Chase Infiniti Quotes

I don’t intimidate you at all, do I? (Acheron) Well, when you chased me through Kyrian’s house, I did wet my pants a bit. Guess I’m not housebroken after all. My mom will be so disappointed after all she went through to potty train me. But once you let me live…your big mistake…now I know you think I’m too cute and fluffy to kill. (Nick)

To infinity then. (Bubba) What’s that mean? (Nick) It’s something my dad used to say when I was a kid. To infinity, meaning you’d see something through to the end. (Bubba) Infinity is never-ending. (Nick) That’s right, which means you keep going and going no matter what happens or what obstacles you meet. Over, under, around or through. There’s always a way. And if you have to chase something to infinity, strap on your big-boy pants, hiking boots, and go. (Bubba)

I’m not good with these types of girls, I had thought as Avena lay there in the middle of the bed, crying silently, trying to cover herself up. I always ended up ruining them.

In that second, I think about running through that door and going with him. But I know that it’s not the road I’m meant for. Because we’re both still incapable of love. We’re both not ready yet. And I know that I’ll miss him. And some nights, I’ll cry in my sleep. But for now, I’m okay. And that’s all that matters. The void in my heart has finally been filled. And as the train moves farther and farther from me on the platform, I can only smile.

But that would mean it was originally a sideways number eight. That makes no sense at all. Unless..." She paused as understanding dawned. "You think it was the symbol for infinity?" "Yes, but not the usual one. A special variant. Do you see how one line doesn't fully connect in the middle? That's Euler's infinity symbol. Absolutus infinitus." "How is it different from the usual one?" "Back in the eighteenth century, there were certain mathematical calculations no one could perform because they involved series of infinite numbers. The problem with infinity, of course, is that you can't come up with a final answer when the numbers keep increasing forever. But a mathematician named Leonhard Euler found a way to treat infinity as if it were a finite number- and that allowed him to do things in mathematical analysis that had never been done before." Tom inclined his head toward the date stone. "My guess is whoever chiseled that symbol was a mathematician or scientist." "If it were my date stone," Cassandra said dryly, "I'd prefer the entwined hearts. At least I would understand what it means." "No, this is much better than hearts," Tom exclaimed, his expression more earnest than any she'd seen from him before. "Linking their names with Euler's infinity symbol means..." He paused, considering how best to explain it. "The two of them formed a complete unit... a togetherness... that contained infinity. Their marriage had a beginning and end, but every day of it was filled with forever. It's a beautiful concept." He paused before adding awkwardly, "Mathematically speaking.

Just before they boarded the yacht, Cassandra glanced at Tom and reached up to a delicate necklace she'd worn constantly since the day he'd given it to her. She touched the little charm, made in the shape of Euler's infinity symbol, that hung at the hollow of her throat. And as always, the private signal made him smile.

But Nick still had one person left to speak to. Mark. “How did you survive?” he asked as Mark left Simi, who was licking her fingers and joined them by the truck. Mark flashed him a grin. “What? Did you forget the first rule I taught you, boy?” Nick scowled as he tried to remember Mark’s various rules for survival. “Duck urine chases away every living and unliving thing?” “Nah, that’s number six. Rule number one: I don’t have to outrun the zombie. I just have to outrun you. How you think Eric and Tabitha got captured?” Tabitha laughed. “Oh please. Inspector Gadget over there made a blowtorch out of Eric’s art sealant and a lighter. I’m not sure the house is stil standing, but he got us out of there and Simi covered the rest of our retreat. We’d have gotten away completely had Eric not tripped and I made the mistake of going back for him while Mark was hot-wiring a neighbour’s car.” Nick laughed at more proof Mark wasn’t completely insane. Never go back for the fallen unless you want to be captured or killed. Unless the fallen was Bubba, who usually had a larger calibre of weapons. Mark sighed. “By the time I realized they weren’t behind me, they were gone and I was sick over it. I really thought they’d gotten eaten. But luckily I saw your girlfriend under attack and, with Simi’s help, was able to get her to safety.

The sap rises and, itself a mixture of elements, flowers in a mixture of tones; the trees, the rocks, the granites cast their reflections in the mirror of the water; all the transparent objects seize and imprison colour reflections, both close and distant, as the light passes through them. As the star of day moves, the tones change in value, but always they respect their mutual sympathies and natural hatreds, and continue to live in harmony by reciprocal concessions. The shadows move slowly and drive before them or blot out the tones as the light itself, changing position, sets others vibrating. These mingle their reflections, and, modifying their qualities by casting over them transparent and borrowed glazes, multiply to infinity their melodious marriages and make them easier to achieve. When the great ball of fire sinks into the waters, red fanfares fly in all directions, a blood-red harmony spreads over the horizon, green turns to a deep red. But soon vast blue shadows chase rhythmically before them the crowd of orange and soft tones, which are like the distant and muted echoes of the light. This great symphony of today, which is the eternally renewed variation of the symphony of yesterday, this succession of melodies, where the variety comes always from the infinite, this complex hymn is called colour.

(Kyler's song about Lennon?) Stop hiding in the darkness, step out into the light. The sky is filled with all these stars, so come and kiss the night. Infinity is waiting, calling you by name. The world is yours for the taking, so take it just the same. Shock and awe, surprise them, those who think you're weak. Look to the sky and chase them, those answers that you seek. The stars will light the sky for us, they'll illuminate the way. They show you how to find me, they'll make you want to stay.

Then I’m suddenly reminded of how I get engulfed with nightmares of Mom’s death as soon as I fall asleep. Hesitantly, I call to him, “Hey, Adrian?” “Yeah?” “Can you hold my hand the entire night?” My voice comes out as a quiet whisper. There’s a pause. I’m almost afraid to meet his eyes. Heartbeat picking up faster, his fingers interweave with mine and lace them together. I turn almost reflexively and I’m faced with his eyes—burning so green that it’s hard to look away. And for a second—one second, there is this feeling that flits in my chest, making my breath catch. Then his eyes close and I blink slowly—feeling as I’m in a dream-like trance. Then mine slide close too after a while of memorizing this moment, this moment of silent peacefulness. The gentle pressure of his hand holding mine coaxes me into sleep. This time, there’s only a soothing blankness. And we sleep just like that; backs curved together, my head folded in his chest. As we hold hands, I fall into the awaiting darkness.

Our road not marked on maps. Fugitives of the centuries, our origin is the breathing and our destination is exhalation, A thousand suns are flowing in our blood, and the vision of infinity is always chasing us. The form cannot tame us, Our days are a fire and our nights a sea.

(Kyler's song about Lennon?) Stop hiding in the darkness, step out into the light. The sky is filled with all these stars, so come and kiss the night. Infinity is waiting, calling you by name. The world is yours for the taking, so take it just the same. Shock and awe, surprise them, those who think you're weak. Look to the sky and chase them, those answers that you seek. Because it's there you'll find me, talking to the moon. Telling him my secrets, asking about you. The stars will light the sky for us, they'll illuminate the way. They show you how to find me, they'll make you want to stay.

What were you doing with her?” The words burst from my lips. Before I can take them back, he stares at me. I stare back at him as the silence stretches onwards. We’re both stiff. He says nothing. “Maybe I should ask you the same thing.” I shake my head, my nails digging into my palms. Then before I can react, he has pushed me roughly up the wall, his eyes now dark and fiery, like a storm ready to unleash itself. Good. He’s mad too. His hands force me to the wall as he presses his body against mine. The intensity of the move, the feel of him makes my breath hitch. “Get off me,” I seethe, pounding my fists into his chest but Adrian keeps me locked in place, so that his breath caresses my ear. “Were you guys too rushed?’ He mocks. “Too desperate to book a hotel room?” I can barely stifle a disgusted snort. “What are you talking about?” Fury pumps through my head. “A hotel room? What kind of girl do you think I am—mmf?” He moves against me, moving to kiss me. The moment where his lips meet mine hard and unyielding. He tastes of smoke and lipgloss—and I’m reminded of the scene earlier where he and Lauren got out of the closet together. Disgust fills me as I squirm in his arms. He groans, fire burning in his voice. “You want me, you’re trying to hide from it.” “No,” I try to bite the words at him but it comes out strangled. I try to push him away but before I have to, he releases me. I try to put as much distance between him and myself, shaking. Loathing is my voice. "Get away from me. I hate you." He swallows and looks away, his breathing slowing. He pushes himself from the wall, still very pale. Then closing his eyes and turning, he starts walking away, heading towards the parking lot. "I hate you!" I scream again behind him. Adrian stops for a moment, his back to me. “I’ve told you from the very beginning. You should.” He keeps on walking, never glancing back.

Linking their names with Euler’s infinity symbol means . . .” He paused, considering how best to explain it. “The two of them formed a complete unit . . . a togetherness . . . that contained infinity. Their marriage had a beginning and end, but every day of it was filled with forever. It’s a beautiful concept.” He paused before adding

There was an infinity of firmest fortitude, a determinate unsurrenderable wilfulness, in the fixed and fearless, forward dedication of that glance. Not a word he spoke; nor did his officers say aught to him; though by all their minutest gestures and expressions, they plainly showed the uneasy, if not painful, consciousness of being under a troubled master-eye. And not only that, but moody stricken Ahab stood before them with a crucifixion in his face; in all the nameless regal overbearing dignity of some mighty woe. Ere long, from his first visit in the air, he withdrew into his cabin. But after that morning, he was every day visible to the crew; either standing in his pivot-hole, or seated upon an ivory stool he had; or heavily walking the deck. As the sky grew less gloomy; indeed, began to grow a little genial, he became still less and less a recluse; as if, when the ship had sailed from home, nothing but the dead wintry bleakness of the sea had then kept him so secluded. And, by and by, it came to pass, that he was almost continually in the air; but, as yet, for all that he said, or perceptibly did, on the at last sunny deck, he seemed as unnecessary there as another mast. But the Pequod was only making a passage now; not regularly cruising; nearly all whaling preparatives needing supervision the mates were fully competent to, so that there was little or nothing, out of himself, to employ or excite Ahab, now; and thus chase away, for that one interval, the clouds that layer upon layer were piled upon his brow, as ever all clouds choose the loftiest peaks to pile themselves upon. Nevertheless, ere long, the warm, warbling persuasiveness of the pleasant, holiday weather we came to, seemed gradually to charm him from his mood. For, as when the red-cheeked, dancing girls, April and May, trip home to the wintry, misanthropic woods; even the barest, ruggedest, most thunder-cloven old oak will at least send forth some few green sprouts, to welcome such glad-hearted visitants; so Ahab did, in the end, a little respond to the playful allurings of that girlish air. More than once did he put forth the faint blossom of a look, which, in any other man, would have soon flowered out in a smile.

Trail of lovers He had walked that path before, It was a place that was like a sea with no shore, But he walked anyway, Relentlessly every night and everyday, The path seemed to have no end, But he had his hopes and his aspirations to defend, He walked everyday, anyway, And it was so even today, The path appeared to extend into infinity, And he hoped for a moment of serendipity, But there was none, none at all, The path continued always ahead of his will, and the person in him, unwilling to fall, Until one day infinity got tired and abruptly ended, For it had exhausted its every reserve of finite moments that to safeguard its pride it had expended, When we all expected that he would now stop here, He pronounced, “I seek something that lies everywhere!” So, he continued walking and the path stretched as far as it could, Then one day time too got tired and said, “Stop please. Stop. You should!” But he smiled and walked anyway, Because he knew the path he had taken was not to be determined by the trail of the way, It lay in the vision of the mind where he bore her every sweet memory, And they fed his quest that would place him on the trail that was starry, Where sky was the limit, where time was the end, where everywhere was the direction, Because that is what is felt by a heart kissed by love and someone’s true affection, And the path has led him somewhere, that is what they say, Where, I cannot say that, I cannot; nay! Because time got tired chasing him and his trails of love, Now they say he resides somewhere where you can reach only with the feelings of that special love, That he felt, someday and someway, And in its lure he traveled far, and finally too far away, Where time gets tired to tread, Because there only they go who on feelings of romantic love are fed! And we often think of him, we even think of her, who made him so, But there, we who can never travel ahead of time, dare not go, There they now live together, On the trail of time that lasts forever!

What if I regarded my own death with reverence instead of fear? I wondered. Or, even more radically, what if I had some sort of gratitude for the transience of my life? Would it change what I worried and cared about? Wasn’t it necessary to think about this when I was in the midst of building a life? Or rather, living my life? And the more I thought about mortality and what it had come to mean to others and what I thought it meant to me, I realized that life was simultaneously so vast and so small. It was daybreak after a good sleep and exhaustion as the stars emerged. It was the first crisp bite of an apple, the taste of butter on toast. It was the way a tree's shadow moved along the wall of a room as the afternoon passed. It was the smell of a baby's skin, the feeling of a heart fluttering with anticipation or nerves. It was the steady rhythm of a lover's breathing during sleep. It was both solitude in a wide green field and the crowding together of bodies in a church. It was equally common and singular, a shared tumult and a shared peace. It was the many things I'd ignored or half appreciated as I chased the bigger things. It was infinity in a seashell.

Why did Hipparchus look upward and name the stars while tens of thousands of others slept? What compelled Archimedes to calculate the mathematical properties of spirals and spheres, or Gauss to approach infinity and presume to grapple with it? They had imaginative and audacious minds, certainly. But they also had passion and energy; they took joy in discovering something new. Nature rewards the enthusiastic and curious with excitement in the chase and the thrill of discovery, rewards the intellectually playful with the exuberant pleasures of play. Exuberance in science drives exploration and sustains the quest; it brings its own Champagne to the discovery.

In the great scheme of 'things', moving forward make us go back and forth several times until we reach acceptable results, a byproduct of our endless effort and quest to overpower our higher sense of being.

The armor he wore was not the dueling armor he had expected. The breastplate was chased with a design of red and gold fusils or lozenges, quartered with scallops and roses, and about the whole figure writhed the three-headed Serpent of Aulis, with three sparrows above, wings spread as if in frantic flight, tiny gold beaks open. The baldric was inscribed with letters of gold. N’Oubliez. Never forget.

In the mad rush, we are chasing goals that end at infinity.

(Kyler's song about Lennon?) Stop hiding in the darkness, step out into the light. The sky is filled with all these stars, so come and kiss the night. Infinity is waiting, calling you by name. The world is yours for the taking, so take it just the same. Shock and awe, surprise them, those who think you're weak. Look to the sky and chase them, those answers that you seek. The stars will light the sky for us, they'll illuminate the way. They show you how to find me, they'll make you want to stay. ― L.D. Crichton, All Our Broken Pieces

There is elegance in your truth There is a rhyme to your youth There is a secret that keeps you whole There is an essence to your goal When you move your head to the side It is because there are rules That you don’t wish to abide You know how to make them fall You know how to deck the hall With desires that move through your veins Chasing after plans and their styles You want the moment to last forever A scrapbook of your soul and its smiles

There is elegance in your truth There is a rhyme to your youth There is a secret that keeps you whole There is an essence to your goal When you move your head to the side It is because there are rules That you don’t wish to abide You know how to make them fall You know how to deck the hall With desires that move through your veins Chasing after plans and their styles You want the moment to last forever A scrapbook of your soul and its smiles

When everything-EVERYTHING about life makes you want to grin, and it just gets sunnier and funnier until after a while you can only see the teeth in the smiles and then you feel... —well, not "on the edge" exactly, for the world has no edge; but as if you have always been over the edge, and the smiling and laughing is a sort of spastic reflex like crying or retching (really, it's all the same);— when you drink red wine in a cup and try to categorize the geometry of the gleam-patterns you see on the liquid's surface-and you may find, my friends, that you can almost do it: you agree with yourself upon the existence of a light-shape like the outline of a hemisphere drawn in concave at the equator; but another sip and it changes to a gleam-ring all around the rim of the wine circle; and another and it is reddish-black everywhere with the unsteady image of your face in it, your skin redder and your mouth blacker than the wine, and another and you see white specks swimming in the cup: they are not reflections at all, but bits of grease or rice or cereal, or maybe cheek-cells that got washed out of your mouth (the age-old question: is the imper-fection, the filth, in you or in the glass?); —but then your attention is diverted forever by the ugly purple stain around the edge of the cup where your lips have been; when everything is so confusing that you can never be sure whether or not your whore is a woman until she pulls her underpants down; when nothing is clear, and whore-chasing is a merry-go-round of death (if you don't catch a disease that will kill you, why, you will go around again, not because you want to die but because until you do everything remains unclear); when you get drunken crushes on women whose drunken mothers used to try to stab them; when the names of streets are like Nabokov's wearisome clever-ness; when only the pretty shapes of women have integrity and when you close your eyes still see them leaning and crossing their legs and milking their tits at you, THEN you may on occasion like Jimmy find yourself looking down a long black block, down the tunnels of infinity to a streedamp, a corner and a woman's waiting silhouette. —Or else like Jimmy you may have another drink

Like a vicious circle. Like an infinity sign. No beginning, no end. Just me chasing, me catching, and me pleasing. As long as it takes.

D: To make a ton of money. NR: To make a ton of money with specific reasons and defined dreams to chase, timelines and steps included. What are you working for? D: To have more. NR: To have more quality and less clutter. To have huge financial reserves but recognize that most material wants are justifications for spending time on the things that don’t really matter, including buying things and preparing to buy things. You spent two weeks negotiating your new Infiniti with the dealership and got $10,000 off? That’s great. Does your life have a purpose? Are you contributing anything useful to this world, or just shuffling papers, banging on a keyboard, and coming home to a drunken existence on the weekends?

D: To work for yourself. NR: To have others work for you. D: To work when you want to. NR: To prevent work for work’s sake, and to do the minimum necessary for maximum effect (“minimum effective load”). D: To retire early or young. NR: To distribute recovery periods and adventures (mini-retirements) throughout life on a regular basis and recognize that inactivity is not the goal. Doing that which excites you is. D: To buy all the things you want to have. NR: To do all the things you want to do, and be all the things you want to be. If this includes some tools and gadgets, so be it, but they are either means to an end or bonuses, not the focus. D: To be the boss instead of the employee; to be in charge. NR: To be neither the boss nor the employee, but the owner. To own the trains and have someone else ensure they run on time. D: To make a ton of money. NR: To make a ton of money with specific reasons and defined dreams to chase, timelines and steps included. What are you working for? D: To have more. NR: To have more quality and less clutter. To have huge financial reserves but recognize that most material wants are justifications for spending time on the things that don’t really matter, including buying things and preparing to buy things. You spent two weeks negotiating your new Infiniti with the dealership and got $10,000 off? That’s great. Does your life have a purpose? Are you contributing anything useful to this world, or just shuffling papers, banging on a keyboard, and coming home to a drunken existence on the weekends? D: To reach the big pay-off, whether IPO, acquisition, retirement, or other pot of gold. NR: To think big but ensure payday comes every day: cash flow first, big payday second. D: To have freedom from doing that which you dislike. NR: To have freedom from doing that which you dislike, but also the freedom and resolve to pursue your dreams without reverting to work for work’s sake (W4W). After years of repetitive work, you will often need to dig hard to find your passions, redefine your dreams, and revive hobbies that you let atrophy to near extinction. The goal is not to simply eliminate the bad, which does nothing more than leave you with a vacuum, but to pursue and experience the best in the world.

In Roman mythology,” Braxton says, “Orcus is a god of the underworld, tasked with punishing those who break their oaths. The Romans believed that breaking a sacred promise invited Orcus’s wrath—a sort of divine justice for failing to honor one’s word.

Sometimes the simplest explanation is the one that sits directly in front of you.

I’m struck by how what once felt like a devastating, life-altering revelation is now just another unfortunate event in a long string of them. Time and clarity have a way of softening the hard edges.

Someone recently told me that we’re always writing our own stories—all day, every day. That it’s the ones we play on repeat that determine our destiny.

if we’re both making choices for others, at what point do our destinies become so entangled that we are merely two sides of the same spinning coin?

Release them,” the man urges, as though reading my mind. “None of those events define you. Remember, an interesting experience on the path is not the path. The same goes for the terrible experiences. They’re simply fragments of a larger sequence that led you to this moment. What matters isn’t what happens, but what you make of what happens. The only way to become your best and brightest self is by transforming your experiences into opportunities, growth, and in your case, into seizing your destiny. Think of it as emotional alchemy. Your strength grows from your struggles.

Do you believe then that the sciences would have arisen and grown if the sorcerers, alchemists, astrologers, and witches had not been their forerunners? -Nietzsche

Your trauma has imprinted on your subconscious, causing you to mentally time travel to relive it repeatedly.

Zen proverb that says: When the student is ready, the teacher will appear. When the student is truly ready, the teacher will disappear.

Can you imagine how it feels to be so deeply anchored in your own power that you’re no longer swayed by external judgments or outside circumstances?

It’s about delving deep into yourself. It’s the process of confronting and conquering all the fears that have accumulated over the years. Once that’s behind you, you’ll begin again as a new, more powerful, version of yourself.

You’re clinging to your trauma because you’ve woven it into the very fabric of your being,” he says. “You’ve built your whole persona around abandonment, hardship, and betrayal. You’ve repeated these stories so many times, the idea of letting go feels like you’re losing yourself. What you need to remember is that they’re no more than threads that bind you to the past. Your only job now is to sever them.

I promise you this,” he goes on, “you are so much more than the negative things that happened to you.

And yet, deep down, I know the time has come for that fearful side of me to die. The weight of my old identity, a mosaic of darkness and pain, is locked in a battle with the core of my being that yearns to shed the shackles that have so far defined me.

Those whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad with power. -Charles Caleb Colton

nostalgia is history stripped of its suffering?

That’s from Sun Tzu’s The Art of War,” I find myself saying, the words pulled from the secret well of knowledge hidden inside me. “Know your enemy and know yourself and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster.

The eternal hourglass of existence is turned upside down again and again, and you with it, speck of dust! –Friedrich Nietzsche

Love doesn’t make you crazy. It’s not drama and chaos and insecurity. Not when it’s real. Love is grounding, healing, the most stabilizing force in the world.

You know, there’s a quote by Maya Angelou,” I say. “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.

Shunryu Suzuki said, In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s there are few.

The only thing more dangerous than ignorance is the illusion of knowledge,” I whisper. It’s a quote from Stephen Hawking,

I don’t intimidate you at all, do I? Well, when you chased me through Kyrian’s house, I did wet my pants a bit. Guess I’m not housebroken after all. My mom will be so disappointed after all she went through to potty train me. But once you let me live…your big mistake…now I know you think I’m too cute and fluffy to kill.