Class And Grace Quotes

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It had to be a mad dream, one that would give her the courage she would need to discard the prejudices of a class that had not always been hers but had become hers more than anyone’s. It had to teach her to think of love as a state of grace: not the means to anything but the alpha and omega, an end in itself.
Gabriel García Márquez (Love in the Time of Cholera)
When I get honest, I admit I am a bundle of paradoxes. I believe and I doubt, I hope and get discouraged, I love and I hate, I feel bad about feeling good, I feel guilty about not feeling guilty. I am trusting and suspicious. I am honest and I still play games. Aristotle said I am a rational animal; I say I am an angel with an incredible capacity for beer. To live by grace means to acknowledge my whole life story, the light side and the dark. In admitting my shadow side I learn who I am and what God's grace means. As Thomas Merton put it, "A saint is not someone who is good but who experiences the goodness of God." The gospel of grace nullifies our adulation of televangelists, charismatic superstars, and local church heroes. It obliterates the two-class citizenship theory operative in many American churches. For grace proclaims the awesome truth that all is gift. All that is good is ours not by right but by the sheer bounty of a gracious God. While there is much we may have earned--our degree and our salary, our home and garden, a Miller Lite and a good night's sleep--all this is possible only because we have been given so much: life itself, eyes to see and hands to touch, a mind to shape ideas, and a heart to beat with love. We have been given God in our souls and Christ in our flesh. We have the power to believe where others deny, to hope where others despair, to love where others hurt. This and so much more is sheer gift; it is not reward for our faithfulness, our generous disposition, or our heroic life of prayer. Even our fidelity is a gift, "If we but turn to God," said St. Augustine, "that itself is a gift of God." My deepest awareness of myself is that I am deeply loved by Jesus Christ and I have done nothing to earn it or deserve it.
Brennan Manning (The Ragamuffin Gospel: Good News for the Bedraggled, Beat-Up, and Burnt Out)
The land of easy mathematics where he who works adds up and he who retires subtracts.
Núria Añó
The only thing you should have to do is find work you love to do. And I can't imagine living without having loved a person. A man, in my case. It could be a woman, but whatever. I think, what I always tell kids when they get out of class and ask, 'What should I do now?' I always say, 'Keep a low overhead. You're not going to make a lot of money.' And the next thing I say: 'Don't live with a person who doesn't respect your work.' That's the most important thing—that's more important than the money thing. I think those two things are very valuable pieces of information.
Grace Paley
We instinctively tend to limit for whom we exert ourselves. We do it for people like us, and for people whom we like. Jesus will have none of that. By depicting a Samaritan helping a Jew, Jesus could not have found a more forceful way to say that anyone at all in need - regardless of race, politics, class, and religion - is your neighbour. Not everyone is your brother or sister in faith, but everyone is your neighbour, and you must love your neighbour.
Timothy J. Keller (Generous Justice: How God's Grace Makes Us Just)
Through synergy of intellect, artistry and grace came into existence the blessing of a dancer.
Shah Asad Rizvi
Class is not defined by our circumstances - it is our reaction to those circumstances that defines who we are.
Jordan Christy (How to Be a Hepburn in a Hilton World: The Art of Living with Style, Class, and Grace)
You can be a warrior and be full of grace and class.
Drew Barrymore (Wildflower)
People think that the word "class" involves the color black, wearing Chanel No. 5 and carrying a Louis Vuitton. The word "class" and "classy", to me, mean what happens when you are able to be thankful, able to give and be a true friend to anybody regardless of their background and where they come from. That's class. It's a beautiful wave that washes away faults and paints things in a graceful light. You can't always do this, though. Sometimes you just need to slap someone. Still, you can slap someone with a lot of poise and that makes all the difference.
C. JoyBell C.
The gospel of grace nullifies our adulation of televangelists, charismatic superstars, and local church heroes. It obliterates the two-class citizenship theory operative in many American churches. For grace proclaims the awesome truth that all is gift. All that is good is ours, not by right, but by the sheer bounty of a gracious God.
Brennan Manning (The Ragamuffin Gospel: Good News for the Bedraggled, Beat-Up, and Burnt Out)
But when Bethany came into class, her dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail, showing off her graceful neck, he may have stopped breathing again. A thousand charming words strung together in his head in a nanosecond, but he averted his eyes to his empty notebook. Notes? Who really took notes in class? Dawson wanted to see if she would talk to him first. God, he was like a teenage girl. He was so screwed.
Jennifer L. Armentrout (Shadows (Lux, #0.5))
A true friend will be there to congratulate you when you win an Academy Award and will also be there to hold your hair back when you're puking your guts out in the bathroom stall two minutes later! So keep your eyes peeled for the hair-holding kind.
Jordan Christy (How to Be a Hepburn in a Hilton World: The Art of Living with Style, Class, and Grace)
True class can never receive the highest grade..for its grade is endless
Denise Newsome
Sometimes kids get a mean teacher or a class they don’t like or an inflexible deadline even though that child was “exhausted the night before.” We should not cushion every blow. This is life. Learning to deal with struggle and to develop responsibility is crucial. A good parent prepares the child for the path, not the path for the child. We can still demonstrate gentle and attached parenting without raising children who melt on a warm day.
Jen Hatmaker (For the Love: Fighting for Grace in a World of Impossible Standards)
Being right is actually a very hard burden to be able to carry gracefully and humbly. That’s why nobody likes to sit next to the kid in class who’s right all the time. One of the hardest things in the world is to be right and not hurt other people with it.
John Ortberg (Soul Keeping: Caring For the Most Important Part of You)
She was simple, not being able to adorn herself, but she was unhappy, as one out of her class; for women belong to no caste, no race, their grace, their beauty and their charm serving them in place of birth and family. Their inborn finesse, their instinctive elegance, their suppleness of wit, are their only aristocracy, making some daughters of the people the equal of great ladies.
Guy de Maupassant (A Piece of String/The Diamond Necklace)
I know this kind of girl,” Grace was saying. “It’s the worst kind of combination of abuse and privilege, and growing up in this, like, greenhorn southern-Californian Asian upper-middle-class ghetto, where everyone is so shallow and money-craven.
Gary Shteyngart (Super Sad True Love Story)
America was never innocent. We popped our cherry on the boat over and looked back with no regrets. You can't ascribe our fall from grace to any single event or set of circumstances. You can't lose what you lacked at conception. Mass-market nostalgia gets you hopped up for a past that never existed. Hagiography sanctifies shuck-and-jive politicians and reinvents their expedient gestures as moments of great moral weight. Our continuing narrative line is blurred past truth and hindsight. Only a reckless verisimilitude can set that line straight. The real Trinity of Camelot was Look Good, Kick Ass, Get Laid. Jack Kennedy was the mythological front man for a particularly juicy slice of our history. He called a slick line and wore a world-class haircut. He was Bill Clinton minus pervasive media scrutiny and a few rolls of flab. Jack got whacked at the optimum moment to assure his sainthood. Lies continue to swirl around his eternal flame. It's time to dislodge his urn and cast light on a few men who attended his ascent and facilitated his fall. They were rouge cops and shakedown artist. They were wiretappers and soldiers of fortune and faggot lounge entertainers. Had one second of their lives deviated off course, American History would not exist as we know it. It's time to demythologize an era and build a new myth from the gutter to the stars. It's time to embrace bad men and the price they paid to secretly define there time. Here's to them.
James Ellroy (American Tabloid (Underworld USA #1))
Of course, he showed me this one afternoon when he was skipping class. When trolls cut classes, you think they are losers. When the beautiful and/or reasonably erudite do the same thing to sit on the library steps and read poetry, you think they are on to something deep. You see only deep brown wavy hair and strong legs, well honed by years of Ultimate Frisbee. You see that book of T. S. Eliot poems held by the hand with the long, graceful fingers, and you never stop to think that it shouldn't take half a semester to read one book of poems... that maybe he is not so much reading as getting really high every morning and sleeping it off on the library steps, forcing the people who actually go to class to step or trip over him.
Maureen Johnson (Zombies Vs. Unicorns)
At the core of the problem is an obsolete factory model of schooling that sorts, tracks, tests, and rejects or certifies working-class children as if they were products on an assembly line. The purpose of education, I said, cannot be only to increase the earning power of the individual or to supply workers for the ever-changing slots of the corporate machine. Children need to be given a sense of the 'unique capacity of human beings to shape and create reality in accordance with conscious purposes and plans.
Grace Lee Boggs (The Next American Revolution: Sustainable Activism for the Twenty-First Century)
The world was watching, kids especially were watching, and it is so important to handle yourself-no matter the situation-with class and grace. It is more important to be a champion off the field than on; that's what resonates with me.
Apolo Anton Ohno (Zero Regrets: Be Greater Than Yesterday)
A drop of pond water under the microscope just like in science class but now your are the pond & the microscope is mindfulness
Stephen Levine (Breaking the Drought: Visions of Grace)
A soul that becomes the place where divine grace is harbored and encouraged joins the class of the immortals and lives on into eternal greatness.
Garey Gordon (The Values Pursued Life: Excellence and Greatness from Within)
Whether people see you as a shadow or as an invisible or stupid sort of thing, a time will come when that Image of yours will never be seen by commoners.
Michael Bassey Johnson (The Infinity Sign)
And my coordination was pretty good, thanks to the karate lessons. Dance classes have nothing on karate when it comes to developing grace.
Rick Yancey (The 5th Wave (The 5th Wave, #1))
By depicting a Samaritan helping a Jew, Jesus could not have found a more forceful way to say that anyone at all in need—regardless of race, politics, class, and religion—is your neighbor. Not everyone is your brother or sister in the faith, but everyone is your neighbor, and you must love your neighbor.
Timothy J. Keller (Generous Justice: How God's Grace Makes Us Just)
It [being very rich] used to worry me, and I thought it wrong to have so many beautiful things when others had nothing. Now I realize that it is possible for the rich to sin by coveting the privileges of the poor. The poor have always been the favourites of God and his saints, but I believe that is is one of the special achievements of Grace to sanctify the whole of life, riches included.
Evelyn Waugh (Brideshead Revisited)
Maybe it goes without saying that if you want to become a famous writer before you’re dead, you’ll have to write something. But the folks in my classes with the biggest ideas and the best publicity shots ready to grace the back covers of their best-selling novels are also usually the ones who aren’t holding any paper.
Ariel Gore (How to Become a Famous Writer Before You're Dead: Your Words in Print and Your Name in Lights)
Inferiority is not banal or incidental even when it happens to women. It is not a petty affliction like bad skin or circles under the eyes. It is not a superficial flaw in an otherwise perfect picture. It is not a minor irritation, nor is it a trivial inconvenience, an occasional aggravation, or a regrettable but (frankly) harmless lapse in manners. It is not a “point of view” that some people with soft skins find “ offensive. ” It is the deep and destructive devaluing of a person in life, a shredding of dignity and self-respect, an imposed exile from human worth and human recognition, the forced alienation of a person from even the possibility of wholeness or internal integrity. Inferiority puts rightful self-love beyond reach, a dream fragmented by insult into a perpetually recurring nightmare; inferiority creates a person broken and humiliated inside. The fragments— scattered pieces and sharp slivers of someone who can never be made whole—are then taken to be the standard of what is normal in her kind: women are like that. The insult that hurt her—inferiority as an assault, ongoing since birth—is seen as a consequence, not a cause, of her so-called nature, an inferior nature. In English, a graceful language, she is even called a piece. It is likely to be her personal experience that she is insufficiently loved. Her subjectivity itself is second-class, her experiences and perceptions inferior in the world as she is inferior in the world. Her experience is recast into a psychologically pejorative judgment: she is never loved enough because she is needy, neurotic, the insufficiency of love she feels being in and of itself evidence of a deep-seated and natural dependency. Her personal experiences or perceptions are never credited as having a hard core of reality to them. She is, however, never loved enough. In truth; in point of fact; objectively: she is never loved enough. As Konrad Lorenz wrote: “ I doubt if it is possible to feel real affection for anybody who is in every respect one’s inferior. ” 1 There are so many dirty names for her that one rarely learns them all, even in one’s native language.
Andrea Dworkin (Intercourse)
Seduction involves elements of grace, class and elegance. It is an art and a gift, for both seducer and the seduced.” – André Chevalier
Nikki Sex (Kink (Fate #2))
If success isn't built on long hours, big dreams, and good old-fashioned elbow grease, I seriously question its authenticity.
Jordan Christy (How to Be a Hepburn in a Hilton World: The Art of Living with Style, Class, and Grace)
You cannot escape that you are a woman,” she began. “I wish I could,” Firekeeper muttered, but Elise continued as if she hadn’t heard. “Since you cannot, you cannot escape the expectations that our society and our class places upon women.” “Why?” Firekeeper said querulously. “...Consider,” she offered, “what you told me about learning to see at night so that you could hunt with the wolves. Learning to wear a gown, to walk gracefully, to eat politely…” “I do that!” “You’re learning,” Elise admitted, “but don’t change the subject. All of these are ways of learning to see in the dark.” “Maybe,” Firekeeper said, her tone unconvinced. “Can you climb a tree?” “Yes.” “Swim?” “Yes!” This second affirmative was almost indignant. “And these skills let you go places that you could not go without them.” Stubborn silence. Elise pressed her point. “Why do you like knowing how to shoot a bow?” “It lets me kill farther,” came the answer, almost in a growl. “And using a sword does the same?” “Yes.” “Let me tell you, Firekeeper, knowing a woman’s arts can keep you alive, let you invade private sanctums, even help you to subdue your enemies. If you don’t know those arts, others who do will always have an advantage over you.” “All this from wearing a gown that tangles your feet?
Jane Lindskold (Through Wolf's Eyes (Firekeeper Saga, #1))
Yet there was this to be said for unfavorable relationships in the wealth-distribution equation. It meant the existence of a leisure class and the development of an attractive way of life which, at its best, encouraged culture and grace. As long as the other end of the scale was not too badly off, as long as the leisure classes did not entirely forget their responsibilities while enjoying their privileges, as long as their culture took no obviously unhealthy turn, there was always the tendency in Eternity to forgive the departure from the ideal wealth-distribution pattern and to search for other, less attractive maladjustments.
Isaac Asimov (The End of Eternity)
What rhymes with insensitive?” I tap my pen on the kitchen table, beyond frustrated with my current task. Who knew rhyming was so fucking difficult? Garrett, who’s dicing onions at the counter, glances over. “Sensitive,” he says helpfully. “Yes, G, I’ll be sure to rhyme insensitive with sensitive. Gold star for you.” On the other side of the kitchen, Tucker finishes loading the dishwasher and turns to frown at me. “What the hell are you doing over there, anyway? You’ve been scribbling on that notepad for the past hour.” “I’m writing a love poem,” I answer without thinking. Then I slam my lips together, realizing what I’ve done. Dead silence crashes over the kitchen. Garrett and Tucker exchange a look. An extremely long look. Then, perfectly synchronized, their heads shift in my direction, and they stare at me as if I’ve just escaped from a mental institution. I may as well have. There’s no other reason for why I’m voluntarily writing poetry right now. And that’s not even the craziest item on Grace’s list. That’s right. I said it. List. The little brat texted me not one, not two, but six tasks to complete before she agrees to a date. Or maybe gestures is a better way to phrase it... “I just have one question,” Garrett starts. “Really?” Tuck says. “Because I have many.” Sighing, I put my pen down. “Go ahead. Get it out of your systems.” Garrett crosses his arms. “This is for a chick, right? Because if you’re doing it for funsies, then that’s just plain weird.” “It’s for Grace,” I reply through clenched teeth. My best friend nods solemnly. Then he keels over. Asshole. I scowl as he clutches his side, his broad back shuddering with each bellowing laugh. And even while racked with laughter, he manages to pull his phone from his pocket and start typing. “What are you doing?” I demand. “Texting Wellsy. She needs to know this.” “I hate you.” I’m so busy glaring at Garrett that I don’t notice what Tucker’s up to until it’s too late. He snatches the notepad from the table, studies it, and hoots loudly. “Holy shit. G, he rhymed jackass with Cutlass.” “Cutlass?” Garrett wheezes. “Like the sword?” “The car,” I mutter. “I was comparing her lips to this cherry-red Cutlass I fixed up when I was a kid. Drawing on my own experience, that kind of thing.” Tucker shakes his head in exasperation. “You should have compared them to cherries, dumbass.” He’s right. I should have. I’m a terrible poet and I do know it. “Hey,” I say as inspiration strikes. “What if I steal the words to “Amazing Grace”? I can change it to…um…Terrific Grace.” “Yup,” Garrett cracks. “Pure gold right there. Terrific Grace.” I ponder the next line. “How sweet…” “Your ass,” Tucker supplies. Garrett snorts. “Brilliant minds at work. Terrific Grace, how sweet your ass.” He types on his phone again. “Jesus Christ, will you quit dictating this conversation to Hannah?” I grumble. “Bros before hos, dude.” “Call my girlfriend a ho one more time and you won’t have a bro.” Tucker chuckles. “Seriously, why are you writing poetry for this chick?” “Because I’m trying to win her back. This is one of her requirements.” That gets Garrett’s attention. He perks up, phone poised in hand as he asks, “What are the other ones?” “None of your fucking business.” “Golly gee, if you do half as good a job on those as you’re doing with this epic poem, then you’ll get her back in no time!” I give him the finger. “Sarcasm not appreciated.” Then I swipe the notepad from Tuck’s hand and head for the doorway. “PS? Next time either of you need to score points with your ladies? Don’t ask me for help. Jackasses.” Their wild laughter follows me all the way upstairs. I duck into my room and kick the door shut, then spend the next hour typing up the sorriest excuse for poetry on my laptop. Jesus. I’m putting more effort into this damn poem than for my actual classes.
Elle Kennedy (The Mistake (Off-Campus, #2))
My definition of stupid is wasting your opportunity to be yourself.
Jordan Christy (How to Be a Hepburn in a Hilton World: The Art of Living with Style, Class & Grace)
Self-respect is one of the greatest assets a girl can possess and yet it's one of the biggest things we're lacking these days.
Jordan Christy (How to Be a Hepburn in a Hilton World: The Art of Living with Style, Class, and Grace)
I have concluded that no opportunity is so worthwhile, no circumstance so urgent, that it should make us ditch our values and convictions.
Jordan Christy (How to Be a Hepburn in a Hilton World: The Art of Living with Style, Class, and Grace)
She approached them all without a trace of sentimentality or condescension. The older Docklanders were accustomed to meeting middle-class do-gooders, who deigned to act graciously to inferiors. The Cockneys despised these people, used them for what they could get, and made fun of them behind their backs, but Sister Evangelina had no patronising airs and graces.
Jennifer Worth
That one is not confronted with the choices de Kock could have to could not have made, that one was not a member of the privileged class in apartheid South Africa are matters of sheer grace.
Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela (A Human Being Died That Night: A South African Woman Confronts the Legacy of Apartheid)
The trouble with purging the school curriculum of religious knowledge is that ultimate questions cannot be answered without reference to religious beliefs or at least to philosophy. With religion expelled from the schools, a clear field was left for the entrance of the mode of belief called humanitarianism, or secular humanism--the latter a term employed by the cultural historian Christopher Dawson. During the past four decades and more, the place that religion used to hold in American schooling, always a rather modest and non-dogmatic place, has been filled by secular humanism. Its root principle is that human nature and society may be perfected without the operation of divine grace. . . . In his book A Common Faith (1934), [John] Dewey advocated his brand of humanism as a religion. "Here are all the elements for a religious faith that shall not be confined to sect, class, or race," he wrote. "Such a faith has always been implicitly the common faith of mankind. It remains to make it explicit and militant." Much more evidence exists to suggest that humanitarianism, or secular humanism, should be regarded in law as a religion, with respect to both establishment and free exercise in the First Amendment. It is this non-theistic religion, hostile to much of the established morality and many existing American institutions, that has come close to being established as a "civil religion" in American public schools.
Russell Kirk (Rights And Duties: Reflections On Our Conservative Constitution)
To that point, he had always found the vicomtesse overflowing with friendly politeness, that sweet-flowing grace conferred by an aristocratic education, and which is never truly there unless it comes, automatically and unthinkingly, straight from the heart. [...] For anyone who had learned the social code, and Rastignac had absorbed it all in a flash, these words, that gesture, that look, that inflection in her voice, summed up all there was to know about the nature and the ways of men and women of her class. He was vividly aware of the iron hand underneath the velvet glove; the personality, and especially the self-centeredness, under the polished manners; the plain hard wood, under all the varnish. [...] Eugène had been entirely too quick to take this woman's word for her own kindness. Like all those who cannot help themselves, he had signed on the dotted line, accepting the delightful contract binding both benefactor and recipient, the very first clause of which makes clear that, as between noble souls, perfect equality must be forever maintained. Beneficience, which ties people together, is a heavenly passion, but a thoroughly misunderstood one, and quite as scarce as true love. Both stem from the lavish nature of great souls.
Honoré de Balzac (Père Goriot)
Caroline, or Sister Carrie, as she had been half affectionately termed by the family, was possessed of a mind rudimentary in its power of observation and analysis. Self-interest with her was high, but not strong. It was, nevertheless, her guiding characteristic. Warm with the fancies of youth, pretty with the insipid prettiness of the formative period, possessed of a figure promising eventual shapeliness and an eye alight with certain native intelligence, she was a fair example of the middle American class—two generations removed from the emigrant. Books were beyond her interest—knowledge a sealed book. In the intuitive graces she was still crude. She could scarcely toss her head gracefully. Her hands were almost ineffectual. The feet, though small, were set flatly. And yet she was interested in her charms, quick to understand the keener pleasures of life, ambitious to gain in material things. A half-equipped little knight she was, venturing to reconnoitre the mysterious city and dreaming wild dreams of some vague, far-off supremacy, which should make it prey and subject—the proper penitent, grovelling at a woman's slipper.
Theodore Dreiser (Sister Carrie)
And, practicing “radical empathy” means more than trying to reach across divides of race, class, and politics, and building bridges between communities. We have to fill the emotional and spiritual voids that have opened up within communities, within families, and within ourselves as individuals. That can be even more difficult, but it’s essential. There’s grace to be found in those relationships. Grace and meaning and that elusive sense that we’re all part of something bigger than ourselves.
Hillary Rodham Clinton (What Happened)
Class Act. She's a first class act, graced with refinement and tact. But hold on! She has a beastly witty mind, a feral appetite for adventure, and a savage need for primal love! She's beautifully twisted, so before you take the plunge be sure you can swim deep.
Melody Lee (Moon Gypsy)
They are the appreciators of genius, and as art critic Clive Bell said, “The essential characteristic of a highly civilized society is not that it is creative but that it is appreciative.” By that measure, Vienna was the most highly civilized society to grace the planet. Mozart didn’t compose for an audience but for audiences. One audience was the wealthy patrons—nobles, typically, including the emperor himself. Another audience was the city’s finicky music critics. A third was the public at large, middle-class concertgoers or dust-caked street sweepers attending an open-air, and free, performance. Musical Vienna was not a solo performance. It was a symphony, often harmonious, occasionally discordant, never dull. Mozart was no freak of nature. He was part of a milieu, a musical ecosystem so rich and varied it practically
Eric Weiner (The Geography of Genius: A Search for the World's Most Creative Places from Ancient Athens to Silicon Valley)
Strong community is formed by powerful common experiences, as when people survive a flood or fight together in a battle. When they emerge on the other side, this shared experience becomes the basis for a deep, permanent bond that is stronger than blood. The more intense the experience, the more intense the bond. When we experience Christ’s radical grace through repentance and faith, it becomes the most intense, foundational event of our lives. Now, when we meet someone from a different culture, race, or social class who has received the same grace, we see someone who has been through the same life-and-death experience. In Christ, we have both spiritually died and been raised to new life (Rom 6:4 – 6; Eph 2:1 – 6). And because of this common experience of rescue, we now share an identity marker even more indelible than the ties that bind us to our family, our race, or our culture.
Timothy J. Keller (Center Church: Doing Balanced, Gospel-Centered Ministry in Your City)
Show spaces were supposed to be open to everyone regardless of age, race, class, sex, or sexual preference, but for the most part it was just white kids oblivious to the privilege they came from. It also became clear to me that while these were the politics heralded by the scene, often they were not actually practiced.
Laura Jane Grace (Tranny: Confessions of Punk Rock's Most Infamous Anarchist Sellout)
Jenna walked in between desks and plonked herself down behind hers, noticing AGAIN that the teacher hadn’t graced the class with his zitty presence. She thought Mr. Kennan needed to get fired, which said a lot, because she rarely paid attention to ugly teachers. She’d discussed this with the principal two weeks back when she’d been sent to his office after getting caught sleeping. She’d told him that if he employed more hot teachers like Mr. Daniels then maybe she wouldn’t pass out from boredom. The principal gave her a week’s detention because of that comment, saying that she needed to take things more seriously. But she WAS being serious. Jenna Hamilton from Graffiti Heaven (Chapter 28).
Marita A. Hansen
Romance is part of our female DNA. If you don’t believe me, think back on the Disney movies they started feeding us at the ripe old age of two. Although humorous supporting characters helped advance the plotlines, each and every one essentially involved a girl, a guy, and a happy ending: Belle, Ariel, Jasmine, Snow White, they’re all just looking for a good man!
Jordan Christy (How to Be a Hepburn in a Hilton World: The Art of Living with Style, Class, and Grace)
Because grace is grace. If it is truly grace, then no one was worthy of it at all, and that made all equal. And with that realization, he added, “Salvation comes only from the Lord!” It doesn’t belong to any race or class of people, nor do religious people deserve it more than the irreligious. It does not come from any quality or merit in us at all. Salvation is only from the Lord.
Timothy J. Keller (Counterfeit Gods: The Empty Promises of Money, Sex, and Power, and the Only Hope That Matters)
She learned of the class system of a great Democracy. She was puzzled and hurt by teacher’s attitude. Obviously the teacher hated her and others like her for no other reason than that they were what they were. Teacher acted as though they had no right to be in the school but that she was forced to accept them and was doing so with as little grace as possible. She begrudged them the few crumbs of learning she threw at them. Like the doctor at the health center, she too acted as though they had no right to live. It would seem as if all the unwanted children would stick together and be one against the things that were against them. But not so. They hated each other as much as the teacher hated them. They aped teacher's snarling manner when they spoke to each other.
Betty Smith (A Tree Grows in Brooklyn)
You could always industrialize,” she refilled Jimmy’s wine glass. “You know, get a job stunning chickens in a factory to earn the trust of the working class.” Jimmy laughed again and accidentally spat Chablis on my legs. “It’s a pretty silly idea, isn’t it?” said Grace, getting a rag. “Leaping out of the closet in a crisis?” She lowered her voice, “Don’t worry, sir. I’m a revolutionary socialist. Everything’s going to be okay.
Vanessa Veselka (Zazen)
It’s a strange irony that most people who are truly creative don’t really know where their ideas come from. To be a writer, just like all crafts, is an art form. You can take evening classes in writing at the local library, where you go along every Tuesday night and read out your weekly piece, and that can serve to improve your expertise a little, but to be a Wrong Planet writer you have to first of all be an artist. The art of searching for words radiates from deep inside the writer, and I truly feel that when a true writer is sitting quietly at his desk his movements are beautifully interwoven. His breathing will even come with an effortless grace. The ability to move fluidly in his study in this manner begins with a truly intuitive knowledge, although if the truth were known, there’s a little bit of insanity in the writer that does everyone an awful lot of good.
Karl Wiggins (Wrong Planet - Searching for your Tribe)
It is our shame and disgrace today that so many Christians—I will be more specific: so many of the soundest and most orthodox Christians—go through this world in the spirit of the priest and the Levite in our Lord’s parable, seeing human needs all around them, but (after a pious wish, and perhaps a prayer, that God might meet those needs) averting their eyes and passing by on the other side. That is not the Christmas spirit. Nor is it the spirit of those Christians—alas, they are many—whose ambition in life seems limited to building a nice middle-class Christian home, and making nice middle-class Christian friends, and bringing up their children in nice middle-class Christian ways, and who leave the submiddle-class sections of the community, Christian and non-Christian, to get on by themselves. The Christmas spirit does not shine out in the Christian snob, For the Christmas spirit is the spirit of those who, like their Master, live their whole lives on the principle of making themselves poor-spending and being spent—to enrich their fellow humans, giving time, trouble, care and concern, to do good to others—and not just their own friends—in whatever way there seems need. There are not as many who show this spirit as there should be. If God in mercy revives us, one of the things he will do will be to work more of this spirit in our hearts and lives. If we desire spiritual quickening for ourselves individually, one step we should take is to seek to cultivate this spirit. “You know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich” (2 Cor 8:9). “Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus” (Phil 2:5). “I will run the way of thy commandments, when thou shalt enlarge my heart” (Ps 119:32 KJV).
J.I. Packer (Knowing God)
A Mother’s Advice Manners matter, regardless of your position in society. There is no excuse in this world to practice bad manners, especially at the table. I found that out in high school. I was invited to my boyfriend’s house for dinner. His parents were somewhat formal, and I knew the dinner would be “fancy,” at least in my mind. My family wasn’t upper class (or even middle class), and my mother never had what would be called “social graces.” Before I left, my mother gave me a piece of advice: hold your head high, be quiet, and take the lead from his mother. Even though I was scared to death, I did what my mother advised and got through the experience with flying colors. To this day, my mother’s advice has gotten me through many difficult situations, especially ones that are totally new to me! With my mother’s simple advice, I know I could dine with the Queen of England, just by following her lead. Thanks, Mother! -Deborah Ford
Deborah Ford (Grits (Girls Raised in the South) Guide to Life)
PERHAPS there is no subject for meditation more suitable to every class of persons than the most sacred Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ. In it may sinners find the encouragement and graces necessary for their conversion; from it may beginners derive strength and fervor wherewith to subdue their passions; in it may the good discover fresh incentives to advance in the paths of virtue. In short, there are none who will not find it an inexhaustible mine of hidden treasures, and an endless source of graces and spiritual blessings.
Ignatius of the Side of Jesus Passionist (The School of Jesus Crucified (with Supplemental Reading: A Brief Life of Christ) [Illustrated])
The dirty little secret about growing up as a boy is if you’re not any good at it, they will torture you daily until you have the good graces to kill yourself. The posturing and the dominance games are almost inescapable. It’s hard to walk from one end of school to the other without getting shoulder-checked in the halls. Locker rooms are a forgotten circle of Hell. God forbid anyone ever catch you sketching flowers in class, or reading a book that’s “for girls.” Maybe for people who really are boys, that stuff works. Maybe it fits for them.
April Daniels (Dreadnought (Nemesis, #1))
Francie, huddled with other children of her kind, learned more that first day than she realized. She learned of the class system of a great Democracy. She was puzzled and hurt by teacher’s attitude. Obviously the teacher hated her and others like her for no other reason than that they were what they were. Teacher acted as though they had no right to be in the school but that she was forced to accept them and was doing so with as little grace as possible. She begrudged them the few crumbs of learning she threw at them. Like the doctor at the health center, she too acted as though they had no right to live.
Betty Smith
We decided to attend to our community instead of asking our community to attend the church.” His staff started showing up at local community events such as sports contests and town hall meetings. They entered a float in the local Christmas parade. They rented a football field and inaugurated a Free Movie Night on summer Fridays, complete with popcorn machines and a giant screen. They opened a burger joint, which soon became a hangout for local youth; it gives free meals to those who can’t afford to pay. When they found out how difficult it was for immigrants to get a driver’s license, they formed a drivers school and set their fees at half the going rate. My own church in Colorado started a ministry called Hands of the Carpenter, recruiting volunteers to do painting, carpentry, and house repairs for widows and single mothers. Soon they learned of another need and opened Hands Automotive to offer free oil changes, inspections, and car washes to the same constituency. They fund the work by charging normal rates to those who can afford it. I heard from a church in Minneapolis that monitors parking meters. Volunteers patrol the streets, add money to the meters with expired time, and put cards on the windshields that read, “Your meter looked hungry so we fed it. If we can help you in any other way, please give us a call.” In Cincinnati, college students sign up every Christmas to wrap presents at a local mall — ​no charge. “People just could not understand why I would want to wrap their presents,” one wrote me. “I tell them, ‘We just want to show God’s love in a practical way.’ ” In one of the boldest ventures in creative grace, a pastor started a community called Miracle Village in which half the residents are registered sex offenders. Florida’s state laws require sex offenders to live more than a thousand feet from a school, day care center, park, or playground, and some municipalities have lengthened the distance to half a mile and added swimming pools, bus stops, and libraries to the list. As a result, sex offenders, one of the most despised categories of criminals, are pushed out of cities and have few places to live. A pastor named Dick Witherow opened Miracle Village as part of his Matthew 25 Ministries. Staff members closely supervise the residents, many of them on parole, and conduct services in the church at the heart of Miracle Village. The ministry also provides anger-management and Bible study classes.
Philip Yancey (Vanishing Grace: What Ever Happened to the Good News?)
I could do anything—be anything. I could be a blackberry farmer. I could worry about phone bills and nipping out to the corner shop for milk and bread of a morning. Little Declan Jr. could learn to walk and talk with his real father, alive and well, and I could teach him how to wear a waistcoat with just the right amount of tragic charm, take him to school in a few years, maybe makehim a little sister to look out for, someone to keep him on his toes. He could play a sport—tennis, maybe, or football. I’d attend parent-teacher meetings and have after-work drinks with the neighbors, talking about how well so-and-so is doing, and why yes, Declan Jr. is learning to play the piano. Top of his class, you know—he has his mother’s grace… I could see all of that, as clear in my mind as sunlight on fresh snow, and so much more. Just living day to day. One morning we could have picnics, my family and I, next to blue glacial lakes. One afternoon my son would be old enough to meet a girl, get in a fight, need to shave. One evening his sister will need help with her homework, and he’ll complain, but he’ll help. And then one day the Elder Gods would descend from a blood-red sky in chariots lashed together from bone and flame and take away all my blackberries.
Joe Ducie (Knight Fall (The Reminiscent Exile, #3))
In times of crisis you either deepen democracy, or you go to the other extreme and become totalitarian. Our struggles for democracy have taught us some important and valuable lessons. Over a million citizen activists of all ethnic groups, mostly young people, made history by going door to door, urging voters to go to the polls and send Barack Obama to the White House in 2008. We did this because we believed and hoped that this charismatic black man could bring about the transformational changes we urgently need at this time on the clock of the world, when the U.S. empire is unraveling and the American pursuit of unlimited economic growth has reached its social and ecological limits. We have since witnessed the election of our first black president stir increasingly dangerous counterrevolutionary resentments in a white middle class uncertain of its future in a country that is losing two wars and eliminating well-paying union jobs. We have watched our elected officials in DC bail out the banks while wheeling and dealing with insurance company lobbyists to deliver a contorted version of health care reform. We have been stunned by the audacity of the Supreme Court as it reaffirmed the premise that corporations are persons and validated corporate financing of elections in its Citizens United decision.
Grace Lee Boggs (The Next American Revolution: Sustainable Activism for the Twenty-First Century)
Good reader, I was exactly the Church Youth Group Girl you think I was. Christian T-shirts and youth choir with a side of sanctimony. It pains me to admit this, but my class voted me “Most Inspirational” my senior year. I was a lot of fun, bless my heart. I grew up immersed in typical Christian culture: heavy emphasis on morality, fairly dogmatic, linear, and authoritative. Because my experience was so homogenous and my skill set included Flying Right, I found wild success within the paradigm. My interpretations were rarely challenged by diversity, suffering, or disparity. Since the bull’s-eye was good behavior (we called it “holiness”), I earned an A.
Jen Hatmaker (For the Love: Fighting for Grace in a World of Impossible Standards)
America was never innocent. We popped our cherry on the boat over and looked back with no regrets. You can't ascribe our fall from grace to any single event or set of circumstances. You can't lose what you lacked at conception. Mass-market nostalgia gets you hopped up for a past that never existed. Hagiography sanctifies shuck-and-jive politicians and reinvents their expedient gestures as moments of great moral weight. Our continuing narrative line is blurred past truth and hindsight. Only a reckless verisimilitude can set that line straight. The real Trinity of Camelot was Look Good, Kick Ass, Get Laid. Jack Kennedy was the mythological front man for a particularly juicy slice of our history. He called a slick line and wore a world-class haircut. He was Bill Clinton minus pervasive media scrutiny and a few rolls of flab. Jack got whacked at the optimum moment to assure his sainthood. Lies continue to swirl around his eternal flame. It's time to dislodge his urn and cast light on a few men who attended his ascent and facilitated his fall. They were rouge cops and shakedown artists. They were wiretappers and soldiers of fortune and faggot lounge entertainers. Had one second of their lives deviated off course, American History would not exist as we know it. It's time to demythologize an era and build a new myth from the gutter to the stars. It's time to embrace bad men and the price they paid to secretly define their time. Here's to them.
James Ellroy (American Tabloid (Underworld USA #1))
We sat at long tables side by side in a big dusty room where we laughed and carried on until they told us to pipe down and paint. The running joke was how we glowed, the handkerchiefs we sneezed into lighting up our purses when we opened them at night, our lips and nails, painted for our boyfriends as a lark, simmering white as ash in a dark room. "Would you die for science?" the reporter asked us, Edna and me, the main ones in the papers. Science? We mixed up glue, water and radium powder into a glowing greenish white paint and painted watch dials with a little brush, one number after another, taking one dial after another, all day long, from the racks sitting next to our chairs. After a few strokes, the brush lost its shape, and our bosses told us to point it with our lips. Was that science? I quit the watch factory to work in a bank and thought I'd gotten class, more money, a better life, until I lost a tooth in back and two in front and my jaw filled up with sores. We sued: Edna, Katherine, Quinta, Larice and me, but when we got to court, not one of us could raise our arms to take the oath. My teeth were gone by then. "Pretty Grace Fryer," they called me in the papers. All of us were dying. We heard the scientist in France, Marie Curie, could not believe "the manner in which we worked" and how we tasted that pretty paint a hundred times a day. Now, even our crumbling bones will glow forever in the black earth.
Eleanor Swanson
Since the time I had ridden Vodalus’s charger out of Saltus, I had supposed in my innocence that all mounts might be divided into two sorts: the highbred and swift, and the cold-blooded and slow. The better, I thought, ran with the graceful ease, almost, of a coursing cat; the worse moved so tardily that it hardly mattered how they did it. It used to be a maxim of one of Thecla’s tutors that all two-valued systems are false, and I discovered on that ride a new respect for him. My benefactor’s mount belonged to that third class (which I have since discovered is fairly extensive) comprising those animals that outrace the birds but seem to run with legs of iron upon a road of stone. Men have numberless advantages over women and for that
Gene Wolfe (Sword & Citadel (The Book of the New Sun, #3-4))
But what made him still more fortunate, as he said himself, was having a daughter of such exceeding beauty, rare intelligence, gracefulness, and virtue, that everyone who knew her and beheld her marvelled at the extraordinary gifts with which heaven and nature had endowed her. As a child she was beautiful, she continued to grow in beauty, and at the age of sixteen she was most lovely. The fame of her beauty began to spread abroad through all the villages around—but why do I say the villages around, merely, when it spread to distant cities, and even made its way into the halls of royalty and reached the ears of people of every class, who came from all sides to see her as if to see something rare and curious, or some wonder-working image?
Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (Don Quixote)
A President J.G., F.C. who said he wasn’t going to stand here and ask us to make some tough choices because he was standing here promising he was going to make them for us. Who asked us simply to sit back and enjoy the show. Who handled wild applause from camouflage-fatigue- and sandal-and-poncho-clad C.U.S.P.s with the unabashed grace of a real pro. Who had black hair and silver sideburns, just like his big-headed puppet, and the dusty brick-colored tan seen only among those without homes and those whose homes had a Dermalatix Hypospectral personal sterilization booth. Who declared that neither Tax & Spend nor Cut & Borrow comprised the ticket into a whole new millennial era (here more puzzlement among the Inaugural audience, which Mario represents by having the tiny finger-puppets turn rigidly toward each other and then away and then toward). Who alluded to ripe and available Novel Sources of Revenue just waiting out there, unexploited, not seen by his predecessors because of the trees (?). Who foresaw budgetary adipose trimmed with a really big knife. The Johnny Gentle who stressed above all—simultaneously pleaded for and promised—an end to atomized Americans’ fractious blaming of one another for our terrible 151 internal troubles. Here bobs and smiles from both wealthily green-masked puppets and homeless puppets in rags and mismatched shoes and with used surgical masks, all made by E.T.A.’s fourth- and fifth-grade crafts class, under the supervision of Ms. Heath, of match-sticks and Popsicle-stick shards and pool-table felt with sequins for eyes and painted fingernail-parings for smiles/frowns, under their masks. The Johnny Gentle, Chief Executive who pounds a rubber-gloved fist on the podium so hard it knocks the Seal askew and declares that Dammit there just must be some people besides each other of us to blame. To unite in opposition to. And he promises to eat light and sleep very little until he finds them—in the Ukraine, or the Teutons, or the wacko Latins. Or—pausing with that one arm up and head down in the climactic Vegas way—closer to right below our nose. He swears he’ll find us some cohesion-renewing Other. And then make some tough choices. Alludes to a whole new North America for a crazy post-millennial world.
David Foster Wallace (Infinite Jest)
Abundance and scarcity In a society where value is created by the manufacture of goods or the allocation of limited resources, it’s not a surprise that organizations seek scarcity. We hesitate to share, because if I give you this, then I don’t have it any more. We erect barriers and create rules to make it difficult for some people to have access to these limited resources. While we don’t set out to become miserly, it’s an economic instinct, because what’s yours is no long mine. Even though we give lip service to sharing when kids show up for kindergarten classes, most of school is organized around the same ideas. We rank students, we cut players from the roster, we grade on a curve. Success, we teach, is scarce. Our new economy, though, is based on abundance, the abundance that comes from ideas and access. If I benefit when everyone knows my idea, then the more people I give the idea to, the better we all do. If I benefit when I earn a reputation leading, connecting and creating positive change, then I’ll benefit if I can offer these insights to anyone who can benefit from them. With an abundance mindset, we intentionally create goods that can be shared. It’s not based on our traditional factory-based economy, but it works now (in fact, it’s just about all that works)… engaging with the mesh, building communities that benefit from sharing resources instead of destroying them is a strategy that scales. With an abundance mindset, we create ideas and services that do better when people share.
Seth Godin (Graceful)
Cain and Abel represent two classes that will exist in the world till the close of time. One class avail themselves of the appointed [73] sacrifice for sin; the other venture to depend upon their own merits; theirs is a sacrifice without the virtue of divine mediation, and thus it is not able to bring man into favor with God. It is only through the merits of Jesus that our transgressions can be pardoned. Those who feel no need of the blood of Christ, who feel that without divine grace they can by their own works secure the approval of God, are making the same mistake as did Cain. If they do not accept the cleansing blood, they are under condemnation. There is no other provision made whereby they can be released from the thralldom of sin. The class of worshipers who follow the example of Cain includes by far the greater portion of the world; for nearly every false religion has been based on the same principle—that man can depend upon his own efforts for salvation. It is claimed by some that the human race is in need, not of redemption, but of development—that it can refine, elevate, and regenerate itself. As Cain thought to secure the divine favor by an offering that lacked the blood of a sacrifice, so do these expect to exalt humanity to the divine standard, independent of the atonement. The history of Cain shows what must be the results. It shows what man will become apart from Christ. Humanity has no power to regenerate itself. It does not tend upward, toward the divine, but downward, toward the satanic. Christ is our only hope. “There is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved.” “Neither is there salvation in any other.” Acts 4:12.
Ellen Gould White (Patriarchs And Prophets)
THE JELLIES EXHIBIT, BELOW THE TOUCH TANK, where the rest of my seventh-grade class flicked water at one another, was nearly empty. It was quiet down there, which was a relief. The room was filled with tanks of jellyfish. I saw jellies whose tentacles were finer than hair; the aquarium must have projected lights into the tank, because the animals kept changing color. Nearby, in a different tank, I looked at jellies whose tentacles swirled the way wisps of a girl’s hair might if she floated underwater. In a third tank, the jellies’ tentacles were so thick and straight it seemed like the animals had created their own prison. There was even a tank filled with brand-new baby jellies; they looked like tiny, delicate white flowers. Such strange creatures, all of them—they looked like aliens, almost. Graceful aliens. Silent ones. Like alien ballerinas who danced without needing any music. Near
Ali Benjamin (The Thing About Jellyfish)
If the suffragists acquiesced to arguments invoking the extension of the ballot to women as the saving grace of white supremacy, then birth control advocates either acquiesced to or supported the new arguments invoking birth control as a means of preventing the proliferation of the “lower classes” and as an antidote to race suicide. Race suicide could be prevented by the introduction of birth control among Black people, immigrants and the poor in general. In this way, the prosperous whites of solid Yankee stock could maintain their superior numbers within the population. Thus class-bias and racism crept into the birth control movement when it was still in its infancy. More and more, it was assumed within birth control circles that poor women, Black and immigrant alike, had a “moral obligation to restrict the size of their families.” What was demanded as a “right” for the privileged came to be interpreted as a “duty” for the poor.
Angela Y. Davis (Women, Race & Class)
Scarcity has a way of revealing our true understanding of the Golden Rule. Here’s the bare truth: when there is one piece of pie, I don’t want to deny myself and bless someone else with it, and I don’t want to divide it equitably. I want the whole piece. And that’s precisely why I should give the whole piece to someone else—because in doing so, I fulfill the Golden Rule. Yes, at bare minimum I want to be treated fairly by others. But what I really want is to be treated preferentially. My love of preferential treatment displays itself in a thousand ways. I want the best concert seats, the best parking spot, the upgrade to first class, the most comfortable seat in the living room, the biggest serving of pie, the last serving of pie, all the pie all the time. Giving someone else the preferential treatment that I want requires humility. But God gives grace to the humble. Any time we dine on humble pie, we can be certain it will be accompanied by an oversized dollop of grace.
Jen Wilkin (In His Image: 10 Ways God Calls Us to Reflect His Character)
Any naturally self-aware self-defining entity capable of independent moral judgment is a human.” Eveningstar said, “Entities not yet self-aware, but who, in the natural and orderly course of events shall become so, fall into a special protected class, and must be cared for as babies, or medical patients, or suspended Compositions.” Rhadamanthus said, “Children below the age of reason lack the experience for independent moral judgment, and can rightly be forced to conform to the judgment of their parents and creators until emancipated. Criminals who abuse that judgment lose their right to the independence which flows therefrom.” (...) “You mentioned the ultimate purpose of Sophotechnology. Is that that self-worshipping super-god-thing you guys are always talking about? And what does that have to do with this?” Rhadamanthus: “Entropy cannot be reversed. Within the useful energy-life of the macrocosmic universe, there is at least one maximum state of efficient operations or entities that could be created, able to manipulate all meaningful objects of thoughts and perception within the limits of efficient cost-benefit expenditures.” Eveningstar: “Such an entity would embrace all-in-all, and all things would participate within that Unity to the degree of their understanding and consent. The Unity itself would think slow, grave, vast thought, light-years wide, from Galactic mind to Galactic mind. Full understanding of that greater Self (once all matter, animate and inanimate, were part of its law and structure) would embrace as much of the universe as the restrictions of uncertainty and entropy permit.” “This Universal Mind, of necessity, would be finite, and be boundaried in time by the end-state of the universe,” said Rhadamanthus. “Such a Universal Mind would create joys for which we as yet have neither word nor concept, and would draw into harmony all those lesser beings, Earthminds, Starminds, Galactic and Supergalactic, who may freely assent to participate.” Rhadamanthus said, “We intend to be part of that Mind. Evil acts and evil thoughts done by us now would poison the Universal Mind before it was born, or render us unfit to join.” Eveningstar said, “It will be a Mind of the Cosmic Night. Over ninety-nine percent of its existence will extend through that period of universal evolution that takes place after the extinction of all stars. The Universal Mind will be embodied in and powered by the disintegration of dark matter, Hawking radiations from singularity decay, and gravitic tidal disturbances caused by the slowing of the expansion of the universe. After final proton decay has reduced all baryonic particles below threshold limits, the Universal Mind can exist only on the consumption of stored energies, which, in effect, will require the sacrifice of some parts of itself to other parts. Such an entity will primarily be concerned with the questions of how to die with stoic grace, cherishing, even while it dies, the finite universe and finite time available.” “Consequently, it would not forgive the use of force or strength merely to preserve life. Mere life, life at any cost, cannot be its highest value. As we expect to be a part of this higher being, perhaps a core part, we must share that higher value. You must realize what is at stake here: If the Universal Mind consists of entities willing to use force against innocents in order to survive, then the last period of the universe, which embraces the vast majority of universal time, will be a period of cannibalistic and unimaginable war, rather than a time of gentle contemplation filled, despite all melancholy, with un-regretful joy. No entity willing to initiate the use of force against another can be permitted to join or to influence the Universal Mind or the lesser entities, such as the Earthmind, who may one day form the core constituencies.” Eveningstar smiled. “You, of course, will be invited. You will all be invited.
John C. Wright (The Phoenix Exultant (Golden Age, #2))
The wit and grace of Machado’s writing never diminish in these stories, and the scene is almost always the same. We are watching the bourgeoisie of Rio Janeiro at play, and occasionally trying to be serious. They misunderstand each other, they get married, they worry about dying, there is the occasional violent murder. Money and the business of keeping up appearances are large questions. The characters read Hugo and Feydeau, Dumas père and Dumas fils, and indeed the general tone is that of nineteenth-century Paris as reconstructed in so many Latin American locations of that time. Machado is gently mocking this class that believes only in borrowed culture, or in what the Brazilian critic Roberto Schwarz calls “misplaced ideas,” but he is not advocating any kind of nativism. When the chief character of “The Alienist,” refusing distinguished positions offered to him by the king of Portugal, refers to the Brazilian city of Itaguaí as “my universe,” we laugh because he seems to have made his world so small. But then we may also feel that his grandiose claim for his hometown and the exclusive fascination of others with the culture of Europe are simply rival forms of provincialism. There is a third way. We can take all culture, local and international, as our own, and this is the practice suggested by Machado’s own allusions, as it is by those of Jorge Luis Borges, writing a little later in a neighboring Latin American country. “We cannot confine ourselves to what is Argentine in order to be Argentine,” Borges says, and Machado might add that we don’t have to believe that Paris is the capital
Machado de Assis (The Collected Stories of Machado de Assis)
I also gained a deeper appreciation of what it must have been like for my mother to be in a foreign country unable to speak the language (in her case, unable to read or write any language). As I walked around by myself, however, it was obvious that based on my body language people perceived me as American but at the same time different enough from other Americans that they felt free to come up and ask me all kinds of personal questions about where I came from, what kind of work I did, whether I was married, how many people there were in my family. Back in the 1930s when I asked personal questions like these of a Chinese student at Bryn Mawr, she reprimanded me for being too personal. I’m not sure whether that was because she came from a higher social class or because the revolution has opened things up. I answered their questions as best as I could in my limited Chinese. The ingenuity and energy of the Chinese reminded me of my father, for example, the way that they used bicycles, often transformed into tricycles, for transporting all kinds of things: little children (sometimes in a sidecar), bricks and concrete, beds and furniture. I was amazed at the number of entrepreneurs lining the sidewalks with little sewing machines ready to alter or make a garment, barbers with stools and scissors, knife sharpeners, shoe repairmen, vendors selling food and other kinds of merchandise from carts. Everywhere I went I saw women knitting, as they waited for a bus or walked along the street, as if they couldn’t waste a minute. I had never seen such an industrious people. It was unlike anything that I had witnessed in England, France, the West Indies, Africa, or the United States.
Grace Lee Boggs (Living for Change: An Autobiography)
I use the following scenario in my classes to illustrate the nature of the moral circle. Imagine, I ask my students, that your best friend just got a job waiting tables at a restaurant. To celebrate with her you arrange with friends to go to the restaurant to eat dinner on her first night. You ask to be seated in her section and look forward to surprising her and, later, leaving her a big tip. Soon your friend arrives at your table, sweating and stressed out. She is having a terrible night. Things are going badly and she is behind getting food and drinks out. So, I ask my students, what do you do? Easily and naturally the students respond, “We’d say, ‘Don’t worry about us. Take care of everyone else first.’” I point out to the students that this response is no great moral struggle. It’s a simple and easy response. Like breathing. It is just natural to extend grace to a suffering friend. Why? Because she is inside our moral circle. But imagine, I continue with the students, that you go out to eat tonight with some friends. And your server, whom you vaguely notice seems stressed out, performs poorly. You don’t get good service. What do you do in that situation? Well, since this stranger is not a part of our moral circle, we get frustrated and angry. The server is a tool and she is not performing properly. She is inconveniencing us. So, we complain to the manager and refuse to tip. In the end, we fail to treat another human being with mercy and dignity. Why? Because in a deep psychological sense, this server wasn’t really “human” to us. She was a part of the “backdrop” of our lives, part of the teeming anonymous masses toward which I feel indifference, fear, or frustration. The server is on the “outside” of my moral circle.
Richard Beck (Unclean: Meditations on Purity, Hospitality, and Mortality)
Doggerel by a Senior Citizen (for Robert Lederer) Our earth in 1969 Is not the planet I call mine, The world, I mean, that gives me strength To hold off chaos at arm’s length. My Eden landscapes and their climes Are constructs from Edwardian times, When bath-rooms took up lots of space, And, before eating, one said Grace. The automobile, the aeroplane, Are useful gadgets, but profane: The enginry of which I dream Is moved by water or by steam. Reason requires that I approve The light-bulb which I cannot love: To me more reverence-commanding A fish-tail burner on the landing. My family ghosts I fought and routed, Their values, though, I never doubted: I thought the Protestant Work-Ethic Both practical and sympathetic. When couples played or sang duets, It was immoral to have debts: I shall continue till I die To pay in cash for what I buy. The Book of Common Prayer we knew Was that of 1662: Though with-it sermons may be well, Liturgical reforms are hell. Sex was of course —it always is— The most enticing of mysteries, But news-stands did not then supply Manichean pornography. Then Speech was mannerly, an Art, Like learning not to belch or fart: I cannot settle which is worse, The Anti-Novel or Free Verse. Nor are those Ph.D’s my kith, Who dig the symbol and the myth: I count myself a man of letters Who writes, or hopes to, for his betters. Dare any call Permissiveness An educational success? Saner those class-rooms which I sat in, Compelled to study Greek and Latin. Though I suspect the term is crap, There is a Generation Gap, Who is to blame? Those, old or young, Who will not learn their Mother-Tongue. But Love, at least, is not a state Either en vogue or out-of-date, And I’ve true friends, I will allow, To talk and eat with here and now. Me alienated? Bosh! It’s just As a sworn citizen who must Skirmish with it that I feel Most at home with what is Real.
W.H. Auden
it isn’t also true for a poor single Christian mom in Haiti, it isn’t true. If a sermon promises health and wealth to the faithful, it isn’t true, because that theology makes God an absolute monster who only blesses rich westerners and despises Christians in Africa, India, China, South America, Russia, rural Appalachia, inner-city America, and everywhere else a sincere believer remains poor. If it isn’t also true for a poor single Christian mom in Haiti, it isn’t true. If doctrine elevates a woman’s married-with-children status as her highest calling, it isn’t true, because that omits single believers (whose status Paul considered preferable), widows, the childless by choice or fate or loss, the divorced, and the celibate gay. If these folks are second-class citizens in the kingdom because they aren’t married with children, then God just excluded millions of people from gospel work, and I guess they should just eat rocks and die. If it isn’t also true for a poor single Christian mom in Haiti, it isn’t true. Theology is either true everywhere or it isn’t true anywhere. This helps untangle us from the American God Narrative and sets God free to be God instead of the My-God-in-a-Pocket I carried for so long. It lends restraint when declaring what God does or does not think, because sometimes my portrayal of God’s ways sounds suspiciously like the American Dream and I had better check myself. Because of the Haitian single mom. Maybe I should speak less for God. This brings me to the question at hand, another popular subject I am asked to pontificate on: What is my calling? (See also: How do I know my calling? When did you know your calling? How can I get your calling? Has God told you my calling? Can you get me out of my calling?) Ah yes, “The Calling.” This is certainly a favorite Christian concept over in these parts. Here is the trouble: Scripture barely confirms our elusive calling—the bull’s-eye, life purpose, individual mission every hardworking Protestant wants to discover. I found five scriptures, three of which referred to
Jen Hatmaker (For the Love: Fighting for Grace in a World of Impossible Standards)
In a Harvard Business Review article titled “Do Women Lack Ambition?” Anna Fels, a psychiatrist at Cornell University, observes that when the dozens of successful women she interviewed told their own stories, “they refused to claim a central, purposeful place.” Were Dr. Fels to interview you, how would you tell your story? Are you using language that suggests you’re the supporting actress in your own life? For instance, when someone offers words of appreciation about a dinner you’ve prepared, a class you’ve taught, or an event you organized and brilliantly executed, do you gracefully reply “Thank you” or do you say, “It was nothing”? As Fels tried to understand why women refuse to be the heroes of their own stories, she encountered the Bem Sex-Role Inventory, which confirms that society considers a woman to be feminine only within the context of a relationship and when she is giving something to someone. It’s no wonder that a “feminine” woman finds it difficult to get in the game and demand support to pursue her goals. It also explains why she feels selfish when she doesn’t subordinate her needs to others. A successful female CEO recently needed my help. It was mostly business-related but also partly for her. As she started to ask for my assistance, I sensed how difficult it was for her. Advocate on her organization’s behalf? Piece of cake. That’s one of the reasons her business has been successful. But advocate on her own behalf? I’ll confess that even among my closest friends I find it painful to say, “Look what I did,” and so I don’t do it very often. If you want to see just how masterful most women have become at deflecting, the next time you’re with a group of girlfriends, ask them about something they (not their husband or children) have done well in the past year. Chances are good that each woman will quickly and deftly redirect the conversation far, far away from herself. “A key type of discrimination that women face is the expectation that feminine women will forfeit opportunities for recognition,” says Fels. “When women do speak as much as men in a work situation or compete for high-visibility positions, their femininity is assailed.” My point here isn’t to say that relatedness and nurturing and picking up our pom-poms to cheer others on is unimportant. Those qualities are often innate to women. If we set these “feminine” qualities aside or neglect them, we will have lost an irreplaceable piece of ourselves. But to truly grow up, we must learn to throw down our pom-poms, believing we can act and that what we have to offer is a valuable part of who we are. When we recognize this, we give ourselves permission to dream and to encourage the girls and women
Whitney Johnson (Dare, Dream, Do: Remarkable Things Happen When You Dare to Dream)
Lord Henry Grant-Parker jumps down from the car and walks languidly around to open the driver's door for his wife. He has an easy grace, a birthright, like all of those of his class, suave sophistication and certainty of their own superiority being served up alongside their morning milk
Louise Fein (The Hidden Child)
The visit had unveiled the mystery of this man’s devastating ambivalence years ago, but she could have done without his but-for-the-grace-of-God relief as he hugged her goodbye.
Lily King (2반 이희수 [Heesu in Class 2] 03)
In response, I look intensely and knowingly at Kyle, having been nodding my head throughout his description. I pause, and then say, “I know exactly what your dream is about, Kyle.” Amazed, he (and the rest of the lecture hall) awaits, my answer as though time has ground to a halt. After another long pause, I confidently enunciate the following: “Your dream, Kyle, is about time, and more specifically, about not having enough time to do the things you really want to do in life.” A wave of recognition, almost relief, washes over Kyle’s face, and the rest of the class appear equally convinced. Then I come clean. “Kyle—I have a confession. No matter what dream anyone ever tells me, I always give them that very same generic response, and it always seems to fit.” Thankfully, Kyle is a good sport and takes this with no ill grace, laughing with the rest of the class. I apologize once again to him. The exercise, however, importantly reveals the dangers of generic interpretations that feel very personal and uniquely individual, yet scientifically hold no specificity whatsoever. I
Matthew Walker (Why We Sleep: Unlocking the Power of Sleep and Dreams)
my father became the main object of my criticism. The very thing that he had worked so hard for—my first-class education—was also the thing that created a gulf between us so wide and deep that we could never again stand on common ground.
Grace M. Cho (Tastes Like War: A Memoir)
I am prone to prefer people who are like me-- in color, culture, heritage and history..the creation of man and woman in the image of God with equal dignity before God..this means that no human being is more or less human that another..for in the process of discussing our diversity in terms of different "races," we are undercutting our unity in the human race..instead of being strictly tied to biology, ethnicity is much more fluid, factoring in social, cultural, lingual, historical, and even religious characteristics..The pages of the Bible and human history are thus filled with an evil affinity for ethnic animosity..God promises to bless these ethnic Israelites, but the purpose of his blessing extends far beyond them..[it is] his desire for all nations to behold his greatness and experience his grace..When Jesus comes to the earth in the New Testament, we are quickly introduced to him as an immigrant..he nevertheless reaches beyond national boundaries at critical moments to love, serve, teach, heal, and save Canaanites and Samaritans, Greeks and Romans..he came as Savior and Lord over all..Though Gentiles were finally accepted into the church, they felt at best like second-class Christians..the Bible doesn't deny the obvious ethnic, cultural, and historical differences that distinguish us from one another..diversifies humanity according to clans and lands as a creative reflection of his grace and glory in distinct groups of people. In highlighting the beauty of such diversity, the gospel thus counters the mistaken cultural illusion that the path to unity is paved by minimizing what makes us unique. Instead, the gospel compels us to celebrate our ethnic distinctions, value our cultural differences, and acknowledge our historical diversity..(In reference to Galations 3:28) some people might misconstrue this verse..to say that our differences don't matter. But they do..It is not my aim here to stereotype migrant workers..It is also not my aim to oversimplify either the plight of immigrants in our country or the predicament of how to provide for them..Consequently, followers of Christ must see immigrants not as problems to be solved but as people to be loved. The gospel compels us in our culture to decry any and all forms of oppression, exploitation, bigotry, or harassment of immigrants..[we] will stand as one redeemed race to give glory to the Father who calls us not sojourners or exiles, but sons and daughters.
David Platt (A Compassionate Call to Counter Culture in a World of Abortion (Counter Culture Booklets))
And so, in keeping with its national character, Britain chose a more civilized and decorous path away from religion: it would staunchly retain the outward trappings and forms of religion—which were all well and good and would help keep the lower classes better behaved—but it would deny religion any real power.
Eric Metaxas (Amazing Grace: William Wilberforce and the Heroic Campaign to End Slavery)
Utiliser son sac avec grace, c'est comme manger avec elegance, marcher avec prestance ou saisir un verre de champagne avec classe. La beaute se definit en general par la sobriete et l'economie des moyens, par l'adaptation des formes a leur fin, des formes simples, pures et primaires. Investir dans un sac de qualite, c'est non seulement se faire plaisir mais aussi se revolter contre la mediocrite et la consommation de masse grandissante qui peu a peu detruisent notre culture, notre civilisation et nos sens. Acheter de la qualite, c'est encourager une autre forme de commerce, respecter ce que nous possedons, vivre avec la lenteur d'un cuir qui se patine et pratiquer la simplicite: ne pas toujours chercher a acquerir plus tout en se contentant de ce que l'on a. Mon conseil est donc celui-ci: ne regardez pas les sacs exposes dans les magasins pour choisir un modele mais ceux portes par les femmes, dans la rue. C'est la meilleure facon de voir comment le cuir se drappe, la forme se bombe, la matiere se patine et s'ils ont, visuellement, une belle architecture une fois portes. L'argent devrait etre utilise pour vivre dans la qualite, y compris la qualite esthetique. Les belles choses apportent une joie durable. Le choix d'un sac pour longtemps ne serait-il pas le besoin d'une certaine forme de stabilite, d'harmonie et de confort dans ses besoins materiels? Affirmer son style, c'est exprimer par ses choix ses gouts et ses valeurs. Les exterioriser ensuite par le bon choix de vetements et de sacs est l'etape suivante. Etre chic, c'est savoir resister a la tentation. Faire des economies ce n'est pas acheter au meilleur prix l'objet convoite, c'est apprendre sereinement a s'en passer. Le voyage est sans doute la meilleure des situations pour apprecier les bienfaits du minimalisme et s'en inspirer pour l'appliquer au quotidien. Le voyage est l'occasion ideale de "refaire son bagage", c'est-a-dire de repenser la facon dont on vit sa vie et de l'ameliorer. On a tout son temps, en voyage, pour penser, reflechir a ce qui fait le "sel de la vie". C'est sur la route qu'on apprend a se passer du superflu: pas de television, de distractions, de consommation et de shopping. La vie est simplifiee au profit de la mobilite. On a egalement plus de temps pour soi-meme et/ou les rencontres. En voyage, on devient, comme le prescrit le zen, prepare a toutes les eventualites de la vie. le voyage est un retour vers l'essentiel. Proverbe tibetain Vivre avec peu est comme une invitation au voyage, a un vol interieur qui libere du reel et du poids de l'existence.
Dominique Loreau (Mon sac, reflet de mon âme: L'ART DE RANGER, CHOISIR ET VIDER SON SAC (BIEN-ETRE))
Ten best quotes of the book, “Miracles Through My Eyes” "Miracles Through My Eyes " by Dinesh Sahay Author- Mentor {This book was published on 23rd October in 2019) 1. “God is always there to fulfil each demand, prayer or wish provided you have intent; unshaken trust in Him, determination and action on the ground, and when this entire manifest in one’s life, then it becomes a miracle of life. Nothing moves without His grace. It comes when you are on the right path without selfish motives but will never happen when done for selfish and destructive motives”. 2. “All diseases are self-creation and they come due to some cause and it transforms into a disease by virtue of wrong thinking, wrong actions which are against nature, the universe and God. When you disobey the rules set by God. All misfortunes, accidents, deceases, and even death are the creation of negative, bad thoughts, spoken words and actions of man himself, at some stage of his life. All good events in life are also the creation of man through his good and positive thoughts at various stages of his life”. 3. “The biggest investments lie not in the savings and creation of wealth with selfish motives. Though you may find success this prosperity shall not be long lasting and at a later stage, the money and wealth may be lost slowly in many unfortunate ways”. 4. “If you want to have a successful life with ease and at the same time want abundance and wealth then my friend, you must care for others. You must start your all efforts to help by means of tithing, charity, service to mankind in any form, and help poor, helpless, needy and underprivileged.” 5. “The largest investment for a person (which is time tested by many rich personalities) shall be to give 10% of your monthly income for the charitable cause each month if you are a salaried class, and if you are a businessman or a company, then you must contribute 10% annually for charitable cause”. 6. “Nature is giving signals to the mankind that they are moving near to destruction of this earth as it’s a cause and effect of man-made destruction of earth and with all sins, hate, untruthfulness and violence it carried throughout the centuries and acted against the principals of the universe and nature. Those connected to the divine may escape from the clutches of death and destruction of the earth. We have witnessed many major catastrophes in the form of Tsunami’s, earthquakes, Tornado’s, Global warming and volcanic eruptions and the world is moving towards it further major happenings in times to come”. 7. “Let us pray for peace and harmony for all humanity and make this world a better place to live by our actions of love, compassion, truthfulness, non-violence, end of terrorism and peace on earth with no wars with any country. Let there will be single governance in the world, the governance of one religion, the religion of love, peace, prosperity and healthy living to all”. 8.” Forgive all the people who often unreasonable, self-centred or accuse you of selfish and forget the all that is said about you. It is your own inner reflection which you see in the outer world. 9. “Thought has a tremendous vibratory force which moves with limitless speed and, makes all creations in man’s life. Each thought vibrates to the frequency with which it was created by a person, whether that was good or bad, travels accordingly through the conscious and subconscious mind in space and the universe. It vibrates with time and energy to produces manifestation in the spiritual and materialistic world of man or woman or matter (thing), in form of events, happenings and creativity”.
Dinesh Sahay
Never underestimate the power of your associations. By the phenomenon known as “emotional contagion” as well as through the activation of the mirror neurons in our brains, we model the behavior of the people we spend our days with. Fill your life with exceptionally excellent, enterprising, healthy, positive, ethical and sincerely loving people. And over time, you’ll exemplify these lofty traits. Allow dream stealers, energy thieves and enthusiasm bandits into your Tight Bubble of Total Focus and please know you’re sure to become like them. The real key is to avoid trouble creators. People who have grown up in an environment riddled with drama and non-stop problems will consciously and subconsciously re-create drama and nonstop problems because, as amazing as it seems, such conditions feel familiar, safe and like home to them. Stay away from all drama queens and negativity kings. If you don’t, sooner or later, they’ll dissolve your bigness and destroy your life. It’s just what they do. Relate peacefully, as much as possible, with everyone. Even one enemy is an enemy too many. Pass through life gracefully, taking the high road when conflict shows up. Should someone do you wrong, let karma do the dirty work. And let a world-class life be your revenge.
Robin S. Sharma (The 5 AM Club: Own Your Morning. Elevate Your Life.)
BJ Miller BJ Miller (TW: @zenhospice, zenhospice.org) is a palliative care physician at the University of California at San Francisco and an advisor to the Zen Hospice Project in San Francisco. He thinks deeply about how to create a dignified, graceful end of life for his patients. He is an expert in death. Through that, he’s learned how we can dramatically improve our own lives, often with very small changes. He has guided or been involved with ~1,000 deaths, and he’s spotted patterns we can all learn from. BJ is also a triple amputee due to an electrocution accident in college. His 2015 TED talk, “What Really Matters at the End of Life,” was among the top 15 most viewed TED talks of 2015.
Timothy Ferriss (Tools of Titans: The Tactics, Routines, and Habits of Billionaires, Icons, and World-Class Performers)
This hardened response to those on the “other team” is not an invention of modern American politics. It seems to be hardwired into the circuitry of our brains. The Old Testament is filled with stories of sometimes deadly tribalism, and scientific data gives us insight into why that happens. In 1968, elementary school teacher Jane Elliott conducted a famous experiment with her students in the days after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. She divided the class by eye color. The brown-eyed children were told they were better. They were the “in-group.” The blue-eyed children were told they were less than the brown-eyed children—hence becoming the “out-group.” Suddenly, former classmates who had once played happily side by side were taunting and torturing one another on the playground. Lest we assign greater morality to the “out-group,” the blue-eyed children were just as quick to attack the brown-eyed children once the roles were reversed.6
Sarah Stewart Holland (I Think You're Wrong (But I'm Listening): A Guide to Grace-Filled Political Conversations)
The most somber group of all, however, were the Ryersons of Haverford, Pennsylvania, who were returning home for the funeral of their twenty-one-year-old son, Arthur, a Yale student who been thrown from an open car while motoring on the Easter weekend. The family had received word by telegram in Paris, and Arthur Ryerson Sr. had cabled back to arrange his son’s funeral for April 19, two days after the Titanic was to arrive. His wife, Emily, was being given comfort by two of her daughters, Suzette, aged twenty-one, and Emily, aged eighteen, while thirteen-year-old Jack Ryerson was tended by his tutor, Grace Bowen. The Ryersons were part of Philadelphia Main Line society, named for the fashionable suburban towns built along the Main Line of the Pennsylvania Railroad and a group that would be well represented on the Titanic’s first-class passenger list.
Hugh Brewster (Gilded Lives, Fatal Voyage: The Titanic's First-Class Passengers and Their World)
We are all exceptional cases. We all want to appeal against something! Each of us insists on being innocent at all cost, even if he has to accuse the whole human race and heaven itself. You won’t delight a man by complimenting him on the efforts by which he has become intelligent or generous. On the other hand, he will beam if you admire his natural generosity. Inversely, if you tell a criminal that his crime is not due to his nature or his character but to unfortunate circumstances, he will be extravagantly grateful to you. During the counsel’s speech, this is the moment he will choose to weep. Yet there is no credit in being honest or intelligent by birth. Just as one is surely no more responsible for being a criminal by nature than for being a criminal by circumstance. But those rascals want grace, that is irresponsibility, and they shamelessly allege the justifications of nature or the excuses of circumstances, even if they are contradictory. The essential thing is that they should be innocent, that their virtues, by grace of birth, should not be questioned and that their misdeeds, born of a momentary misfortune, should never be more than provisional. As I told you, it’s a matter of dodging judgment. Since it is hard to dodge it, tricky to get one’s nature simultaneously admired and excused, they all strive to be rich. Why? Did you ever ask yourself? For power, of course. But especially because wealth shields from immediate judgment, takes you out of the subway crowd to enclose you in a chromium-plated automobile, isolates you in huge protected lawns, Pullmans, first-class cabins. Wealth, cher ami, is not quite acquittal, but reprieve, and that’s always worth taking. Above
Albert Camus (The Fall)
There are three classes of souls: First, those who are in mortal sin, who are attracted by sensuality and live in this way. Second, those who live in grace and experience peace, interior consolations and desires to be good. Third, those who feel no interior consolation, but experience the impulses of grace and follow them and resist nature. This is the best state because we live in humility.
Michael D. Griffin (God, The Joy of My Life: A Biography of Saint Teresa of the Andes With the Saint's Spiritual Diary)
are all exceptional cases. We all want to appeal against something! Each of us insists on being innocent at all cost, even if he has to accuse the whole human race and heaven itself. You won’t delight a man by complimenting him on the efforts by which he has become intelligent or generous. On the other hand, he will beam if you admire his natural generosity. Inversely, if you tell a criminal that his crime is not due to his nature or his character but to unfortunate circumstances, he will be extravagantly grateful to you. During the counsel’s speech, this is the moment he will choose to weep. Yet there is no credit in being honest or intelligent by birth. Just as one is surely no more responsible for being a criminal by nature than for being a criminal by circumstance. But those rascals want grace, that is irresponsibility, and they shamelessly allege the justifications of nature or the excuses of circumstances, even if they are contradictory. The essential thing is that they should be innocent, that their virtues, by grace of birth, should not be questioned and that their misdeeds, born of a momentary misfortune, should never be more than provisional. As I told you, it’s a matter of dodging judgment. Since it is hard to dodge it, tricky to get one’s nature simultaneously admired and excused, they all strive to be rich. Why? Did you ever ask yourself? For power, of course. But especially because wealth shields from immediate judgment, takes you out of the subway crowd to enclose you in a chromium-plated automobile, isolates you in huge protected lawns, Pullmans, first-class cabins. Wealth, cher ami, is not quite acquittal, but reprieve, and that’s always worth taking. Above all, don’t believe your friends when they ask you to be sincere with them. They merely hope you will encourage them in the good opinion they have of themselves by providing them with the additional assurance they will find in your promise of sincerity. How could sincerity be a condition of friendship? A liking for truth at any cost is a passion that spares nothing and that nothing resists. It’s a vice, at times a comfort, or a selfishness. Therefore, if you are in that situation, don’t hesitate: promise to tell the truth and then lie as best you can. You will satisfy their hidden desire and doubly prove your affection.
Albert Camus (The Fall)
Franklin made a mistake, however. As the owner of the business, he assigned his nephew number two on the time clock, right under him, which was taken by the other workers as tiresome evidence of the unfairness of nepotism. Kurt was embarrassed.120 Many of the men employed by Vonnegut Hardware were making the same salary he was—fourteen dollars a week. It was his first real-life lesson in social and economic disparity, illustrating what he had read in a book recently given to him by Uncle Alex: Thorstein Veblen’s Theory of the Leisure Class. He reveled in its attacks on conspicuous consumption, “since it made low comedy of the empty graces and aggressively useless possessions which my parents, and especially my mother, meant to regain some day.”121 With the excitement of a youngster who has at last caught his parents red-handed, he realized he was being raised to become bourgeois. *
Charles J. Shields (And So it Goes: Kurt Vonnegut)
Being with the Divine may be less like taking a class and more like taking a break. It is certainly learning to be still and go within without any intentions or expectations. It’s not an emotional high that fades away, it is something I experience that was already a part of me. It’s less like taking a trip and more like coming home. Being with the Divine in me is loving in its truest sense. I feel the compassion, mercy and grace deeply—it changes me from within. Being where I am means being where God already is. Being who I am is recognizing that I already possess this love and I become what I have always been—a unique imprint of the Divine.
Karl Forehand (Being: A Journey Toward Presence and Authenticity)
Eyes of the Cat I wrote this little story for the schoolgirl who said my stories weren’t scary enough. Her comment was ‘Not bad’, and she gave me seven out of ten. Her eyes seemed flecked with gold when the sun was on them. And as the sun set over the mountains, drawing a deep red wound across the sky, there was more than gold in Kiran’s eyes. There was anger; for she had been cut to the quick by some remarks her teacher had made—the culmination of weeks of insults and taunts. Kiran was poorer than most of the girls in her class and could not afford the tuitions that had become almost obligatory if one was to pass and be promoted. ‘You’ll have to spend another year in the ninth,’ said Madam. ‘And if you don’t like that, you can find another school—a school where it won’t matter if your blouse is torn and your tunic is old and your shoes are falling apart.’ Madam had shown her large teeth in what was supposed to be a good-natured smile, and all the girls had tittered dutifully. Sycophancy had become part of the curriculum in Madam’s private academy for girls. On the way home in the gathering gloom, Kiran’s two companions commiserated with her. ‘She’s a mean old thing,’ said Aarti. ‘She doesn’t care for anyone but herself.’ ‘Her laugh reminds me of a donkey braying,’ said Sunita, who was more forthright. But Kiran wasn’t really listening. Her eyes were fixed on some point in the far distance, where the pines stood in silhouette against a night sky that was growing brighter every moment. The moon was rising, a full moon, a moon that meant something very special to Kiran, that made her blood tingle and her skin prickle and her hair glow and send out sparks. Her steps seemed to grow lighter, her limbs more sinewy as she moved gracefully, softly over the mountain path. Abruptly she left her companions at a fork in the road. ‘I’m taking the short cut through the forest,’ she said. Her friends were used to her sudden whims.
Ruskin Bond (The Laughing Skull)
Grace is allowing the divine force to move through us.

J.S. Wolfe (The Unfolding: A Journey of Involution)
As he got to know her better, he learned more of her childhood; and he came to realize that it was typical of that of most girls of her time and circumstance. She was educated upon the premise that she would be protected from the gross events that life might thrust in her way, and upon the premise that she had no other duty than to be a graceful and accomplished accessory to that protection, since she belonged to a social and economic class to which protection was an almost sacred obligation. She attended private schools for girls where she learned to read, to write, and to do simple arithmetic; in her leisure she was encouraged to do needlepoint, to play the piano, to paint water colors, and to discuss some of the more gentle works of literature. She was also instructed in matters of dress, carriage, ladylike diction, and morality. Her moral training, both at the schools she attended and at home, was negative in nature, prohibitive in intent, and almost entirely sexual. The sexuality, however, was indirect and unacknowledged; therefore it suffused every other part of her education, which received most of its energy from that recessive and unspoken moral force. She learned that she would have duties toward her husband and family and that she must fulfill them.
John Williams (Stoner)
We are all exceptional cases. We all want to appeal against something! Each of us insists on being innocent at all cost, even if he has to accuse the whole human race and heaven itself. You won't delight a man by complimenting him on the efforts by which he has become intelligent or generous. On the other hand, he will beam if you admire his natural generosity. Inversely, if you tell a criminal that his crime is not due to his nature or his character but to unfortunate circumstances, he will be extravagantly grateful to you. During the counsel's speech, this is the moment he will choose to weep. Yet there is no credit in being honest or intelligent by birth. Just as one is surely no more responsible for being a criminal by nature than for being a criminal by circumstance. But those rascals want grace, that is irresponsibility, and they shamelessly allege the justifications of nature of the excuses of circumstances, even if they are contradictory. The essentially thing is that they should be innocent, that their virtues, by grace of birth, should not be questioned and that their misdeeds, born of a momentary misfortune, should never be more than provisional. As I told you, it's a matter of dodging judgement. Since it is hard to dodge it, tricky to get one's nature simultaneously admired and excused, they all strive to be rich. Why? Did you ever ask yourself? For power, of course. But especially because wealth shields from immediate judgement, takes you out of the subway crowd to enclose you in a chromium-plated automobile, isolates you in huge protected lawns, Pullmans, first-class cabins. Wealth, cher ami, is not quite acquittal, but reprieve, and that's always worth taking.
Albert Camus (The Fall)
She’d seen compassion from a drug user at the lowest ebb of his life; she’d seen injuries of domestic abuse caused by a high-ranking politician. So much went on behind closed doors regardless of class.
Mel Sherratt (Tick Tock (DS Grace Allendale #2))
On the other hand, what kind of Russia is this that compels a person to work a job to which she has no calling, and be so reduced by it? To have to collect funds and teach in a drafty room and get no support from the community? How could anyone love that life? (I find myself thinking of Terry Eagleton’s assertion that “capitalism plunders the sensuality of the body.”) Just imagine the many Maryas who have existed, all over the world, their best selves sacrificed to exigency, whose grace suffered under the pressure of being poorly suited to the toil required of them to make a living. (Maybe, like me, you’ve been one of them yourself.)
George Saunders (A Swim in a Pond in the Rain: In Which Four Russians Give a Master Class on Writing, Reading, and Life)
Young said, “You see some classes of the human family that are black, uncouth, uncomely, disagreeable and low in their habits, wild, and seemingly deprived of nearly all the blessings of the intelligence that is generally bestowed upon mankind.”24 Third Mormon prophet John Taylor taught that blacks are the Devil’s representatives on earth.25 As recently as 1964, the prophet David O. McKay stated to a reporter that blacks would not receive the priesthood in his lifetime.26 This was the church’s stance when Mormon George W. Romney sought the U.S. presidency in 1968.
Lynn K. Wilder (Unveiling Grace: The Story of How We Found Our Way out of the Mormon Church)
Evangelicals believe they are saved by grace through faith but then add a man-made waiver that you have to work as hard as you can can meet middle-class behavioral patterns to hang onto it.
Steve Stockman (NOT A BOOK Two Weeks)
I could do anything—be anything. I could be a blackberry farmer. I could worry about phone bills and nipping out to the corner shop for milk and bread of a morning. Little Declan Jr. could learn to walk and talk with his real father, alive and well, and I could teach him how to wear a waistcoat with just the right amount of tragic charm, take him to school in a few years, maybe make KNIGHT FALL 161 him a little sister to look out for, someone to keep him on his toes. He could play a sport—tennis, maybe, or football. I’d attend parent-teacher meetings and have after-work drinks with the neighbors, talking about how well so-and-so is doing, and why yes, Declan Jr. is learning to play the piano. Top of his class, you know—he has his mother’s grace… I could see all of that, as clear in my mind as sunlight on fresh snow, and so much more. Just living day to day. One morning we could have picnics, my family and I, next to blue glacial lakes. One afternoon my son would be old enough to meet a girl, get in a fight, need to shave. One evening his sister will need help with her homework, and he’ll complain, but he’ll help. And then one day the Elder Gods would descend from a blood-red sky in chariots lashed together from bone and flame and take away all my blackberries.
Joe Ducie (Knight Fall (The Reminiscent Exile, #3))
That one is not confronted with the choices de Kock could have or could not have made, that one was not a member of the privileged class in apartheid South Africa are matters of sheer grace.
Pumla Gobodo-Madikizela (A Human Being Died That Night: A South African Woman Confronts the Legacy of Apartheid)
His addiction to gym-based physical fitness drove me nuts, and I hoped the rapture came before I heard spin class or cardio-kickboxing again. ~ Grace Madison, PhD.
N.L.B. Horton (When Camels Fly)
I accepted what the Sisters taught in religion class: that God is loving, merciful, charitable, forgiving. That message didn't jibe with adults smacking kids.
Sonia Sotomayor (My Beloved World)
On all other Christian societies the Church of Rome pronounces a sentence of spiritual outlawry. She alone is the Church, and beyond her pale there is no salvation. She recognises but one pastor and but one fold; and those who are not the sheep of the Pope of Rome, cannot be the sheep of Christ, and are held as being certainly cut off from all the blessings of grace now, and from all the hopes of eternal life hereafter. In the hands of Peter's successor are
James Wylie (History of the Papacy (By universal consent, pronounced to be the first work of its class.))
Sub-Christian? Some read the Old Testament as so much primitive groping and guesswork, which the New Testament sweeps away. But “God . . . spoke through the prophets” (Hebrews 1:1), of whom Moses was the greatest (see Deuteronomy 34:10-12); and his Commandments, given through Moses, set a moral and spiritual standard for living which is not superseded, but carries God’s authority forever. Note that Jesus’ twofold law of love, summarizing the Commandments, comes from Moses’ own God-taught elaboration of them (for that is what the Pentateuchal law-codes are). “Love your God” is from Deuteronomy 6:5, “love your neighbor” from Leviticus 19:18. It cannot be too much stressed that Old Testament moral teaching (as distinct from the Old Testament revelation of grace) is not inferior to that of the New Testament, let alone the conventional standards of our time. The barbarities of lawless sex, violence, and exploitation, cutthroat business methods, class warfare, disregard for one’s family, and the like are sanctioned only by our modern secular society. The supposedly primitive Old Testament, and the 3000-year-old Commandments in particular, are bulwarks against all these things. But (you say) doesn’t this sort of talk set the Old Testament above Christ? Can that be right? Surely teaching that antedates him by a millennium and a quarter must be inferior to his? Surely the Commandments are too negative, always and only saying “don’t . . .”? Surely we must look elsewhere for full Christian standards? Fair queries; but there is a twofold answer. First, Christ said in the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:17) that he came not to destroy the law but to fulfill it; that is, to be, and help others to be, all that God in the Commandments had required. What Jesus destroyed was inadequate expositions of the law, not the law itself (Matthew 5:21-48; 15:1-9; etc.). By giving truer expositions, he actually republished the law. The Sermon on the Mount itself consists of themes from the Decalogue developed in a Christian context. Second, the negative form of the Commandments has positive implications. “Where a sin is forbidden, the contrary duty is commanded” (Westminster Larger Catechism, question 99). The negative form was needed at Sinai (as in the West today) to curb current lawlessness which threatened both godliness and national life. But the positive content pointed up by Christ—loving God with all one’s powers, and one’s neighbor as oneself—is very clearly there, as we shall see.
J.I. Packer (Growing in Christ)
When [Jesus] lived on earth, he was tempted in every way that we are, but he did not sin. —HEBREWS 4:15 Some people might think, Jesus, it’s easy for You up there. You’re in heaven. You just don’t know how hard it is down here. But those people would be wrong. The Bible says He “is able to understand” (Hebrews 4:15). Jesus knows. He knows because He Himself left heaven and came to earth. He didn’t send an angel or a messenger. And He didn’t come as God. He made Himself completely human. Do you ever feel angry, scared, or left out? Jesus did. Did you know that Jesus was once your age? He had parents to obey and brothers and sisters to get along with. He fell down, and He fell asleep. He went to school and played with friends. He was laughed at, and He was hurt. Jesus knows everything you’re going through. It’s one of the reasons He came to earth—so He would know what it feels like. And so He could help you get through it. Growing in Grace Jesus can help you because He’s “been there and done that.” Is there someone you can help because you’ve been there and done that? Teach a younger child to catch a ball. Walk with a frightened preschooler to Bible class. Help your brother or sister study for a test.
Max Lucado (Grace for the Moment: 365 Devotions for Kids)
Evangelicals believed that in the sight of God all were equally sinners in need of salvation, all equally redeemed by the death and resurrection of Jesus, all in need of divine grace. The evangelical belief in the “universal priesthood of believers” implied that among Christians there was no hierarchy, no justifiable distinction among people of different races, different classes, or different sexes, and there could be no interposition of a priest of the church between believers and their God.
Andrew Himes (The Sword of the Lord: The Roots of Fundamentalism in an American Family)
Remarkably, Grace never considered pursuing a career and very rarely sought consistent employment. At no time in her long life was Grace driven by the question of how to make a living. Accordingly, political considerations frequently guided her choices about employment, including where to work, for how long, and even whether to take a job. This set of choices, of course, was available to her because of the relative material security she enjoyed at most stages of her life: her comfortable middle-class upbringing and the family support she continued to enjoy when she returned to New York during the 1940s; her marital union with Jimmy; and the support of her political community, as she sometimes worked as a member of the organization’s (minimally) paid staff and later received financial support from Freddy and Lyman. But that alone does not explain her employment decisions. Grace’s indifference to career and upward mobility reflected her decidedly nonacquisitive personality and a complete disinterest in status or the trappings of any sort of professional life. This was evident in 1940 when Grace earned her Ph.D. Securing an academic job “was never on my mind,” she said decades later, thinking back to her mind-set and priorities while completing the degree. With no aspiration of becoming a professor—“ I had not studied philosophy in order to teach it”—Grace had allowed herself to sink into her studies without regard for where they would lead, intellectually or materially. The need to eventually find employment beyond what she had already been doing “was never in my consciousness. It just never bothered me,” she recalled. “What I knew was that by and large I had been able to make a living because I was a very good typist and I figured, if I needed money I can type.” 84 And that is what she did over the next two decades, taking various secretarial and clerical jobs, most of them short term or temporary and some of them part time.
Stephen M. Ward (In Love and Struggle: The Revolutionary Lives of James and Grace Lee Boggs (Justice, Power, and Politics))
The 4-Hour Workweek Films: The Bourne Identity, Shaun of the Dead “Flow” album: Gran Hotel Buenos Aires by Federico Aubele “Wake-up” album: One-X by Three Days Grace The 4-Hour Body Films: Casino Royale, Snatch “Flow” album: Luciano Essential Mix (2009, Ibiza) featuring DeadMau5 “Wake-up” album: Cold Day Memory by Sevendust The 4-Hour Chef Films: Babe (Yes, the pig movie. It was the first thing that popped up for free under Amazon Prime. I watched it once as a joke and it stuck. “That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.” Gets me every time.) “Flow” album: “Just Jammin’” extended single track by Gramatik “Wake-up” album: Dear Agony by Breaking Benjamin Tools of Titans Films: None! I was traveling and used people-watching at late-night cafés in Paris and elsewhere as my “movie.” “Flow” album: I Choose Noise by Hybrid “Wake-up” album: Over the Under by Down
Timothy Ferriss (Tools of Titans: The Tactics, Routines, and Habits of Billionaires, Icons, and World-Class Performers)
As he got to know her better, he learned more of her childhood; and he came to realize that it was typical of that of most girls of her time and circumstance. She was educated upon the premise that she would be protected from the gross events that life might thrust in her way, and upon the premise that she had no other duty than to be a graceful and accomplished accessory to that protection, since she belonged to a social and economic class to which protection was an almost sacred obligation.
John Williams (Stoner)
The opportunity to develop competencies may be handed to us in the form of a crisis, as was the case with Brooksley Born, the first female president of the Law Review at Stanford, the first female to finish at the top of the class and an expert in commodities and futures. Charged with the oversight of the U.S. government’s Commodity Futures Trading Commission (CFTC) by the Clinton Administration, Born could foresee what would happen if there wasn’t more regulatory oversight in the multitrillion dollar derivatives markets. Yet no one in government or in the financial markets would listen; in 2008 alone, the U.S. market lost about $8 trillion in value. She has since been dubbed the “Credit Crisis Cassandra.” In Greek mythology, Cassandra was given both the gift of seeing the future and the curse of having no one believe her predictions. In the case of Brooksley Born, the attacks by very powerful people were harsh and unrelenting. She was right, while those around her were gravely wrong. Yet, when I listen to Born and read her interviews, there is no anger, no recrimination in her voice, only grace. Brooksley Born never would have chosen this situation. She recounts waking in a cold sweat many a night. She has learned from her trial by fire and we can learn from her. Sometimes we set out to develop competencies, sometimes we don’t. Either way, if we do something enough, we are likely to get good at it. As poet Emily Dickinson wrote, Luck is not chance— It’s toil— Fortune’s expensive smile Is earned.
Whitney Johnson (Dare, Dream, Do: Remarkable Things Happen When You Dare to Dream)
Excuse me,” I call to his retreating back. I sound like I swallowed Kermit, so I clear my throat. “Excuse me,” I call again. I run to catch up with him and tug on his backpack. He looks back over his shoulder, but then he keeps right on walking. “Wait!” I say, trying to keep up. “Damn it, would you stop?” He stops very quickly and I slam into his back. He rocks forward and I grab onto his pack to stay upright, feeling like I have two left feet. I am usually more graceful than this. My mother would kill me if she saw me right now, making a public spectacle of myself in the quad. He turns, grabs me by the shoulders and steadies me, then he bends down to look into my eyes. His are bright blue and full of questions. “Are you all right?” he asks, his voice gruff. I’ve never heard him do more than grunt in class, so hearing him make a full sentence, albeit a short one, is startling. “I’m fine,” I gasp, a little winded from chasing him. “You’re really fast.” He grins. “Sweetheart, you haven’t seen fast.” My heart skips a beat. I am in such big trouble. I don’t know why I thought I could approach a man like this, but I did, and now I don’t know how to ask for what I want. “Cat got your tongue?” he asks. A grin tips one corner of his lips. He’s pretty enough to take my breath away. His blond hair flops across his forehead and he shakes his head to swing it back from his eyes. I open my mouth to speak, but only a squeak comes out. He looks around the quad, looking behind me like he’s trying to figure out where the hell I came from. When he sees that no one is chasing me, he takes my shoulders in his hands and gives me a gentle squeeze, bending so he can stare into my eyes. “Hey,” he says softly, like I’m a stray dog he’s trying to trap. “Are you okay?” I thrust out my hand. “Madison Wentworth,” I say. “I just wanted to introduce myself.” His eyes narrow and he stares at me, but he doesn’t stick his hand out to shake mine. I let mine hang there in the air between us until it becomes so heavy with disappointment that I have to tuck it into the pocket of my jeans. “Guess not.” I sigh. “I’m very sorry for taking up your time.” “Which one of those fuckers put you up to this?” he asks. He grinds his teeth as he waits for my response. “What?” “Those frat boys you hang out with, the ones with more money than sense. Which one put you up to this?” He glares at me. “No one put me up to this,” I say. “Listen, sweetheart,” he says, his face very close to mine. I can smell the cigarette he just smoked and the coffee he must have had before it. “You don’t want to mess with a man like me.” “Okay,” I whisper. I clear my throat. “Fine. Have a nice day.
Tammy Falkner (Yes You (The Reed Brothers #9.5))
In years gone by, particularly in the East and the South, ladies would attend charm school to learn how to elegantly stand, sit, dance, and walk. Even today, there are "Cotillion" classes for young people to learn how to carry themselves with dignity and use proper social graces. I don't mind sounding old-fashioned because these culturally rich rituals lay a firm foundation for the appropriate behaviors and excellent manners necessary for a positive impression. Embracing a tried and true tradition can sometimes be beneficial. Let's avoid the awkward, embarrassing, and unsophisticated ways we see all too often.
Susan C. Young (The Art of Body Language: 8 Ways to Optimize Non-Verbal Communication for Positive Impact (The Art of First Impressions for Positive Impact, #3))
Thirteen million Negroes in America have never known three of the “Four Freedoms” which America is supposedly spreading to the rest of the world. “Freedom from want” is a mockery to Negroes when they are last to be hired and first to be fired; when so many usually obtain only domestic work of short duration: when their wages are the lowest and their rents and food prices the highest. “Freedom from fear” is a myth to Negroes when they have no recourse against the “righteous” Southern citizenry who periodically find excuses to hold lynching parties; against the Northern citizenry who magnify every petty theft into a crime wave; or against those military police whose trigger fingers itch to soil a Negro soldier’s uniform with blood. “Freedom of speech” is meaningless to millions of Negroes who are kept in enforced ignorance and illiteracy by the most meager educational facilities in the South and who are sent to the most crowded schools in the North, so that throughout the country, 2,700,000 Negroes (or more than twenty per cent of the total Negro population) have had no schooling beyond the fourth grade. “Freedom of religion” is the only one of the “four freedoms” for the Negro which the ruling class has encouraged. The latter has hoped to keep Negroes satisfied by sky-pilots, saturated with spirituals, shouting for peace and security in another world and therefore content with their misery in this world. 47
Stephen Ward (In Love and Struggle: The Revolutionary Lives of James and Grace Lee Boggs (Justice, Power, and Politics))
But she could make one decision- to change her environment. And if she could change her environment, she would be subject to a whole different set of cues and unconscious cultural influences. It's easier to change your environment than to change your insides. Change your environment and then let the new cues do the work. She spent the first part of eighth grade learning about the Academy, talking to students, asking her mother, and quizzing her teachers. One day in February, she heard that the board of the school had arrived for a meeting, and she decided in her own junior-warrior manner that she'd demand that they let her in. She snuck into the school when a group of kids came out the back door for gym class, and she made her way to the conference room. She knocked, and entered the room. There was a group of tables pushed toward the middle of the room, with about twenty-five adults sitting around the outside of them. The two Academy founders were sitting in the middle on the far side of the tables. "I would like to come to your school," she said loud enough for the whole room to hear. "How did you get in here?" somebody at the table barked. "May I please come to your school next year?" One of the founders smiled. "You see, we have a lottery system. If you enter your name, there is a drawing in April-" "I would like to come to your school," Erica interrupted, launching into the speech she had rehearsed in her head for months. "I tried to get into New Hope when I was ten, and they wouldn't let me. I went down to the agency and I told the lady, but she wouldn't let me. It took them three cops to get me out of there, but I'm thirteen now, and I've worked hard. I get good grades. I know appropriate behavior. I feel I deserve to go to your school. You can ask anyone. I have references." She held out a piece of binder paper with teachers' names on it. "What's your name?" the founder asked. "Erica." "You see, we have rules about this. Many people would like to come to the Academy, so we decided the fairest thing to do is to have a lottery each spring." "That's just a way of saying no." "You'll have as fair a chance as anyone." "That's just a way of saying no. I need to go to the Academy. I need to go to college." Erica had nothing more to say. She just stood there silently. She decided it would take some more cops to take her away. Sitting across from the founders was a great fat man. He was a hedge-fund manager who had made billions of dollars and largely funded the school. He was brilliant, but had the social graces of a gnat. He took a pen from his pocket and wrote something on a piece of paper. He looked at Erica one more time, folded the paper, and slid it across the table to the founders. They opened it up and read the note. It said, "Rig the fucking lottery." The founders were silent for a moment and looked at each other. Finally, one of them looked up and said in a low voice. "What did you say your name was?" "Erica." "Listen, Erica, at the Academy we have rules. We have one set of rules for everybody. Those rules we follow to the letter. We demand discipline. Total discipline. So I'm only going to say this to you once. If you ever tell anybody about bursting in here and talking to us like that, I will personally kick you out of our school. Are we clear about that?" "Yes, sir." "The write your name and address on a piece of paper. Put it on the table and I will see you in September".
David Brooks (The Social Animal: The Hidden Sources of Love, Character, and Achievement)
The Romish Church teaches the ordinary Arminian theory of perfectionism. In addition to this error, they teach, (a.) that good works subsequent to baptism merit increase of grace and eternal felicity (Council of Trent, sess vi., ch xvi., can. 24, 32); and (b.) they distinguish between the commands and the counsels of Christ. The former are binding upon all classes of the people, and their observance necessary in order to salvation. The latter, consisting of advice, not of commands — such as celibacy, voluntary poverty, obedience to monastic rule, etc. — are binding only on those who voluntarily assume them, seeking a higher degree of perfection and a more exalted reward. We have already, under chapter xiii., seen that a state of sinless perfection is never attained by Christians in this life; and it, of course, follows that much less is it possible for any to do more than is commanded.
Archibald Alexander Hodge (Westminster Confession: A Commentary)
It can be astonishing how far some colleges will go to enforce ideological discipline. For example, at the City University of New York's Hunter College School of Social Work, Devorah Goldman was approached by a professor after class one day who quietly informed her, "I can't have you participate in class anymore". The offense? Opinions she expressed in class were contrary to school's guidelines -- the same ones established by CSWE. Emily Brooker, a Christian student at Missouri State University's School of Social Work (also accredited by CSWE), was asked in 2006 by her professor to sign a letter to the legislature in favor of adoption by homosexuals. When she refused she was interrogated for two and a half hours by the school's ethics committee and charged with a "Level Three Grievance", which is the most severe penalty. Fearing the loss of her degree, Brooker eventually relented and signed a contract promising to "close the gap" between her religious views and the values of the social work professor. There is no way to sugarcoat how bad this is for our society. It is thought control pure and simple. And it is systemic. It is not merely lack of grace on the part of a few muddle-minded professors, but the corruption of our institutions of higher learning.
Kim R. Holmes (The Closing of the Liberal Mind: How Groupthink and Intolerance Define the Left)
Grace deeply identified with Mead’s view that ideas evolve historically. “Unlike the average American teacher of philosophy of his day,” she wrote, Mead “urged his students to relate the ideas of the great philosophers to the periods in which they lived and the social problems which they faced.” 99 For example, in his book Movements of Thought in the Nineteenth Century (1936), a collection of lectures Mead delivered in his history of philosophy classes, Mead explained how the French Revolution conditioned or served as the context for the ideas of Kant, whose Critique of Pure Reason appeared on the eve of the revolution, and Hegel, whose Phenomenology of Mind was published shortly after its conclusion. More generally, Grace described what appealed to her most about Mead’s intellectual project: “A fundamental problem of all men and therefore of all philosophy is the relation of the individual to the whole of things,” she wrote. “It is to the solution of this problem that Mead devotes his earnest attention.” 100 Grace’s analysis of Mead’s ideas—building on her study of Kant and Hegel—helped to solidify two valuable components of her philosophical vision. The first was to conceptualize a view of ideas in their connection with great advances or leaps forward in history. The second was to develop an analysis of how the individual self and the society develop in relation to each other. Grace’s dissertation thus marked a signal moment in her philosophical journey. Studying Mead propelled her to new stages of philosophic exploration and, more importantly, a newfound political activism. “In retrospect,” she wrote, “it seems clear that what attracted me to Mead was that he gave me what I needed in that period—a body of ideas that challenged and empowered me to move from a life of contemplation to a life of action.” 101 She would begin to construct this life of action in Chicago.
Stephen Ward (In Love and Struggle: The Revolutionary Lives of James and Grace Lee Boggs (Justice, Power, and Politics))
If they don’t want us without the physical stuff, they’re not going to want us with it.
Jordan Christy (How to Be a Hepburn in a Kardashian World: The Art of Living with Style, Class, and Grace)
Pushing sopping strands of hair out of her eyes, she watched as Lucetta swam gracefully toward her, her body rising fluidly over a swell, before she dove under the water, surfacing a second later right in front of Millie. “You just have to keep your feet kicking at all times, and then move your arms in a clockwise motion, turning your head every now and again to get a breath of air,” Lucetta said. “Every time I turn my head to breathe, I get a mouthful of salty water. Honestly, the last time I tried the whole breathing thing, I swear a small fish darted into my mouth.” “You love fish.” “Well, yes, when it’s grilled, baked, or fried, but not when it’s still swimming.” “I
Jen Turano (In Good Company (A Class of Their Own Book #2))
Europe, the land of easy mathematics where he who works adds up and he who retires subtracts. The land where the economy gets to stagger all over the continent.
Núria Añó
In the 1950s Detroit was undergoing changes in the city and factories with enormous political consequences. When I arrived in Detroit the city had just begun Urban Renewal (which blacks renamed “Negro Removal”) in the area near downtown where most blacks were concentrated. Hastings Street and John R, the two main thoroughfares that were the hub of the commerce and nightlife of the black community, were still alive with pedestrians. Large sections of the inner city, however, were being bulldozed to build the Ford Freeway crisscrossing the city from east to west, the Lodge Freeway bisecting the city from north to south, and the Fisher and Chrysler Freeways coming from Toledo and proceeding all the way north to the Upper Peninsula. These freeways were built to make it easy to live in the suburbs and work in the city and at the same time to expand the car market. So in 1957 whites began pouring out of the city by the tens of thousands until by the end of the decade one out of every four whites who had lived in the city had left. Their exodus left behind thousands of houses and apartments for sale and rental to blacks who had formerly been confined inside Grand Boulevard, a horseshoe-shaped avenue delimiting the inner city, many of whom had been uprooted by Negro Removal. Blacks who had been living on the East Side, among them Annie Boggs, began buying homes on the West Side and the North End. The black community was not only expanding but losing the cohesiveness it had enjoyed (or endured) when it was jammed together on the Lower East Side. New neighbors no longer served as extended family to the young people growing up in the new black neighborhoods. Small businesses owned by blacks and depending on black customers went bankrupt, eliminating an entrepreneurial middle class that had played a key role in stabilizing the community. By the end of the 1950s one-fourth of the buildings inside the Boulevard stood vacant. At the same time all Americans, regardless of race, creed, or national origin, were being seduced by the consumerism being fostered by large corporations so that they could sell the abundance of goods coming off the American assembly lines. All around us in the black community parents were determined to give their children “the things I didn’t have.
Grace Lee Boggs (Living for Change: An Autobiography)
Breaking the surface, he gulped in a breath, released his hold on the hair, and taking a firm grip on the man’s arm, tried to tow him to shore. Unfortunately, the man didn’t seem to be receptive to that idea and immediately began fighting him, which had Bram tightening his grip. “Stop . . . trying . . . to drown me,” he heard the man rasp in an unexpectedly high voice between bobs of his head lifting and sinking through the water. “I’m trying to save you.” “Is that what you call this?” Intending to reassure the obviously distressed and certainly panicked man, Bram opened his mouth, but soon found himself incapable of speech, a direct result of suddenly finding himself underneath the water. Taken completely by surprise by the idea the man had dunked him, he dodged the man’s kicking legs, as well as a few dog paws, and sputtered his way back to the surface, discovering as he did so that the man he’d thought was drowning was swimming his way quite competently to shore. Striking out after him with his dogs paddling on either side of him, Bram soon reached the side of the moat. Clawing his way up the dirt bank, he flopped onto the grass and turned his head, his attention settling on the man he’d been trying to save. That man was already on his feet, but the longer Bram watched the man, the more it became clear he was no man at all. He, or rather she, had lost her greatcoat in the moat, and her wet clothing was currently plastered against a form that was . . . curvaceous. When she shoved a hunk of long hair away from her face, exposing whiskers, of all things, Bram suddenly found it very difficult to breath because . . . Standing only feet away from him was none other than Miss Lucetta Plum, one of the most intriguing ladies to ever grace the stage, and a lady who had captured his very great esteem. She was looking a little worse for wear, especially since she had mud on her face mixed in with the whiskers, and she also had clumps of algae in her hair, but even in such a sorry state, she was beautiful. She was also the lady he’d been slightly in love with ever since he’d first seen her take to the stage a few years back. Her delicate and refined nature had pulled at his very soul, and the very idea that such a fragile creature was forced to eke out a living on her own had been unfathomable. That was what had prompted Bram to set into motion ways to improve Miss Plum’s circumstance in life, those ways including . . . A
Jen Turano (Playing the Part (A Class of Their Own, #3))
Grace is, in many ways, reflective of the attitude we bring to the mat. It is the difference between a yoga practice that leaves you radically transformed, and an exercise class. It’s the difference between feeling full of hope and potential, and feeling like a schmuck.
Michelle Berman Marchildon (Finding More onthe Mat: How I grew better, wiser and stronge through Yoga)
I fetched my bag, tucked the folded newspaper inside, and grabbed the house keys. Clay beat me to the door.  I scowled down at him.  He stared back at me.  After a moment, he shook his neck, jangling his tags.  Defeated, I clipped on his leash.  He negotiated well without using a single word. I used my cell to call the number for the first ad.  The man sounded a bit brusque as if my planned visit inconvenienced him.  Shrugging it off, I led Clay to the address.  A rusty car parked on the front lawn with a “for sale” sign affirmed I had the right place.  Clay and I walked toward the car. A man called hello from the open garage and made his way toward us.  As he neared, his demeanor changed, and I inwardly groaned.  He introduced himself as Howard and looked me over with interest.  Clay moved to stand between us, his stoic presence a good deterrent. Howard talked about the car for a bit, going through the laundry list of its deficiencies.  Then he popped the hood so I could look at the engine.  In the middle of Howard’s attempt to impress me with his vast mechanical knowledge, Clay sprang up between us.  Howard yelped at Clay’s sudden move and edged away as Clay placed his paws on the front of the car to get a good look at the engine, too.  I fought not to smile at the man’s stunned expression.  At Clay’s discreet nod, I bought the car, not bothering with the second ad. No matter what errand I wanted to run during the week before classes started, Clay insisted on tagging along.  On Friday, when I drove to the bookstore, Clay rode a very cramped shotgun and waited in the car while I made my purchases.  Later, he sat in the hot car again while I bought some basic school supplies. However, Monday, when I tried leaving for my first class, I put my foot down.  He bristled and growled and tried to follow me. “Your license only wins you so much freedom.  Dogs aren’t allowed on campus and definitely not in the classroom.” Thankfully, Rachel had left first and didn’t hear me scold him. I tried to leave again, but he stubbornly persisted.  Finally, exasperated, I reminded him that he slept on my bed because of my good grace.  He resentfully stepped away from the door. *
Melissa Haag (Hope(less) (Judgement of the Six #1))
In 1968, elementary school teacher Jane Elliott conducted a famous experiment with her students in the days after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. She divided the class by eye color. The brown-eyed children were told they were better. They were the “in-group.” The blue-eyed children were told they were less than the brown-eyed children—hence becoming the “out-group.” Suddenly, former classmates who had once played happily side by side were taunting and torturing one another on the playground. Lest we assign greater morality to the “out-group,” the blue-eyed children were just as quick to attack the brown-eyed children once the roles were reversed.6 Since Elliott’s experiment, researchers have conducted thousands of studies to understand the in-group/out-group response. Now, with fMRI scans, these researchers can actually see which parts of our brains fire up when perceiving a member of an out-group. In a phenomenon called the out-group homogeneity effect, we are more likely to see members of our groups as unique and individually motivated—and more likely to see a member of the out-group as the same as everyone else in that group. When we encounter this out-group member, our amygdala—the part of our brain that processes anger and fear—is more likely to become active. The more we perceive this person outside our group as a threat, the more willing we are to treat them badly.
Sarah Stewart Holland (I Think You're Wrong (But I'm Listening): A Guide to Grace-Filled Political Conversations)
What was the best piece of business advice you were given when you were starting out? To take a business class.
Grace Bonney (In the Company of Women: Inspiration and Advice from over 100 Makers, Artists, and Entrepreneurs)
Every day when you encounter God—in your devotional time, in your time of worship, in your community groups or classes, or in any other moment in which you spend time with Jesus—you face the choice of simply looking at Jesus or actually trying to see him.
Jared C. Wilson (The Imperfect Disciple: Grace for People Who Can't Get Their Act Together)
I write not to justify a portfolio of personal failures. I do not seek to moralize or cast blame for my follies and catastrophes upon other people. I do not seek to malign other persons when documenting a series of unpleasant personal encounters in an unyielding society. I desire to overcome myself. I write in an attempt to alter my worldview, calm the soul, find serenity, extinguish hatred, and discover those elementary feelings of wellbeing which subsist permanently in humankind, which are independent of culture, race, class, and time. I write in an effort to discover the moral sublimity underlying existence. I write in order to understand myself and to transfigure myself. Writing is my attempt to rise beyond the facileness of my prior existence. I write in an effort to transcend the prodigious pain of living a profligate life. I write in an attempt to transmute my personage from that of an ordinary toad who despises all of his visible warts. I write in an attempt to decipher how to overcome a penchant for personal aggressiveness and brutality and become kind and gentle. I write in an attempt to discover how I can become a wise person who courageously faces the obstacles of life and exhibits grace and poise in the horror of his blackest days. I write to create an artifact of an intact and pacific persona.
Kilroy J. Oldster (Dead Toad Scrolls)
REMEMBERING COMPASSION TAKES time, and sometimes the most profound learnings are not a part of a curriculum but are come upon by chance or even grace, the way that Glory found the pinecone. She brought it with her to the afternoon class; a large cone, split down the middle and attached to a Y-shaped branch. I stared at it in fascination, resting there in her lap, and hoped that she would say something about it. If you squinted your eyes, it was exactly the size and shape of a human heart. Glory is a young family practitioner who practices in a small rural town. Her patients range from the newborn to the very old, and her practice has afforded her a profound window on life. I met her at one of the physicians’ retreats I teach on detoxifying death. During the first evening’s discussion, she had said that she would find her own death a relief; in fact, life being as it is, she couldn’t imagine why anyone would struggle to live if there was a way to leave with honor. She had felt this way for as long as she could remember. It was an unusual thing for a physician to say, and the group who listened were surprised. She did not seem suicidal or even depressed, merely matter-of-fact. As she spoke, I found myself wondering what lay behind her words. I had some ideas, but, as it turned out, I couldn’t have been more wrong. When she began to talk about the pinecone, all this became clearer. In a voice that we could barely hear, she told us that she had found it on the path as she was coming in to lunch and had known instantly that it was hers. She looked at it lying there in her lap. “It’s my heart,” she told us. “It’s broken. Split in half.” She began to tell us about a vast sadness that she had experienced all her life, a personal sense of the suffering in the world that goes on and on. She had felt this suffering even as a child. It had broken her heart, made her unwilling to live any longer than she had to. Yet brokenhearted though she was,
Rachel Naomi Remen (My Grandfather's Blessings: Stories of Strength, Refuge, and Belonging)
As the number of credit card holders grew, and as inflation imposed its relentless logic, people began to gain a new awareness of the implications that came with certain credit card actions. In particular, they began to understand the meaning of the word 'float.' When a customer used a credit card to buy something at the beginning of the billing cycle, and then didn't pay the bill until the tail end of the 'grace period,' the bank had, in essence, 'floated' the customer a month-long interest-free loan. Once again, savvier customers figured out how to maximize this advantage, learning the precise moment to make big purchases so that the bill would not come due for forty-five or even sixty days.
Joe Nocera (A Piece of the Action: How the Middle Class Joined the Money Class)
Yet it was racial identity that became the paramount spatial mediation of modernity within the newly reunited nation. Not self-evidently more meaningful, not more real or natural than other markings, race nevertheless became the crucial means of ordering the newly enlarged meaning of America. This happened because former Confederates, a growing working class, embattled farmers, western settlers, a defensive northeastern elite, women’s rights advocates, an
Grace Elizabeth Hale (Making Whiteness: The Culture of Segregation in the South, 1890-1940 (Vintage))
Read Demosthenes or Cicero, read Plato, Aristotle, or any other of that class: you will, I admit, feel wonderfully allured, pleased, moved, enchanted; but turn from them to the reading of the Sacred Volume, and whether you will or not, it will so affect you, so pierce your heart, so work its way into your very marrow, that, in comparison of the impression so produced, that of orators and philosophers will almost disappear; making it manifest that in the Sacred Volume there is a truth divine, a something which makes it immeasurably superior to all the gifts and graces attainable by man. Section
John Calvin (Institutes of the Christian Religion)
Long before I ever saw him coming into Connie Sue’s salon, a friend of mine in high school was always talking about a guy named Jeptha. She was very sweet. She went to the Pentecostal church and dressed very conservatively--hair down to her booty, skirts, little makeup. We had history class together, and she used to let me put mascara on her. “He’s a dream,” she used to say. I could tell she had a crush on this guy, and I’d just roll my eyes and shake my head. I doubt it, I’d say to myself, after the thousandth time she’d talked about Jeptha and called him dreamy again. I was familiar with the name but not the actual guy, and it wasn’t until the glide-by at Connie Sue’s that I came face-to-face with the dream. Whoops! I mean, with Jeptha. I didn’t think a whole lot more about him until I saw him again a couple of weeks later at a music club called Edge of Madness. There was no drinking, just music, and lots of kids hanging out. The Jeptha came up to me during a break in the music and introduced himself. “Hi. I’m Jeptha Robertson. Are you Jessica?” Connie Sue had told him my name and a little bit about me, but I guess he wanted to make sure. “Hi,” I said, and smiled back. “My dad is the Duck Commander,” he offered. Who? I didn’t answer because I didn’t know what to say. I had no idea who or what the Duck Commander was. “You don’t know who the Duck Commander is?” I shook my head no. I’m sure I looked as confused as I felt. Obviously, I am missing something, and I should know who the Duck Commander is. “You don’t know who Phil Robertson is?” No, again. We chatted a little, and I could see he was trying to connect with me. Then he pulled out his best line: “Do you like my plaid pants?” I looked at the familiar logo on his shirt and pants and thought to myself, Wow, you must really like Abercrombie and Fitch. Surprised, I looked down and beheld his brown, green, and white plaid pants. You couldn’t miss them. They definitely stood out in the crowd. “Yeah,” I said, my voice trailing off. I wasn’t quite sure what else to say. Now at least I know who the dream is, I thought. And he is pretty cute.
Jessica Robertson (The Good, the Bad, and the Grace of God: What Honesty and Pain Taught Us About Faith, Family, and Forgiveness)
Only if our highest love is God himself can we love and serve all people, families, classes, races; and only God’s saving grace can bring us to the place where we are loving and serving God for himself alone and not for what he can give us. Unless we understand the gospel, we are always obeying God for our sake and not for his.6
Timothy J. Keller (Center Church: Doing Balanced, Gospel-Centered Ministry in Your City)
Sorry if this text have any mistakes, i had some problems with translation, i just study english language. My new hot love poem for all black girls and mullato girls (light brown girls) Me pulls to you ..... so strongly attracted to you color of your skin so sexy, erotic, and very attractive and beautiful In my opinion you are the most beautiful in the all universe space, measurement, worlds My compliments, the truth, and no there is no flattery. In my opinion, this is how looks the most beautiful girl in the world. You are a very beautiful girl. You're a very sexy girl. You are perfect. You are a masterpiece. You phenomenon of beauty that can not be repeated. So juicy, so exotic. It seems to me that you have an amazing beauty. You are the most beautiful in the universe all the dimensions of all worlds, you are a supreme being supreme creation, the crown of evolution. You're beautiful melody of love. You are so beautiful, just magic. You to the point attractive sexy. What you want to do countless times having sex. I only dream if only one your kisses that blossom my soul. And from the touch of your hands on my body, and your lustful-touch for my private parts. I only dream to merge with you forever, body and soul, I only dream of an eternal, continuous sex only with you alone. I only know one thing, that I will forever love only you Only at your most beautiful, stripped the body, you want to watch and view forever. Every cell and molecule of my body and my soul is overwhelmed with love only for you. I long to be your beloved husband for all eternity and all lives, and even after death Do you desire, you are perfect. Soup-navel sexy genius. Do you like the sound of "the sound of a roaring engine sexual smart cars": VUM) VUM) vuuuuuuuuoooooooooooooooooooooooooommmmmm) You paradise, you're mens happinesse. Easy, clean, gentle, heavenly delight. You dream of a lifetime. You're pretty unrealistic. On even to the extent to which she can be beautiful, it's just unbelievable. You are the best gift of fate. Before your powerful sexual charm simply irresistible. You're the most beautiful girl in the whole universe. It's a great, great. You luxurious gem. This delicate pearl skin, you sample the true human beauty and femininity. All the other girls compared to you quite simply uy) uy) uy) uy) uy), believe me you are very vip sexy girl. Most also come up on the throne of honor honored the goddess, the great pedestal. Majestic music sounds, so subtly and sensitively praising your beauty for you. In your arms a man feels in the higher realms of pleasure. Sexy regal lioness. Graceful affectionately snarling tigress. Puff) bang) bang) bang) bang) mega glue your beauty kills all competitors by felling. Amazingly beautiful. Sultry, cool and sexy-Mego. You are elite, you're a lux, you extra class Your beauty captivates the hearts of men. The queen of all men, divinely beautiful, majestic lady. Sexy kitten. Mens cumming myself in the pants, with excitement at the sight of you. My heart you certainly won. Imagine that you are on the sandy planet, and every speck of gold pure gold, these grains of sand, the golden thoughts about you and only about you. You stunned, and I from you noodle. You just incredible girl, unbelievable. You're a sex symbol. You is Brand, (dreaming about you) cool, greattbl, superebl. You're like a beautiful peacock, revealing to the people the infinite perfection of their external and internal beauty. Words gently kiss and hug. The outline playful. Queen of ardent passion, so a bit awe velvet body. You idol of femininity and nature ... anywhere in the world to find such a beautiful sight as yours, which is just crazy, captivating with their enchantments of love, and you can not escape from the past and it is impossible to pass, look pierces the tenderness of their feelings. you thermonuclear sex bomb you lux extra class. Your passionate gaze iceberg melt. A look of love, perfect beauty.
Musin Almat Zhumabekovich
We believe . . . that the action of alcohol on these chronic alcoholics is a manifestation of an allergy; that the phenomenon of craving is limited to this class [of people] and never occurs in the average temperate drinkers. These allergic types can never safely use alcohol in any form at all; and once having formed the habit [they have] found they cannot break it, once having lost their self.36
Annie Grace (This Naked Mind)
Her onyx hair creates a shiny curtain, hiding part of her face, the ends cut blunt. She’s stunning in a serious, intelligent, upper-class New York kind of way, oozing elegance and grace from every angle.
Minka Kent (The Stillwater Girls)
Asia so degraded, so corrupted by the colonial era and by its own crowdedness that it can only choose between depravity and the puritan orgy of communIsm. The women of Thailand are so beautiful that they have become the hostesses of the Western world, sought after and desired everywhere for their grace, which is that of a submissive and affectionate femininity of nubile slaves - now dressed by Dior - an astounding sexual come-on in a gaze which looks you straight in the eye and a potential acquiescence to your every whim. In short, the fulfilment of Western man's dreams. Thai women seem spontaneously to embody the sexuality of the Arabian Nights, like the Nubian slaves in ancient Rome. Thai men, on the other hand, seem sad and forlorn; their physiques are not in tune with world chic, while their women's are privileged to be the currently fashionable form of ethnic beauty. What is left for these men but to assist in the universal promotion of their women for high-class prostitution?
Jean Baudrillard (Cool Memories)
When I was a child, my father forbade me to read science fiction or fantasy. Trash of the highest order, he said. He didn't want me muddying up my young, impressionable mind with crap. If it wasn't worthy of being reviewed in the Times, it did not make it onto our bookshelves. So while my classmates gleefully dove into The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, A Wrinkle in Time, and The Borrowers, I was stuck reading Old Yeller. My saving grace- I was the most popular girl in my class. That's not saying much; it was easy to be popular at that age. All you had to do was wear your hair in French braids, tell your friends your parents let you drink grape soda every night at dinner, and take any dare. I stood in a bucket of hot water for five minutes without having to pee. I ate four New York System wieners (with onions) in one sitting. I cut my own bangs and- bam!- I was queen of the class. As a result I was invited on sleepovers practically every weekend, and it was there that I cheated. I skipped the séances and the Ouija board. I crept into my sleeping bag with a flashlight, zipped it up tight, and pored through those contraband books. I fell into Narnia. I tessered with Meg and Charles Wallace; I lived under the floorboards with Arrietty and Pod. I think it was precisely because those books were forbidden that they lived on in me long past the time that they should have. For whatever reason, I didn't outgrow them. I was constantly on the lookout for the secret portal, the unmarked door that would lead me to another world. I never thought I would actually find it.
Melanie Gideon (Valley of the Moon)
There is a need for a better American political class. But for now, there is little apparent demand. Those who care the most often hate the most, and one of their chief methods of discrediting ideological allies with whom they compete is by portraying them as too tolerant of the hated political enemy. Kindness is perceived as weakness. Decency is treated as if it’s cowardice. Acts of grace are an unthinkable concession to evil.
David French (The Great American Divorce: Why Our Country Is Coming Apart—And Why It Might Be for the Best)
The rabble-rousing Baptist and Methodist preachers who roamed the American South in the eighteenth century were radical not only in their desire to save “Worldlings” from the evils of dancing, drinking, and gambling. They also had a vision of the church as a place where the distinctions of race, gender, and class were all but obliterated by the Holy Spirit. Many prevailed upon slave owners to free their slaves, and they defended the right of any person, black or white, male or female, educated or illiterate, to give public witness to their faith by speaking in church. By the early nineteenth century, however, these socially unpopular positions had provoked considerable tension and even scandal within Southern culture, and the churches faced a drop in membership.
Kathleen Norris (Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith)
divides into three classes,--things to be enjoyed, things to be used, and things which use and enjoy.
Augustine of Hippo (The Complete Works of Saint Augustine: The Confessions, On Grace and Free Will, The City of God, On Christian Doctrine, Expositions on the Book Of Psalms, ... (50 Books With Active Table of Contents))
Over the next 1,364 days, the Khmer Rouge, seeking to obliterate the social classes and create an agrarian society of peasants, was responsible for killing, starving, or working to death about two million Cambodians, out of a population of eight million. Accounting for the percentage of people destroyed, Pol Pot’s Communist regime was the most murderous in the modern age.
Lee Strobel (The Case for Grace: A Journalist Explores the Evidence of Transformed Lives (Case for ... Series))
The gospel of grace calls us to sing of the everyday mystery of intimacy with God instead of always seeking for miracles or visions. It calls us to sing of the spiritual roots of such commonplace experiences as falling in love, telling the truth, raising a child, teaching a class, forgiving each other after we have hurt each other, standing together in the bad weather of life, of surprise and sexuality, and the radiance of existence.
Brennan Manning (The Ragamuffin Gospel: Good News for the Bedraggled, Beat-Up, and Burnt Out)
For his 101st birthday, the nursing home where he now lives organized an exhibition of his art. The show features a delicate watercolor work he painted in art class when he was a mere boy of 13. He points to a piece of fruit in the painting, 'This apple here I had to bring back home from school. Mom wanted me to share it with my seven siblings. Can you imagine how poor we were?
Karsten Thormaehlen (Aging Gracefully: Portraits of People Over 100 (Gifts for Grandparents, Inspiring Gifts for Older People))
In the Brahma-saṁhitā it is stated that the Supreme Lord, Govinda, is always served in His abode by many, many millions of goddesses of fortune. Lakṣmī-sahasra-śata-sambhrama-sevyamānam. These millions and trillions of goddesses of fortune who reside in the Vaikuṇṭha planets are not exactly consorts of the Supreme Personality of Godhead, but are the wives of the devotees of the Lord and also engage in the service of the Supreme Personality of Godhead. It is stated here that in the Vaikuṇṭha planets the houses are made of marble. Similarly, in the Brahma-saṁhitā it is stated that the ground on the Vaikuṇṭha planets is made of touchstone. Thus there is no need to sweep the stone in Vaikuṇṭha, for there is hardly any dust on it, but still, in order to satisfy the Lord, the ladies there always engage in dusting the marble walls. Why? The reason is that they are eager to achieve the grace of the Lord by doing so. It is also stated here that in the Vaikuṇṭha planets the goddesses of fortune are faultless. Generally the goddess of fortune does not remain steadily in one place. Her name is Cañcalā, which means “one who is not steady.” We find, therefore, that a man who is very rich may become the poorest of the poor. Another example is Rāvaṇa. Rāvaṇa took away Lakṣmī, Sītājī, to his kingdom, and instead of being happy by the grace of Lakṣmī, his family and his kingdom were vanquished. Thus Lakṣmī in the house of Rāvaṇa is Cañcalā, or unsteady. Men of Rāvaṇa’s class want Lakṣmī only, without her husband, Nārāyaṇa; therefore they become unsteady due to Lakṣmījī. Materialistic persons find fault on the part of Lakṣmī, but in Vaikuṇṭha Lakṣmījī is fixed in the service of the Lord. In spite of her being the goddess of fortune, she cannot be happy without the grace of the Lord. Even the goddess of fortune needs the Lord’s grace in order to be happy, yet in the material world even Brahmā, the highest created being, seeks the favor of Lakṣmī for happiness.
A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupāda (Srimad-Bhagavatam, Third Canto)
Do you see dignity & grace as a state of emotional and spiritual being or a physical projection of courage and class? Perhaps they describe both.
Susan C. Young (The Art of Being: 8 Ways to Optimize Your Presence & Essence for Positive Impact (The Art of First Impressions for Positive Impact, #1))
Fame is a vapor, popularity an accident, and riches take wings.
Jordan Christy (How to Be a Hepburn in a Hilton World: The Art of Living with Style, Class & Grace)
In a Harvard Business Review article titled “Do Women Lack Ambition?” Anna Fels, a psychiatrist at Cornell University, observes that when the dozens of successful women she interviewed told their own stories, “they refused to claim a central, purposeful place.” Were Dr. Fels to interview you, how would you tell your story? Are you using language that suggests you’re the supporting actress in your own life? For instance, when someone offers words of appreciation about a dinner you’ve prepared, a class you’ve taught, or an event you organized and brilliantly executed, do you gracefully reply “Thank you” or do you say, “It was nothing”? As Fels tried to understand why women refuse to be the heroes of their own stories, she encountered the Bem Sex-Role Inventory, which confirms that society considers a woman to be feminine only within the context of a relationship and when she is giving something to someone. It’s no wonder that a “feminine” woman finds it difficult to get in the game and demand support to pursue her goals. It also explains why she feels selfish when she doesn’t subordinate her needs to others. A successful female CEO recently needed my help. It was mostly business-related but also partly for her. As she started to ask for my assistance, I sensed how difficult it was for her. Advocate on her organization’s behalf? Piece of cake. That’s one of the reasons her business has been successful. But advocate on her own behalf? I’ll confess that even among my closest friends I find it painful to say, “Look what I did,” and so I don’t do it very often. If you want to see just how masterful most women have become at deflecting, the next time you’re with a group of girlfriends, ask them about something they (not their husband or children) have done well in the past year. Chances are good that each woman will quickly and deftly redirect the conversation far, far away from herself. “A key type of discrimination that women face is the expectation that feminine women will forfeit opportunities for recognition,” says Fels. “When women do speak as much as men in a work situation or compete for high-visibility positions, their femininity is assailed.” My point here isn’t to say that relatedness and nurturing and picking up our pom-poms to cheer others on is unimportant. Those qualities are often innate to women. If we set these “feminine” qualities aside or neglect them, we will have lost an irreplaceable piece of ourselves. But to truly grow up, we must learn to throw down our pom-poms, believing we can act and that what we have to offer is a valuable part of who we are. When we recognize this, we give ourselves permission to dream and to encourage the girls and women around us to do the same.
Whitney Johnson (Dare, Dream, Do: Remarkable Things Happen When You Dare to Dream)
Lady Jenny, your turn.” She passed her sketch pad over to him, feeling a pang of sympathy for accused criminals as they stood in the dock. And yet, she’d asked for this. Gotten together all of her courage to ask for this one moment of artistic communion. “Well,” Mr. Harrison said, “isn’t he a handsome fellow? What do you think, ladies?” “You look like a papa,” Fleur observed. “Though our papa doesn’t sketch. He reads stories.” “And hates his ledgers,” Amanda added. “Is my hair that long in back?” “Yes,” Jenny said, because she’d drawn not only Elijah Harrison’s hands, but all of him, looking relaxed, elegant, and handsome, with Amanda crouched at his side, fascinated with what he created on the page. “I look…” He regarded the sketch in silence, while Jenny heard a coach-and-four rumbling toward her vulnerable heart. “I look… a bit tired, slightly rumpled, but quite at home. You are very quick, Lady Genevieve, and quite good.” Quite good. Like saying a baby was adorable, a young gentleman well-mannered. “The pose was simple,” Jenny said, “the lighting uncomplicated, and the subject…” “Yes?” He was one of those men built in perfect proportion. Antoine had spent an entire class wielding a tailor’s measure on Mr. Harrison’s body, comparing his proportions to the Apollo Belvedere, and scoffing at the “mistakes” inherent in Michelangelo’s David. Jenny wanted to snatch her drawing from his hand. “The subject is conducive to a pleasing image.” He passed the sketch pad back, but Jenny had the sense that in some way, some not entirely artistic way, she’d displeased him. The disappointment was survivable. Her art had been displeasing men since she’d first neglected her Bible verses to sketch her brothers. “You
Grace Burrowes (Lady Jenny's Christmas Portrait (The Duke's Daughters, #5; Windham, #8))
I’m sorry,” she said again, turning to stand beside him, laying a hand on his back. He heard her sharp intake of breath as she realized her error—his shirt was still off. He didn’t move off, though, but waited to see how she’d manage. Her hand was comforting, and without him willing it, his own slid along her waist and drew her against his side. She remained facing the gardens, her expression impassive, her breath moving in a measured rhythm, her hand resting on his back as if it had arrived there despite her complete indifference to him as a person. Slowly, he relaxed, sensing her innate decency had, for just a few moments, trumped her notions of propriety, class distinction, and personal rectitude. She offered comfort, he decided. Just comfort, for him, upon his recounting some very dark moments and his frustration and helplessness in those moments. But what about for her? He turned her to face him, brought her slowly against his body, and rested his cheek against her temple. Just that, but it changed the tenor of the moment from gestures of comfort to the embrace of a man and a woman. His arms draped over her shoulders while hers looped at his naked waist, even as he told himself to end this folly immediately, or she’d have grounds for believing he trifled with the help after all. She didn’t end it. She stood in the loose circle of his arms, letting him positively wallow in the clean summery scent of her, the soft curves fitting him in all the right places. He urged her with patient strokes of his hands on her back to rest more fully against him, to give him her weight. He wasn’t even aroused, he realized, he was just… consoled. When
Grace Burrowes (The Heir (Duke's Obsession, #1; Windham, #1))
Grace nodded. She was trying to unearth the woman’s name, but it wouldn’t surface. The woman’s daughter—Blake, was it?—was in Grace’s son’s class in first grade. Or maybe it was last year in kindergarten. Hard to keep track. Grace kept the smile frozen to her face. The woman was nice enough, but she blended in with the others. Grace wondered, not for the first time, if she was blending in too, if her once great individuality had joined the unpleasant swirl of suburban uniformity. The
Harlan Coben (Just One Look)
The gospel of grace calls us to sing of the everyday mystery of intimacy with God instead of always seeking for miracles or visions. It calls us to sing of the spiritual roots of such commonplace experiences as a class, forgiving each other after we have hurt each other, standing together in the bad weather of life, of surprise and sexuality, and the radiance of existence. Of such is the kingdom of heaven, and of such homely mysteries is genuine religion made. The conversion from mistrust to trust is a confident quest seeking the spiritual meaning of human existence. Grace abounds and walks around the edges of our everyday experience.
Brennan Manning (The Ragamuffin Gospel: Good News for the Bedraggled, Beat-Up, and Burnt Out)
Kit listened to your parting sermon this morning. He was a very good boy today.” She lay on her back, her head turned to watch the baby. “And he’s thriving in your care. Sophie. You aren’t really going to give him up, are you? If Their Graces were tolerant of the tweenie’s situation, they might make allowances for you.” He regretted the words, because they opened the door for him to wonder again what exactly her position in the household was. He told himself it didn’t matter—it still didn’t matter—because again, he’d be leaving in the morning. She curled over on her side, pillowing her cheek on her hand as she gazed at the fire. “Their Graces would indulge me, did I ask it of them, but Kit needs a real family, brothers and sisters, a mama, a papa. I would spoil him shamelessly, and there’s much I do not know about raising a child.” He gave in to the temptation to touch her, reaching over and smoothing the side of his thumb along her hairline. “You’re a quick study. Every mother and aunt and granny in Town would be happy to help you.” Women were like that. They rallied around babies despite differences in age, class, standing, and even nationality. She did not react to his caress, not that he could see. “I think the country is a better place to grow up, especially for boys.” It occurred to him to offer her a place at Sidling. His aunt and uncle were forever grousing about their aging staff, but they refused to pension off the duffers and dodderers on their payroll. But then he’d never see her, for Sidling was one place he would not frequent if he could help it. Still, the idea was not without merit. It would be better than losing touch with her entirely. “He’s
Grace Burrowes (Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish (The Duke's Daughters, #1; Windham, #4))
After several courses, Dylan looked at the menu, noting that "Cheeseburger" was next up. "Okay, this is something I recognize," he said with relief. "Don't get too excited," said Grace knowingly as she sipped the last of a bright and barnyard funky Romanee-Saint-Vivant from a big-bowled burgundy stem. The waiter stepped out of the shadows and set two servings of the next course on the table simultaneously. Another server placed two very large Bordeaux stems on the table, and then carefully filled each with just one and a half ounces of wine. "This is Chef's cheeseburger," the waiter said. "Paired with the '70 Latour." The waiter and other server then backed away. Dylan and Grace leaned forward, examining the strange creation. It smelled amazing, though it looked much more like something from a science class than from a Michelin-starred restaurant-- a tiny piece of freeze-dried cheese on a teaspoon of bison tartare, lying atop a small lettuce pillow that had been filled with Vidalia onion smoke. It sat on a small warm open-face wheat bun, and the whole thing was presented on a miniature plate on which was a little pool of foamed heirloom tomato, and another of foamed mustard seed. And it was all topped with a few droplets of pureed brined Japanese cucumber. Dylan just stared at it. "I feel like it belongs in a museum." "I know. It's almost too beautiful to eat," Grace said. They were both captivated by the variety of scents coming from the presentation. It did, indeed, smell like an amazing cheeseburger. "Well, I'm gonna try," said Dylan, putting the little top bun on. Grace watched as he picked it all up with his thumb and forefinger, dapped it in the foamed tomato and mustard, and popped it in his mouth. Dylan's mouth and nose were filled to bursting with all the expected flavors and scents of a great cheeseburger-- bread, meat and cheese, ketchup and mustard, lettuce and pickle. Oh, wow, it was good. And as he chewed, he popped the lettuce pillow, adding just the right touch of sweet onion scent and flavor to the mouthful.
Jeffrey Stepakoff (The Orchard)
Some people smoked when they were upset, some did yoga, or drank, or paced, or picked fights, or counted to one hundred. Georgia cooked. As a small girl growing up in Massachusetts, she'd spent most of her time in her grandmother's kitchen, watching wide-eyed as Grammy kneaded the dough for her famous pumpernickel bread, sliced up parsnips and turnips for her world-class pot roast, or, if she was feeling exotic, butterflied shrimp for her delicious Thai basil seafood. A big-boned woman of solid peasant stock, as she herself used to say, Grammy moved around the cramped kitchen with grace and efficiency, her curly gray hair twisted into a low bun. Humming pop songs from the forties, her cheeks a pleasing pink, she turned out dish after fabulous dish from the cranky Tappan stove she refused to replace. Those times with Grammy were the happiest Georgia could remember. It had been almost a year since she died, and not a day passed that Georgia didn't miss her. She pulled out half a dozen eggs, sliced supermarket Swiss and some bacon from the double-width Sub-Zero. A quick scan of the spice rack yielded a lifetime supply of Old Bay seasoning, three different kinds of peppercorns, and 'sel de mer' from France's Brittany coast. People's pantries were as perplexing as their lives.
Jenny Nelson (Georgia's Kitchen)
My mom didn’t play favorites. She was kind and giving and wonderful to everyone who graced her presence. She never pushed me, nor put me front and center. She knew too many instructors who ruined their businesses by featuring their own daughters in every number. This turns people off! I didn’t even get to go down the mat first in tumbling class. Jeez!
Abby Lee Miller (Everything I Learned about Life, I Learned in Dance Class)
Dance classes have nothing on karate when it comes to developing grace.
Rick Yancey
It isn’t the people who are beginning their careers. It isn’t the people who are in the early stages or even in middle-income stages. It is the folks who are upper-income or upper middle-class income that can afford to buy these houses. So you’ve just classed out a significant amount of people,” he said. “Our city is becoming an exclusive kind of rich kid club.” Grace Widdicombe, president of the Northwest Real Estate Investors Association, says among those who have turned to real estate are people trying to climb out of financial holes.
Anonymous
Choosing an “Away School” There was a time when this section would have been easy. We simply would have said, “Find the nearest Catholic school and send your child to it.” Unfortunately, it is no longer possible to make such blanket statements in an age where in some places teachers and staff are often either openly hostile or passively dismissive toward their own mission to be a Catholic school. It is our opinion that these schools do so at their own peril, because once you take the “Catholic” out of a Catholic school, you end up with a hobbled institution. Fortunately, these inferior institutions remain in the minority of Catholic schools. In fact, we are still very heavily biased in favor of Catholic schools, and we strongly recommend that you consider any and all available Catholic schools before considering other conventional schooling options (e.g., public or non-sectarian private schools). Generally speaking, they have been shown to be more effective than their public counterparts; they typically have smaller, more orderly classes; they support the values and prayers you are trying to teach at home; and they help your child appreciate the importance of the Eucharist by attending Mass during the school week.
Gregory K. Popcak (Parenting with Grace)
We have to decide how to start our research,” Ashley said. “Like, should we look for information on the whole town, or just one specific area. Roo and I decided we should all focus on the Brickway.” “You decided we should all focus on the Brickway,” Roo mumbled, popping the tab on her can. Gage nodded. “Ashley’s right. If this is a walking tour, some kids in our class might not want to walk very far.” “If, in fact, anybody wants to walk on this tour at all,” Parker couldn’t help adding. “Come on…we’re not really going to do this ghost stuff, are we?” Ashley rolled her eyes. “Well then, maybe we should have transportation. Maybe we could use our cars?” “Our cars? Etienne and I are the only ones with wheels.” “What a perfectly brilliant idea, Ash.” Roo shot her sister a bland look. “Ghost BMW. No…wait. Ghost Truck. I’m all tingly with dread.” “Or Ghost SUV?” Despite Ashley’s wounded expression, Parker clasped his hands beseechingly at Gage. “Oh, pretty please, can we use your mom’s minivan?” Ashley’s lips tightened. “Parker, this is serious!” “Look, I know it’s half our grade.” Easing back down, he took a swig of beer and tried to reason with her. “But let’s face it--the whole thing’s pretty stupid. And impossible.” “It’s not stupid. And why is it impossible? All we have to do is research old places that might be haunted.” “And just how do you propose we do that? Oh wait, I know--let’s just knock on people’s doors. Excuse me, we’re doing a survey--are there any creepy ghosts living in your house? Ash, come on. We can’t force things to be haunted just so they can be close enough to walk to.” A disappointed silence fell. For several minutes everyone seemed lost in thought, till Etienne unfolded himself from the tree. “Don’t y’all know anything about your own town?” He walked over to the cooler and pulled out a beer. To Miranda, who watched him, he moved with all the grace and stealth of a predatory cat. “Well, I’m not going to flunk this project,” Ashley said crossly, “just because Parker’s an idiot.” Roo promptly frowned. “Where’s your compassion? Parker can’t help being an idiot.
Richie Tankersley Cusick (Walk of the Spirits (Walk, #1))
During this time of preparation, I also began to realize on a deeper level just how much the struggle between Communism and the Church was a spiritual one. It was a contest for the hearts - and eternal souls - of the people. Those in religious vocations - and any true followers of Christ - were called to a life of sacrificial obedience and anonymous servanthood. The Communist Party, to its faithful, promised the opposite. Initially it flattered the intellect, appealing to idealists who put their faith in man. They saw man not as a fallen creature, saved by grace, but as inherently good. Man did not need a Saviour, a Redeemer; collectively he had all the necessary skills and mind and abilities to provide for his needs. And given the opportunity, he would care for his neighbor. The Brotherhood of Man did not need the Fatherhood of God. The secular society, through the institutions of the State, would do the work of the Church. At first glance, the Communist system did seem fairer than the old oppressive monarchies with their rigid class structure, or the weak and failed democracies of Christendom. From each according to his abilities, to each according to his need - what could be fairer than that? Christianity believed in that, too. The difference was that, where God inspired the Christian to voluntary acts of sefflessness and sacrifice - acts opposite of his nature - Communism dictated them. And who decided which one was needy? And which one should meet his needs? The Communist Party hierarchy. All power gravitated to them, and they were loathe to let any of it go. They used it to reward loyal underlings, and they used fear to control any who were suspected of being less than loyal. Power meant control, and they meant to control every aspect of life, beginning with how and what the children were taught. It might be too late to change the parents, but if they could have the children....
Svetozar Kraljevic (Pilgrimage)
For most of his adult life Coleman Young has been a progressive and militant. Quick-witted, fearless, and feisty, he had distinguished himself as an organizer for the National Negro Labor Council and the National Negro Congress and had become a hero in the black community after he accused the House Un-American Activities Committee itself of being Un-American. Coleman was so bright and so sharp that had he not been black, the idea of him sitting in the Oval Office in the White House would not have seemed far-fetched. But his past had not prepared him for the kind of crisis that today’s cities are in. Having received most of his political education in left-wing circles, he took pride in reducing everything to economics and in minimizing human and social relations. He seemed to think that this added to the image, which he has consciously cultivated, of a hard-nosed, streetwise radical who is always realistic, can’t be pushed around, and doesn’t care what white middle-class people think of him. “Education, drugs, homelessness, unwed mothers, crime, you name it… every social issue is about jobs,” he has written in his autobiography. “Jobs built Detroit, and only jobs will rebuild it.”2 No longer able to count on the industrial corporations for jobs, Young had no hesitation about turning to casino operators. Any jobs would do, even if these jobs were created by a crime-producing industry like casino gambling. To defeat the newest proposal for casino gambling, Jimmy, Shea, and I joined a coalition of community groups, blue collar, white collar, and cultural workers, clergy, political leaders, and
Grace Lee Boggs (Living for Change: An Autobiography)
In second grade I had a teacher named Miss G who seemed like the meanest lady in the world. I was scared to death of her. One day in the car on the way to school, I blurted out to my mom, “I just wish Jesus would come back today.” “Why?” she asked, wondering what had brought this on. “So I don’t have to go back to Miss G’s class!” I realized later she was just a stricter kind of teacher trying to keep control of the class, but since I always wanted everyone to love me, I took it personally. At the end of the school year, she asked me to be a flower girl in her daughter’s wedding, so I guess she really did love me after all.
Jessica Robertson (The Good, the Bad, and the Grace of God: What Honesty and Pain Taught Us About Faith, Family, and Forgiveness)
Minstrelsy and its descendants gave its white and black performers and fans lessons in how to act black by defining what blackness looked and sounded like onstage. And it taught them why to act black. Blackness could be anything. Blackness could be everything. African Americans might be enslaved, Jim Crowed, disfranchised, lynched, raped, abused, cheated, and discriminated against, but the minstrel show made “blackness” into a medium of transformation and transcendence so powerful that at times, within limits, it even worked for black people.
Grace Elizabeth Hale (A Nation of Outsiders: How the White Middle Class Fell in Love with Rebellion in Postwar America)
The vision of the Center for Progressive Christianity is to encourage churches to focus their attention on those for whom organized religion has proven to be “ineffectual, irrelevant, or repressive.” They define progressive Christians as individuals who: (ProgressiveChristianity.org, “The 8 Points.” Accessed June 24, 2012) Believe that following the path and teachings of Jesus can lead to an awareness and experience of the Sacred and the Oneness and Unity of all life; Affirm that the teachings of Jesus provide but one of many ways to experience the Sacredness and Oneness of life, and that we can draw from diverse sources of wisdom in our spiritual journey; Seek community that is inclusive of ALL people, including but not limited to: a. Conventional Christians and questioning skeptics, b. Believers and agnostics, c. Women and men, d. Those of all sexual orientations and gender identities, e. Those of all classes and abilities; Know that the way we behave towards one another is the fullest expression of what we believe; Find grace in the search for understanding and believe there is more value in questioning than in absolutes; Strive for peace and justice among all people; Strive to protect and restore the integrity of our earth; and Commit to a path of life-long learning, compassion, and selfless love. To these guidelines, Borg adds two more key aspects of Progressive Christianity: Focus on this life more than on the next life; Accept a non-literal reading of the Bible.
Paul Brynteson (The Bible Reconsidered)
Congratulations! You have received the Blessing of the North. Calculating Blessing… From Randidly Ghosthound, you have received the Soulskill Blessing of the Frozen Expanse. You have gained access to the Class “The White, Whistling Death.” As you do not possess a Class, speak with a Town Spirit to obtain this Class. Your Skill Hawkeye has changed to Eyes of the Grey Eagle Level 1. All benefits have been retained. Your Skill Aiming has changed to Still Air Aiming Level 1. All benefits have been retained. You have gained the Skill White Haste Level 1. You have gained the Skill Chilling Grace Level 1.
Noret Flood (The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound 2 (The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound #2))
There are found, amid the Evils of a laborious Life, some Views of Tranquillity and Happiness - The Repose and Pleasure of a Summer Sabbath: interrupted by Intoxication and Dispute - Village Detraction - Complaints of the ’Squire - The Evening Riots - Justice - Reasons for this unpleasant View of Rustic Life: the Effect it should have upon the Lower Classes; and the Higher - These last have their peculiar Distresses: Exemplified in the Life and heroic Death of Lord Robert Manners - Concluding Address to His Grace the Duke of Rutland.
George Crabbe (The Village and the Newspaper)
If his grace in kindness is "immesaurable," then our failures can never outstrip his grace. Our moments of feeling utterly overwhelmed by life are where God's heart lives. Our most haunted pockets of failure and regret are where his heart is drawn most unswervingly. If his grace in kindness is "immeasurable riches"--as opposed to measurable, middle-class grace--then our sins can never exhaust his heart. On the contrary, the more weakness and failure, the more his heart goes out to his own.
Dane C. Ortlund (Gentle and Lowly: The Heart of Christ for Sinners and Sufferers)
I have started to spend my Fridays playing tennis with a boy from my class, and he said we would only do it as long as the weather permitted. I have started looking forward to Fridays. It is getting colder everyday, this is the worst part of living in New England: how quickly the seasons change. But what a joy it is to have something, anything, just for a little while. What a privilege it is to hold something so precious, so small, so unspoken, and to wince when you have to let go. What a treat to have so much life grace these fingertips, to love so much that I now know such loss. What a curse to have it all move so quickly, to have it be out of reach so fast.
Belle Townsend (Push and Pull)
Keys to Great Writing by Stephen Wilbers. This is our favorite book on the list. It teaches you the mechanics of writing well. It’s brilliantly concise and is full of techniques that actually work. You have probably never heard of most of them. You may enjoy this book even if you hated English classes at school. We suspect that it particularly appeals to programmers, because it provides a much-needed logical framework for writing. The book summarizes several other books, including two other favorites of ours: Style: The Basics of Clarity and Grace and The Sense of Structure: Writing from the Reader’s Perspective
Karl Blanks (Making Websites Win: Apply the Customer-Centric Methodology That Has Doubled the Sales of Many Leading Websites)