a little ruefully. "I believe that." Hunter frowned. "What does that mean?" "It means I've listened to her hit on every guy on the porch.I'm surprised she's not mounting Casper.

My name is Abbey. And I'm in love with a ghost.

Cheyenne snatched back her phone. "Someone took her brave pills today." "And washed them down with stupid juice," Casper added, cocking his gun.

Did you hear that?" Casper said. "Bats," Cheyenne replied. Casper gasped with horror. "You know I hate bats," he hissed. "Bats bats bats bats bats," Cheyenne said. "Stop it! We're not kids anymore!" Casper shouted. "This way, Braveheart.

Casper didn't give me direction for what to do if somebody I used to really like-like, somebody who would be somebody good to love, somebody right, somebody who understood about me, turned out to not have the same ideas about me.

The ledge isn't even wide enough for my feet to fit on completely. I hang onto the rail tightly and do a Casper does...leaning out slowly over the water. Like this, there is no safety. No rail to catch me if I slip. I'm almost flying. Between me and death, there is...nothing. Nothing in the way but my own decision to hang on.

Ghost implies a whole lot of things that I am NOT. Do I look like Casper to you?" "Fine," said Nick. "We're not ghosts, we're Undefined Spectral Doohickies. USDs. Are you happy now?

I offer no apologies to those whom I may have rendered uncomfortable with my open and honest assertions. The truth is often harsh and uncomfortable to embrace.

Anyway, Casper Mattresses is paying me the big sponsorship bucks to give you a Washington analysis podcast, so I’m gonna attempt to do that here,

Look, there's Billy Casper there wi' his pet hawk. I could shout at 'em; it's not a pet, Sir, hawks are not pets. Or when folks stop me and say, "Is it tame?" Is it heck tame, it's trained that's all. It's fierce, and it's wild, an' it's not bothered about anybody, not even about me right. And that's why it's great.

Casper wanted to be a little bit more than your friend." Alessio lowers his voice. I raise my eyebrows in disbelief. "And is that a crime?" I cross my arms defensively. He takes a step closer and my breath hitches. "When it comes to you, Maya. Yes, it is.

GLINDA SANG about how good it was to be popular. And while the actress was nearly as good as Kristin Chenoweth, and the stage of Wicked glittered in fantasy, Casper couldn’t peel his gaze off Kevin.

Friends, Casper observed, are the envy of the angels.

In a similar experiment involving reading to fetuses during the two and a half months before birth, DeCasper found the child’s heartbeat increased with a new story and decreased with a familiar one.

There was no Mamaw to comfort me. But there were my two dogs on the floor, and there was the love of my life lying in bed. Tomorrow I would go to work, take the dogs to the park, buy groceries with Usha, and make a nice dinner. It was everything I ever wanted. So I patted Casper's head and went back to sleep

It was no accident that the Oxford English Dictionary’s word of the year in 2016 was “post-truth,” a condition where objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief. Liberal British academic and philosopher A. C. Grayling characterized the emerging post-truth world to me as “over-valuing opinion and preference at the expense of proof and data.” Oxford Dictionaries president Casper Grathwohl predicted that the term could become “one of the defining words of our time.

There's a feeling you get driving down to Casper at night from the north, and not only there, other places where you come through hours of darkness unrelieved by any lights except the crawling wink of some faraway ranch truck. You come down a grade and all at once the shining town lies below you, slung out like all western towns, and with the curved bulk of mountain behind it. The lights trail away to the east in a brief and stubby cluster of yellow that butts hard up against the dark. And if you've ever been to the lonely coast you've seen how the shore rock drops off into the black water and how the light on the point is final. Beyond are the old rollers coming on for millions of years. It is like that here at night but instead of the rollers it's the wind. But the water was here once. You think about the sea that covered this place hundreds of millions of years ago, the slow evaporation, mud turned to stone. There's nothing calm in those thoughts. It isn't finished, it can still tear apart. Nothing is finished. You take your chances.

Every person writes his own book with the example of his life.

There was nothing like double chocolate chip to solve the sexual problems of women everywhere.

Tradition is living and active,” Merton writes, “but convention is passive and dead.

In the midst of a crisis of isolation, where loneliness leads to deaths of despair, being truly connected isn’t a luxury. It’s a lifesaver.

That's what this book is all about--taking things we do every day and layering meaning and ritual onto them, even experiences as ordinary as reading or eating--by thinking of them as spiritual practices.

I was used to the buttoned up, wealthy, Casper-skinned whites that always spoke in their library voices and used words like sassy and spicy to describe me. I was used to white people that embodied the suburban American dream. White people like Lainie's parents, who wished their daughters weren't dating me, but tolerated it and engaged me in discussions about affirmative action and how I benefited from it.

draft a plan to move the capital. My first choice would be Lander. Hell, even Casper would be better than Cheyenne. But Casper would open its own can of worms, if you know what I mean. Or maybe I’d have some fun and piss almost everybody off and propose moving it to Jackson.

my hope is that you’ll join me in choosing a text of your own to treat as sacred—something you already love, that you already find yourself turning to again and again. We can all benefit from the ancient practices of sacred reading.

They sat a long time in silence, each chained to a separate wound.

Can I help it if the world cannot worship what it has not first martyred?

Pleasing a woman, hearing the sultry words spill from her lips as he pushed her over the edge, that’s what got him off.

What is history if not one endless assault on love?

Institutions have turned mysteries into dogmas. They've lost the lightness of touch to translate the timeless wisdom into relevant teaching.

The search to know has always been characterized by the need to doubt, the need to be critical, including the need to be self-critical.

In 1969 Billy Casper was going into a job he didn't want. Today he'd be lucky to get a part-time casual job in a far more hostile world. Maybe we should ask what went wrong.

She Pulled a Casper "When I asked for transparency in our relationship I didn't mean for you to become a ghost.

His name is Casper, and it says he wants to connect with his crush, Kat, but his ghost uncles won’t let him. He needs help in convincing them otherwise.

Oh, come on, you’ve been ghosting me so hard that Casper would be jealous of your skills.

Pilgrimages of any scale follow the same broad architecture with three phases. The first is the setting of a purpose or intention. This might be healing, marking a loss, asking for forgiveness, exploring a new life phase or transition, or simply reconnecting with joy. It might even be simply the intention of adventure—creating space in which unexpected new thoughts, friendships, or experiences might emerge.

Because of the failed take-over bid by Walt Disney Studios of Harvey Comics in 1955, the Disney studio began a rumor that Casper was the first child experimented on, and subsequently killed by, Nazi doctor Josef Mengele.

And the true story that we told about ourselves six months ago may no longer be true today. We need one another to help us reexamine the words coming out of our mouth, to reflect on what is happening with our bodies and spirits

Yeah. She's got this pretty red hair, green eyes, a smile that could knock the wind out of a guy -" Casper was shaking his head. "What?" "You're right. You don't deserve her. I think you need to introduce her to me." Derek grinned and reached for him, but Casper danced away. "You know, I bet she'll take one look at me and forget all about you anyway, Dare." "You think so." Casper took off running. "Yeah, you'd better run, punk!" Derek yelled after him, grinning. Take a chance.

We have so many rehearsed stories about who we are,” says Lennon. “And the true story that we told about ourselves six months ago may no longer be true today. We need one another to help us reexamine the words coming out of our mouth, to reflect on what is happening with our bodies and spirits.

When we’re in the rhythm of the collective, we can be freed of our isolationist perspective. For a brief period of time, the lie of our separateness is exposed, and we remember that we are wholly connected to one another. It’s not that our individuality disappears, but that we are no longer blinded by individualism.

Floyd arrived in the kitchen and leapt onto Casper’s back, then proceeded to start biting his neck. I’m an only child with a smallish family who had never done Christmas in a big way, but there was something about having two male cats tenderly humping in the corner of the room that made the occasion a little more festive.

How might I find deeper happiness? The science points to an answer in the abstract: Find more community. Deepen your connections with others. Be with others in meaningful ways. Find rituals to organize your life. It will boost your happiness, give you greater joy, and even add ten years to your life expectancy, science suggests.

And here is the paradoxical secret: connection and isolation are bound to each other. I am confident that without my experience as a lonely closeted teenager at a boys’ boarding school, I wouldn’t be as passionate about deep connection today. We simply cannot know connection without also experiencing disconnection. There is nothing wrong with you when you feel that vast emptiness. Nothing you need to change. Nothing to fix. But there is one thing to do. Remember. Remember that both are true. The vast emptiness and the eternal connection. The sense of total aloneness and the interdependent belovedness. It is the paradox in which we live. And all of the practices and stories and strategies that we’ve explored in this book are simply there to help you, in moments of joy and sadness, overwhelm and barrenness, to remember.

What have I done, Obie?" Obie flung his hand in the air, the gesture encompassing all the rotten things that had occur under Archie's command, at Archie's direction. The ruined kids, the capsized hopes. Renault last fall and poor Tubs Casper and all the others including even the faculty. Like Brother Eugene. "You know what you've done, Archie. I don't need to draw up a list-" "You blame me for everything, right, Obie? You and Carter and all the others. Archie Costello, the bad guy. The villain. Archie, the bastard. Trinity would be such a beautiful place without Archie Costello. Right, Obie? But it's not me, Obie, it's not me...." "Not you?" Obie cried, fury gathering in his throat, his chest, his guts. "What the hell do you mean, not you? This could have been a beautiful place to be, Archie. A beautiful time for all of us. Christ, who else, if not you?" "Do you really want to know who?" "Okay, who then?" Impatient with his crap, the old Archie crap. "It's you, Obie. You and Carter and Bunting and Leon and everybody. But especially you, Obie. Nobody forced you to do anything, buddy. Nobody made you join the Vigils. Nobody twisted your arm to make you secretary of the Vigils. Nobody pain you to keep a notebook with all that crap about the students, all their weaknesses, soft points. The notebook made your job easier, didn't it, Obie? And what was your job? Finding the victims. You found them, Obie. You found Renault and Tubs Casper and Gendreau-the first one, remember, when we were sophomores?-how you loved it all, didn't you Obie?" Archie flicked a finger against the metal of the car, and the ping was like a verbal exclamation mark. "Know what, Obie? You could have said no anytime, anytime at all. But you didn't...." Archie's voice was filled with contempt, and he pronounced Obie's name as if it were something to be flushed down a toilet. "Oh, I'm an easy scapegoat, Obie. For you and everybody else at Trinity. Always have been. But you had free choice, buddy. Just like Brother Andrew always says in Religion. Free choice, Obie, and you did the choosing....

Vielleicht liegt der Sieg darin einfach aufzugeben.

Those Lost Of Eden, the Heavens await your arrival.

There's more truth in a grain of sand than you'll ever hear from man, woman, saint or sage. We classicists would sooner trust a potsherd.

I love technology—but I feel like I’m constantly responding to everyone and not really responding to myself.

Who we are is permanently affixed to God.

Emotions are an invitation to let others in.

There's no such thing as unimportant work.

Can I keep you?

Nonsense. Every month it’s the same routine, and when you are late, I am late. Do you think I want to get my chestnuts roasted for your incompetence?

The Earth is Flat: Be Afraid, Be Very Afraid

FUNNY QUOTE : 50% of marriages end in divorce and the other 50% are miserable (he he so funny)

Prayer is like a workshop for the soul.

A rabble-rouser from the UN high commission for refugees . . . the former magi who resigned in protest against purification . . . plus a girl . . . and a dog.

Disconnection sours the sweet things in life and makes any hardship nearly unbearable.

Meaning of the "White House" to the war victim children of Syria or Palestine is nothing but just a white-painted house. Perhaps, they imagine Casper lives there...or maybe some dead people. They really don't have time to think about it. Because they are busy discovering their own bloody limbs along with their parents' dead bodies from the ashes of their burnt homes.

Finally, the study concluded that good relationships don’t just protect our bodies; they protect our brains. When we feel like we can count on other people in times of need, our memory stays intact for longer.

Maybe you know the backstory of Batman and so you know that story isn't a factual tale. However in its simplest form the story of Batman's inception is actually far more believable than the Bible in its simplest form. The only reason people buy the Bible story is because piled onto a simple story about a space wizard is all this other fluff to try and make it look like it has more substance than it really has. But if you strip away the fluff and say it straight you can see it for what it is.

The word “sacred” itself comes from the Latin sacrare, which means to consecrate or dedicate. And to consecrate means to declare or make something holy. So the sacredness is in the doing, and that means we have enormous agency to make “sacred” happen ourselves.

It suggests that reading is not just something we can do to escape the world, but rather that it can help us live more deeply in it, that we can read our favorite books not just as novels, but as instructive and inspirational texts that can teach us about ourselves and how we live.

The cognitive capacities of near-term fetuses are even more remarkable. For example, fetuses can distinguish between two pairs of nonsense syllables (“biba” versus “babi”). How do you know? Get this—Mom says “Biba, biba, biba” repeatedly while fetal heart rate is monitored. “Boring (or perhaps lulling),” thinks the fetus, and heart rate slows. Then Mom switches to “babi.” If the fetus doesn’t distinguish between the two, heart rate deceleration continues. But if the difference is noted—“Whoa, what happened?”—heart rate increases. Which is what DeCasper reported.61

We just need to be clear about our intention (what are we inviting into this moment?), bring it our attention (coming back to being present in this moment), and make space for repetition (coming back to this practice time and again). In this way, rituals make the invisible connections that make life meaningful, visible.

He was the old breed of Filipino, almost extinct, who required that he deserve what he received; who would feel guilt, not only shame or embarrassment; who accounted for each day in the office and observed public trust as if it were a word of God. But even God was nowhere. The new theology proclaimed him dead. Long live Man! Love live Me!

Sabbath isn’t a time to catch up on tasks. Nor is it simply a time of rest to prepare for a busy week. It is a time to revel in the beauty and delight of simply being. The sabbath “is not for the purpose of recovering one’s lost strength and becoming fit for the forthcoming labor,” Heschel writes. “The sabbath is a day for the sake of life. . . . The sabbath is not for the sake of the weekdays; the weekdays are for the sake of sabbath.

All the while, the breakneck speed of change ushered in by the internet and consumer capitalism is reshaping the entire spiritual and community landscape. Nearly everyone I know feels as if they are falling short of some predefined standard that is completely out of reach so that our near-constant state of not feeling we are enough frustrates our enjoyment of moments that could and should be meaningful. These structural inequities literally steal our joy.

I am convinced we are in the midst of a paradigm shift. That what used to hold us in community no longer works. That the spiritual offerings of yesteryear no longer help us thrive. And that, just like stargazers of the sixteenth century had to reimagine the cosmos by placing the sun at the center of the solar system, so we need to fundamentally rethink what it means for something to be sacred. Paradigm shifts like this happen for two reasons. First, because there is new evidence that refutes previously held assumptions--think of how Charles Darwin's _Origin of Species_ transformed our understanding of evolutionary biology and the historical accuracy of the Bible, for example. Second, because older theories prove irrelevant to new questions that people start asking. And that's what is happening today. In this time of rapid religious and relational change, a new landscape of meaning-making and community is emerging--and the traditional structures of spirituality are struggling to keep up with what our lives look like.

In a conversation with Buddhist teacher Sharon Salzberg recorded in 1998, he explained, “I can’t believe in any of this stuff about creating community. I think the whole project of trying to build community is misplaced. I think community is. It is ontologically there. So, the project is more about awakening.” For him, connection is remembered, or revealed, because we are already “dangerously involved with each other in an incredibly intimate but unseen way.” That’s what it means to be human. Connection just is. We are each connected to every other thing.

In Group, Casper doesn't like us to say cut or cutting or burn or stab. She says it doesn't matter what you do or how you do it: it's all the same. You could drink, slice, do meth, snort coke, burn, cut, stab, slash, rip out your eyelashes, or fuck till you bleed and it's all the same thing: self-harm. She says: whether someone has hurt you or made you feel bad or unworthy or unclean, rather than taking the rational step of realizing that person is an asshole or a psycho and should be shot or strung up and you should stay the fuck away from them, instead we internalize our abuse and begin to blame and punish ourselves and weirdly, once you start cutting or burning or fucking because you feel so shitty and unworthy, your body starts to release this neat-feeling shit called endorphins and you feel so fucking high the world is like cotton candy at the best and most colorful state fair in the world, only bloody and stuffed with infection. But the fucked-up part is once you start self-harming, you can never not be a creepy freak, because your whole body is now a scarred and charred battlefield and nobody likes that on a girl, nobody will love that, and so all of us, every one, is screwed, inside and out. Wash, rinse, fucking repeat.

Als ik spreek over rouw, gebruik ik graag de metafoor van de strandwandeling. Niet die strandwandeling waarbij je achteromkijkend ziet dat er een spoor ontbreekt. Wel de wandeling langs de zee waar verdriet en pijn als golven komen en gaan, voor eeuwig en altijd, grote en kleine golven, voorspelbare en onvoorspelbare golven. Bij een strandwandeling zijn er momenten om stil te staan en te staren naar de oneindigheid van de zee, begeleid door het ruisend gefluister van de branding. Maar net zoals je dreigt weg te zakken of aan stevigheid moet inboeten als je lang stilstaat op het zand aan de vloedlijn, zo ook moet je bij rouw niet te lang stilstaan, op tijd weer in beweging komen, al eens wegspringen, of de branding net tegemoet gaan. Bewegen om niet overspoeld te worden. Nu eens in gezelschap, dan weer alleen. Met zout op de lippen. Van het opspattend water, of van zilte tranen.

On November 20, 1815, Ludwig van Beethoven’s brother Carl Casper died of tuberculosis, appointing his brother Ludwig as guardian of his son Karl in his will. Not yet ten years old, the little nephew was the only child of the three van Beethoven brothers. And as his father had done before him, Ludwig van Beethoven viewed the boy as a potential vessel for carrying the van Beethoven musical genius into the future.

Now you'll be on guard," Sylvie says. "Put yourself on my shifts." Casper shrugs. "I still have to pass—" "You're going to pass, and you're going to shove it in Roger's face, and it's going to be beautiful, Envision the world you want to live in.

You’ll fly like a stone kite,” said Encyclopedia. “Nope, it’s going to work,” said Casper. “Buck Barkdull has flown—” “Nobody can fly!” screamed Encyclopedia. “Jump off the roof and you’ll find out what an anchor does.

The boys reached the woods as night fell. “It’s so dark in here I couldn’t see Buck if he flew past my nose in a garbage truck,” said Casper.

Casper," I whispered. "Yeah?" His voice was low too. "I don't think we did it." I bit on my lower lip to stop it from trembling. "Don't say that," Casper scolded gently. "We don't know how this shit works. Did you expect him to be all like hey, YOLO! Maybe this is like after an operation, in the recovery room.

Stop," I said bitterly. "The last thing I want to feel right now is hope." "What the hell is wrong with you, girl? All we have is hope." "You're too young to understand," I dismissed him. "Shut up with that crap." Casper's voice rose, his hackles up. "I'm dead, remember. If a dead guy can still have hope, you sure as hell can too." The kid had moxie, I'd give him that. "Not fair to play the dead card." "Bitch please, that's the only card I have left,

Noah lands the boat on a mountain, because screw you physics,

I’ll remember that, Casper.” “Oh no,” Felix shakes his head. “Only Callie gets to call me that. When you turn into a beautiful girl, then we’ll talk about nicknames.

Welcome to the real world, Casper.

He quickly shoved stew in his mouth to give himself space to think. He’d often had nightmares about the Netherworld—a dark and horrible place with changing landscapes and impassable tests. Gran was right. Hardly anyone survived who chose to fight, but stories were told of some who’d been granted second and even third lives. It made Casper nervous. One day, he too would have to face that cursed place. He’d face the Keeper, and he’d have to make a choice: to fight for his life at the risk of his soul or move on. 'I’m definitely moving on', he thought to himself. 'It’s not worth the risk.' He wondered what had made it worth the risk to Gran’s friend. Who would risk the peace of the Afterlife to come back to this horrible place?

He quickly shoved stew in his mouth to give himself space to think. He’d often had nightmares about the Netherworld—a dark and horrible place with changing landscapes and impassable tests. Gran was right. Hardly anyone survived who chose to fight, but stories were told of some who’d been granted second and even third lives. It made Casper nervous. One day, he too would have to face that cursed place. He’d face the Keeper, and he’d have to make a choice: to fight for his life at the risk of his soul or move on. 'I’m definitely moving on,' he thought to himself. 'It’s not worth the risk.' He wondered what had made it worth the risk to Gran’s friend. Who would risk the peace of the Afterlife to come back to this horrible place?

Casper watched in horror as the beast pounced on the man, biting and ripping him in half with its strong jaws and clawed hands. The miller’s heart pounded in his chest, eyes transfixed in shock. The beast gave a high-pitched shriek. Casper crouched instinctively, hiding among the stinging brush but not touching it—he wouldn’t make that mistake again. The beast sniffed the gory mess spread across the desert floor but didn’t eat it. Instead it huffed and melted into the sand. Casper stared at what used to be a fellow Waylander, now a bloody pile of meat on the desert floor. The buzzards descended quickly on the feast. Casper’s heart hammered, and his mind raced. To die in the Netherworld was to be lost forever. That poor man had just been erased from existence eternally.

I don’t want to be your friend, Casper,” I tell her truthfully. Her lips turn down, her eyes falling to the sleeve of her jumper that she’s twisting in her hands. She looks so small, so lost as I speak. My mouth quirks up when she gapes at my new words. “I just want to be yours.

I crash into an invisible wall as Deke walks through the doorway. I watch as he continues to the elevator and hops on. Meanwhile, I'm banging against the invisible wall. I probably look like a mime pretending to be stuck in a box. Hey, have we ever stopped to think, maybe they are actually stuck in a box and they're ghosts trying to escape? Well, there's some food for thought. "Well, that's an interesting development, guess you're stuck with me, Casper." Well, crap-sticks.

Then I suggest you get to work and suck it like you own it, Miss Casper.

Practice & Ash 2. Scales of the Malefic Viper 3. Lucenti Plains 4. Pondering on Ponds 5. Introspection 6. Intermission 1 – Viridia (1/2) 7. Intermission 1 – The Malefic Viper (2/2) 8. Moment of Curiosity 9. Cleaning Up the Plains 10. The Great White Stag 11. No Rest for the Wicked 12. Loot & Healing 13. True Protagonist 14. Into the Dark 15. The Right Way 16. Dark Mana & Dark Tunnels 17. Many Rats! Handle it! 18. Dark Attunement 19. Nest Watcher 20. A Final Gift 21. Willful Ignorance 22. The Balance Broken 23. Beers & Exposition 24. Of Fate & Destiny 25. William & Jake 26. Spring Cleaning = Loot 3.0 27. Valley of Tusks 28. Going with the Flow 29. The Right Way Forward 30. Mana 101 31. A Thoughtful Touch 32. Pigs for Slaughter 33. Limit Break 34. Falling Rocks 35. Horde Leader 36. Next Target: King of the Forest 37. King 38. Eclipse 39. Fall 40. When the Curtains Fall 41. Tutorial Rewards: Titles & Math 42. Tutorial Rewards: Narrowing Down Options 43. Tutorial Rewards: Getting Stuff 44. Intermission 2 - Life after Death (Casper) 45. Records 46. A Godlike Getaway 47. Danger Bath 48. Second Part? 49. Embracing Power 50. Defiance & Gains 51. You know, I'm something of a sage myself 52. Homecoming 53. Intermission 3 - Carmen 54. Intermission 4 - Noboru Miyamoto 55. Intermission 5 - Eron 56. The Blue Marble 57. One Step Mile 58. Pylon of Civilization 59. Intermission 6 - Matteo (1/2) 60. Intermission 6 - Matteo (2/2) 61. The Times They Are A-Changin' 62. Monsters 63. Living with the Consequences 64. Points of View 65. Going Down 66. Two Kinds of People 67. Big Blue Mushroom 68. Delegating (avoiding) Responsibilities 69. Construction Plans 70. First World Problems 71. How to Train Your Dragon Wings 72. Freedom

Anyone that makes a living by tearing down the work of others is shameful.

Digital physics , or digital mechanics, posits that reality is based off of information, and not tiny physical pieces of matter.

Measuring an object forces it to snap into a well-defined state.

reality as deterministic, or completely pre-destined.

dismissing consciousness as either not important or non-existent.