Clearer Than My Future Quotes

IN THINKING ABOUT this chapter and about the limits of our perception, a familiar, oft-repeated phrase kept popping into my head: “Hindsight is 20–20.” When we hear it, we normally just nod in agreement—yes, of course—accepting that we can look back on what happened, see it with total clarity, learn from it, and draw the right conclusions. The problem is, the phrase is dead wrong. Hindsight is not 20–20. Not even close. Our view of the past, in fact, is hardly clearer than our view of the future. While we know more about a past event than a future one, our understanding of the factors that shaped it is severely limited. Not only that, because we think we see what happened clearly—hindsight being 20–20 and all—we often aren’t open to knowing more. “We should be careful to get out of an experience only the wisdom that is in it—and stop there,” as Mark Twain once said, “lest we be like the cat that sits down on a hot stove-lid. She will never sit down on a hot stove-lid again—and that is well; but also she will never sit down on a cold one anymore.” The cat’s hindsight, in other words, distorts her view. The past should be our teacher, not our master.

Surely you’re not going to destroy another book, are you?” “I’ve decided my obsession with reading has gotten me absolutely nowhere, so . . . I’m tossing all the nonsense out of my life and intend to travel forth with less baggage.” “You love to read.” “And I’ll occasionally indulge that love, but enough is enough.” She held up her copy of Pride and Prejudice. “This, for all intent and purposes, is a fairy tale. I’m done with fairy tales for good, as well as anything by Shakespeare. I loathe his stories, don’t understand most of what he’s written, and I was only reading them because of any future children I hoped to have. But since I’m destined to remain a spinster forever . . . I’m chucking them into the fire.” “What do Shakespeare and any children you might have in the future have in common?” Millie sent him a look that clearly said she found him a little dense. “I wanted to be knowledgeable so that my children wouldn’t suffer any embarrassment because of my ignorance and lack of education.” Everett’s mouth dropped open before he had the presence of mind to snap it shut when she shot him a glare. Bracing himself in case she got it into her head to punch him as she’d done Mr. Victor, Everett stepped closer to her and pried the copy of Pride and Prejudice out of her hand. “Any child would be lucky to call you mother, Millie. You’re smart, well-read, curious about everything, and have a true love for children.” Staring at him for a long moment, Millie tilted her head. “I knew we should have summoned the physician to take a look at you after your last brawl.” “My wits are not addled, Millie. Quite honestly, my mind is clearer right now than it’s been in years.” He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it, relieved when her eyes widened just a bit. “And I have to tell you something else.” “What?” she asked in a voice that sounded somewhat breathless. “I can’t allow you to burn any Jane Austen book—but especially not Pride and Prejudice.” “That’s what you have to say to me—that I can’t burn a silly book?” “I finished the story, Millie. I read Pride and Prejudice from cover to cover, and . . . I’m your Mr. Darcy and you’re my Lizzy.” “You . . . finished . . . the story?” “Indeed. And if you didn’t hear me the first time, I’m Mr. Darcy.” “I’m fairly certain Mr. Darcy would have had an English accent, but since Lizzy did enjoy reading, I suppose it’s not too much of a stretch to compare me with her, although. . . .” As Millie continued talking, really rapidly at that, Everett simply watched her, taking in every detail of her face. Her green eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were flushed a delicate shade of pink. Brown curls had begun to escape the pins someone had put in her hair, and a spray of flowers that had been tucked into that hair was hanging somewhat forlornly over her ear. Her lips were still moving incredibly fast, but the second his gaze settled on them, he couldn’t seem to look away. They were delightful lips, just the right shade of pink, and . . . Everett leaned forward and claimed those rapidly moving lips with his own. For

Smart entrepreneurs have grabbed this opportunity with a vengeance. Now online lesson-plan marketplaces such as Gooru Learning, Teachers Pay Teachers, and Share My Lesson allow teachers who want to devote more of their time to other tasks the ability to purchase high-quality (and many lesser-quality) lesson plans, ready to go. With sensors, data, and A.I., we can begin, even today, testing for the learning efficacy of different lectures, styles, and more. And, because humans do a poor job of incorporating massive amounts of information to make iterative decisions, in the very near future, computers will start doing more and more of the lesson planning. They will write the basic lessons and learn what works and what doesn’t for specific students. Creative teachers will continue, though, to be incredibly valuable: they will learn how to steer and curate algorithmic and heuristically updated lesson creation in ways that computers could not necessarily imagine. All of this is, of course, a somewhat bittersweet development. Teaching is an idealistic profession. You probably remember a special teacher who shaped your life, encouraged your interests, and made school exciting. The movies and pop culture are filled with paeans to unselfish, underpaid teachers fighting the good fight and helping their charges. But it is becoming clearer that teaching, like many other white-collar jobs that have resisted robots, is something that robots can do—possibly, in structured curricula, better than humans can. The

I apologize for my intrusion, but in your distress, your mind summoned me to you. First, let me say you have no need to fear for Avenger or the lives of your crew. Our destiny—yours and mine—is starting to become clearer to me. I have glimpsed future events that, for the time being, assure your safety. I believe this ability is one of the herculean gifts to which Tynabo alluded. I thank you for sharing Tynabo’s recording with me. Even that small glimpse of the man I called father has been a comfort.” Then, in a tone that bespoke a more intimate connection between them, she said, “As regards us, these last weeks apart have been extremely difficult—as much for you as they are for me. So please know that you have not been alone in your suffering. In your mind, I also saw your desire to know exactly what it is that has been happening to you, to us, each night. In short, what you see, I see. What you feel, I feel. The fugue is creating its own reality for us, albeit on a more esoteric plane. I think you will agree that there is nothing lost in the translation between the fugue state—and a true physical reality. However, as Tynabo had warned us, it is becoming harder to hold on. Each day we’re apart is more unbearable than the one before. Because of this growing need, I fear it will not be long before the fugue creates situations that would be quite embarrassing were they to happen in public. Because of this I ask you not to delay your return to Sea Base any longer than necessary.” Her tone softened empathetically, an acknowledgement of the crisis facing Steven. “I am also aware of the personal hurdles you face as regards Renee and your family, and that you are in desperate need of a solution. I want you to know that you do not bear this burden alone. You have my full support on any decision that you make. It will always be so. “Until we meet again—sweet dreams.” As Ashlyn’s image dissipated, her sensual smile stole his breath. ***         As the wave subsided, the bridge suddenly lit up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve, chimes and klaxons sounding everywhere.

memory challenges have strengthened my faith, even in things I can’t see or feel or touch, because so much in my life is a dream or a memory, fuzzy at the seams, brought into focus only by my imagination. The picture that comes to mind of the earrings I lost as a kid is no clearer to me than the picture of the future I hope for. But I believe in them both. I trust in their existence.

I know them all, they are clearer to me than my friends. I have lived in Ardfalloch amongst these people for months, and now the time has come for me to leave them. Their troubles are over; their coil is unravelled; the path before them is clear. For some of them the future is happy and unclouded, for others it looks somewhat lonely and sad. That is the way of the world; everybody cannot be happy, and Ardfalloch is a little bit of the world: mirroring the world as the quiet loch mirrors the mountains and the trees upon their slopes.