Cramer Quotes

What does your anxiety do? It does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, but it empties today of its strength. It does not make you escape the evil; it makes you unfit to cope with it if it comes.

Baseball is a soap opera that lends itself to probabilistic thinking. [Dick Cramer]

Not all of Anthony’s officers, however, were eager or even willing to join Chivington’s well-planned massacre. Captain Silas Soule, Lieutenant Joseph Cramer, and Lieutenant James Connor protested that an attack on Black Kettle’s peaceful camp would violate the pledge of safety given the Indians by both Wynkoop and Anthony, “that it would be murder in every sense of the word,” and any officer participating would dishonor the uniform of the Army.

All there was to it, he was in a panic. He was scared stiff that any minute a fact might come bouncing in that would force him to send me down to Cramer bearing gifts, and there was practically nothing on earth he wouldn't rather do, even eating ice cream with cantaloupe or horseradish on oysters.

It's important to have fun. Survival is more than making sure we have enough food and water.

Give a man a fish, he eats for a day; teach a man to shop for fish at Whole Foods, he’ll be broke within the year.

- E piciorul meu. - Ba nu e deloc piciorul tau! replica sora Cramer. Acest picior apartine guvernului SUA.

The plants in the garden - the aloes, the almond tree, the rose tree and the iris - were afraid of her. The flowers withered under her breath and the touch of her hand was leprous for the leaves. The plants whose growth is belief, whose breathing is hope, whose immobility is confidence and whose calyx is prayer, the plants who kept watch into the night, hated this women with the secret force of stars.

It's like a drug, the feeling you could make a difference....

Every once in a while, the market does something so stupid it takes your breath away.

one

Ba nu e deloc piciorul tau! replica sora Cramer.Acest picior apartine guvernului SUA.

Can’t have Cramer finding out what I’m doing to his babysitter?

But Mr. Cramer,.” Wolfe protested, “is it my fault if destiny likes this address?

Wolfe grunted. “That’s admirably specious, but drop it. I give you my word that I haven’t the faintest notion of who killed Ellen Tenzer.” Cramer eyed him. “Your word?” “Yes, sir.

Social media has been described as more addictive than cigarettes and alcohol, and is now so entrenched in the lives of young people that it is no longer possible to ignore it when talking about young people's mental health issues.” Shirley Cramer, chief executive, Royal Society for Public Health

You’re damn right I would.” Cramer took a step toward the door, remembered his hat, reached across the red leather chair to get it, and marched out. I went to the hall to see that he was on the outside when he shut the door. When I stepped back in, Wolfe spoke. “No mention of anonymous letters. A stratagem?

In addition, when they talked as if city people lived by different values, they were not emphasizing abortion, or gay marriage, or the things that are typically pointed to as the cultural issues that divide lower-income whites from the Democratic Party. Instead, the values they talked about were intertwined with economic concerns.

If you like Anglo-Saxon, I belched. If you fancy Latin, I eructed. No matter which, I had known that Wolfe and Inspector Cramer would have to put up with it that evening, because that is always a part of my reaction to sauerkraut. I don’t glory in it or go for a record, but neither do I fight it back. I want to be liked just for myself.

Daniel Bernoulli: "Then this distinguished scholar informed me that the celebrated mathematician, Cramer, had developed a theory on the same subject several years before I produced my paper. Indeed I have found his theory so similar to mine that it seems miraculous that we independently reached sch close agreement on this sort of subject.

Haikus are quite hard You always have to count them ...Chunky applesauce?

It is common for women with a lot of education or power positions to be a submissive or slave in their personal life. The

Much to their annoyance, Calvin refused to answer any of their questions. He remained on the ground, silently bleeding at them.

hacienda

it occurred to him that maybe what a man saw was just a matter of where he looked.

The small ember of warmth in Tarpa’s soul that was struggling to become a fire was suddenly and painfully dashed out of existence by the joyful tears of the reunited couple, leaving only a tiny pile of soggy ash behind.

The white men on the Brinkley set were trying not to grin, like cheap lawyers at a ten-car pileup: Uh, did that mean Senator Dole didn’t think all the facts were out? Didn’t he believe the White House, that North and Poindexter were the only ones who knew? The Bobster dropped an eyebrow and rasped: “Aghh, don’t think Ripley’d believe that.

If you have ever been so upset by something that you drank yourself unconscious only to wake up some time later in an unfamiliar place with only a bad headache and a case of the spins to keep you company, then you have a small idea of the kind of trauma that Bianca experienced when she awoke in Bobcorp3. You also may have a drinking problem.

But the portion of the forecasting I care the most about is the direction given on future gross margins, because that can be a true indicator of what the business can earn in the future. The gross margin guidance is what will be used to try to figure out next quarter’s earnings estimates. That will set the benchmark that has to be beaten next time.

You have interrupted me four times, Mr. Cramer. My tolerance is not infinite. You would say, of course, that the message would not be published, and in good faith, but your good faith isn’t enough. No doubt Mrs. Nesbitt was assured that her name wouldn’t become known, but it did. So I reserve the message. I was about to say, it wouldn’t help you to find your murderer. Except for that one immaterial detail, you know all that I know, now that you have reached my client. As for what Mrs. Valdon hired me to do, that’s manifest. I engaged to find the mother of the baby. They have been at that, and that alone, for more than three weeks—Mr. Goodwin, Mr. Panzer, Mr. Durkin, and Mr. Cather. You ask if I’m blocked. I am. I’m at my wit’s end.

the boomers who had first been drawn to journalism watching Redford and Hoffman in All the President’s Men, thirty-something men and women who had recently graduated from the police beat or City Hall to the pinnacle of political coverage. And Hart could find no sure footing with this crowd, no easy rapport or rakish bonhomie. As Richard Ben Cramer noted in What It Takes, the younger cohort continually referred to Hart in print as “cool and aloof” and a “loner,” much as you might describe a serial killer after he is discovered to have plotted his murderous spree in some isolated shed decorated with creepy cutouts of his victims. But the word they used more than any other to summarize him, particularly among themselves, was “weird.” It had started in 1984, when Hart suddenly went from marginal candidate to national sensation, and the younger reporters and editors—the ones who hadn’t been around in the early

Anyway, the job didn’t call for deep thinking: if you thought too much, brought your insight and intellect to bear on the problems of the nation, you’d get out front of the President, or worse still, off to the side. That’s the surest way down the trash chute in the White House. There’s only one question that the Vice President needs to ask: “What’s the President saying on this?” Anything else is begging for trouble, and George Bush had brains enough to figure that out.

Kennebunkport, all the “cottages,” and Walker’s Point in particular, had to do with America’s substitute for class—that is, money and power. The stern gentlemen in their wing collars and boater hats who built these oceanfront mansions were not the idle rich of their day. They were men of big works and large affairs ... they’d catch the State o’ Maine sleeper Friday night from New York and, forty-eight hours later, they’d kiss their children goodbye again for the overnight trip back to Wall Street or midtown. Kennebunkport was their creation, for lives of the most rapacious striving.

En arrivant à Albany, nous nous rendîmes directement vers un grand bâtiment moderne. Avec ses nombreuses vitres, son grand hall et ses standardistes, il ressemblait à n'importe quel immeuble de bureaux et collait parfaitement avec l'aménagement urbain de ce quartier de la ville. J'imaginais que c'était exactement l'effet escompté par les potioneuses qui mettaient un point d'honneur à ne jamais se faire remarquer par les humains depuis la sombre époque des chasses aux sorcières organisées par l’Église catholique en Europe. - Tu es certaine que c'est là ? - Tu t'attendait à quoi ? A une vieille bâtisse au fond d'un cimetière ? - Pourquoi un cimetière ? Les potioneuses ne communiquent pas avec les esprits que je sache ? Je levai les yeux au ciel. - C'est fou ce que tu peux être vieux jeu parfois, tu sais ? - J'ai le droit de trouver que ça manque d'originalité, tout de même ? - Pas la peine d'épiloguer là-dessus, de toute façon je vais le cramer. Elle me jeta un regard surpris. - Quoi ? - Ben l'immeuble, je vais le cramer, répondis-je. - Rebecca, c'est pas parce que je trouve qu'un édifice a un style d'architecture un peu trop banal ou aseptisé à mon goût qu’il faut te sentir obligée de l'incendier... souligna-t-elle tandis que je sortais de la voiture en riant. Dix minutes plus tard, le grimoire était en cendre, l'immeuble en flammes et le conseil des Huit entièrement décimé.

In general, I start with an idea and a general gist of how I want the story to end, and I let the characters write through me. Research along the way informs my characters of where they must go and what they must do when they get there. Fate and Chance have roles, too, pushing the characters out of their comfort zone and into circumstances where they must either grow, or die. Well. Grow or get really uncomfortable. (My stories thus far are not THAT heavy.)

Love is like a Rubix Cube, there are countless numbers of wrong twists and turns, but when you get it right, it looks perfect no matter what way you look at it.

Once it had been simple. Civil rights supporters knew who their enemies were: special interests such as the real estate associations (who lobbied against the Mathias compromise for making something evil “palatable to the American people”). The lunatic far right (the executive director of the Liberty Lobby testified that King’s movement employed “mass brainwashing” just like “in Nazi Germany, Fascist Italy, Communist Russia, and Communist China”). The old-line racist Dixie gargoyles (they kept on rehearsing for a revival of Birth of a Nation: Senator George Smathers wondering why “when a colored boy rapes a white girl, he gets off easier”; Representative William C. Cramer raising the specter of the “Social Security widow in my district” forced to rent to a black man—and you could almost picture the lusty young buck he had in mind). This opposition was predictable. The curveball was the new opposition: the Pucinskis and the Rostenkowskis; the Jerry Fords, moderate Republicans who used to be the backbone of every civil rights vote. Now, the Dixie gargoyles were gloating, an ancient piece of Southern political folk wisdom was receiving its vindication: that once civil rights bills started affecting North as much as South, it wouldn’t just be Southerners filibustering civil rights bills.

I draw attention to a kind of politics in which people do not focus their blame on elite decision makers as they try to comprehend an economic recession. Instead, they give their attention to fellow residents who they think are eating their share of the pie. These interpretations are encouraged, perhaps fomented, by political leaders who exploit these divisions for political gain.

The wind blew autumn leaves into intercalated lines and arcs of force so regular you could photograph them for a textbook on Cramer’s Rule and the cross-products of curves in 3-space.

When your muscles are hungry for fuel, they don’t care where the energy comes from, says Brent Ruby, the University of Montana scientist who supervised the cyclists study, done by his then-graduate student Michael Cramer. The fast food in this experiment may not represent the healthiest everyday food choices, but neither are those engineered recovery foods, which are highly processed and laden with additives, he says. Regardless, any of these foods work. “The muscle could care less. If you’re dumping in carbohydrates, the muscle is going to be satisfied.

We got stiffed on the gig and drove back to Waco in silence. The sun was coming up over the Brazos when we got back to campus. That was the end of my career with Ramsey Horton and the K-otics, but I had learned his Floyd Cramer licks, without which I would not have known what to play on the Rolling Stones’ session in Muscle Shoals.

For nine months of the year Inspector Cramer of Homicide, big and broad and turning gray, looked the part well enough, but in the summertime the heat kept his face so red that he was a little gaudy.

Even the actual printing of the final draft fell to her, as her dat doubted that anyone could decipher his herky-jerky farmer’s hand. When she had finished, he signed it.

Not by power or might, but by the Spirit of the Lord of hosts,” he said. “A father is never prouder of his children than when they make him a little bit ashamed of himself.

Wolfe shook his head. "No. Only that afternoon. If we had to argue that it is not credible that it was left in the cupboard for an extended period, just for anyone to use, but we don't have to. The bottle in that cupboard contained good iodine at four o'clock that afternoon." Cramer growled. Daniel demanded, "How do you know that?" "Because it was used at that hour. By Archie. He tripped on an alligator and scratched his hand.

Cramer said a word, loud, which I omit because I suspect that some of the readers of these reports are people like retired schoolteachers and den mothers.

Tax the church property and take the burden from the poor. Do you think God would object to that?”{192}

GEORGE BUSH WAS HAVING a snowball fight with the press in a parking lot outside the Clarion.

They didn’t ... and by the end of the campaign, Bush was well known as a worm, a weanling woodlouse, a weedy wort in the garden of politics, a wan, whimpering ... well, it was war.

Of course, that made the papers, too. Well, what of it? ... He didn’t say the guy’s name! ... Gaghhd! Come on! What had the guy ever done—that hadn’t been handed to him? ... Dole never could figure what they saw in George Bush.

The fact was, the Senate’s “advise and consent” was intended, from the start, to forestall the President from remaking the Court in his image. The Senate had, for most of its two hundred years, scrutinized the philosophy and politics of nominees—not just their competence, or honesty. And when a President picked a justice for reasons of ideology, it was the Senate’s duty to examine that ideology.

Cramer was unimpressed. He had got out a cigar and was rolling it between his palms. I never understood why he did that, since you roll a cigar to make it draw better, and he never lit one but only chewed it.

Couple of weeks back, he was up in New Hampshire—nighttime, a living room, late already and it wasn’t the last event—and some guy stood up and asked Joe about his education. Not his education plan ... his own goddam education, like he wanted to make sure Biden went to college. Anyway, that’s how Joe heard it ... and he blew: he started yelling how he’d graduated with three degrees, went to law school on scholarship, clawed his way up from the bottom of his class—or some bullshit—he offered to compare IQs ... all with the chin out, the hectoring voice, like ... I may be stupid, but I’m Einstein next to you! ... And Ruthie Berry and Jill, who were sitting, resting, in the next room, had to scurry in and steer Joe out of there.

They showed him in a thousand ways they wanted to make him part of their club, but ... what was their club for? That was half the problem: they were trying to be so nice. Teddy Kennedy sent a shrink up to Wilmington, for the boys ... Kennedys knew about loss.

Father Diny interrupted to tell Joe a story about the World War II pilot with this slogan on his plane: Non illegitimi carborundum. Biden looked at him quizzically ... he didn’t remember much Latin. “Loosely translated,” Father Diny continued, “it means: Don’t let the bastards get you down.

Like Wheeler and Feynman, Cramer proposed that the wavefunction of a particle moving forward in time is just one of two relevant waves determining its behavior. The retarded wave in Cramer’s theory is complemented by a response wave that travels specifically from the particle’s destination, in temporal retrograde. In his theory, a measurement, or an interaction, amounts to a kind of “handshake agreement” between the forward-in-time and backward-in-time influences.13 This handshake can extend across enormous lengths of time, if we consider what happens when we view the sky at night. As Cramer writes: When we stand in the dark and look at a star a hundred light years away, not only have the retarded waves from the star been traveling for a hundred years to reach our eyes, but the advanced waves generated by absorption processes within our eyes have reached a hundred years into the past, completing the transaction that permitted the star to shine in our direction.14 Cramer may not have been aware of it, but his poetic invocation of the spacetime greeting of the eye and a distant star, and the transactional process that would be involved in seeing, was actually a staple of medieval and early Renaissance optics. Before the ray theory of light emerged in the 1600s, it was believed that a visual image was formed when rays projecting out from the eye interacted with those coming into it. It goes to show that everything, even old physics, comes back in style if you wait long enough—and it is another reason not to laugh too hard, or with too much self-assurance, at hand-waving that seems absurd from one’s own limited historical or scientific standpoint. In short: Cramer’s and Aharonov’s theories both imply a backward causal influence from the photon’s destination. The destination of the photon “already knows” it is going to receive the photon, and this is what enables it to behave with the appropriate politeness. Note that neither of these theories have anything to do with billiard balls moving in reverse, a mirror of causation in which particles somehow fly through spacetime and interact in temporal retrograde. That had been the idea at the basis of Gerald Feinberg’s hypothesized tachyons, particles that travel faster than light and thus backward in time. It inspired a lot of creative thinking about the possibilities of precognition and other forms of ESP in the early 1970s (and especially inspired the science-fiction writer Philip K. Dick), but we can now safely set aside that clunky and unworkable line of thinking as “vulgar retrocausation.” No trace of tachyons has turned up in any particle accelerator, and they don’t make sense anyway. What we are talking about here instead is an inflection of ordinary particles’ observable behavior by something ordinarily unobservable: measurements—that is, interactions—that lie ahead in those particles’ future histories. Nothing is “moving” backwards in time—and really, nothing is “moving” forwards in time either. A particle’s twists and turns as it stretches across time simply contain information about both its past and its future.

We’re going to be in love forever and ever,” Billy promised back. “I’m going to graduate, and you and me are going to get married in a park, like Rivers and Cramer are threatening to do, and our mothers can come be a lot together, and we’ll invite the flophouse and your people and―

People in this country look at politicians like doctors–solve the problem.." That's the way Dick talked about his discovery. "They don't really know about the gall bladder. so they want to know something about the doctor." This wasn't like his other campaigns. It was not just more doorsteps–this was something else. He would have to be something else. There were millions of people out there, going to pick their President. It didn't matter how hard Dick worked—he was not going to lock the baby blues on their faces and listen to them all. They weren't going to get in a room with Dick and figure out what they wanted to do. They wanted one guy, at the front of the room, to tell them what they were going to do, at least, what he meant to do.

If they could just get Joe and his magic, intact, to one of those moments, then millions would see, in a flash, his brilliance, his balls... and they would make a President. And Joe believed them. That's why his effort, his every day and night, was bent to straining, ever, to make something happen. Make the magic now— something ... the feeling, the connect. Who knew? This could be the time. And so, where his instinct drove him to share some bit of his life, he’d strew the gaudiest, shiniest trim that fell to his gaze ... right now. "Folks, when I was seventeen years old, I took part in demonstrations to desegregate restaurants.." Somehow, it was easier to show the tinsel than the tree. Lost, alas, was the solider stuff: the way he fiercely, doggedly, held his family together through loss; the way everybody he touched that day-every day— felt more like his better self than he did before Joe showed up; the relentless way he drove himself to be always the one they could count on. This was the common grit at the bed of his life family, loyalty, humor, guts–that was ever there. See, he thought they'd have to get that stuff–that's character, right? ... One look at his kids, Jill, his home, his life–they'd pick it up, right? But it's hard to show the grit underneath the bits of glitter–hard for Joe, took time.. and never hit with the hot splash he craved. Anyway, the big-feet, the pundits it was not their business: they were writing about politics, not life. Not even the near end of life. What did they know about bleeding in the skull? ... What did Joe know, for that matter? So no one wrote about the moment Joe lost the magic, or the common guts it took to finish the day.

And Bush knew he had to keep it up to the end not just blood-roar, but the full measure, till the cup was dry, till he, too, was brainless. The system demanded totality. That's why this system of picking the chief retained its defenders, who'd concede right away that it was long-horrible, in fact; it cheapened the issues, or ignored them; it dumbed down the dialogue to noise; it was spendthrift, exhausting, hurtful, and it savaged its protagonists... that's why the savants would get those dreamy looks at the end of the talk shows, and say it wasn't such a bad way to pick a President–a stress test that was a match for the job. In the end, we have only one nonnegotiable demand for a President, the man we hire to watch the world at our backs: that is totality. We may differ on our seven-point plans for child care, the six-hundred-ship Navy, one-man-one-vote for Namibia. But every adult in the country knows instinctively: that job in the White House is brutal, and the bastard who gets it works for us. We will not allow anything to be put ahead of it-not friends, family, nor certainly rosy self-regard... nor ease, restoration of self-forget it! Gary Hart admitted adultery and asked us to forgive his sin. But unforgivable was his assumption that he was supposed to have any life "outside." Whatever he did with that lovely girl, he put his enjoyment ahead of our good opinion, and he was erased from consideration. He would not concede that his life was our chattel.

There was Hitler, Mussolini and Tojo, for example, and they were all out to kill him. There was Lieutenant Scheisskopf with his fanaticism for parades and there was the bloated colonel with his big fat mustache and his fanaticism for retribution, and they wanted to kill him, too. There was Appleby, Havermeyer, Black and Korn. There was Nurse Cramer and Nurse Duckett, who he was almost certain wanted him dead, and there was the Texan and the C.I.D. man, about whom he had no doubt. There were bartenders, bricklayers and bus conductors all over the world who wanted him dead, landlords and tenants, traitors and patriots, lynchers, leeches and lackeys, and they were all out to bump him off.

told me

That’s what made it worse, in the end ... when he found out. Nixon had lied to him, personally.

Even a year later, Bush remarked to a friend, with uncharacteristic bluntness: “I wouldn’t care if I never see Richard Nixon again.

In the bad old seventies, when Mondale was Veep, and the government still worried about things like fuel and noise, the Vice President flew on small, efficient DC-9S.

Yeah, they told me, just be yourself ... so I did. Maybe that was the problem.

with loyalty oaths waving as weapons in the hands of the know-nothing right, the values of liberal education seemed to hang in the balance in 1952.

Then he dipped his finger into Dole’s shredded jacket, and with Dole’s blood traced an “M” on his forehead. That’d let the medics know he’d had a shot—another would kill him, overdose ... if a medic ever got there ... if McBryar could spot one

Jim Cramer’s Mad Money is one of the most popular shows on CNBC, a cable TV network that specializes in business and financial news. Cramer, who mostly offers investment advice, is known for his sense of showmanship. But few viewers were prepared for his outburst on August 3, 2007, when he began screaming about what he saw as inadequate action from the Federal Reserve: “Bernanke is being an academic! It is no time to be an academic. . . . He has no idea how bad it is out there. He has no idea! He has no idea! . . . and Bill Poole? Has no idea what it’s like out there! . . . They’re nuts! They know nothing! . . . The Fed is asleep! Bill Poole is a shame! He’s shameful!!” Who are Bernanke and Bill Poole? In the previous chapter we described the role of the Federal Reserve System, the U.S. central bank. At the time of Cramer’s tirade, Ben Bernanke, a former Princeton professor of economics, was the chair of the Fed’s Board of Governors, and William Poole, also a former economics professor, was the president of the Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis. Both men, because of their positions, are members of the Federal Open Market Committee, which meets eight times a year to set monetary policy. In August 2007, Cramerwas crying outforthe Fed to change monetary policy in order to address what he perceived to be a growing financial crisis. Why was Cramer screaming at the Federal Reserve rather than, say, the U.S. Treasury—or, for that matter, the president? The answer is that the Fed’s control of monetary policy makes it the first line of response to macroeconomic difficulties—very much including the financial crisis that had Cramer so upset. Indeed, within a few weeks the Fed swung into action with a dramatic reversal of its previous policies. In Section 4, we developed the aggregate demand and supply model and introduced the use of fiscal policy to stabilize the economy. In Section 5, we introduced money, banking, and the Federal Reserve System, and began to look at how monetary policy is used to stabilize the economy. In this section, we use the models introduced in Sections 4 and 5 to further develop our understanding of stabilization policies (both fiscal and monetary), including their long-run effects on the economy. In addition, we introduce the Phillips curve—a short-run trade-off between unexpected inflation and unemployment—and investigate the role of expectations in the economy. We end the section with a brief summary of the history of macroeconomic thought and how the modern consensus view of stabilization policy has developed.

(Wide open! Some of these North Dakota towns made Russell, Kansas, look urban.)

They called in medics, but two got killed trying to get to Dole.

Reagan kept saying the deficit was Public Enemy Number One. But then he sent up a budget that would have pumped red ink up over the window sills.

A Governor could make all the difference in a state: KEAN: BUSH VISIT MEANS N.J. HAS A FRIEND IN WHITE HOUSE That would be the headline from Trenton, if the Governor, like Tom Kean, was a friend who’d billboard Bush’s day in the Garden State—his visit to that toxic-waste cleanup site, all the help he’d offered on that Superfund. ... Of course, if the Governor wasn’t a friend, then his appointed State Police Chief might find time to take a couple of press calls. ... That would be a different headline: BUSH VISIT WILL COST $200,000 IN OVERTIME

Anyway, there were no bigger fans in town than Chet and Bub Dawson. (Chet was a diehard K-State fan. He’d claim: “If KU was playin’ Russia, I’d root for Russia.”)

If Steve Symms lost, it would turn the country over to liberals, to TEDDY KENNEDY!

And there’d be no point: Why would he give his life over to this, if it were not for the notion that he could do something great?

in Jeffrey S. Cramer. Walden: A fully annotated edition. Yale University Press: New Haven, 2004,

George Bush knew five times more about the governments of the world—his own included—than Ronald Reagan ever would.

But now, in the age of Reagan, Bush mostly flew a big old 707, the Stratoliner, a Cadillac-with-tailfins kind of plane, so heavy, noisy, and greedy for fuel that no commercial airline would be permitted to land one at an American airport.

In fact, Reagan couldn’t remember his grandchildren’s names, and he had no friends, only the husbands of Nancy’s friends.

Do not be too hard on Mr. Cramer,” Wolfe replied. “His job is a difficult and often thankless one. He constantly receives assaults from all sides. His superiors in the department demand arrests, the newspapers demand arrests, the public demands arrests. I agree that he is cantankerous, contentious, and often thickheaded. But he also is honest, hardworking, and fearless. The department would do well to have more men like him in their ranks.

couldn’t, either. They didn’t know this

X “One doesn’t need to be a great hero to take down a great evil; they just need to be able to do what needs to be done.” Sara “Even so, but what happens to one who took down the great evil, if they aren’t pure of heart won’t they just repeat the cycle of great evil?” X “The question isn’t great evil; the question is… what is evil?” X pauses. X “I’ll answer that for you, Evil doesn’t exist, neither does good, it’s all opinion.

Astrodome’s fences were moved in. Would the team, as currently composed, do better or worse in a smaller, more hitter-friendly park? Cramer ran the numbers—showing the relative propensity of the Astros versus their opponents to hit long pop flies—and told Rosen, “Sorry, if

It may be necessary to premise that the critic considers J. S. Bach as the fountain-head of instrumental music, and ascribes its further and gradual development to C. P. E. Bach, J. Haydn, Mozart, Clementi, Cramer, Pleyel, until the art attained its climax under Beethoven at the beginning of the present century.—"Beethoven

He slid deeper into the chair, snorted to himself, and thought about the time will mend a broken heart theory, deciding it was rubbish after all. He thought to himself that time was more of a thief. It stole fragments of a broken heart and hid them beneath the crusted surface of the soul.

how was Beckenbauer to be used? With hindsight, Schön should perhaps have agreed with his assistant coach Dettmar Cramer, who argued that it would rob West Germany of a major creative force to have Beckenbauer mark Bobby Charlton. Then again, Beckenbauer readily agreed when Schön gave him orders to follow England’s play-maker – and hindsight is perfect but useless vision.

in November was dismal. It was a time of short gray days and long

scientist, identifiable by his Hush Puppies, walked across the plaza, deep in thought. Ten minutes later, Sandy arrived.

In February 2000, hedge-fund manager James J. Cramer proclaimed that Internet-related companies “are the only ones worth owning right now.” These “winners of the new world,” as he called them, “are the only ones that are going higher consistently in good days and bad.

the horse in a stall and walked calmly over to the two of

The ministerial students were the worst—they were maybe one-third to one-half of each class, and this was their trade school. They came to learn the right words, all the proper formulae ... which they wrote down and memorized from the lectures of their profs.

Faith in Him is more than mere acknowledgment that He lives. It is more than professing belief. Faith in Jesus Christ consists of complete reliance on Him.

There’s so many things where people can set the process, whether it be gasoline or whatever it is, but farmers are typically—somebody else is setting the price for the farmer.

As members of the Church, if we chart a course leading to eternal life; if we begin the processes of spiritual rebirth, and are going in the right direction; if we chart a course of sanctifying our souls, and degree by degree are going in that direction; and if we chart a course of becoming perfect, and, step by step and phase by phase, are perfecting our souls by overcoming the world, then it is absolutely guaranteed—there is no question whatever about it—we shall gain eternal life.

Why did people think military relationships were romantic? If anything, they were more work than most relationships.

The more trust we place in the Lord and his promises, the greater will be our victory over the attacks of Satan, while the less we know and trust his promises, the more vulnerable we will be.

He knows us literally through thick and thin. He never asks for a sign of love, but can distinguish it by the features which it naturally wears. We never need to stand upon ceremony with him with regard to his visits. Wait not till I invite thee, but observe that I am glad to see thee when thou comest. It would be paying too dear for thy visit to ask for it.

Michael John Cramer confirmed that “as the war progressed [Grant] became gradually convinced that ‘slavery was doomed and must go.’ He had always recognized its moral evil, as also its being the cause of the war . . . hence General Grant came to look upon the war as a divine punishment for the sin of slavery.”3

Calls are super-juiced investments that allow you to control a lot of stock with much less money than you would need to buy the stock itself. Until you have to take delivery you can trade the value of the option, which goes up if the underlying goes up. There comes a time when option have to be exercised, though, and if the stock doesn't go up in the interim you lose everything. You don't buy calls to hold them. Owing to the volatility, you have to trade them, and trade them constantly. They are addictive and when you are right they can make you money with greater velocity than any other bet on earth. 21 If you have a edge, you have to be willing to bet the house on it. 31