Chris Chambers Quotes

I'll see you.' He grinned. 'Not if i see you first.

It's as if God gave you something-all those stories- and said, "Here you are. Try not to lose it." But children lose everything unless somebody is there to help them, and if your parents are too stupid to do it, maybe i ought to.

Oh, I’m sorry. My mama died when I was seventeen. She must have forgotten to teach me some manners.’ ~ Chris Chambers

In the battle between science and storytelling, there is simply no competition: storytelling wins every time.

Accidents in the mountains are less common than in the lowlands, and these mountain mansions are decent, delightful, even divine, places to die in, compared with the doleful chambers of civilization. Few

The danger we face does not come from religion. It comes from a growing intellectual bankruptcy that is one of the symptoms of a dying culture. In ancient Rome, as the republic disintegrated and the Caesars were deified, as the Roman Senate became little more than an echo chamber of the emperor, the population’s attention was diverted by a series of frontier wars and violent and elaborate spectacles in the arena. The excitement of entertainment consumed ancient Rome’s emotional and intellectual life. It poisoned civic and political discourse. Social critics no longer had a form in which to speak. They were answered with ridicule and rage. It was not prerogative of the citizen to think.

Conner, what did you write for dinner?" Alex asked. "Tomato soup, mashed potatoes, and rosary chicken," Conner said, and licked his lips. "Rosary chicken?" she asked. "Did you mean rotisserie chicken?" "Oh no," he said fearfully. Fish-Lips Lucy uncovered the largest serving tray, and rather than a delicious roasted chicken, she revealed a live chicken wearing a Catholic rosary. The chicken panicked and fluttered amok around the chambers, squawking loudly and shedding feathers whenever she went. Auburn Sally gave Fish-Lips Lucy a dirty look. "The chicken seems a little undercooked," she said. "Sorry, Captain," Fish-Lips Lucy said. "I knew I was forgetting something.

When I heard about Randy’s death, I instantly thought about the movie Stand by Me, based on the novella The Body, by Stephen King. I thought about the end of that movie, when we learn that Chris Chambers, played as a kid by River Phoenix, became a lawyer. And we also learn that he was stabbed to death while trying to break up a fight in a fast-food restaurant. A tragic, unpredictable death. I have seen that movie a hundred times, at least, but I still cry every time. And I really cry when Gordie Lachance, played by Richard Dreyfuss as an adult, types those amazing, amazing words: I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?

In many life sciences, including psychology, discovery isn’t a black-and-white issue; it is matter of determining, from one experiment to the next, the theoretical contribution made by various shades of gray. When psychologists set arbitrary criteria (p<.05) on the precise shade of gray required to achieve publication—and hence career success—they also incentivize a host of conscious and unconscious strategies to cross that threshold. In the battle between science and storytelling, there is simply no competition: storytelling wins every time.

The day we were all allowed to bring our pets into the classroom was going to be special. It was a nice sunny morning and Batty my black mouse had been spruced up for the occasion. He was in his new second-hand plastic cage, it was mustard coloured, had the mandatory wheel and sleeping chamber but had previously been a torture chamber for my cousin's late hamster. Despite my best efforts to revitalise it the wire remained rusty in places but at least it was more secure than the wooden enclosure my father had made... and Batty had instantly, and repeatedly, chewed his way out of. Sadly the species list for the class was a meagre four: rabbit, hamster, guinea pig and... one domesticated house mouse, Batty. They all ignored him, they cooed over the 'bunnies' and those chubby-fat tailless things whose eyes bulged when you squeezed them a bit, and queued to offer carrot and cabbage to those cow-licked multicoloured freaks with scratchy claws, but not one of the kids wanted to see, let alone hold, my mouse. By mid-afternoon the teacher finally caught sight of the lonely boy whispering into his mouse cage in the corner and gingerly agreed to let the rodent walk onto her hand in front of the class. Batty promptly pissed and then pooed three perfect wet little pellets, the classroom erupted with a huge collective 'urrgh' and then a frenzy of giggling, she practically threw him back in his cage and then made a big deal about washing her hands. With soap. Then we were all meant to wash our hands, with soap, but I didn't and no one noticed.

Schnall’s strong reaction to the failed replication of her own work provoked a mixed reaction from the psychological community. While many psychologists were bewildered by her response, a number of prominent US psychologists voiced support for her position. Dan Gilbert from Harvard University likened Schnall’s battle to the plight of Rosa Parks, and he referred to some psychologists who conducted or supported replications as “bullies,” “replication police,” “second stringers,” McCarthyists, and “god’s chosen soldiers in a great jihad.” Others accused the so-called replicators of being “Nazis,” “fascists,” and “mafia.” Rather than viewing replication as an intrinsic part of best scientific practice, Gilbert and his supporters framed it as a threat to the reputation of the (presumably brilliant) researchers who publish irreproducible findings, stifling their creativity and innovation

One recent case highlighted by Dan Simons relates again to the work of Yale psychologist John Bargh. In 2012, Bargh and colleague Idit Shalev published a study claiming that lonelier people prefer warmer baths and showers, thereby compensating for a lack of “social warmth” through physical warmth.44 In 2014, psychologist Brent Donnellan and colleagues reported a failure to replicate this finding—and not just in a single experiment but across nine experiments and more than 3,000 participants, over 30 times the sample size of the original study.45 Despite this failure to replicate, as well as the presence of unexplained anomalies in the original data, Bargh and Shalev refused to retract their original paper. In many other sciences, a false discovery of this magnitude would automatically trigger excision of the original work from the scientific record. In psychology, unreliability is business as usual.

I have had so many Dwellings, Nat, that I know these Streets as well as a strowling Beggar: I was born in this Nest of Death and Contagion and now, as they say, I have learned to feather it. When first I was with Sir Chris. I found lodgings in Phenix Street off Hogg Lane, close by St Giles and Tottenham Fields, and then in later times I was lodged at the corner of Queen Street and Thames Street, next to the Blew Posts in Cheapside. (It is still there, said Nat stirring up from his Seat, I have passed it!) In the time before the Fire, Nat, most of the buildings in London were made of timber and plaister, and stones were so cheap that a man might have a cart-load of them for six-pence or seven-pence; but now, like the Aegyptians, we are all for Stone. (And Nat broke in, I am for Stone!) The common sort of People gawp at the prodigious Rate of Building and exclaim to each other London is now another City or that House was not there Yesterday or the Situacion of the Streets is quite Changd (I contemn them when they say such things! Nat adds). But this Capital City of the World of Affliction is still the Capitol of Darknesse, or the Dungeon of Man's Desires: still in the Centre are no proper Streets nor Houses but a Wilderness of dirty rotten Sheds, allways tumbling or takeing Fire, with winding crooked passages, lakes of Mire and rills of stinking Mud, as befits the smokey grove of Moloch. (I have heard of that Gentleman, says Nat all a quiver). It is true that in what we call the Out-parts there are numberless ranges of new Buildings: in my old Black-Eagle Street, Nat, tenements have been rais'd and where my Mother and Father stared without understanding at their Destroyer (Death! he cryed) new-built Chambers swarm with life. But what a Chaos and Confusion is there: meer fields of Grass give way to crooked Passages and quiet Lanes to smoking Factors, and these new Houses, commonly built by the London workmen, are often burning and frequently tumbling down (I saw one, says he, I saw one tumbling!). Thus London grows more Monstrous, Straggling and out of all Shape: in this Hive of Noise and Ignorance, Nat, we are tyed to the World as to a sensible Carcasse and as we cross the stinking Body we call out What News? or What's a clock? And thus do I pass my Days a stranger to mankind. I'll not be a Stander-by, but you will not see me pass among them in the World. (You will disquiet your self, Master, says Nat coming towards me). And what a World is it, of Tricking and Bartering, Buying and Selling, Borrowing and Lending, Paying and Receiving; when I walk among the Piss and Sir-reverence of the Streets I hear, Money makes the old Wife trot, Money makes the Mare to go (and Nat adds, What Words won't do, Gold will). What is their God but shineing Dirt and to sing its Devotions come the Westminster-Hall-whores, the Charing-cross whores, the Whitehall whores, the Channel-row whores, the Strand whores, the Fleet Street whores, the Temple-bar whores; and they are followed in the same Catch by the Riband weavers, the Silver-lace makers, the Upholsterers, the Cabinet-makers, Watermen, Carmen, Porters, Plaisterers, Lightemen, Footmen, Shopkeepers, Journey-men... and my Voice grew faint through the Curtain of my Pain.

Humans don’t have rumens, multiple stomach chambers, or the enzymes to break down cellulose, so we can’t extract any nutrients from grass if we eat it. Fortunately, there is a solution to this problem: rather than eating the grass, humans can let animals do the hard work of assimilating the nutrients from grass, and then we can eat the animals.

. He couldn’t keep the paddle ruddering, and the raft immediately turned sideways, sending sailors away from the wave and digging the front tube low into the water. The crashing whitewater lifted the other side and threw it over the top, capsizing them. Everyone on the lead raft saw the second raft go over. Winkleman cranked on the paddle, turning his raft sideways on the now-benign wave. He yelled, “Paddle forward!” The men were dazed, watching for bobbing heads, but snapped into action, digging their paddles in and pulling themselves from the wave that was giving them a free ride into the beach. The second raft was still upside down and was surfing in on the now-broken wave. Heads popped up behind the raft. Men who’d been thrown and were still in the impact zone of oncoming waves were thrashing their arms, struggling to stay on the surface. The next wave crashed over them, driving them deeper into the sharp reef. The capsized raft tumbled toward the first and Tarkington yelled, “Grab it!” Two men jumped onto the bottom and tried to turn it right-side up while it was surfing in. Winkleman steered, and the exhausted men paddled back toward the breakers. More heads were popping up, some bleeding from fresh wounds. They stood in the shallows and struggled forward, but the incessant breakers knocked them down and they’d come up spluttering, sporting more wounds. Some weren’t able to stand, their life-jackets floating them, and they tumbled with the broken waves, like so much driftwood. The men on the raft hauled them in and soon were too full, forcing the uninjured back into the water to help whomever they could find toward the beach. Finally, both boats, and everyone who’d been on them, sprawled on the beach. One sailor, who’d been unconscious from the initial air attack, was dead. They found him washed up on the beach, facedown and unresponsive. Everyone from the capsized raft was banged up to some degree. The cuts on their arms, legs, torsos and faces looked as though they’d been attacked by razor blades. The capsized raft had one sizable hole which had deflated one of the four compartmentalized chambers, leaving that segment flat and floppy. They found all the wooden paddles, but two were broken. The sun beat down upon them like an angry god. None of them wanted to move. Tarkington sat up after catching his breath. His tongue was thick with thirst and he was sure he wouldn’t

When his ramshackle cavalcade finally breaks out, bursting upwards and outwards of the long and winding well shafts, it is met by screams and panic. Slert smiles at this, clambering arduously over an eroded stone lip, and limps out towards them. These are mortal humans, hundreds strong, locked in a chamber they must have thought entirely secure, and here are monsters now clawing their way up from the floor itself. How nightmarish for them. How like every bad dream they have ever had. ‘Calm down,’ he says, amused by the reaction.

A critical reader of any method section should be asking not only whether the reported procedure is sound but also whether it provides sufficient details to be repeatable. Unfortunately, an additional source of unreliability in psychology lies in the systematic failure of studies to disclose sufficient methodological detail to allow exact replication.

If we take a science such as experimental physics, where studies tend to have high statistical power, methods are well defined and de facto preregistered, then the failure to reproduce a previous result is considered a major cause for concern. But in a weaker science where lax statistical standards and questionable research practices are the norm, attempts to reproduce prior work will often fail, and it should therefore come as no surprise that retraction is rare.

My Khan,’ he ventured, not from any lack of resolve, but because it needed to be asked now, needed to be settled, before pulling away became impossible. ‘Can we do this?’ The Khagan nodded fractionally, acknowledging the question. He pressed his fingers harder together. ‘Not if we delay,’ he said quietly. ‘Another day, maybe two, and the moment is gone. Once he has everything in place, we do not have the strength to break him. It must be while he is consumed with his own conquests. He has the numbers, he has the gifts, he has the power. All we have is what we have always relied on. To be faster.’ He smiled darkly. ‘See, what can we really do, for this Imperium? Can we sustain it now, bearing its weight on our shoulders? Not the way we were made. But we can kill for it. We can break, we can burn, we can unmake.’ The smile disappeared. ‘We have done everything they asked of us. We have held their battle line, scored it with our own blood, and it has not been enough. If we are to die here, on a world that has no soul and no open sky to rejoice in, then we will die doing what we were schooled to do.’ He looked out across the entire chamber, making each khan feel as if he were the only one there, the only one to enjoy this final confidence before the war-horns were sounded and the engines were gunned. ‘But get me to my brother,’ the Khan said, ‘and as eternity is my judge, I shall scour his stench from the universe forever.

The Whigs were euphoric. The reign of the Jacksonians was over and they had elected a president of their own, and with him massive majorities in both chambers of Congress. But their joy would be short-lived. For all the rallies, the marches, the speeches, the brilliant sloganeering, the long-sought hard-fought victory of the opponents of Andrew Jackson would be for nothing.

The grass on your front lawn is a perfect example. Grass contains several vitamins and minerals, but they are largely inaccessible to humans because of grass’s cellulose content. Cellulose is a fiber that forms the walls of cells in most green plants. Ruminants, such as cows and sheep, have a specialized compartment in the stomach called a rumen; it produces an enzyme that breaks down cellulose, allowing the nutrients in the grass to be absorbed. Ruminants also have other chambers in their stomachs to help them assimilate the nutrients from grass. Humans don’t have rumens, multiple stomach chambers, or the enzymes to break down cellulose, so we can’t extract any nutrients from grass if we eat it. Fortunately, there is a solution to this problem: rather than eating the grass, humans can let animals do the hard work of assimilating the nutrients from grass, and then we can eat the animals.

was terrible to think that way. She knew it. The guilt swamped her as she packed her kit alongside the guys. They gathered in the launch pad to load the Clipper, the Light Blade’s shuttle. It would have them on the planet’s surface in a matter of minutes. “The Cloud Cat is away,” Colin reported, entering the chamber. “They’ve sent Gabriel, Carly, and Chris, surprisingly. It’s actually good, because—” “Wait a minute,” Anna said sharply. “Let’s not discuss them right now.” Colin smiled icily. He did not like being told what to do. That should never be forgotten. But he stood quietly as the surface crew packed into the shuttle. Siena, Ravi, and

The danger we face does not come from religion. It comes from a growing intellectual bankruptcy that is one of the symptoms of a dying culture. In ancient Rome, as the republic disintegrated and the Caesars were deified, as the Roman Senate became little more than an echo chamber of the emperor, the population’s attention was diverted by a series of frontier wars and violent and elaborate spectacles in the arena. The excitement of entertainment consumed ancient Rome’s emotional and intellectual life. It poisoned civic and political discourse. Social critics no longer had a forum in which to speak. They were answered with ridicule and rage. It was not prerogative of the citizen to think.

Today we’re not so much fragmenting as we are re-forming along different dimensions. These days our watercoolers are increasingly virtual; there are many different ones; and the people who gather around them are self-selected. Rather than being loosely connected with people thanks to superficial mass-cultural overlaps, we have the ability to be more strongly tied to just as many if not more people with a shared affinity for niche culture. Although the decline of mainstream cultural institutions may result in some people turning to echo chambers of like-minded views, I suspect that over time the power of human curiosity combined with near-infinite access to information will tend to make most people more open-minded, not less. As much as the blockbuster era seems like the natural state of things, it is, as we’ve seen, mostly an artifact of late-twentieth-century broadcast technologies. Before then most culture was local; in the future it will be affinity-based and massively parallel. Mass culture may fade, but common culture will not. We will still share our culture with others, but not with everyone.

As far as the Inquisitors were concerned, there was no question of an accused person being innocent—the fact that an accusation had been made was sufficient proof of guilt, and all they had to do then was obtain a signed confession from the heretic. That almost always involved prolonged and inventive torture and took place in private, in specially equipped torture chambers. The Inquisitors were forbidden to spill blood, during either questioning or execution, so they made liberal use of the rack and the strappado to dislocate joints. They also roasted limbs over slow fires, usually the feet because the heretic had to be able to sign a confession once it was all over.