Cr Quotes

Forgiveness has nothing to do with absolving a criminal of his crime. It has everything to do with relieving oneself of the burden of being a victim--letting go of the pain and transforming oneself from victim to survivor.

You were wrong. She really is the new general in town." I smiled back, hoping he wasn't aware of my body's reaction to us standing so close. "Maybe. But, it's okay. You can still be colonel." He arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Did you demote yourself? Colonel's right below general. What's that make you?" I reached into my pocket and triumphantly flashed the CR-V keys I'd swiped when we'd come back inside. "The driver," I said.

I reached into my pocket and triumphantly flashed the CR-V keys Iʹd swiped when weʹd come back inside. ʺThe driver,ʺ I said. I DIDNʹT GET TO DRIVE.

I have wept in the night At my shortness of sight That to others' needs made me blind, But I never have yet Had a twinge of regret For being a little too kind.

His smile returned as he tilted his head toward Sydney. "You were wrong. She really is the new general in town." I smiled back, hoping he wasn't aware of my body's reaction to us standing so close. "Maybe. But, it's okay. You can still be colonel." He arched an eybrow. "Oh? Did you just demote yoursefl? Colonel's right below general. What's that make you?" I reached into my pocket and triumphantly flashed the CR-V keys I'd swiped when we'd come back inside. "The driver," I said.

She's Devine. She's Magic. And she didn't have to wait for anyone to tell her in order for her to believe that about herself. And that's what made her so magically beautiful.

Very nice, Disney,” Ari screamed. “Good fucking boy.” Praise kink unlocked. I’d have to examine that later.

Peace made him bold; his life was in God's hands, and there it would always stay. 'The Lord is my helper; I will not fear. What can man do to me?

What a man does shows what he really believes.

With great effort, I pushed my questions to the side for the time being. We were still fugitives, still undoubtedly pursued. Sydney's car was a brand new Honda CR-V with Louisiana plates and rental sticker. "What the hell? Is this daring escape sponsored by Honda?" - Rose Hathaway

To write, live.

We will meet again.” Then, in a lower tone, [Jigson] added, “Whether on this shore or the next.

Buz, buz, buz, bum, bum, bum, wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, fen, fen, fen, tinky, tinky, tinky, cr’annch! I shall certainly come to be condemned at last. I have been drinking too much for two days running.

How can there be anyone else when you exist in the world?

You Only Live Once ! ;) - CR !

It was crazy how he understood me. How he was so willing to be this steady, perfect force for me.

The British definitely like their tea. It’s their solution to everything, all problems and concerns. If there’s ever a major crisis, a cup of tea will help.

Reepicheep: Unhand the tail. Aslan the Great gave me this tail and no one, repeat, no one, touches the tail. Period, exclamation mark!

We're in His hands." Abby muttered the words she and Phil had said before they left for Iceland. "May God protect us all. He always does." Her breath caught, and she turned to face the horizon with a brimming heart. "He always has.

And it was then that I noticed the dark black cursive script etched on the pink skin, the outline of the letters an angry red color that bordered a new tattoo. “What?” I murmured, leaning forward so I could read it. MONROE. His cock was tattooed with my name.

If you ever wear another man’s jersey, I will kill that man. So be careful, sweetheart.

o , the Pe lican . so smoothly d o th he cr est . a wi nd go d !

(Cleaning women: You will get a lot of liberated women. First stage is a CR group; second stage is a cleaning woman; third, divorce.)

The aristocracy had crumbled in her hands; the power vacuum she purchased was a good decision.

Duty impresses a structured hierarchy onto our lives. Duty never says, “You be you,” or “Go ahead and do what makes you happy.” Duty says, “This is who you are; do what is required.

Because I have a boyfriend.” “You should probably put him on notice then, sunshine,” he murmured with a slightly crazed grin. “Of what?” I whispered. “Of the fact he’s about to lose his girl.

I'll lead you there," she whispered. "We're going on a road trip," Sydney declared. "Get ready." Dimitri and I were still standing right next to each other, the anger between us beginning to diffuse. Sydney looked proud and continued trying her best to soothe Sonya. Dimitri looked down at me with a small smile that shifted slightly when he seemed to become aware of just how close we were. I couldn't say for sure, though. His face gave away. As for me, I was very aware of our proximity and felt intoxicated by his body and scent. Damn. Why did fighting with him always increase my attraction to him? His smile returned as he tilted his head toward Sydney. "You were wrong. She really is the new general in town." I smiled back, hoping he wasn't aware of my body's reaction to us standing so close. "Maybe. But, it's okay. You can still be colonel." He arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Did you demote yourself? Colonel's right below general. What's that make you?" I reached into my pocket and triumphantly flashed the CR-V keys I'd swiped when we'd come back inside. "The driver," I said.

Fuck love, Monroe. Love is nothing. You can feel love for anyone. What I feel for you is pain. Knowing that a part of my fucking soul is living outside of my body and now that I’ve found it, I’ll die if I ever lose it. That’s what we have. Love is a shadowed imitation for people unlucky enough to never find their soulmates. What we have is everything.

Lincoln: When your girlfriend is the hottest woman on the planet, you don’t take chances. Meeting you on a plane—that’s fucking romance book shit. Not happening.

If the wind doesn't blow...row

If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I would be your slave.

Have you ever been in love?” she murmured, those green eyes staring at me like I was fucking everything. I was still inside her. It was where I wanted to live. “Not until I saw you.” It was the most honest thing I’d ever told her.

Just don’t fucking hurt yourself anymore. I don’t want to have to sedate you again.” A sob slipped out. “How can you just say that to me? What is wrong with you?” He shrugged and kissed my lips softly. “I’ve stopped asking myself that, baby.

Dream, may it be with you through your creation and till the end of your life. Dream, may you be welcomed wherever you may be. Dream, may your trials eventually end in full bloom. Dream, though your beginnings may be humble, may the end be prosperous. (Trans cr; Faith | Spot Check cr; Annie & Aditi @ bts-trans © TAKE OUT WITH FULL CREDITS)

I had no idea who she was. But for a heartbeat, I forgot about the game, the score…the pressure. I was entranced. Nothing else mattered. I stared at her angelic face in blind amazement until I lost my mind and I blew her a kiss, watching in awe as her gorgeous face screwed up in disgust, gold flecked eyes unaware that she’d just changed my fucking world.

Dahlia,” I murmured, and she winced because she could hear the ache in my voice. “If I have to, I’ll love you enough for the both of us.

Good boy.

I love you. And I’ll never stop,” he told me. “I’d do anything for you…I’d live for you.

Is this what madness felt like?

When something feels this fucking good, you don’t fight it. You just follow it to the ends of the earth, no matter where it takes you.

How did you explain to someone that didn’t know you, that you breathed for them?

Hope is the sum of the mental willpower and waypower that you have for your goals.

He was a psychopath.

I feel like I’ve been searching for something real, darlin’, for a long fucking time. And I don’t know how to explain it…but when I met you that night. I found my real.

You think you don’t have a claim on me?” he finally growled, breaking the sex-fueled silence. “You think it’s possible for anyone else to exist now that I’ve found you?

The fall of dropping water wears away the stone." Lucretius

College is the greatest vacation anyone can take before real life begins. CR 2002 Hear the Calliope: A sentimental journey on the Earth Ride

It was kind of fun being completely crazy.

As writers, we must do everything we can to make a world that stands up as if it could be a real one. Not necessarily the real one; not necessarily the world the reader knows. But within its own confines, that world must be plausible. It must add up. After that, the reader meets you halfway. The reader fills out your words with pictures, with breath, with feeling. CR:

A typical CR2032 will have a quoted energy capacity of 230mAh at 3 volts. Just to put this into context, this is about the amount of energy required to power a human being for just over 20 seconds.

Sir, you said that if you don’t believe God is real, then He can’t do anything to you. In that case, sir, then. . . .” He paused. “None of us believe you’re real.” It took a moment for his meaning to settle in. Abby completed the logic in her mind—if they didn’t believe Del Quera was real, then he couldn’t . . . he couldn’t do anything to them! She had the impulse to burst out in a laugh. No grand statements or famous words were necessary—a difficult question had just been disarmed by an eight year-old.

At least I wouldn’t have to worry about her tonight. I’d copied her key, and after she fell asleep…we’d be having a sleepover party. Other people might call that scary stalker behavior. I called it true love.

She stood with sheets in her hands: chores didnt stop, just as the light didnt stop. Having made the bed and folded her nightgown under the pillow, she headed up to the cliS to sit by the graves a while. She tended the new one with great care, wondering whether the fedgling rosemarywould take. She pulled a fewweeds from around the two older crosses, now finely cr)'stalled with years of salt, the rosemary growing doggedly despite the gdes.

This simple idea—anchoring hope to a concrete goal—provided a starting point in my model of hope.6 In this venture, I join recent social scientists who suggest that hope involves the perception that one’s goals can be met.

I thought about fate alot, about how the tides could turn and change…about how one moment, one decision…could change your whole life… Like what happened when I had the pucking wrong date…and I ended up with a happily ever after.

The point, of course, is that the people who spent days and sweated buckets could also have taken an aircraft to the summit if all they’d wanted was to absorb the view. It is the struggle that they crave. The sense of achievement is produced by the route to and from the peak, not by the peak itself. It is just the fold between the pages.” The avatar hesitated. It put its head a little to one side and narrowed its eyes. “How far do I have to take this analogy, Cr. Ziller?”.

the Darwinian world of nature, however, which they claim is the only one, there can be no such things as rights, either for humans or for animals, but only the struggle for survival in which we have no more significance than ants or wasps.

Actually, among life-extension practices, perhaps the best described is calorie restriction, with animal studies dating back many decades. Calorie restriction (CR) with adequate nutrition is perhaps the most effective antiaging intervention currently known.

If we talk about the living oracles and want to pay respect to them, how shall we do this? Shall we do it by never reading their words-by paying not attention to that which they say? That is a very poor way of doing. We ought to listen to their words. When we cannot hear their words, we should read them; for they are the words of the authorized servants of God. I feel that there is a great neglect among us in this respect. --CR, 1897, 38, George Q. Cannon (CR is Reports of the General Conferences of the Church)

Ignoring these drastic limitations on our knowledge has meant that many so-called ‘adaptive explanations’ are merely pseudo-scientific ‘Just So Stories’, often made up without any anthropological knowledge, that have increasingly brought evolutionary psychology into disrepute.

I look at everyone in their Honda CR-Vs and their BMW X3s and their Audi Q3s and I think, Are you all mad? An ordinary estate or hatchback costs less to buy and less to run and is nicer to drive, more comfortable and just as practical. But it doesn’t take up so much bloody space.

She was like a lightning strike, breaking my fucking heart with her beauty. She had me and every other guy—and girl—in the room doing double takes. I immediately wanted to gouge out all their eyes with the fork on the table in front of me. Mine, my insides–and my dick–were screaming.

When something feels this fucking good, you don’t fight it. You just follow it to the ends of the earth, no matter where it takes you.” “I’m scared,” I admitted, and he nodded. “I’ll show you how good it can be. Until you’re not scared anymore. Until trusting me is as easy as breathing.

Intelligence exhibited by human beings originates and perpetuates itself “neither with knowledge of the self nor of things as such but with knowledge of their interaction, and it is by orienting itself simultaneously toward the two poles of that interaction that intelligence organizes the world by organizing itself” (CR, pp. 354–355).

Eldred smiled and glanced back at the children behind him, who watched with rapt attention, peeking between the gaps in the taller squires up front.

People say that if you want to get over someone you should think about them sitting on a toilet, but that only makes me want them more.

Do you have the tubes to ask me out or not?

Records, like the little children of long ago, only speak when they are spoken to, and they will not talk to strangers.

Or, in the intriguing words of existential philosopher Gabriel Marcel, hope is “a piercing through time … a kind of memory of the future.

She stared at me for a long moment, and it kind of felt like she was holding my destiny in her hands. A scary thing to think for sure. - Walker

I wanted to choose that out of control lust, where all you wanted was that moment, where all you wanted was that guy. Just for tonight.

When you had put so much love into someone, it was hard to think your love meant nothing in the end.

some days I stand here in this body and I do not feel at home.

She was going to leave me, and I knew there would be no way to reason with her, not so close to finding everything out. I would’ve been able to track her down–the tracker she thought was just a birth control implant took care of that–but even being away from her for that long was something I couldn’t allow. Right and wrong had somehow lost meaning since I’d found her.

Men liked to talk about themselves and see their women as a reflection of their own interests. A woman with not much to say for herself, and no past to interfere with his plans, got what she wanted faster. I’d

Western civilization still has curb appeal. Things like economic growth, advances in medicine, and an emphasis on human rights seem to indicate that things are in good shape. But something has been added to the mix that serves as the intellectual and spiritual basis for our society. The institutions at the foundation of our way of life don’t seem solid any longer. And the most important of these institutions is the household.

It's both a tremendous obligation and honor to undertake the unfulfilled work of the best of our abolitionist precursors--those who did not only want the abolition of white supremacist slavery and normalized anti-Black violence, but who also recognized that the greatest promise of abolitionism was a comprehensive transformation of a civilization in which the sanctity of white civil society was defined by its capacity to define 'community' and 'safety' through the effective of its ability to wage racial genocides. The present day work of (..) abolition has to proceed with organic recognition of its historical roots in liberation struggles against slavery, colonization, and conquest--and therefore struggle to constantly develop effective, creative, and politically educating forms of radical movement against the genocidal white supremacist state and the society to which it's tethered.

Sometimes, Jeanne thought, you have to live in the present, for the here and now. It enables you to put distance between life’s tides; it saves you from getting muddled in future plans and from worries that have not yet even emerged. So,

But a consistent Darwinist should surely rejoice to see such a fine demonstration of the survival of the fittest, with other species either decimated or subjected to human rule, and the poor regularly ground under foot in the struggle for survival.

But whenever the dark thoughts come on, especially at night, I try to force them to one side, because fear is a gnawing demon. It will suck all the puff out of your sails if you let it, till you lose all will to move forward. So, I decided I wouldn’t let

How did you get so scratched up then, Emlynn?” He looked at me uncertainly again. I felt wildly like laughing. Too many swooping highs and plummeting lows. What a weird few days. Weird being a massive understatement. “Cr-Crawling through gorse bushes.” I took a perverse delight in answering his questions in a way that told him nothing at all. I’d never paid much attention to boys before. Maybe Grace was onto something after all. “Crawling through gorse,” he repeated. “Part of your action-girl antics, no doubt?” “N-no doubt.” I smirked again.

MRS. BENTLEY’S CHORIZO BREAKFAST BURRITOS Servings: 4 INGREDIENTS FOR THE AVOCADO-TOMATO SALSA 1 large avocado, peeled, pitted, and diced ½ cup diced seeded tomatoes, from 1 to 2 tomatoes 1 small shallot, minced (about 2 tablespoons) 1 clove garlic, minced 1 jalapeño pepper, seeded and minced 1 tablespoon fresh lime juice, from 1 lime ½ teaspoon salt ¼ teaspoon ground cumin ¼ cup fresh chopped cilantro FOR THE BURRITOS 4 large eggs ¼ teaspoon smoked paprika ¼ teaspoon salt ½ lb spicy chorizo removed from casings 1⅓ cups (6 oz) shredded Monterey Jack cheese 4 (10-in) burrito-size flour tortillas Vegetable oil INSTRUCTIONS Make the Avocado-Tomato Salsa: Place all of the ingredients in a medium bowl and mix to combine. Set aside. In a medium bowl, whisk the eggs with the smoked paprika and salt. Set aside. Heat a large nonstick pan over medium-high heat. Add the sausage and cook, stirring frequently, until browned, 4 to 5 minutes. Use a slotted spoon to transfer the sausage from the pan to a plate, leaving the drippings in the pan. Reduce the heat to low. Add the eggs and scramble until just cooked

Sorry, Soto. I can’t even pretend to like you.” Soto’s face curled up in a snarl as he dropped his fake ass peace offering. “Fuck you, Lancaster.” I winked at him. “Sorry, not without dinner first. Your tiny dick would be so forgettable, I’d have to at least get a steak out of it.

Now it is perfectly true that nothing unifies a group more effectively than a threat, particularly an enemy. This may be external, but an internal enemy, a traitor, a trouble-maker, a deviant, will do as well, and the group feels better if it has someone to bully and despise. But while every group and society contains despised groups and individuals, they are not normally killed or even necessarily ill-treated, let alone selected for slaughter. Not surprisingly, it is very hard to find eyewitness accounts of human sacrifice, but the following example is nevertheless very instructive.

So you’ve come to the master, young grasshopper," Lincoln mused. I threw up a middle finger before realizing I wasn’t on Facetime and he couldn’t see me. “Just so you know, I told Walker you were cool. I’m going to have to go back and tell him otherwise now…just because you tried to Mr. Miyagi me.” “Do you want my help or not?” “Yes, I need your help! That’s why I fucking called!” “Then call me Mr. Miyagi.” I stared at my phone in disbelief. “Is this real life? Am I being punked?” “Final offer.” “Uggggh. Fine. Can you help me, Mr. Miyagi?” “I thought you would never ask,” Lincoln said calmly, only laughing after I growled at him.

With every step back to the bedroom, I felt more sure, like I was shedding the weight of trying to be the good guy all the time. I'd be that good guy eventually. I'd make all her dreams - whatever they were - come true. But in order to have the chance to be the good guy... I was going to have to be the villain first. - Walker

It is quite remarkable that the whole discussion of cheating by evolutionary psychologists is entirely dominated by the assumptions of the game theorists and economists, completely rooted as they are in the world-view of modern liberal individualistic capitalism, and who think purely in terms of the material benefits of cheating.

Traditionally, a fault divorce was the only means for a married couple to get divorced. It means that one of the spouses it at fault having committed one or more of: cruelty(mental, emotional, physical) , adultery, or deserted the other spouse for no good reason, impotence, among other grounds. No-fault divorce is a divorce in which the dissolution of a marriage does not require a showing of wrongdoing by either party. It became passed into family/divorce laws in various western nations in 1960s and 1970s. One would imagine that the fault or no-fault of a husband should have an implication on the maintenance amount he can be asked to pay to wife. Unfortunately, things are not that straightforward.

Religion” is not, in fact, some simple disposition that could possibly be either innate or learned. It is a highly complex phenomenon both psychologically and culturally, and there are major differences between the forms of religion found in primitive societies and the world religions with which we are familiar, as I have described in detail elsewhere (Hallpike 1977: 254-74; 2008a: 266-87; 2008b: 288-388; 2016: 62-88). But studying all these ethnographic facts is time-consuming and boring, and it is much more fun to assume that we all know what we mean by “religion”—something like “faith in spiritual beings”—and get on with constructing imaginative explanations about how it must have been adaptive for early man.

It didn’t work out that way, however, because people didn’t foresee population growth, poor diet and disease. Since it would have taken many generations to realise all the disadvantages of agriculture, by that time the population would have grown so large that it would have been impossible to go back to foraging, so the agricultural trap closed on Man for evermore.

Harari clearly has no knowledge at all of cross-cultural developmental psychology, and of how modes of thought develop in relation to the natural and socio-cultural environments. The people who carved the Stadel lion-man around 30,000 years ago and the Piraha had the same ability to learn as we do, which is why Piraha children can learn to count, but these cognitive skills have to be learnt: we are not born with them all ready to go. Cross-cultural developmental psychology has shown that the development of the cognitive skills of modern humans actually requires literacy and schooling, large-scale bureaucratic societies and complex urban life, the experience of cultural differences, and familiarity with modern technology, to name some of the more important requirements

In the first place, as we saw earlier, the menace of the free-rider that permeates evolutionary psychology is a fantasy. In the simple subsistence economies of hunter-gatherers and early farmers failure to reciprocate in exchange relations, or to participate in communal activities cannot be concealed and got away with. Nor in any case does survival and reproduction have any relation to the exchange of resources.

The idea of people “inventing” religious beliefs to “provide the needed social links” comes out of the same rationalist stable as the claim that kings invented religious beliefs to justify their oppression of their subjects and that capitalists did the same to justify their exploitation of their workers. Religious belief simply doesn’t work like that. It is true, however, that what he calls universal and missionary religions started appearing in the first millennium BC.

My face turned red as I brushed my hair out of my eyes, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I can get my own seat," I protested. He smiled slyly. "I'm aware. But I'd much rather be your seat." I hesitated for a moment, but then his golden gaze drew me in, again, and before I knew it, I found myself sliding onto his lap. “Oh,” I murmured, realizing he was…hard. This was going to be an interesting dinner. “Just ignore it,” he said casually. “It's been an ongoing problem since meeting you.

Marlboro Man answered, “Hello?” He must have been almost asleep. “Um…um…hi,” I said, squinting in shame. “Hey there,” he replied. “This is Ree,” I said. I just wanted to make sure he knew. “Yeah…I know,” he said. “Um, funniest thing happened,” I continued, my hands in a death grip on the steering wheel. “Seems I got a little turned around and I’m kinda sorta maybe perhaps a little tiny bit lost.” He chuckled. “Where are you?” “Um, well, that’s just it,” I replied, looking around the utter darkness for any ounce of remaining pride. “I don’t really know.” Marlboro Man assumed control, telling me to drive until I found an intersection, then read him the numbers on the small green county road sign, numbers that meant absolutely nothing to me, considering I’d never even heard the term “county road” before, but that would help Marlboro Man pinpoint exactly where on earth I was. “Okay, here we go,” I called out. “It says, um…CR 4521.” “Hang tight,” he said. “I’ll be right there.

Useful friendships are the bread and butter of life. This is one reason why marriages that are not useful don’t last. Romantic feelings come and go. In useful marriages the parties depend on each other for the basics—the dull-normal stuff of everyday existence. This is true when it comes to children too. Children serve no useful purpose any more. We look at a child and say, “So long as he’s happy, that’s all that matters”—not accounting for usefulness in our account of happiness. Perhaps this is one reason that our children disappoint us—we expect them to pursue their passions, to develop their gifts, yada, yada, yada, but we don’t give them anything worth caring about. And so they shrug and they say, “Who cares?” And why should they care? And why should we be disappointed when they don’t amount to anything? We preached to them the gospel of happiness, implying, without meaning to, that they have nothing worthwhile to contribute to either a household, or the world at large. So they end up worthless and miserable.

It was the ultimate sacrilege that Jesus Christ, the very Son of God, was rejected and even put to death. And it continues. In many parts of the world today we see a growing rejection of the Son of God. His divinity is questioned. His gospel is deemed irrelevant. In day-to-day life, His teachings are ignored. Those who legitimately speak in His name find little respect in secular society. If we ignore the Lord and His servants, we may just as well be atheists—the end result is practically the same. It is what Mormon described as typical after extended periods of peace and prosperity: “Then is the time that they do harden their hearts, and do forget the Lord their God, and do trample under their feet the Holy One” (Helaman 12:2). And so we should ask ourselves, do we reverence the Holy One and those He has sent? Some years before he was called as an Apostle himself, Elder Robert D. Hales recounted an experience that demonstrated his father’s sense of that holy calling. Elder Hales said: "Some years ago Father, then over eighty years of age, was expecting a visit from a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles on a snowy winter day. Father, an artist, had painted a picture of the home of the Apostle. Rather than have the painting delivered to him, this sweet Apostle wanted to go personally to pick the painting up and thank my father for it. Knowing that Father would be concerned that everything was in readiness for the forthcoming visit, I dropped by his home. Because of the depth of the snow, snowplows had caused a snowbank in front of the walkway to the front door. Father had shoveled the walks and then labored to remove the snowbank. He returned to the house exhausted and in pain. When I arrived, he was experiencing heart pain from overexertion and stressful anxiety. My first concern was to warn him of his unwise physical efforts. Didn’t he know what the result of his labor would be? "'Robert,' he said through interrupted short breaths, 'do you realize an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ is coming to my home? The walks must be clean. He should not have to come through a snowdrift.' He raised his hand, saying, 'Oh, Robert, don’t ever forget or take for granted the privilege it is to know and to serve with Apostles of the Lord.'" [In CR, April 1992, 89; or “Gratitude for the Goodness of God,” Ensign, May 1992, 64] I think it is more than coincidence that such a father would be blessed to have a son serve as an Apostle. You might ask yourself, “Do I see the calling of the prophets and apostles as sacred? Do I treat their counsel seriously, or is it a light thing with me?” President Gordon B. Hinckley, for instance, has counseled us to pursue education and vocational training; to avoid pornography as a plague; to respect women; to eliminate consumer debt; to be grateful, smart, clean, true, humble, and prayerful; and to do our best, our very best. Do your actions show that you want to know and do what he teaches? Do you actively study his words and the statements of the Brethren? Is this something you hunger and thirst for? If so, you have a sense of the sacredness of the calling of prophets as the witnesses and messengers of the Son of God.

Harari’s belief that the Cognitive Revolution provided the modes of thought and reasoning that are the basis of our scientific civilisation could not therefore be further from the truth. We may accept that people became able to speak in sentences at this time, and language is certainly essential to human culture, but anthropologists and developmental psychologists, in their studies of primitive societies, have found that their language development and their modes of thought about space, time, classification, causality and the self have much more resemblance to those of the Piraha than to those of members of modern industrial societies.

Others, faced with Turner's competitiveness were less contented. C.R. Leslie was on hand when Turner's Helvoetsluys, to start with "a grey pictre, beautiful and true, but with no positive colour in any part of it", was hung next to Constable's Opening of Waterloo Bridge Leslie wrote that Constable's painting looked as if painted with liquid gold and silver, and Turner came several times into the room while Constable was heightening with vermilion and lake the decorations and flags of the city barges. Turner stood behind Constable, looking from "Waterloo" to his own picture, and at last went and got his palette from the Great Room where he had been touching another picture. He then put a round daub of red lead, "somewhat bigger than a shilling, on his grey sea, [and] went away without saying a word. The intensity of the red lead, made more vivid by the coolness of his picture, caused even the vermilion and lake of Constable to look weak. I came into the room just as Turner left it. "He as been here," Said Constable, "and fired a gun.

I kept driving for a while, then stopped on the side of the road. Shining my brights on the road in front of me, I watched out for Leatherface while dialing Marlboro Man on my car phone. My pulse was rapid out of sheer terror and embarrassment; my face was hot. Lost and helpless on a county road the same night I’d emotionally decompensated in his kitchen--this was not exactly the image I was dying to project to this new man in my life. But I had no other option, short of continuing to drive aimlessly down one generic road after another or parking on the side of the road and going to sleep, which really wasn’t an option at all, considering Norman Bates was likely wandering around the area. With Ted Bundy. And Charles Manson. And Grendel. Marlboro Man answered, “Hello?” He must have been almost asleep. “Um…um…hi,” I said, squinting in shame. “Hey there,” he replied. “This is Ree,” I said. I just wanted to make sure he knew. “Yeah…I know,” he said. “Um, funniest thing happened,” I continued, my hands in a death grip on the steering wheel. “Seems I got a little turned around and I’m kinda sorta maybe perhaps a little tiny bit lost.” He chuckled. “Where are you?” “Um, well, that’s just it,” I replied, looking around the utter darkness for any ounce of remaining pride. “I don’t really know.” Marlboro Man assumed control, telling me to drive until I found an intersection, then read him the numbers on the small green county road sign, numbers that meant absolutely nothing to me, considering I’d never even heard the term “county road” before, but that would help Marlboro Man pinpoint exactly where on earth I was. “Okay, here we go,” I called out. “It says, um…CR 4521.” “Hang tight,” he said. “I’ll be right there.” Marlboro Man was right there, in less than five minutes. Once I determined the white pickup pulling beside my car was his and not that of Jason Voorhees, I rolled down my window. Marlboro Man did the same and said, with a huge smile, “Having trouble?” He was enjoying this, in the exact same way he’d enjoyed waking me from a sound sleep when he’d called at seven a few days earlier. I was having no trouble establishing myself as the clueless pansy-ass of our rapidly developing relationship. “Follow me,” he said. I did. I’ll follow you anywhere, I thought as I drove in the dust trail behind his pickup. Within minutes we were back at the highway and I heaved a sigh of relief that I was going to survive. Humiliated and wanting to get out of his hair, I intended to give him a nice, simple wave and drive away in shame. Instead, I saw Marlboro Man walking toward my car. Staring at his Wranglers, I rolled down my window again so I could hear what he had to say. He didn’t say anything at all. He opened my car door, pulled me out of the car, and kissed me as I’d never been kissed before. And there we were. Making out wildly at the intersection of a county road and a rural highway, dust particles in the air mixing with the glow of my headlights to create a cattle ranch version of London fog. It would have made the perfect cover of a romance novel had it not been for the fact that my car phone, suddenly, began ringing loudly.