Com Home Quotes

Dear Child, Sometimes on your travel through hell, you meet people that think they are in heaven because of their cleverness and ability to get away with things. Travel past them because they don't understand who they have become and never will. These type of people feel justified in revenge and will never learn mercy or forgiveness because they live by comparison. They are the people that don't care about anyone, other than who is making them feel confident. They don’t understand that their deity is not rejoicing with them because of their actions, rather he is trying to free them from their insecurities, by softening their heart. They rather put out your light than find their own. They don't have the ability to see beyond the false sense of happiness they get from destroying others. You know what happiness is and it isn’t this. Don’t see their success as their deliverance. It is a mask of vindication which has no audience, other than their own kind. They have joined countless others that call themselves “survivors”. They believe that they are entitled to win because life didn’t go as planned for them. You are not like them. You were not meant to stay in hell and follow their belief system. You were bound for greatness. You were born to help them by leading. Rise up and be the light home. You were given the gift to see the truth. They will have an army of people that are like them and you are going to feel alone. However, your family in heaven stands beside you now. They are your strength and as countless as the stars. It is time to let go! Love, Your Guardian Angel

So many people think that they are not gifted because they don’t have an obvious talent that people can recognize because it doesn’t fall under the creative arts category—writing, dancing, music, acting, art or singing. Sadly, they let their real talents go undeveloped, while they chase after fame. I am grateful for the people with obscure unremarked talents because they make our lives easier---inventors, organizers, planners, peacemakers, communicators, activists, scientists, and so forth. However, there is one gift that trumps all other talents—being an excellent parent. If you can successfully raise a child in this day in age to have integrity then you have left a legacy that future generations will benefit from.

I don't really care if people forget me. My legacy wasn't about me. It was about everything I could do for another. When that sinks in...well you try a little harder. You dream a little broader. Your heart stretches a little farther and you find that you can't go back to the same place and make it fit. You become a person of ideas and seek out your own kind. And then it happens: One day you discover that staying the same is scary and changing has become your new home.

Stop being chained down by bad credit I have the key to set you free...

How can you squander even one more day not taking advantage of the greatest shifts of our generation? How dare you settle for less when the world has made it so easy for you to be remarkable?” - Seth Godin, sethgodin.com

God never ends anything on a negative; God always ends on a positive. Because what is negative about going home?

Finally, my certificate got shipped home. Whoa. I am all excited. It has been the day I was waiting for. Thanks to original-degree.com that helped me get this goal of mine come true.

If you stayed at home, you might not get the opportunity to go to that place again. But if you went, you could always com back.

The mind builds its own home-

Thursday 1st January 00:15 TO: chris@christophercheshire.com Fireworks from the London Eye are bursting above my head filling the garden with reds, yellows and blues, but I am on my own. I don’t know where Daniel is. He promised he would be home by eleven. Happy New Year x

«Una dona sense un home és com un peix sense bicicleta.» ANÒNIM

«Ja me n'adono, de les trampres que em fa la memòria. Dels paranys que em para el cap, que em pensa només les coses bones, que tria les pomes boniques de la safata, i llença, com peladures, com castanyes bordes, les coses dolentes, com si no haguessin sigut. I no sé jo què fa patir més: si pensar només els records bons i deixar fer a l'enyor, tan punxegut, i a la frisança aquesta que mai s'assedega, i que emborratxa l'anima. O si banyar-me als rierols de pensament que em porten cap als records tristos, dolents i tèrbols, i m'ennuegen el cor i em deixen encara més òrfena de pensar que el meu home no era pas l'àngel que jo corono»

I have always had trouble in finding time to go for a college. Although I am free now, i couldn't find a better college to learn. It is when I learnt about original-degree.com. And guess what my certificate is on its way shipped to my home.

You know, this always happens. Whenever I go away, I always think I'll come back to mountains of exciting posts, with parcels and telegrams and letters full of scintillating news - and I'm always disappointed. In fact, I really think someone should set up a company called holidaypost.com which you would pay to write you loads of exciting letters, just so you had something to look forward to when you got home.

‎Destruir l’home és difícil, gairebé tant com crear-lo: no ha estat senzill, no ha estat ràpid, però ho heu aconseguit, alemanys. Heu-nos aquí dòcils davant de les vostres mirades: per part nostra ja no heu de témer res: ni actes de revolta, ni paraules de desafiament, ni tan sols una mirada inculpatòria.

I was exhausted, frustrated, and egregiously horny on an alien planet with no way home. Even then, if I wasn’t taken to help some alien race with my species-saving coochie, I’d have fucking died in that lion attack.

¿Quina llengua que no tingués l’àmbit culinari com a referent bàsic diria d’un lloc cèntric que és al rovell de l’ou, d’un programa de televisió vulgar o de poca qualitat que és de pa sucat amb oli i de la gent poderosa que són de l’olla, o que remenen les cireres?

Each time Stuxnet infected a system, it “phoned home” to one of two internet domains masquerading as soccer fan sites—mypremierfutbol.com and todaysfutbol.com. The domain names, registered by someone who used fake names and fraudulent credit cards, pointed to servers in Denmark and Malaysia

Rea­sons Why I Loved Be­ing With Jen I love what a good friend you are. You’re re­ally en­gaged with the lives of the peo­ple you love. You or­ga­nize lovely ex­pe­ri­ences for them. You make an ef­fort with them, you’re pa­tient with them, even when they’re side­tracked by their chil­dren and can’t pri­or­i­tize you in the way you pri­or­i­tize them. You’ve got a gen­er­ous heart and it ex­tends to peo­ple you’ve never even met, whereas I think that ev­ery­one is out to get me. I used to say you were naive, but re­ally I was jeal­ous that you al­ways thought the best of peo­ple. You are a bit too anx­ious about be­ing seen to be a good per­son and you def­i­nitely go a bit over­board with your left-wing pol­i­tics to prove a point to ev­ery­one. But I know you re­ally do care. I know you’d sign pe­ti­tions and help peo­ple in need and vol­un­teer at the home­less shel­ter at Christ­mas even if no one knew about it. And that’s more than can be said for a lot of us. I love how quickly you read books and how ab­sorbed you get in a good story. I love watch­ing you lie on the sofa read­ing one from cover-to-cover. It’s like I’m in the room with you but you’re in a whole other gal­axy. I love that you’re al­ways try­ing to im­prove your­self. Whether it’s running marathons or set­ting your­self chal­lenges on an app to learn French or the fact you go to ther­apy ev­ery week. You work hard to be­come a bet­ter ver­sion of your­self. I think I prob­a­bly didn’t make my ad­mi­ra­tion for this known and in­stead it came off as ir­ri­ta­tion, which I don’t re­ally feel at all. I love how ded­i­cated you are to your fam­ily, even when they’re an­noy­ing you. Your loy­alty to them wound me up some­times, but it’s only be­cause I wish I came from a big fam­ily. I love that you al­ways know what to say in con­ver­sa­tion. You ask the right ques­tions and you know ex­actly when to talk and when to lis­ten. Ev­ery­one loves talk­ing to you be­cause you make ev­ery­one feel im­por­tant. I love your style. I know you think I prob­a­bly never no­ticed what you were wear­ing or how you did your hair, but I loved see­ing how you get ready, sit­ting in front of the full-length mir­ror in our bed­room while you did your make-up, even though there was a mir­ror on the dress­ing ta­ble. I love that you’re mad enough to swim in the English sea in No­vem­ber and that you’d pick up spi­ders in the bath with your bare hands. You’re brave in a way that I’m not. I love how free you are. You’re a very free per­son, and I never gave you the sat­is­fac­tion of say­ing it, which I should have done. No one knows it about you be­cause of your bor­ing, high-pres­sure job and your stuffy up­bring­ing, but I know what an ad­ven­turer you are un­der­neath all that. I love that you got drunk at Jack­son’s chris­ten­ing and you al­ways wanted to have one more drink at the pub and you never com­plained about get­ting up early to go to work with a hang­over. Other than Avi, you are the per­son I’ve had the most fun with in my life. And even though I gave you a hard time for al­ways try­ing to for al­ways try­ing to im­press your dad, I ac­tu­ally found it very adorable be­cause it made me see the child in you and the teenager in you, and if I could time-travel to any­where in his­tory, I swear, Jen, the only place I’d want to go is to the house where you grew up and hug you and tell you how beau­ti­ful and clever and funny you are. That you are spec­tac­u­lar even with­out all your sports trophies and mu­sic cer­tifi­cates and in­cred­i­ble grades and Ox­ford ac­cep­tance. I’m sorry that I loved you so much more than I liked my­self, that must have been a lot to carry. I’m sorry I didn’t take care of you the way you took care of me. And I’m sorry I didn’t take care of my­self, ei­ther. I need to work on it. I’m pleased that our break-up taught me that. I’m sorry I went so mental. I love you. I always will. I'm glad we met.

St. John,” I said, “I think you are al­most wicked to talk so. I am dis­posed to be as con­tent as a queen, and you try to stir me up to rest­less­ness! To what end?” “To the end of turn­ing to profit the tal­ents which God has committed to your keep­ing; and of which He will surely one day de­mand a strict ac­count. Jane, I shall watch you closely and anx­iously—I warn you of that. And try to re­strain the dis­pro­por­tion­ate fervour with which you throw your­self into com­mon­place home pleasures. Don’t cling so tena­ciously to ties of the flesh; save your con­stancy and ar­dour for an ad­e­quate cause; for­bear to waste them on trite tran­sient ob­jects. Do you hear, Jane?” “Yes; just as if you were speak­ing Greek. I feel I have ad­e­quate cause to be happy, and I will be happy. Good­bye!

You, my reader, who see me close, wonder about my heartbeats and measure my words, you my close friend who know my eyes and the home of their prose, you, my only lover, who always move my life, my poetry's pace and rhyme,... I can not disclose the shape of metaphors, nor what they bashfully display behind the robes of their naked source; but you can use the eyes of heart to feel what they are made of. And if it's a tear or a smile I evoke, it means we are human, it means we care and we love. It means we are both beautiful. (Soar)

Pessoas com teto de vidro não deveriam jogar pedras.

Tan segur com que passa el temps, la història es va repetint, i mentre l'home sigui home, la història és l'últim lloc on buscarà per aprendre.

Fui dormir com aquele pensamento triste na cabeça e, quando acordei, de manhã, ele ainda estava lá, como um buraco negro frio bem no meio de tudo.

Think of the communication that takes place in your own life on a continuous basis—at home, at work, with friends, and beyond. When you actively listen to people, you enhance communication.

É impressionante como o rosto de uma pessoa amada -- o rosto de alguém com quem já vivemos, a quem julgamos conhecer, talvez o único rosto que seríamos capazes de descrever, que contemplamos durante anos, desde uma distância mínima -- é bonito, e de certo modo, é terrível saber que até esse rosto pode liberar de repente, inesperadamente, gestos novos. Gestos que talvez nunca voltemos a ver.

it’s hardly headline news that the corporate state and its media are using the latest gadget-com and gimmick-tech to dumb us down as steadily as if they were standing on a stool and pounding our brains with a frozen ham.

Un moment, diu la Mariche, el que voleu dir és que els assaltants són tan víctimes com les víctimes dels assalts? Que tots nosaltres, homes i dones, som víctimes de les circumstàncies a partir de les quals es va crear Molotschna?

There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further out-door exercise was now out of the question. I was glad of it: I never liked long walks, especially on chilly afternoons: dreadful to me was the coming home in the raw twilight, with nipped fingers and toes, and a heart saddened by the chidings of Bessie, the nurse, humbled by the consciousness of my physical inferiority to Eliza, John, and Georgiana Reed. —Jane Eyre From Gradesaver.com

Have you forgotten me? by Nancy B. Brewer The bricks I laid or the stitches I sewed. I was the one that made the quilt; a drop of blood still shows from my needle prick. Your wedding day in lace and satin, in a dress once worn by me. I loaned your newborn baby my christening gown, a hint of lavender still preserved. Do you know our cause, the battles we won and the battles we lost? When our soldiers marched home did you shout hooray! Or shed a tear for the fallen sons. What of the fields we plowed, the cotton, the tobacco and the okra, too. There was always room at my table for one more, Fried chicken, apple pie, biscuits and sweet ice tea. A time or two you may have heard our stories politely told. Some of us are famous, recorded on the pages of history. Still, most of us left this world without glory or acknowledgment. We were the first to walk the streets you now call home, Perhaps you have visited my grave and flowers left, but did you hear me cry out to you? Listen, my child, to the voices of your ancestors. Take pride in our accomplishments; find your strength in our suffering. For WE are not just voices in the wind, WE are a living part of YOU!

I stood there, 220 pounds of ex-football player, ex-public defender, ex-a-lot-of-things, leaning against the faded walnut rail of the witness stand, home to a million sweaty palms. "To Speak for the Dead" (The Jake Lassiter Series) http://tinyurl.com/69eua2t

Perquè hi ha coses que no es poden dir. Perquè es poden dir les desgràcies, i es pot dir la pena, es poden dir el remordiment i la culpa, i es pot dir la mort, i el mal i les coses que fan els homes. Les bones i les dolentes. Però no es pot dir com es fa una nena. No hi ha paraules per explicar com vas fer-la, perquè la vas fer com la terra fa els arbres i els arbres fan les branques i les branques fan els fruits i els fruits fan les llavors. A les fosques. Des d'un lloc tan endintre que no sabies que en sabies.

Tracei os ursos dançantes com o dedo. Cada um cambaleando sobre apenas duas pernas, patas descontroladas, agarrando o ar. Olhei para eles, e de repente, vi que na verdade não estavam dançando, apenas pisando em falso por aí. Como grandes criaturas desajeitadas prestes a perder o equilíbrio.

ERIN ROONEY DOLAND is editor-in-chief of Unclutterer.com, a website providing daily articles on home and office organization, and author of the book Unclutter Your Life in One Week. She is a writer, productivity consultant, and lecturer. Writing and simple living are two of her greatest passions.

Bucket had started his criminal career in Braas, not far from when Allan and his new friends now found themselves. There he had gotten together with some like-minded peers and started the motorcycle club called The Violence. Bucket was the leader; he decided which newsstand was to be robbed of cigarettes next. He was the one who has chosen the name- The Violence, in English, not swedish. And he was the one who unfortunately asked his girlfriend Isabella to sew the name of the motorcycle club onto ten newly stolen leather jackets. Isabella had never really learned to spell properly at school, not in Swedish, and certainly not in English. The result was that Isabella sewed The Violins on the jackets instead. As the rest of the club members had had similar academic success, nobody in the group noticed the mistake. So everyone was very surprised when one day a letter arrived for The Violins in Braas from the people in charge of the concert hall in Vaxjo. The letter suggested that, since the club obviously concerned itself with classical music, they might like to put in am appearance at a concert with the city’s prestigious chamber orchestra, Musica Viate. Bucket felt provoked; somebody was clearly making fun of him. One night he skipped the newsstand, and instead went into Vaxjo to throw a brick through the glass door of the concert hall. This was intended to teach the people responsible lesson in respect. It all went well, except that Bucket’s leather glove happened to follow the stone into the lobby. Since the alarm went off immediately, Bucket felt it would be unwise to try to retrieve the personal item in question. Losing the glove was not good. Bucket had traveled to Vaxjo by motorbike and one hand was extremely cold all the way home to Braas that night. Even worse was the fact that Bucket’s luckless girlfriend had written Bucket’s name and adress inside the glove, in case he lost it." For more quotes from the novel visit my blog: frommybooks.wordpress.com

I fell in love with his childlike quirks, in the perfect weather, on October first. I fell in love when he smiled his beautiful smile, on the drive through the moonlight. I fell in love when his eyes shined, putting to shame the diamond sky. I was wonderstruck, blushing all the way home. I fell in love in a way, that was sweeter than rom-com.

AT THE SAME TIME Empire was dying, a new and very different kind of company town was thriving seventy miles to the south. In many ways, it felt like the opposite of Empire. Rather than offering middle-class stability, this village was populated by members of the “precariat”: temporary laborers doing short-term jobs in exchange for low wages. More specifically, its citizens were hundreds of itinerant workers living in RVs, trailers, vans, and even a few tents. Early each fall, they began filling the mobile home parks surrounding Fernley. Linda didn’t know it yet, but she would soon be joining them. Many were in their sixties and seventies, approaching or well into traditional retirement age. Most had traveled hundreds of miles—and undergone the routine indignities of criminal background checks and pee-in-a-cup drug tests—for the chance to earn $11.50 per hour plus overtime at temporary warehouse jobs. They planned to stay through early winter, despite the fact that most of their homes on wheels weren’t designed to support life in subzero temperatures. Their employer was Amazon.com.

FOOD Adobo (uh-doh-boh)---Considered the Philippines's national dish, it's any food cooked with soy sauce, vinegar, garlic, and black peppercorns (though there are many regional and personal variations) Almondigas (ahl-mohn-dee-gahs)---Filipino soup with meatballs and thin rice noodles Baon (bah-ohn)---Food, snacks and other provisions brought on to work, school, or on a trip; food brought from home; money or allowance brought to school or work; lunch money (definition from Tagalog.com) Embutido (ehm-puh-tee-doh)---Filipino meatloaf Ginataang (gih-nih-tahng)---Any dish cooked with coconut milk, sweet or savory Kakanin (kah-kah-nin)---Sweet sticky cakes made from glutinous rice or root crops like cassava (There's a huge variety, many of them regional) Kesong puti (keh-sohng poo-tih)---A kind of salty cheese Lengua de gato (lehng-gwah deh gah-toh)---Filipino butter cookies Lumpia (loom-pyah)---Filipino spring rolls (many variations) Lumpiang sariwa (loom-pyahng sah-ree-wah)---Fresh Filipino spring rolls (not fried) Mamón (mah-MOHN)---Filipino sponge/chiffon cake Matamis na bao (mah-tah-mees nah bah-oh)---Coconut jam Meryenda (mehr-yehn-dah)---Snack/snack time Pandesal (pahn deh sahl)---Lightly sweetened Filipino rolls topped with breadcrumbs (also written pan de sal) Patis (pah-tees)---Fish sauce Salabat (sah-lah-baht)---Filipino ginger tea Suman (soo-mahn)---Glutinous rice cooked in coconut milk, wrapped in banana leaves, and steamed (though there are regional variations) Ube (oo-beh)---Purple yam

Sis, you said in your last letter that you did not know as you ever would sees me again, that may be the case, but I hope not. At any rate you must not think that untill you are ablidge to, and if it shood be the case I am in hopes that we may meat hearafter wheir their is no way, but let ous both hope for the best. It will be time anough to get downhearted when the worst has com.

Na época não sabíamos o nome das árvores ou dos pássaros. Não era necessário. Vivíamos com poucas palavras e era possível responder a todas as perguntas dizendo: não sei. Não achávamos que isso fosse ignorância. Chamávamos de honestidade. Depois aprendemos, pouco a pouco, os matizes. Os nomes das árvores, dos pássaros, dos rios. E decidimos que qualquer frase era melhor que o silêncio.

«¿Us puc ajudar?», els preguntava, i llavors elles em donaven bocins de massa de pa perquè hi jugués, i jo en feia un homenet que elles coïen al forn amb la resta de menjar. Sempre feia homenets de pa, mai dones, perquè un cop cuits me'ls menjava, i això em feia sentir com si tingués un poder secret sobre els homes. Començava a entendre que no en tenia cap, de poder, malgrat les pulsions que, segons la Tia Vidala, jo els despertava.

Sí, diu la Mejal. Però jo tinc una altra pregunta que voldria plantejar. Té a veure amb el passatge bíblic que exhorta les dones a obeir i a sotmetre's als marits. Si ens hem de mantenir com a bones esposes, com podem deixar els nostres homes? No és un acte de desobediència, això? El deure més important i apressat, diu la Salome, són els nostres fills, la seva seguretat. Però no segons la Bíblia, diu la Mejal. No sabem llegir, diu la Salome. Com hem de saber què diu la Bíblia? Hi poses molts entrebancs, li respon la Mejal. Ja ens ho han ensenyat, el que diu la Bíblia. Sí, diu la Salome, Peters, els ancians i els nostres marits. Això, respon la Mejal. I els nostres fills. Els nostres fills!, exclama la Salome. I quin és el comú denominador entre Peters, els ancians, els nostres fills i els nostres marits? M'imagino que ens ho diràs tu, respon la Mejal. Tots són homes!, diu la Salome.

(...) o sigui que si una dona fa la seva vida i no se sotmet de bon grat a l’home, és una histèrica o una neuròtica. Si al llit no reacciona com l’home espera des de la simplicitat i la supèrbia, és una frígida. I si es vol prendre les mateixes llibertats que l’home en l’àmbit sexual, és una nimfòmana. Els amos i els senyors tenen una etiqueta per a tot el que fan o són les dones. En canvi, no en tenen cap per parlar dels defectes propis. Encara pitjor: es pensen que no en tenen, de defectes.

O sigui que tu creus que mantenir l'estat de la teva ànima és més important que obeir Déu, diu la Mariche, ja no tan calmada. És la mateixa cosa, de fet, diu l'Ona, tranquil·la. Jo considero que la meva ànima, la meva essència, la meva energia intangible, és la presència de Déu dins meu, i que en portar la pau a l'ànima, honro Déu. Si soc capaç de comprendre com s'han produït aquests delictes podré perdonar els qui els han comès. I quasi soc capaç, des de la distància, per descomptat, de sentir llàstima per aquests homes i d'estimar-los. L'amor és bo, i millor que les represàlies.

— Què hi ha de més preciós per a una dona que la llibertat? La llibertat de pensar, de sentir, d'actuar! —exclamà finalment. — Però, permeteu-me... —la va interrompre en Piotr Vassílitx, que ja mostrava a la seua cara un cert grau de descontentament—. Per què necessita una dona la llibertat? Què en faria? — Com? I per a l'home sí que seria necessària, a parer seu? Ah, ja hi som... Vostés, els homes... — És que l'home tampoc la necessita —la tornà a interrompre en Piotr Vassílitx. — Que no la necessita? — I tant que no! De què li serveix aquesta tan exaltada llibertat? Un home lliure, com tothom sap, o bé s'avorreix o bé fa ximpleries.

Escric tan de pressa com puc, però soc incapaç de seguir el ritme de la Mariche. Ha dit puta i mare soltera a l'Ona. La Salome s'ha aixecat de la galleda de munyir. Parla amb la Mariche a crits. Li diu que a l'Ona la van deixar inconscient i la van violar, com a tantes d'altres, i ara, com a conseqüència, està embarassada. Com s'atreveix la Mariche a dir puta a l'Ona! Déu, en la creació del món, va adormir profundament Adam i, menter dormia, li va llevar una de les costelles, que va fer servir per crear Eva. Adam era una puta? La Mariche exclama: Adam era un home! La Salome no li fa cas, i continua: Que vols dir que Adam va ser-ne l'instigador? Que es podia protegir?

—Te'n recordes? —em diu—. Aquí és on em vas fer aquell petó. […] —Em pensava que no te'n recordaves —dic. —Hauria d'estar mort per oblidar-ho. I potser ni així —em diu—. Potser seré com l'home de «L'arbre dels penjats». Algú a l'espera d'una resposta. En Gale, a qui mai no he vist plorar, té llàgrimes als ulls. Per evitar que continuïn vessant, m'hi acosto i premo els meus llavis contra els seus. I així tastem calor, cendres i misèria. Un tast sorprenent per a un petó tan suau. Ell s'aparta primer i em dedica un somriure sorneguer. —Sabia que em besaries. —I això? —li pregunto, ja que no ho sabia ni jo mateixa. —Perquè estic patint —diu—. És l'única situació en què em fas cas.

To Polish the Gold & Help Others Shine . . . Catch people doing things right: Outstanding leaders know that people will be more engaged, perform at higher levels, and be more loyal when they are appreciated and celebrated. Jeff West, international speaker and author of The Unexpected Tour Guide, shares that “People will jump over high hurdles, fight fires and break through walls for leaders who find them doing things right. Building that kind of chemistry is essential if a team is going to jell.” Capitalize on the opportunity to notice what people are doing right at work and at home and they will deliver their best. As the old saying goes, “A person who feels appreciated will always do more than expected.

En una fàbrica de cotxes no és indispensable que als torners els agradi Beethoven, que els tècnics llegeixin assaig o juguin al tenis, més enllà de la mesura en què aquestes ocupacions es puguin concebre com a "distraccions", moments de "relax" entre una cadena de muntatge i l'altra. Però l'ideal educatiu del departament de recursos humans d'una gran empresa, privada o pública, no és necessàriament el millor ideal educatiu. Un home complet és una altra cosa. I d'aquesta "altra cosa" en formen part activitats que no formen part del càlcul del salari ni de les estadístiques de productivitat, començant pel compromís polític i social. Els contes, com la música, com la poesia, etcètera, pertanyen a la vida de l'home lliure, de l'home complet. Fins i tot poden representar una defensa contra l'esclavitud total.

Si es donés el cas que ets una persona d'un temps futur, i has sobreviscut, fes el favor de tenir present això: no sucumbeixis mai a la temptació de sentir que cal perdonar tal com una dona perdona un home. Costa molt resistir-s'hi, creu-me. Però també tingues present que el perdó és una forma de poder. Suplicar perdó és una forma de poder, i negar-lo o concedir-lo també ho és, i segurament la més gran. Potser no es tracta d'una qüestió de domini. Potser en el fons no es tracta de qui pot posseir qui, qui pot fer què a qui i sortir-se'n encara que s'arribi a la mort. Potser no es tracta de qui pot seure i qui s'ha d'agenollar o estar dret o estirat, amb les cames obertes. Potser del que es tracta és de qui pot fer què a qui i ser perdonat pel que ha fet. Ningú podrà dir que és el mateix una cosa que l'altra.

Havia somniat una altra vida, molt diferent de la que havia anat vivint, molt diferent de la vida del seu pare, una vida traçada per la seva voluntat més que per unes circumstàncies, sempre pensant que ja tindria temps de rectificar-la, però en el fons sense gaires ganes de rectificar res. Havia visi tantes misèries, tanta persona vil i tant de tot, que la seva delícia era tirar molles de pa als pardals que a més de fugir quan el veien li empastifaven la barana. Un home és una cosa misteriosa; una màquina que no s'acaba mai de saber com és feta. Perquè els metges i els homes de ciència diuen és això i és allò i sempre és més del que diuen; els mateixos humors, els mateixos camins entortolligats per dintre, però cada home, amb la seva ànima, com... I encara que intentava d'explicar-s'ho més li semblava que no sabia res...

Un professor de pintura molt amable que donava classe als nanos del gueto deia que pintar era una forma d'evadir-se molt lluny. Era un home culte i tan apassionat que ella mai no va gosar contradir-lo. Però, a ella, la pintura no la transportava a fora ni la feia pujar al tren d'altres vides, a diferència dels llibres. Ben al contrari, la pintura la catapultava cap endins de si mateixa. Pintar no era una via de sortida, sinó d'entrada. Per això els quadres que pintava a Terezín eren foscos, de traços rampelluts, cels carregats d'un gris dens i tenebrós, com si ja aleshores intuís que aquest cel interior es convertiria en l'únic que veurien quan els portessin a Auschwitz, un cel on els núvols són de cendra. Pintar va ser una manera de conversar amb si mateixa molts d'aquells vespres en què la vencia el desànim d'una joventut que encara no havia començat i que ja semblava haver conclòs.

Fossin com fossin les nostres formes i els nostres trets físics, ho volguéssim o no, representaven un parany, una temptació; per culpa de la nostra naturalesa, que feia els homes embogir de luxúria, érem la causa innocent i irreprensible que ells trontollessin, ensopeguessin, caiguessin pel caire—¿el caire de què?, ens preguntàvem, ¿d'un penya-segat?—i es precipitessin cap avall en flames, com una allau de sofre ardent llançada per la mà furiosa de Déu. Érem les zeladores d'un tresor inestimable que s'amagava a dintre nostre; érem flors precioses que calia guardar dins d'un hivernacle per por que una emboscada no permetés que els predadors, que podien sotjar-nos des de qualsevol cantonada de l'ample món despietat en què regnava el pecat, ens arrenquessin els pètals, ens robessin el nostre tresor, ens estripessin i ens trepitgessin. Aquestes eren la mena de coses que ens deia a escola la Tia Vidala, sempre amb la gota al nas, quan fèiem brodats per a mocadors i tamborets i quadres emmarcats.

Some 30 years ago, I was influenced by Dr. J Robertson McQuilkin, who was president of Columbia Bible College in Columbia, SC, a great Bible teacher and Christian leader. His wife developed short-term memory loss, and then she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in the early 1980’s. He abruptly resigned his position, cared for her full time and then wrote a book, A Promise Kept. I remember thinking that he must really love his wife! God used this man’s example and his relationship with his wife to plant thoughts and feelings that would grow year by year, and be used to mold Gini and my relationship to one another and the importance of our marriage vows to one another “in the sight of God and these witnesses”. I now know that the “witnesses” include many who are still observing us today, as the Lord helps us to graciously love one another completely and unreservedly “til death do us part” If you have not watched this video with our vows and voices, please do so or pass this message on. On the website as alternate video just below the main one or http://vimeo.com/65673042 To get the book Gini and I wrote, www.ReadTheJourneyHome.com

OPTIONS FOR REDUCING While thrift stores such as Goodwill or the Salvation Army can be a convenient way to initially let go, many other outlets exist and are often more appropriate for usable items. Here are some examples: • Amazon.com • Antiques shops • Auction houses • Churches • Consignment shops (quality items) • Craigslist.org (large items, moving boxes, free items) • Crossroads Trading Co. (trendy clothes) • Diggerslist.com (home improvement) • Dress for Success (workplace attire) • Ebay.com (small items of value) • Flea markets • Food banks (food) • Freecycle.org (free items) • Friends • Garage and yard sales • Habitat for Humanity (building materials, furniture, and/or appliances) • Homeless and women’s shelters • Laundromats (magazines and laundry supplies) • Library (books, CDs and DVDs) • Local SPCA (towels and sheets) • Nurseries and preschools (blankets, toys) • Operation Christmas Child (new items in a shoe box) • Optometrists (eyeglasses) • Regifting • Rummage sales for a cause • Salvage yards (building materials) • Schools (art supplies, magazines, dishes to eliminate class party disposables) • Tool co-ops (tools) • Waiting rooms (magazines) • Your curb with a “Free” sign

When I started in real estate, despite high ambition, I was constrained by the same 24 hours as everyone else. My early success came from a grueling schedule, long hours, and the high price of near burn-out. In self-defense, I devised a system that featured direct marketing in place of traditional prospecting plus a highly effective team, with all the non-rainmaker tasks delegated to them. This took me to the top of the profession, twice #1 in RE/MAX worldwide in commissions earned, and 15 years as one of the top agents—working less hours than most. While an active agent, I consistently sold over 500 homes a year, even while starting and developing a second business, training and coaching more millionaire agents than any other coach. Without the inspiration of Dan Kennedy’s direct marketing methods and his extraordinary, extreme time-management philosophy, these achievements simply would not have been possible. LEVERAGING yourself, by media in place of manual labor, and with other people is very intimidating to most real estate agents and to most small businesspeople. It frankly is not easy to get right, but it is the quantum leap that uniquely and simultaneously lifts income and supports a great lifestyle. —CRAIG PROCTOR, CRAIGPROCTOR.COM

One other thing. And that's all. I promise you. But the thing is, you raved and you bitched when you came home about the stupidity of audiences. The goddam `unskilled laughter' comming from the fifth row. And that's right, that's right - God knows it's depressing. I'm not saying it isn't. But that's none of your business, really. That's none of your business, Franny. An artist's only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection, and *on his own terms", not anyone else's. You have no right to think about those things. I swear to you. Not in any real sense, anyway. You know what I mean?" ... The voice at the other end came through again. "I remember abouut the fifth time I ever went on `Wise Child'. I subbbed for Walt a few times when he was in a cast - remember when he was in the case? Anyway. I started bitching one night before broadcast. Seymour'd told me to shine my shoes just as I was going out the door with Waker. I was furious. The studio audience were all morons, the announcer was a moron, the sponsors were morons, and I just damn well wasn't going to shine my shoes for them, I told Seymour. I sais they couldn't see them anyway, where we sat. He said to shine them anyway. He said to shine them for the Fat Lady. I didn't know what the hell he was talking about, but he had a very Seymour look on his face, and so I did it. He never did tell me who the Fat Lady was, but I shined my shoes for the Fat Lady every time I ever went on the air again - all the years you and I were on the program together, if you remember. I don't think I missed more than one just a couple of times. This terribly clear, clear picture of the Fat Lady formed in my time. I had her sitting on this porch all day, swatting flies, with her radio goin full-blast from morning till night. I figured the heat was terrible, and she probably had cancer, and - I don't know. Anyway, seemed goddam clear why Seymour wanted me to shine my shoes when I went on air. It made *sense*." ... "... Let me tell you something now, buddy ... Are you listening?" ... "I don't care where an actor acts. It can be in summer stock, in can be over a radio, it can be over television, it can be in a goddam Broadway theatre, complete with the most fashionable, most well-fed, most sunburned-looking audience you can imagine. But I'll tell you a terrible secret - Are you listening to me? *There isn't anyone out there who isn't Seymour's Fat Lady.* That goddam cousins by the dozens. There isn't anyone *any*where that isn't Seymour's Fat Lady. Don't you know that? Don't you know that goddam secret yet? And don't you know - listen to me, now - *don't you know who that Fat Lady really is?*... Ah, buddy. Ah, buddy. It's Christ Himself. Christ Himself, buddy.

You're certainly not dressed like you're running a business." Eyes blazing, she glared. "What's wrong with how I'm dressed?" "An apron and a pink tracksuit with Juicy written across the ass are hardly serious business attire and they certainly don't scream swipe right on desi Tinder." Sam didn't know if there was such a thing as Tinder for people of South Asian descent living abroad, but if it did exist, he and Layla would definitely not have been a match. Layla gave a growl of frustration. "You may be surprised to hear that I don't live my life seeking male approval. I'm just getting over a breakup so I'm a little bit fragile. Last night, I went out with Daisy and drank too much, smoked something I thought was a cigarette, danced on a speaker, and fell onto some loser named Jimbo, whose girlfriend just happened to be an MMA fighter and didn't like to see me sprawled on top of her man. We had a minor physical altercation and I was kicked out of the bar. Then I got dumped on the street by my Uber driver because I threw up in his cab. So today, I just couldn't manage office wear. It's called self-care, and we all need it sometimes. Danny certainly wouldn't mind." "Who's Danny?" The question came out before he could stop it. "Someone who appreciates all I've got going here-" she ran a hand around her generous curves- "and isn't hung up on trivial things like clothes." She tugged off the apron and dropped it on the reception desk. "I'm not hung up on clothes, either," Sam teased. "When I'm with a woman I prefer to have no clothes at all." Her nose wrinkled. "You're disgusting." "Go home, sweetheart." Sam waved a dismissive hand. "Put your feet up. Watch some rom-coms. Eat a few tubs of ice cream. Have a good cry. Some of us have real work to do.

February 21 Christ’s Ambassadors We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us.—2 Corinthians 5:20 Pretend you are the only Christian left on planet earth. God is depending on you to reach people for Christ. Will you make a good ambassador? Will people want to follow Christ because of the way you live? Ouch! That hits me right between the eyes. I can think of many times in my life that I set a bad example. I know God must have been sorely disappointed in me. Thank goodness he forgives and forgives and forgives some more. How do we hurt our witness for Christ? When we find fault with the church service we show that we are attending for the wrong reason. When we stay at home on Sunday morning we are sending a strong signal that worshiping and praising God are not top priorities in our lives. Have you heard this before? Let someone else do that job. There are plenty of people in our church. They always ask me. Do ambassadors act this way? We sometimes talk about hypocrites in the church. How easy it is to point the finger toward someone else. How many times do we fail as ambassadors for Christ by judging others? We’ve heard it said, “Your life is like an open book People are reading it every day.” Lost people get their concept of Christianity through your life. Does your book have the following chapters: Whining, Telling Half Truths, General Griping, Lack of Self-discipline, Having a Pity Party and My Glass is Always Half Empty? We have been given the ministry of ambassadorship. Our mission is to tell the world what Jesus did for us. One way we do that is through our lives. Dear Father, help our light to shine before men. Like 2 Philippians 2:15 challenges us, help us to “become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which we shine like stars in the universe.

Starting a little over a decade ago, Target began building a vast data warehouse that assigned every shopper an identification code—known internally as the “Guest ID number”—that kept tabs on how each person shopped. When a customer used a Target-issued credit card, handed over a frequent-buyer tag at the register, redeemed a coupon that was mailed to their house, filled out a survey, mailed in a refund, phoned the customer help line, opened an email from Target, visited Target.com, or purchased anything online, the company’s computers took note. A record of each purchase was linked to that shopper’s Guest ID number along with information on everything else they’d ever bought. Also linked to that Guest ID number was demographic information that Target collected or purchased from other firms, including the shopper’s age, whether they were married and had kids, which part of town they lived in, how long it took them to drive to the store, an estimate of how much money they earned, if they’d moved recently, which websites they visited, the credit cards they carried in their wallet, and their home and mobile phone numbers. Target can purchase data that indicates a shopper’s ethnicity, their job history, what magazines they read, if they have ever declared bankruptcy, the year they bought (or lost) their house, where they went to college or graduate school, and whether they prefer certain brands of coffee, toilet paper, cereal, or applesauce. There are data peddlers such as InfiniGraph that “listen” to shoppers’ online conversations on message boards and Internet forums, and track which products people mention favorably. A firm named Rapleaf sells information on shoppers’ political leanings, reading habits, charitable giving, the number of cars they own, and whether they prefer religious news or deals on cigarettes. Other companies analyze photos that consumers post online, cataloging if they are obese or skinny, short or tall, hairy or bald, and what kinds of products they might want to buy as a result.

Sempre que he pensat en la mort d'aquell home, […] l'he imaginat com vas dir tu, que se li van trencar totes les cordes de dins. Però hi ha mil maneres de mirar-s'ho: potser es trenquen les cordes, o potser s'enfonsa el nostre vaixell, o potser som herba, i les arrels són tan interdependents que ningú no es mor mentre encara hi hagi algú viu. El que dic és que, de metàfores, en tenim tantes com vulguem. Però s'ha de vigilar la que es tria, perquè és important. Si tries les cordes, llavors conceps un món en què et pots trencar sense que et puguin arreglar. Si tries l'herba, insinues que tots estem connectats fins a l'infinit, que podem utilitzar aquest sistema d'arrels no només per entendre'ns els uns als altres, sinó també per convertir-nos en l'altre. […] Les cordes fan que el dolor sembli més fatídic del que és, diria. No som tan fràgils com ens podrien fer entendre les cordes. I també m'agrada l'herba. L'herba m'ha portat fins a tu, m'ha ajudat a imaginar-te com una persona real. Però no som diferents brots de la mateixa planta. Jo no puc ser tu. Tu no pots ser jo. Es pot imaginar prou bé una altra persona, però mai a la perfecció, oi? Potser és més com deies abans, tots estem esquerdats. Tots comencem sent un vaixell hermètic, un compartiment estanc. I passen coses; la gent ens deixa, o no ens estima, o no ens entén, o no els entenem nosaltres, i ens perdem i ens decebem i ens ferim mútuament. I el vaixell es comença a esquerdar per molts llocs. I, és clar, un cop s'esquerda el vaixell, el final esdevé inevitable. […] Però hi ha tot un lapse de temps entre que es comencen a obrir les esquerdes fins que finalment ens trenquem. I és només durant aquest temps que ens podem veure, perquè nosaltres ens veiem a través de les esquerdes i veiem l'interior dels altres a través de les seves esquerdes. Quan ens hem vist cara a cara? No ha estat fins que tu m'has vist a través de les meves esquerdes i jo t'he vist a través de les teves. Abans, només miràvem idees d'un i altre […]. Però un cop el vaixell s'esquerda, la llum hi pot entrar. La llum en pot sortir.

Tim Tigner began his career in Soviet Counterintelligence with the US Army Special Forces, the Green Berets. That was back in the Cold War days when, “We learned Russian so you didn't have to,” something he did at the Presidio of Monterey alongside Recon Marines and Navy SEALs. With the fall of the Berlin Wall, Tim switched from espionage to arbitrage. Armed with a Wharton MBA rather than a Colt M16, he moved to Moscow in the midst of Perestroika. There, he led prominent multinational medical companies, worked with cosmonauts on the MIR Space Station (from Earth, alas), chaired the Association of International Pharmaceutical Manufacturers, and helped write Russia’s first law on healthcare. Moving to Brussels during the formation of the EU, Tim ran Europe, Middle East, and Africa for a Johnson & Johnson company and traveled like a character in a Robert Ludlum novel. He eventually landed in Silicon Valley, where he launched new medical technologies as a startup CEO. In his free time, Tim has climbed the peaks of Mount Olympus, hang glided from the cliffs of Rio de Janeiro, and ballooned over Belgium. He earned scuba certification in Turkey, learned to ski in Slovenia, and ran the Serengeti with a Maasai warrior. He acted on stage in Portugal, taught negotiations in Germany, and chaired a healthcare conference in Holland. Tim studied psychology in France, radiology in England, and philosophy in Greece. He has enjoyed ballet at the Bolshoi, the opera on Lake Como, and the symphony in Vienna. He’s been a marathoner, paratrooper, triathlete, and yogi.  Intent on combining his creativity with his experience, Tim began writing thrillers in 1996 from an apartment overlooking Moscow’s Gorky Park. Decades later, his passion for creative writing continues to grow every day. His home office now overlooks a vineyard in Northern California, where he lives with his wife Elena and their two daughters. Tim grew up in the Midwest, and graduated from Hanover College with a BA in Philosophy and Mathematics. After military service and work as a financial analyst and foreign-exchange trader, he earned an MBA in Finance and an MA in International Studies from the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton and Lauder Schools.  Thank you for taking the time to read about the author. Tim is most grateful for his loyal fans, and loves to correspond with readers like you. You are welcome to reach him directly at tim@timtigner.com.

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A mesma ignorância predominou em relação a muitas criaturas maiores, inclusive um dos mais importantes e menos compreendidos de todos os animais que por vezes se encontram nas casas modernas: o morcego. Quase ninguém gosta dos morcegos, o que é lamentável, porque eles fazem muito mais bem do que mal. Comem grandes quantidades de insetos, beneficiando as plantações e o ser humano. O morcego marrom, a espécie mais comum nos Estados Unidos, consome até seiscentos mosquitos por hora. O pequenino pipistrelo — que não pesa mais que uma pequena moeda — ingere até 3 mil insetos em suas incursões noturnas. Sem os morcegos, haveria muito mais mosquitos na Escócia, larvas no solo na América do Norte e febres nos trópicos. As árvores das florestas seriam mastigadas até serem destruídas. As plantações precisariam de mais agrotóxicos. O mundo natural se tornaria um lugar estressado até a exaustão. Os morcegos também são vitais para o ciclo de vida de muitas plantas silvestres, colaborando na polinização e na dispersão de sementes. Um minúsculo morcego da América do Sul, o Carollia perspicillata, chega a comer 60 mil sementinhas a cada noite. A propagação das sementes feita por uma única colônia — cerca de quatrocentos desses morceguinhos — pode produzir, anualmente, 9 milhões de mudas de árvores frutíferas. Sem os morcegos, essas novas árvores frutíferas não existiriam. Eles também são essenciais para a sobrevivência, na natureza, de madeira balsa, abacates, bananas, frutas-pão, cajus, cravo, tâmaras, figos, goiabas, mangas, pêssegos, cactos saguaro, entre outros. Há muito mais morcegos no mundo do que a maioria das pessoas imagina. Na verdade, eles constituem aproximadamente um quarto de todas as espécies de mamíferos — cerca de 1100. Variam em tamanho desde o morcego-abelha, que realmente não é maior que uma abelha e, portanto, é o menor de todos os mamíferos, até as magníficas raposas-voadoras da Austrália e do sul da Ásia, que podem alcançar quase dois metros de envergadura. No passado já foram feitas tentativas de aproveitar as qualidades especiais dos morcegos. Na Segunda Guerra Mundial, o Exército americano investiu muito tempo e dinheiro em um plano extraordinário para acoplar minúsculas bombas incendiárias a morcegos e lançar de aviões um grande número deles — até 1 milhão de cada vez — sobre o Japão. A ideia era que os morcegos se empoleirariam nos beirais e telhados e suas pequeninas bombas-relógio iriam deflagrar, fazendo com que pegassem fogo e causassem, assim, centenas de milhares de incêndios. Elaborar bombas e timers tão pequenos exigia muita experiência e engenho; mas, finalmente, na primavera de 1943, o trabalho estava adiantado e foi marcada uma experiência em Muroc Lake, na Califórnia. No entanto, as coisas não correram bem como o planejado, para dizer o mínimo. Os morcegos estavam bem armados com suas bombas em miniatura, mas ficou claro que essa não era uma boa ideia. Eles não pousaram em nenhum dos alvos designados, mas destruíram todos os hangares e a maioria dos depósitos no aeroporto de Muroc Lake, bem como o carro de um general do Exército. O relatório do general sobre os acontecimentos do dia deve ter sido uma leitura muito interessante. Seja como for, o programa foi cancelado logo em seguida. Um plano menos maluco, mas não mais bem-sucedido, para utilizar os morcegos foi concebido pelo dr. Charles A. R. Campbell, da Escola de Medicina da Universidade de Tulane. A ideia de Campbell era construir gigantescas “torres de morcegos”, onde estes poderiam se empoleirar, procriar e sair para comer mosquitos. Isso, segundo Campbell, reduziria substancialmente a malária, e também forneceria guano em quantidades comercialmente viáveis. Várias torres foram construídas, e algumas ainda estão de pé, mesmo que precariamente, mas nunca cumpriram sua função. Ao que parece, os morcegos não gostam de receber ordens sobre onde devem morar.

Reader's Digest (Reader's Digest USA) - Clip This Article on Location 56 | Added on Friday, May 16, 2014 12:06:55 AM Words of Lasting Interest Looking Out for The Lonely One teacher’s strategy to stop violence at its root BY GLENNON DOYLE MELTON  FROM MOMASTERY.COM PHOTOGRAPH BY DAN WINTERS A few weeks ago, I went into my son Chase’s class for tutoring. I’d e-mailed Chase’s teacher one evening and said, “Chase keeps telling me that this stuff you’re sending home is math—but I’m not sure I believe him. Help, please.” She e-mailed right back and said, “No problem! I can tutor Chase after school anytime.” And I said, “No, not him. Me. He gets it. Help me.” And that’s how I ended up standing at a chalkboard in an empty fifth-grade classroom while Chase’s teacher sat behind me, using a soothing voice to try to help me understand the “new way we teach long division.” Luckily for me, I didn’t have to unlearn much because I’d never really understood the “old way we taught long division.” It took me a solid hour to complete one problem, but I could tell that Chase’s teacher liked me anyway. She used to work with NASA, so obviously we have a whole lot in common. Afterward, we sat for a few minutes and talked about teaching children and what a sacred trust and responsibility it is. We agreed that subjects like math and reading are not the most important things that are learned in a classroom. We talked about shaping little hearts to become contributors to a larger community—and we discussed our mutual dream that those communities might be made up of individuals who are kind and brave above all. And then she told me this. Every Friday afternoon, she asks her students to take out a piece of paper and write down the names of four children with whom they’d like to sit the following week. The children know that these requests may or may not be honored. She also asks the students to nominate one student who they believe has been an exceptional classroom citizen that week. All ballots are privately submitted to her. And every single Friday afternoon, after the students go home, she takes out those slips of paper, places them in front of her, and studies them. She looks for patterns. Who is not getting requested by anyone else? Who can’t think of anyone to request? Who never gets noticed enough to be nominated? Who had a million friends last week and none this week? You see, Chase’s teacher is not looking for a new seating chart or “exceptional citizens.” Chase’s teacher is looking for lonely children. She’s looking for children who are struggling to connect with other children. She’s identifying the little ones who are falling through the cracks of the class’s social life. She is discovering whose gifts are going unnoticed by their peers. And she’s pinning down—right away—who’s being bullied and who is doing the bullying. As a teacher, parent, and lover of all children, I think this is the most brilliant Love Ninja strategy I have ever encountered. It’s like taking an X-ray of a classroom to see beneath the surface of things and into the hearts of students. It is like mining for gold—the gold being those children who need a little help, who need adults to step in and teach them how to make friends, how to ask others to play, how to join a group, or how to share their gifts. And it’s a bully deterrent because every teacher knows that bullying usually happens outside her eyeshot and that often kids being bullied are too intimidated to share. But, as she said, the truth comes out on those safe, private, little sheets of paper. As Chase’s teacher explained this simple, ingenious idea, I stared at her with my mouth hanging open. “How long have you been using this system?” I said. Ever since Columbine, she said. Every single Friday afternoon since Columbine. Good Lord. This brilliant woman watched Columbine knowing that all violence begins with disconnection. All

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Each time Stuxnet infected a system, it “phoned home” to one of two internet domains masquerading as soccer fan sites—mypremierfutbol.com and todaysfutbol.com. The domain names, registered by someone who used fake names and fraudulent credit cards, pointed to servers in Denmark and Malaysia that served as command-and-control stations for the attack.

Va traçar el seu nom a la meva esquena. Jo el meu a la seva. Tota l'estona. Era això, el que em passava. Durant tot aquest temps havia estat intentant esbrinar els secrets de l'univers, els secrets del meu propi cos, del meu cor. Totes les respostes havien estat sempre tan a prop i a la vegada sempre les havia combatut sense ni tan sols saber-ho. Des del primer minut que vaig conèixer en Dante, me'n vaig enamorar. E que passa és que no em vaig permetre saber-ho, pensar-ho, sentir-ho. El pare tenia raó. I era cert el que la mare deia. Tots llitem les nostres pròpies guerres. Mentre en Dante i jo estàvem estirats amb les esquenes contra la part del darrere de la camioneta i contemplàvem les estrelles de l'estiu, era lliure. Imagina-t'ho. Aristòtil Mendoza, un home lliure. Ja no tenia por. Vaig pensar en la cara que havia fet la mare quan li vaig dir que estava avergonyit. Vaig pensar en aquella mirada d'amor i compassió que feia mentre em mirava. «Avergonyit? D'estimar en Dante?» Vaig agafar-li la mà a en Dante. Com podia haver estat mai avergonyit d'estimar en Dante Quintana?

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Example: Imagine we help homeowners sell their homes. That is a broad solution. But what about the steps before selling a home? Owners want to know what their house is worth. They want to know how to increase its value. They need pictures. They need it cleaned. They need landscaping. They need minor things fixed. They need moving services. They may need staging. Etc. These are all narrow problems–great for lead magnets.

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Ardie, like many of us, had caught perfectionism, an illness that we heard was more common in women by a factor of roughly twenty to one. To the best of our understanding, it was transferred through social media and the pages of glossy magazines that were displayed face-out in the checkout line and, once contracted at the age of twelve or thirteen, could be cured by no number of Jezebel think pieces or edgy rom-coms in which the leading lady boldly portrayed a train wreck or a bad mommy. For our children, we chased the gold standard of suburban contentment set by our own stay-at-home mothers, while simultaneously stepping into the shoes of our breadwinning fathers. And we made sure that everyone knew we were handling it all swimmingly by the way we wrote notes on napkins dutifully folded into our children’s lunch boxes and threw Halloween parties with Swiss cheese cut into the shapes of ghosts. Because honestly, if that wasn’t success, what was?

La manera com criem els nois els fa molt mal. En reprimim la humanitat. Definim la masculinitat de manera molt limitada. La masculinitat és una gàbia dura i petita i nosaltres hi fiquem els nois. Ensenyem els nois a témer la por, la feblesa, la vulnerabilitat. Els ensenyem a amagar la seva verdadera identitat, perquè han de ser, com diuen els nigerians, homes durs.

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hoje me vi pela primeira vez quando tirei a poeira do espelho da minha mente e a mulher que me encarou de volta me tirou o fôlego afinal quem era aquela criatura tão linda aquela terráquea extraceleste eu toquei meu rosto e meu reflexo toquei a mulher dos meus sonhos toda sua beleza me sorria nos olhos meus joelhos se renderam à terra e eu chorei suspirando pensando que eu tinha passado a vida inteira sendo eu mas não me vendo tinha passado décadas morando no meu corpo sem sair nem uma vez e mesmo assim tinha ignorado seus milagres é curioso como somos capazes de ocupar um espaço sem estar em sintonia com ele como eu pude demorar tanto para abrir os olhos dos meus olhos aceitar o coração do meu coração beijar os meus pés inchados e ouvi-los sussurrando obrigado obrigado obrigado por nos ver

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L'amor etern entre humans, com l'amor diví cap als homes i les dones que se sotmeten a la seva voluntat, per força ha de ser un miratge. No hi ha remei: no sabem estimar de la manera que necessitem que ens estimin. Tots ens ho mereixem i al mateix temps cap de nosaltres s'ho val.

És una cosa a la qual estic acostumada, aquesta manera que tenen els homes de no parlar: els agrada tapar un clot de la gespa amb el taló de la bota, donar un cop al sostre d'un cotxe abans que marxi, escopir, seure amb les cames ben obertes, com si no tinguessin cap preocupació.

Encara que no ho sembli, paguem car el desconeixement de com realment pensaven els nostres homes més singulars, perquè quan quedem orfes de tot el significat, de totes les idees dels grans homes, comencem a anar cecs per la Història i ens entrebanquem a cada pas.

Gaudí és un dels catalans de volada més vasta que en la nostra història han existit. Sobre la seva figura i la seva obra s'està acumulant, provinent de tot el món, un tal interès, una tal curiositat, una massa tan enorme de bibliografia, que en el seu cas tendeix a ser una repetició de Ramon Llull. Ara bé: com més s'eixampla la dimensió universal de Gaudí, amb més claredat va apareixent la seva arrel terrestre catalana, més explícitament es manifesta l'home d'aquest país.

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Mental Health and Asian-Serving Organizations AAPI Women Lead: imreadymovement.org American Psychological Association: apa.org Asian American Health Initiative: aahiinfo.org Asian American Psychological Association: aapaonline.org Asian American Suicide Prevention and Education: aaspe.net Asian Mental Health Collective: asianmhc.org Asian Mental Health Project: asianmentalhealthproject.com Division 45: Society for the Psychological Study of Culture, Ethnicity, and Race: division45.org Filipino Mental Health Initiative—San Mateo County: fmhi-smc.org Mental Health America: mhanational.org The Mental Health Coalition: thementalhealthcoalition.org National Alliance on Mental Illness: nami.org National Queer Asian Pacific Islander Alliance: nqapia.org Red Canary Song: redcanarysong.net South Asian Mental Health Initiative and Network: samhin.org The Trevor Project: thetrevorproject.org Therapist Directories

Difference Between Freelancing & Outsourcing What is Freelancing? The term freelancer was first published in 1819 in a book by a writer named Walter Scott. Since then, various speculations about freelancing started. What is Freelancing? Why do freelancing? What is required to be efficient in freelancing? All kinds of questions started to arise. The word free means 'Free' and the word lance means 'Instrument' by which something is done. That is, the full meaning of Freelancing stands for “Doing something that is free or independent”. Freelancing is basically a profession where you can earn money by doing various types of work over the internet. Be it inside the country or outside the country. What is Outsourcing? "Outsourcing" is the short form of the English word Outside Resourcing. The term outsourcing was first coined around 1989 and was first seen as a business strategy. Later in the 1990s, this subject was included as an important component of business economics. Since then people started to have various interests in outsourcing. Out means 'Outside' and source means 'Source'. In other words, the whole meaning of Outsourcing is "To bring work from an external source". Outsourcing means the process of taking the work of an organization or company from an external source. For example – “Can't find any qualified person within the company to do a job in your company. So you offer some money to an outside freelancer to do the job and he agrees to do the job. Well, that's called Outsourcing”. Difference Between Freelancing & Outsourcing: Hope you have a clear idea about what is freelancing and what is outsourcing and that there are no questions in your mind about these topics. Now let's discuss the differences between freelancing and outsourcing in detail – 1. Origin: Freelancing started around 1998 and its journey started from GURU, a freelancing marketplace then known as SOFTmoonlighter.com. On the other hand, the term outsourcing was first coined around 1989 and was first seen as a business strategy. 2. Relation: A freelancer gets his payment from an outside source after doing the work. On the other hand, an outsourced contractor provides both the work and the payment at the end of the work to the freelancer. 3. Activities: Freelancers do not have to follow any rigid rules when it comes to working. They can work or start whenever they want, as long as they can submit work before their deadline. He will get payment only if he can submit the work on time or he will not be paid. 4. Payment: A freelancer will agree to receive the exact amount of payment before doing a job, and will get the same amount as the contract at the end of the job. But he will not get any monthly salary. On the other hand, similarly, an outsourced contractor pays the freelancers at the end of the contracted work. In this case, the outsourced contractors also do not keep the freelancers as any kind of salaried employees. 5. Advantages: A freelancer is everything when it comes to freelancing. He decides his own schedule. No one can force him to work, he can work whenever he wants and quit when he wants. A freelancer does not have to give office hours from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. and can work any time within 24 hours. You can work at home, so there is no need to go to the office to work. 6. Disadvantages: There are some risks involved in freelancing. There is no guarantee that you will be offered any work or that you will be paid. Since you are not entering into a contract in person, the possibility of non-payment or fraud remains. In the case of freelancing, every month's income is not the same, you can earn as much money as you work. Moreover, you may not always find the job you want. If this article of mine is of any use to you or you like it, then definitely share it and help others to know. Please Visit Our Website (Bhairab IT Zone) to read more Articles related to Freelancing and Outsourcing, Thank You.

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Ja fa temps que em ronda pel cap, això. Per què no podem viure tots com germans? Què ho fa que fins i tot el millor dels homes sempre sembla que calli i amagui alguna cosa als altres? Per què no podem dir ara mateix el que tenim al cor, sense embuts, quan sabem que les nostres paraules no se les endurà el vent? Tothom sembla més aspre del que és en realitat, com si tots tinguessin por de ferir els sentiments propis en manifestar-los massa de pressa...

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