Cb Quotes

Linus: What would you say you want most out of life, Charlie Brown? To be happy? CB: Oh, no. I don't expect that. I really don't. I just don't want to be unhappy!

I'm your friend, and friends don't let friends die.

Hey, Mikey? You get her hurt and I'll end you.' 'You let anything happen to Eve and I'll do the same,' Michael said. He'd just finished kissing Eve, too. 'While you're at it, don't get yourself killed, either, bro.' 'Ditto. And don't kiss me.' Claire cocked her head at him, exasperated. 'Seriously, Shane? Ditto? That's the best you can do?' Shane and Michael exchanged identical looks and shrugs. Guys. 'Let me show you idiots how it's done,' Eve said, and hugged Claire fiercely. She kissed her on the cheek. 'I love you, CB. Please take care of yourself, okay?' 'I love you, too,' Claire said, and suddenly her throat felt tight and her eyes burned with tears. 'I really do.' Shane and Michael watched them with identical expressions of blank bemusement, and finally Shane said, 'So basically, it's what I said. Ditto.

Love is like quicksand; once you're in it's difficult to get out.

On our own, we are marshmallows and dried spaghetti, but together we can become something bigger.

Antarctica. You know, that giant continent at the bottom of the earth that’s ruled by penguins and seals.

Seriously, Shane? Ditto? That's the best you can do?" Shane and Michael exchanged identical looks and shrugs. Guys. "Let me show you idiots how it's done," Eve said, and hugged Claire fiercely. She kissed her on the cheek. "I love you, CB. Please take care of yourself, okay?" "I love you, too," Claire said, and suddenly her throat felt tight and her eyes burned with tears. "I really do." Shane and Michael watched them with identical expressions of blank bemusement, and finally Shane said, "So basically, it's what I said. Ditto.

I’d prefer silence and random jokes about the passing billboards and scenery, but I know how he likes music. I just hope he doesn’t start singing.

I frown. “Can you please explain this?” He flashes us a grin. “That would ruin the suspense.” He disappears.

Suddenly, Blaze appears, alone. “She’s in the middle of something really important. What do I tell her?” Jen groans. “Tell her she gets to hack into the CIA’s system. She won’t be able to pass that up.

God always has a plan. This isn't his fault. This is a test, something designed to help you grow closer to God. And. I know, somehow, God will use it.

Love is a cowboy's hardest ride.

God's going to work everything out and use you in ways you can't even imagine.

Remember your grandpa’s saying: kill them with kindness.

Maybe you should've let God do the planning, rather than doing it yourself.

Farewell Sadness Hello Sadness You are inscribed in the lines on the ceiling You are inscribed in the eyes that I love You are not poverty absolutely Since the poorest of lips denounce you Ah with a smile Bonjour Tristesse Love of kind bodies Power of love From which kindness rises Like a bodiless monster Unattached head Sadness beautiful face.

The only time she's come close to being "known" was when she accidentally came out as bisexual during sophomore English class while talking about her favorite poem.

Il n'y a qu'une vie, c'est donc qu'elle est parfaite

We can't just sit on our asses and not live our lives while we're trying to expose a corrupt government.

From ashes I came To ashes, I'll return. But tonight I'm content To sit here and burn.

Be careful, little girl. That’s not a toy.” I hopped off and ran my finger along the letters emblazoned on the saddlebags. “What’s C.B. stand for anyway?” “Those are my initials.” “Let me guess…Cocky Bastard?

And by the power of a word, I begin my life again.

Woman is the guiding spirit of man.

Charlie Brown is the one person I identify with. C.B. is such a loser. He wasn't even the star of his own Halloween special.

I’m fine, considering I can’t walk anymore,” Pam replied, a sarcastic edge in her voice. “You look like your bringing news. What is it this time, I’m blind?

The dangers of the sea should always take precedence over the violence of the enemy’ Rear-Admiral Ben Bryant CB, DSO and two bars, DSC

We quickly became friends with other art faculty members such as the ceramist Jim Leedy and his wife Jean and art historian/artist Bill Kortlander and his wife Betty. I also began taking classes in Southeast Asian history with John Cady, who had resigned from his position at the U.S.[CB4] [mo5]  State Department because he thought it would be a huge mistake to get involved in a “land war in Southeast Asia.” In 1966, his warnings were starting to become all too obvious as the Vietnam war grew and protests against it emerged. Dr. Cady was in the thick of the protests and was even being shadowed by the F.B.I. After I finished my BFA in art in 1966, I began work on a master’s degree in history at Dr. Cady’s urging. He and his wife became frequent guests at our parties

Hello, my name is Albany, and I have a telepathic connection with my twin sister, along with the ability to read minds.

I see, said the blind man.

Ignorance is bliss until one confronts it.

I stole this from Zen Master Suzuki Roshi: If it's not paradoxical it's not true!

Dylan's friend Linus Millberg appears out of the crowd with a cup of beer and shouts, 'Dorothy is John Lennon, the Scarecrow is Paul McCartney, the Tin Woodman is George Harrison, the Lion's Ringo.' 'Star Trek,' commands Dylan over the lousy twangy country CB's is playing between sets. 'Easy,' Linus shouts back. "Kirk's John, Spock's Paul, Bones is George, Scotty is Ringo. Or Chekov, after the first season. Doesn't matter, it's like a Scotty-Chekov-combination Ringo. Spare parts are always surplus Georges or Ringos.' 'But isn't Spock-lacks-a-heart and McCoy-lacks-a-brain like Woodman and Scarecrow? So Dorothy's Kirk?' 'You don't get it. That's just a superficial coincidence. The Beatle thing is an archetype, it's like the basic human formation. Everything naturally forms into a Beatles, people can't help it.' 'Say the types again.' 'Responsible-parent genius-parent genius-child clown-child.' 'Okay, do Star Wars.' 'Luke Paul, Han Solo John, Chewbacca George, the robots Ringo.' 'Tonight Show.' 'Uh, Johnny Carson Paul, the guest John, Ed McMahon Ringo, whatisname George.' 'Doc Severinson.' 'Yeah, right. See, everything revolves around John, even Paul. That's why John's the guest.' 'And Severinson's quiet but talented, like a Wookie.' 'You begin to understand.

Know that tomorrow will bring clarity where before was only fog. In the final summation, it is not other's expectations that slay us, but our over compensatory reactions in regard

She's given up trying to stand out.

Oh, she deserves so many good things, and I want to be one of them

You love me," Abby says, smiling. Jess leans forward. "Yeah, I really do. This isn't our Romeo and Juliet moment. You're going to be okay. No one is dying. "No, it's the end. I want a goodbye kiss.

Adieu Tristesse Bonjour Tristesse Farewell Sadness Hello Sadness You are inscribed in the lines on the ceiling You are inscribed in the eyes that I love You are not poverty absolutely Since the poorest of lips denounce you Ah with a smile Bonjour Tristesse Love of kind bodies Power of love From which kindness rises Like a bodiless monster Unattached head Sadness beautiful face.

Apathy is the greatest evil.

Everyone should be afraid of those who can embroider. We have the patience to keep stabbing the same thing over and over again.

Maybe Jess was caught up with these ridiculous, impossible ideas because it meant she never had to try for something real.

yet. I’m starting to think that if the Internet is the CB radio of the nineties, then the home computer is the trailer park of the soul, a dangerous tool in the hands of idiots. Eventually self-imposed fascism will destroy man as he convinces himself he doesn’t have to think anymore. SEPTEMBER

And that person must be trying to prove to IDIA…” I pause. “Something. That he’s stronger? Or that he doesn’t need them?” I rub my forehead. “It sounded much more cohesive and brilliant in the shower.

Working for Master Mischief? This would be an act of sheer rebellion. Her parents would be livid if they ever found out. And it would be hilarious.

It was only love, It only drove me to my knees. Rendering me hopeless Like an incurable disease.

Pigs and dogs behave for food but horses and humans have minds of their own.

Writing is like a raft with a slow leak; sometimes it floats, sometimes it doesn't.

should tell you, the job description was super-vague and that I am probably not at all qualified to do any technical stuff. I made something explode in chemistry last year.

It’s weird how much things can change in only a few minutes. With those three words, “I don’t remember,” our entire futures were changed. Not just for me and Brooklyn, but for the little girl, and Denver, and Jenna and Blaze and – darn, I’m getting ahead of myself again. So much for trying to be dramatic.

Stay away from the Sirenas of this world and get you a plain, fat woman who thinks a hot dog and popcorn at Walmart’s is a dinner date. That’s my counsel, said Luis. Sirena she’s messed up more good men around here than Marine Corps recruiters. And she tried to kill your dog. A man shouldn’t forget who tries to kill his dog.

Here is a hilarious, surprising, tender, always genuine tale of American youth in the crosshairs of the new century--a battle of growing pains culminating in a bloody headlock with nature, family, machismo, activism, and love. CB Murphy has written a terrific and timely novel which speeds by and ends, like youth itself, far too quickly.

The War went on far too long... It was too vast for its meaning, like a giant with the brain of a midge. Its epic proportions were grotesquely out of scale, seeing what it was fought to settle. It was far too indecisive. It settled nothing, as it meant nothing. Indeed, it was impossible to escape the feeling that it was not meant to settle anything - that could have any meaning, or be of any advantage, to the general run of men.

Honey, that book is about vampires. Those don't exist.

She looks great in that skirt. Her butt is so cute.

It's old-school to write by hand, but Jess likes the way the words blossom under her fingertips [. . .] These scribblings and imaginings are for no one else.

Cheri grinned cockily at Pam and turned to Chelsea. “I figure my coffee won’t have time to get cold before this is over.

If one doubts the existence of miracles one should open one's eyes and look around. Like an obedient pup they want only of notice.

There’s no such thing as normal,

Have you taken them prisoner?" "In a metaphorical sense, yes." "And in a literal sense?" "Also yes." "What do you want?

but he would bet his life that it had a white CB antenna on the roof and that the driver was listening to police bands.

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

I spin around instantly, expecting Mom and Dad, or Denver, or something else relatively… normal. Or even something absolutely terrible. But no. All I see is a guy I’ve never seen before, leaning against the doorframe, a mask covering most of his face. His fancy suit and cocky manner are almost jarring. He smirks at us and tosses a wink. “Hey, girls. What’s up?

There is no thrill like the thrill of discovery; no life like the life of a mining camp in the days of its youth. Nevada had known them in full and overflowing measure. The salt of the sea in the blood of a sailor is but a weak and insipid condiment compared with the solution of cyanide, sage and silicate in the blood of the prospector.

Identify your Radar – it’s your brain functioning optimally; not a vague intuition or cosmic sixth sense. Train your Radar in key areas like: evaluating people, personal safety, healthy relationships, physical and mental well-being, money and credit cards, career choice, how to get organized. Meet the Radar Jammers. They have the power to turn down or turn off our clear thinking Radars.
Some are well known: alcohol and drugs, peer pressure, infatuation, sleep deprivation.
Others are surprising: showing off, fake complexity, anger, unthinking religions, the need for speed, dangerous personality disorders, and even fast food!
Learn reasonable approaches and specific techniques to deal with them all.

My CB handle is Flaming Chick, but name’s Melba—dry and crisp like the toast. Meet my co-pilot, Spark Pug,” she snorted, “Most people walk their dogs, but he’s so old I take him out for a stand . . . it takes all he’s got to lift his leg.

Suddenly, a car zoomed out of a side street to their right, slamming into the side of the car with a loud metallic crash. Tires screeched. The passenger window shattered, showering glass over Pam as the other car’s momentum pushed them towards the opposite side of the road. Pam shrieked as the car tumbled over the edge of the road into the embankment. The car rolled until it came to a rest in the bottom of the ditch with creaks and groans. Neither Pam nor her mother stirred.

The Internet will be the CB radio of the ’90s,” he told me, a charge he later repeated to the press. Weiswasser summed up ABC’s argument for ignoring the new medium: “You aren’t going to turn passive consumers into active trollers on the internet.

Most of the successful innovators and entrepreneurs in this book had one thing in common: they were product people. They cared about, and deeply understood, the engineering and design. They were not primarily marketers or salesmen or financial types; when such folks took over companies, it was often to the detriment of sustained innovation. “When the sales guys run the company, the product guys don’t matter so much, and a lot of them just turn off,” Jobs said. Larry Page felt the same: “The best leaders are those with the deepest understanding of the engineering and product design.”34 Another lesson of the digital age is as old as Aristotle: “Man is a social animal.” What else could explain CB and ham radios or their successors, such as WhatsApp and Twitter? Almost every digital tool, whether designed for it or not, was commandeered by humans for a social purpose: to create communities, facilitate communication, collaborate on projects, and enable social networking. Even the personal computer, which was originally embraced as a tool for individual creativity, inevitably led to the rise of modems, online services, and eventually Facebook, Flickr, and Foursquare. Machines, by contrast, are not social animals. They don’t join Facebook of their own volition nor seek companionship for its own sake. When Alan Turing asserted that machines would someday behave like humans, his critics countered that they would never be able to show affection or crave intimacy. To indulge Turing, perhaps we could program a machine to feign affection and pretend to seek intimacy, just as humans sometimes do. But Turing, more than almost anyone, would probably know the difference. According to the second part of Aristotle’s quote, the nonsocial nature of computers suggests that they are “either a beast or a god.” Actually, they are neither. Despite all of the proclamations of artificial intelligence engineers and Internet sociologists, digital tools have no personalities, intentions, or desires. They are what we make of them.

I told my version – faithful and invented, accurate and misremembered, shuffled in time. I told myself as hero like any shipwreck story. It was a shipwreck, and me thrown on the coastline of humankind, and finding it not altogether human, and rarely kind. And I suppose that the saddest thing for me, thinking about the cover version that is Oranges, is that I wrote a story I could live with. The other one was too painful. I could not survive it. I am often asked, in a tick-box kind of way, what is 'true' and what is not 'true' in Oranges. Did I work in a funeral parlour? Did I drive an ice-cream van? Did we have a Gospel Tent? Did Mrs. Winterson build her own CB radio? Did she really stun tomcats with a catapult? I can't answer these questions. I can say that there is a character in Oranges called Testifying Elsie who looks after the little Jeanette and acts as a soft wall against the hurt(ling) force of Mother. I wrote her in because I couldn't bear to leave her out. I wrote her in because I really wished it had been that way. When you are a solitary child you find an imaginary friend. There was no Elsie. There was no one like Elsie. Things were much lonelier than that.

You spend hours wrestling with yourself, trying to keep your vision intact, your intensity undiminished. Sometimes I have to stick my head under the tap to get my wits back. And for what? You know what publishing is like these days. Paper costs going up all the time. Nothing gets printed unless it can be made into a movie. Everything is media. Crooked politicians sell their unwritten memoirs for thousands. I’ve got a great idea for a novel. It’s about a giant shark who’s possessed by a demon while swimming in the Bermuda Triangle. And the demon talks in CB lingo, see? There’ll be recipes in the back.

My confessions did nothing to alter this situation, but for the first time in my life I felt that somebody actually knew me. Three somebodies, to be exact. Two were roaming the highway in a Cadillac, doing God knows what with a CB radio, but the other was as close to me as my own skin, and I could now feel the undiluted pleasure of her company.

We can’t just sit on our asses and not live our lives while we’re trying to expose a corrupt government,

What's the best way to say because it's too embarrassing to talk to a crush about sex and read an explicit thing they wrote while they're right there?

Jess is too big for her skin, as if she might float away in the exhilarating possibility of the moment.

Believing is seeing.

Woman is the slave of the world.

Life is a miracle far beyond our limited understanding.

Slavery, like energy, does not disappear; it only changes from one form into another.

The din of corporate avarice is a blister boil on the buttocks of humanity.

The Smashmobile is driver-operated, and she’s qualified to drive it, but only in case of emergency. Claudia

If you die, I will knock down the gates of heaven to find you because you belong in the darkness...with me.

My mama used to tell me, ‘Religion is like your pecker. Don’t ever show it to anyone who don’t ask to see it first.

In the quietest moments and in the loudest ones, I will remind you." - Rafael Casella Guerra

Ready to go?" He really liked his karate classes. "I don't have anything to wear." There were so incredibly many comebacks to that remark that Tom was silent for a moment, overwhelmed with his opportunities.

Jess is painfully aware of how young she is. Her shirtsleeves don't quite extend to her wrists; after a growth spurt last summer, her debate clothes don't fit as well as she thought. She feels as if she's playing dress-up.

When young I'd visit my aunt in small town Tennessee. Her place was carved into the side of a steep ridge. All red mud and gravel. The driveway was too steep for most. You just parked at the bottom and struggled up to the front door. You really had to want to visit. The closest anything was a truck stop off I-75. Near where fog caused a 99 car crash. We went there to eat biscuits and gravy. Wash it down with whole milk. Prostitutes advertised by CB. They found a dead trucker in a restroom once. No one seemed surprised. There was a rigged Coin Pusher machine. Elvira Pinball. I set the high score. Then returned to Florida. Where teachers asked me to write about my summer.

Johnny got us a desk and a separate phone line and paid for the auto-body people to yank out the Biscayne’s backseat and install a warming box. We paid for the CB radio ourselves; it helped us save on gas. Roberta said dispatching made her feel like she was back in show business. For her CB handle, she resurrected her old radio name. “Polka Princess to Sweet’n’Sour. Got your ears on? Over.” The jargon embarrassed me but she wouldn’t answer if I just said, “What do you want, Roberta?” and I couldn’t afford stubbornness. The Biscayne was getting nine miles to the gallon. “Ten-four, Princess. What gives? Over.” “If y’ain’t been out to Hillcrest yet, come back to Paradise for a pupu and an Eight Immortals Crossin’ the Sea. Over.” “I hear you, Princess. Over.

Ergoloid mesylates (Hydergine) Developed by Albert Hofmann and marketed without FDA approval as a neuroprotective “smart drug,” ergoloid mesylates is reportedly comparable at standard doses to microdoses of LSD. It’s only available on prescription in most Western countries, but you may be able to buy it online elsewhere. 2C-B-FLY Active even at sub-milligram doses, the effects of 2C-B-FLY have been likened to mescaline and MDA (MDMA’s more potent, more psychedelic predecessor). Microdoses of less than 100 μg (0.1 mg) may enhance motivation, empathy, creativity, and philosophical or abstract thinking. 2C-B-FLY is unscheduled in the U.S. but may be considered an illegal analog of 2C-B. In Canada, it’s a Schedule III substance. In any case, it’s widely available online.

I am like God, Codi? Like GOD? Give me a break. If I get another letter that mentions SAVING THE WORLD, I am sending you, by return mail, a letter bomb. Codi, please. I've got things to do. You say you're not a moral person. What a copout. Sometime, when I wasn't looking, something happened to make you think you were bad. What, did Miss Colder give you a bad mark on your report card? You think you're no good, so you can't do good things. Jesus, Codi, how long are you going to keep limping around on that crutch? It's the other way around, it's what you do that makes you who you are. I'm sorry to be blunt. I've had a bad week. I am trying to explain, and I wish you were here so I could tell you this right now, I am trying to explain to you that I'm not here to save anybody or any thing. It's not some perfect ideal we're working toward that keeps us going. You ask, what if we lose this war? Well, we could. By invasion, or even in the next election. People are very tired. I don't expect to see perfection before I die. Lord, if I did I would have stuck my head in the oven back in Tucson, after hearing the stories of some of those refugees. What keeps you going isn't some fine destination but just the road you're on, and the fact that you know how to drive. You keep your eyes open, you see this damned-to-hell world you got born into, and you ask yourself, "What life can I live that will let me breathe in & out and love somebody or something and not run off screaming into the woods?" I didn't look down from some high rock and choose cotton fields in Nicaragua. These cotton fields chose me. The contras that were through here yesterday got sent to a prison farm where they'll plant vegetables, learn to read and write if they don't know how, learn to repair CB radios, and get a week-long vacation with their families every year. They'll probably get amnesty in five. There's hardly ever a repeat offender. That kid from San Manuel died. Your sister, Hallie "What's new with Hallie?" Loyd asked. "Nothing." I folded the pages back into the envelope as neatly as I could, trying to leave its creases undisturbed, but my fingers had gone numb and blind. With tears in my eyes I watched whatever lay to the south of us, the land we were driving down into, but I have no memory of it. I was getting a dim comprehension of the difference between Hallie and me. It wasn't a matter of courage or dreams, but something a whole lot simpler. A pilot would call it ground orientation. I'd spent a long time circling above the clouds, looking for life, while Hallie was living it.

Then I heard it--the voice over the CB radio. “You’re on fire! You’re on fire!” The voice repeated, this time with more urgency, “Charlie! Get out! You’re on fire!” I sat there, frozen, unable to process the reality of what I’d just heard. “Oh, shit!” sweet little Charlie yelled, grabbing his door handle. “We’ve got to get out, darlin’--get outta here!” He opened his door, swung his feeble knees around, and let gravity pull him out of the pickup; I, in turn, did the same. Covering my head instinctively as I ditched, I darted away from the vehicle, running smack-dab into Marlboro Man’s brother, Tim, in the process. He was spraying the side of Charlie’s pickup, which, by now, was engulfed in flames. I kept running until I was sure I was out of the path of danger. “Ree! Where’d you come from?!?” Tim yelled, barely taking his eyes off the fire on the truck, which, by then, was almost extinguished. Tim hadn’t known I was on the scene. “You okay?” he yelled, glancing over to make sure I wasn’t on fire, too. A cowboy rushed to Charlie’s aid on the other side of the truck. He was fine, too, bless his heart. By now Marlboro Man had become aware of the commotion, not because he’d seen it happen through the smoke, but because his hose had reached the end of its slack and Charlie’s truck was no longer following behind. Another spray truck had already rushed over to Marlboro Man’s spot and resumed chasing the fire--the same fire that might have gobbled up a rickety, old spray truck, an equally rickety man named Charlie, and me. Luckily Tim had been nearby when a wind gust blew the flames over Charlie’s truck, and had acted quickly. The fire on the truck was out by now, and Marlboro Man rushed over, grabbed my shoulders, and looked me over--trying, in all the confusion, to make sure I was in one piece. And I was. Physically, I was perfectly fine. My nervous system, on the other hand, was a shambles. “You okay?” he shouted over the crackling sounds of the fire. All I could do was nod and bite my lip to keep from losing it. Can I go home now? was the only thing going through my mind. That, and I want my mommy. The fire was farther away by now, but it seemed to be growing in intensity. Even I could tell the wind had picked up. Marlboro Man and Tim looked at each other…and burst out in nervous laughter--the kind of laugh you laugh when you almost fall but don’t; when your car almost goes off a cliff but comes to a stop right at the edge; when your winning team almost misses the winning pass but doesn’t; or when your fiancée and a local cowboy are almost burned alive…but aren’t. I might have laughed, too, if I could muster any breath.

Next time you feel that nothing happened, remember that you put your life on the line to save our team. That’s not nothing. The mark on your head is not nothing. The scar on your arm is not nothing. You walked into a scared man’s personal war zone, Dieter, and you saved every person you went in there to save, including the soldier and yourself.

Just in case we hit a black spot or something. Jeez, it’s cold.’ Craig rubbed his hands together and blew on them. ‘Wait until we get out to Billbinya. You’ll know what cold is then. So, you right? Can I back into the trailer now?’ ‘Yep.’ Craig directed Dave as he backed up to the trailer that held a quad bike in case they needed to muster any stock. After attaching it to the tow ball and hooking up the lights, he jumped in the passenger side. He adjusted the squelch on the CB radio and asked, ‘Have you been listening to the CB as you’ve been driving?’ ‘Yeah, I haven’t heard anything that indicates unusual stock movements. I’ve heard the truckies telling others that we’re around, though, so it’s common knowledge that we’ve arrived.’ As they drove towards Billbinya, Dave discussed the program he had in mind. ‘I want to try and do a stocktake of all the animals that are on Billbinya. So we’ll get Gemma’s stock numbers and a map, work out what stock is in which paddock. We’ll check out those animals. You can check the earmarks and I’ll see if I can get a count of the mobs we come across. If we don’t get it all done by tomorrow we’ll stay another night. If we find anything untoward we’ll ask to see the paperwork. Weigh bills, stock sale invoices. Gemma told me that Ned has done a full stock count for the 30 June figures, so they should be pretty up to date.’ ‘I reckon talking to Ned and Ben would be a good idea too,’ Craig suggested. ‘Theoretically, they should have copies of all the contracts to do with stock from the past few years, that way we can cross-reference it with Gemma’s paperwork.’ ‘Yeah, that’s true,’ Dave said. ‘That might be worth following up when we get back. You didn’t find anything criminally interesting on any of the players, did

Of course, most of the truth content of any theory will be either trivial or irrelevant to our particular purposes: what we want, obviously, is relevant or useful truth content. But we may even get more of this from a false statement than from a true one. Suppose it is now one minute to noon: then the statement: 'It is twelve o'clock precisely' is false. Yet for almost every pur pose I can think of this false statement has more relevant and useful truth content than the true statement 'The time is now between ten in the morning and four in the after noon'. Likewise in science: for most purposes a clearcut statement which is slightly out is more serviceable than one which is true but vague. I am not, obviously, suggesting that we should rest content with false statements. But scientists are commonly in the position of having to use a theory which they know to be faulty, because there is as yet no better one available.

The erroneous belief that science eventually leads to the certainty of a definitive explanation carries with it the implication that it is a grave scientific mis- demeanour to have published some hypothesis that eventually is falsified. As a consequence scientists have often been loath to admit the falsification of such an hypothesis, and their lives may be wasted in defending the no longer defensible. Whereas according to Popper, falsification in whole or in part is the anticipated fate of all hypotheses, and we should even rejoice in the falsification of an hypo thesis that we have cherished as our brain-child.

The method of basing general statements on accumulated observations of specific instances is known as induction, and is seen as the hallmark of science. In other words the use of the inductive method is seen as the criterion of demarcation between science and non-science. Scientific statements, being based on observational and experimental evidence - based, in short, on the facts - are contrasted with statements of all other kinds, whether based on auth ority, or emotion, or tradition, or speculation, or prejudice, or habit, or any other foundation, as alone providing sure and certain knowledge. Science is the corpus of such know ledge, and the growth of science consists in the endless pro cess of adding new certainties to the body of existing ones.

Cannabinoids are compounds that can activate two types of receptors within the ECS: CB1 receptors, which are located within the nervous system, brain, and nerve endings; and CB2 receptors, located primarily within the immune system. Targeting the ECS has been found to have anti-inflammatory, anticachexia, metabolic, pain management, antiseizure, and sleep-promoting effects.

Who the fuck is Old Jolene?

I will go CB—and I’ll tell you why. I encouraged people to fly in this airship—people like O’Neill and Palstra—believing it’d be built and tested properly. I believed all your rhetoric about ‘safety first.’ I didn’t think you’d use this airship for your own personal aggrandizement, for your own personal agenda, with everything set to meet your own personal schedule. People like O’Neill put their faith in me and my word. I will not abandon them now.

The only time she’s come close to being “known” was when she accidentally came out as bisexual during sophomore English class while talking about her favorite poem.

My resolution to “Embrace good smells” has developed into a full-blown obsession. A few of my favorite perfumes: CB I Hate Perfume    Demeter Fragrance Library    Frédéric Malle To See a Flower    Fireplace    Lys Méditerranée Hay    Pure Soap    En Passant Tea/Rose    Baby Powder    Gardenia de Nuit On the Beach 1966 Memory of Kindness         (for the Fleur Mécanique) The

I do implore my readers, therefore, not to be more clever than their author, and see portraits where, quite honestly, none are intended. C.B.