Cumberland Quotes

Everyone comes with baggage. I just happen to be very good at unpacking.

Our editor, Harry Combs did not suffer fools gladly, although he insisted we cater to the fools that read the newspaper.

It is better to wear out than to rust out.

First came the wail of a siren across the valley, and then because light travels faster than blood, we saw an explosion, and a second later we felt it and heard the ear-splitting blast.

After Years Today, from a distance, I saw you walking away, and without a sound the glittering face of a glacier slid into the sea. An ancient oak fell in the Cumberlands, holding only a handful of leaves, and an old woman scattering corn to her chickens looked up for an instant. At the other side of the galaxy, a star thirty-five times the size of our own sun exploded and vanished, leaving a small green spot on the astronomer's retina as he stood on the great open dome of my heart with no one to tell.

My plenteous joys, Wanton in fulness, seek to hide themselves In drops of sorrow. Sons, kinsmen, thanes, And you whose places are the nearest, know We will establish our estate upon Our eldest, Malcolm, whom we name hereafter The Prince of Cumberland; which honour must Not unaccompanied invest him only, But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine On all deservers. From hence to Inverness,

The Prince of Cumberland! That is a step On which I must fall down, or else o'erleap,            For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires, Let not light see my black and deep desires. The eye wink at the hand; yet let that be Which the eye fears, when it is done, to see.

Opening your heart only gives people the permission to break it. And once it breaks, it bleeds.

We focused our attention on the tall businessman. His rhetoric did not soar. Even his voice was gray; bleak like a dead possum in melting, muddy snow.

Early one morning in the spring of 1985, I woke up and walked through the valley of the shadow of death, and didn’t even know it.

Yes. Cumberland General. I know where it is. Just above Jerusalem’s Lot. Okay. All right. Daddy

At the college where I teach, I'm surrounded by circus people. We aren't tightrope walkers or acrobats. We don't breathe fire or swallow swords. We're gypsies, moving wherever there's work to be found. Our scrapbooks and photo albums bear witness to our vagabond lives: college years, grad-school years, instructor-mill years, first-job years. In between each stage is a picture of old friends helping to fill a truck with boxes and furniture. We pitch our tents, and that place becomes home for a while. We make families from colleagues and students, lovers and neighbors. And when that place is no longer working, we don't just make do. We move on to the place that's next. No place is home. Every place is home. Home is our stuff. As much as I love the Cumberland Valley at twilight, I probably won't live there forever, and this doesn't really scare me. That's how I know I'm circus people.

Being in love is one of the greatest feelings in the world. You risk your heart, but it has to be better than going through life without it at all.

The second blast sounded like the last trump at judgment day. It was so loud I thought the rear windshield was going to burst and the filling in my tooth was going to fall out.

We need to cherish Father Sky and honor Mother Earth.Every THING has a purpose. Every ONE has worth. (Short story entitled THE PUZZLE, found in a book, Foxleaf Anthology, collection of works from authors in the Upper Cumberland, TN)

I’ll fight. I’ll fight for you. For us. And this time, I won’t let you walk away from me. When I saw you at the hospital, I shouldn’t have let you walk away. You deserved for me to fight harder even if you were the one ripping my heart out.

Ike noticed the preacher had pictures of Ronald Reagan and Jesse Helms in his office, with a portrait of Jesus in the middle. Ike said that seemed appropriate since the Bible said Jesus was nailed up between two thieves. The preacher didn’t like that much, so Ike quit going to church for awhile.

Professor Hampton is looking at me like he wants to do more than just look at me…

You’re supposed to be objective. What use is the news if it’s not objective?

I feel his fingers slowly rub against my jawline as he lifts my head up. Our eyes meet, and before I can take a breath, his mouth covers mine.

Sometimes it’s letting them in that helps you feel whole again. Even if you feel like a mess yourself. Maybe it’s not meant to last, but maybe it is. You’ll never know if all you do is run away.

She smiled. “I love that old song about Muhlenberg County; John Denver did it, I think.” “Him and a dozen others. But John Prine wrote and sang the original. It’s one of our claims to fame.” She quietly began to sing under her breath, “Daddy…won’t you take me back to Muhlenberg County…

Every time I look at you, I see my future. Every time I touch you, I feel your love. Every time I lick my lips, I taste you. Only you.

The only thing I’ll be bending is you over this countertop. I plan to rip your panties off, pull your hair, and fuck you hard.

—a parish without a village, lying among the mountains of Cumberland,

Kissing her feels like an addiction—one I don’t ever want to recover from. It felt different from before—much more intense and passionate. It’s validated everything I’ve been wondering about.

You are going to experience hurt, fear, pain, and possibly even heartache, but that's life. You stand back up, and you begin again. It's not easy. It sucks. And it might damage you, but that's how you build a thick skin. You take what life hands you , and you do your damn best to survive.

Kids reveal an obvious truth: natural wonder is built in to us,” she wrote in her journal. “We are instinctively attracted to nature.” Nature tugs on us like gravity, Carol believed. We travel long distances to stand atop mountains or stroll along seashores for reasons we can’t quite put into words. Nature keeps alive a childlike wonder and enables us to see the world anew through fresh eyes.

Principe di Cumberland! Ecco un inciampo Su cui cadrò, sempre che non lo salti: Lui mi taglia la strada . Occultate , voi stelle, i vostri fuochi, Che la luce non veda i miei neri e profondi desideri.

Sugar,” he starts before turning his attention back over to Dee, “I have thought about sex—hard, fucking dirty sex—about a hundred times since we sat down to eat.”  Looking back over at me, he says, “Does that clear it up for you?

First the Duke of Cumberland’s Redcoats hunted down the clansmen who had escaped from Culloden. Prisoners were treated so badly that they died in their hundreds. The survivors were sent to the American plantations as slave labour.

The most powerful way of being able to listen to your own intuition is by being silent. Find a quiet space, slow down and calm your mind. Your goal is to eliminate all that noise going through your head – all those thoughts that appear from nowhere.

A few years ago, Ed and I were exploring the dunes on Cumberland Island, one of the barrier islands between the Atlantic Ocean and the mainland of south Georgia. He was looking for the fossilized teeth of long-dead sharks. I was looking for sand spurs so that I did not step on one. This meant that neither of us was looking very far past our own feet, so the huge loggerhead turtle took us both by surprise. She was still alive but just barely, her shell hot to the touch from the noonday sun. We both knew what had happened. She had come ashore during the night to lay her eggs, and when she had finished, she had looked around for the brightest horizon to lead her back to the sea. Mistaking the distant lights on the mainland for the sky reflected on the ocean, she went the wrong way. Judging by her tracks, she had dragged herself through the sand until her flippers were buried and she could go no farther. We found her where she had given up, half cooked by the sun but still able to turn one eye up to look at us when we bent over her. I buried her in cool sand while Ed ran to the ranger station. An hour later she was on her back with tire chains around her front legs, being dragged behind a park service Jeep back toward the ocean. The dunes were so deep that her mouth filled with sand as she went. Her head bent so far underneath her that I feared her neck would break. Finally the Jeep stopped at the edge of the water. Ed and I helped the ranger unchain her and flip her back over. Then all three of us watched as she lay motionless in the surf. Every wave brought her life back to her, washing the sand from her eyes and making her shell shine again. When a particularly large one broke over her, she lifted her head and tried her back legs. The next wave made her light enough to find a foothold, and she pushed off, back into the water that was her home. Watching her swim slowly away after her nightmare ride through the dunes, I noted that it is sometimes hard to tell whether you are being killed or saved by the hands that turn your life upside down.

Kentucky as a whole has lagged behind the rest of the nation in almost every field of government and public service, primarily because the fiercely independent and uncooperative mentality of the frontier hunter-farmer has remained so deeply and tenaciously embedded in the mass psyche.

Drinking diluted apple cider everyday will make you feel energetic and halt midday sugar cravings. It primarily keeps the digestion in good shape. It also maintains the right balance of insulin and hormonal levels. People with diabetes can benefit from a daily intake of diluted apple cider vinegar.

Well, I heard the story, as one hears all the varied marvels and terrors of the air; as one heard some years ago of “air pockets,” strange gulfs or voids in the atmosphere into which airmen fell with great peril; or as one heard of the experience of the airman who flew over the Cumberland mountains in the burning summer of 1911, and as he swam far above the heights was suddenly and vehemently blown upwards, the hot air from the rocks striking his plane as if it had been a blast from a furnace chimney. We have just begun to navigate a strange region; we must expect to encounter strange adventures, strange perils.

(There is always another country and always another place. There is always another name and another face. And the name and the face are you, and you The name and the face, and the stream you gaze into Will show the adoring face, show the lips that lift to you As you lean with the implacable thirst of self, As you lean to the image which is yourself, To set the lip to lip, fix eye on bulging eye, To drink not of the stream but of your deep identity, But water is water and it flows, Under the image on the water the water coils and goes And its own beginning and its end only the water knows. There are many countries and the rivers in them -Cumberland, Tennessee, Ohio, Colorado, Pecos, Little Big Horn, And Roll, Missouri, roll. But there is only water in them. And in the new country and in the new, place The eyes of the new friend will reflect the new face And his mouth will speak to frame The syllables of the new name And the name is you and is the agitation of the air And is the wind and the wind runs and the wind is everywhere. The name and the face are you. And they are you. Are new. For they have been dipped in the healing flood. For they have been dipped in the redeeming blood. For they have been dipped in Time And Time is only beginnings Time is only and always beginnings And is the redemption of our crime And is our Saviour's priceless blood. For Time is always the new place, And no-place. For Time is always the new name and the new face, And no-name and no-face. For Time is motion For Time is innocence For Time is West.)

Successful people never forget what they love to do and are passionate about. They quickly learn to follow their own path and to make the right choices, no matter how crazy or unpopular they might appear to others. Just look at Steve Jobs, founder of Apple, who quit studying at a prestigious university to pursue his dreams.

Never letting you go, Izzy.  Never,

He smiled just before turning and walking toward the door. “Like I just said…I don’t play by the rules.

The new disease of our age is being OK doing everything at exactly the same time.

Seasons come and go, but our love will always continue to grow.

How is it that a girl with so much talent, so much beauty, is filled with so much pain?

The National Road, sometimes called the Cumberland Road because it originally terminated in Cumberland, Maryland, was the first Federal highway. It was built between 1811 and 1820 for some $7,000,000 to connect Baltimore with Ohio. It followed a route laid out by Gen. James Braddock’s pioneers during the French and Indian War and became an important line of commerce.

What I have written is drawn from experience — from seeing, hearing and working with mountaineers. In a land with few books and pens many tales are transmitted from father and mother to son and daughter.

She thanked God for the country, but soon was praying to him for the town. The neighborly offer of the country to console her for the loss of the town she received with alarm, hastening to bethink herself that God cared more for one miserable, selfish, wife-and-donkey-beating costermonger of unsavory Shoreditch, than for all the hills and dales of Cumberland, yea and all the starry things of his heavens. She would care only as God cared, and from all this beauty gather strength to give to sorrow.

Could be just the local boys holding a moonlight circle-jerk up on the hill or sitting around on the tombstones smoking grass. Mostly he'd run into them over in Cumberland, on the checkout line at the supermarket, each with two or three little kids and a little underage wife - who already looks as though life has passed her by - with poor coloring and a pregnant belly pushing a cart piled with popcorn, cheese bugles, sausage rolls, dog food, potato chips, baby wipes, and twelve-inch-round pepperoni pizzas stacked up like money in a dream.

geography of life. Home is not just shelter, nor is it simply the scenic backdrop to our lives. Places shape people. Home comes from the Sanskrit word aham, meaning self. Where we are determines who we are. It’s why we take pride in our hometowns and root for the home team.

Success requires a focused attention of your time and energy. This is true no matter what you want to achieve – to change the world or simply change apartments. All success stories come down to one person having a focused aim – so focused at times it can look like an obsession.

The secret to your success lies in surrounding yourself with sustainable love, and that starts with loving yourself. This is your hardest challenge. Through hundreds of hours spent coaching I have observed a common pattern – we can easily express our love for other people, possessions or experiences but find it difficult to say we love ourselves.

Stop worrying about what you cannot control. It’s a total waste of your energy, energy that could otherwise be used to help you focus on what you can influence. I spend large parts of my coaching sessions helping people to sift through their challenges and concerns – helping them to determine what they can change and what they have no control over.

Turnbull, whose powers of surprise were exhausted, rolled his round grey eyes and said, "Mr. Wilkinson, I think," because he could not think of anything else to say. The tall man sitting on the gravel bowed with urbanity, and said: "Quite at your service. Not to be confused with the Wilkinsons of Cumberland; and as I say, old boy, what have you done with my yacht? You see, they've locked me up here--in this garden--and a yacht would be a sort of occupation for an unmarried man." "I am really horribly sorry," began Turnbull, in the last stage of bated bewilderment and exasperation, "but really----" "Oh, I can see you can't have it on you at the moment," said Mr. Wilkinson with much intellectual magnanimity.

floating there, twisting around a tree branch, and she shivered. There had been no trips to the park since the body had washed up there. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. Both of the victims were from Jenkins Hollow. Both had red hair. Both had these rune symbols, which basically meant they were thought to be evil, marked women. How many more could there be? If it was a serial killer, how many others could fit this pattern? Just then the phone rang, and she nearly jumped off her chair. “Hello. Cumberland Creek Dance.” “Vera Matthews please.” “Speaking.” “This is Jennifer Blake at the elementary school. There’s been an emergency with Annie Chamovitz, and she has you listed as an emergency contact for her children. Can you pick her boys

To follow politics these days is to court bewilderment, denial, complete despair. Too often I feel I am living in a country I no longer recognize, a country determined to imperil every principle I hold dear and many of the people I love, too. Immersing myself in the natural world of my own backyard—or the nearby parks and greenways, or the woods surrounding our friends’ cabin on the Cumberland Plateau—is the way I cope with whatever I think I cannot bear. I’m not trying to hide from the truth but to balance it, to remind myself that there are other truths, too. I need to remember that the earth, fragile as it is, remains heartbreakingly beautiful. I need to give my attention to a realm that is indifferent to fretful human mutterings and naked human anger, a world unaware of the hatred and distrust taking over the news.

She explained, gently. Then I read the letter for myself. D, returning home one night from the theatre, found no Jock in his basket. M told him he was nowhere to be found when she had herself gone upstairs to bed. Intuition made D walk down in darkness through the garden. He found Jock, drowned, lying in the rain-water tank below the greenhouse. He must have chased a cat which had sprung into the bushes above, fallen into the tank, which was full of water, and been unable to climb out. Once again I saw the Cumberland stream, and the little body on its back; this time I had not been there to rescue him. And by a strange, eerie coincidence the old dog, Brutus, had called at home the same day to look for me, and on returning home had been run over and killed. ‘They knew. They both knew,’ I said to Fernande. ‘Knew what?’ she asked. ‘The two dogs. That they would never see me again. It was a sort of sacrifice.

We live in a world in which everything seems to needed now and working quickly is normally viewed as a positive attribute in the workplace...Do not let yourself become too frazzled and stressed by doing everything at high speed. As I have coached hundreds of individuals in the workplace, I have discovered that we waste precious time by delaying and procrastinating. We might know that the work is very urgent and important but we still might find ourselves being slow to start the task.

The 14th Tennessee, for example, had left Clarksville in 1861 with 960 men on its muster roll, and in the past two years, most of which time their homeland had been under Union occupation, they had fought on all the major battlefields of Virginia. When Archer took them across Willoughby Run on the opening day of Gettysburg they counted 365 bayonets; by sunset they were down to barely 60. These five dozen survivors, led by a captain on the third day, went forward with Fry against Cemetery Ridge, and there—where the low stone wall jogged west, then south, to form what was known thereafter as the angle—all but three of the remaining 60 fell. This was only one among the forty-odd regiments in the charge; there were others that suffered about as cruelly; but to those wives and sweethearts, parents and sisters and younger brothers who had remained at its point of origin, fifty miles down the Cumberland from Nashville, the news came hard. “Thus the band that once was the pride of Clarksville has fallen,” a citizen lamented, and he went on to explain something of what he and those around him felt. “A gloom rests over the city; the hopes and affections of the people were wrapped in the regiment.… Ah! what a terrible responsibility rests upon those who inaugurated this unholy war.

Rivers flood our tallest levees and break through our mightiest dams. Beaches keep moving, despite jetty walls and truckloads of imported sand. “Our domination of nature is a delusion,” Carol says. “We cannot exempt ourselves from nature’s ironclad laws. We cannot grow infinitely on a finite planet.” Mother Nature is a tough old broad. Like the humble tortoise lining up against the hotshot hare, she will outlast us. We can’t sustain our blustery sprint to the front of the pack. Our current reign has lasted fewer than ten thousand years—barely a blip in the earth’s four-billion-year history. Our supremacy is short-lived, and our species’ future is uncertain. Only one thing is for sure: we need Mother Nature a lot more than she needs us.

They emerged from the tropical vegetation, greeted by a general cheer. Stephen advanced, carrying his hurly: he was feeling particularly well and fit; he had his land-legs again, and no longer stumped along, but walked with an elastic step. Jack came to meet him, and said in a low voice, 'Just keep your end up, Stephen, until your eye is in; and watch out for the Admiral's twisters,' and then as they neared the Admiral, 'Sir, allow me to name my particular friend Dr. Maturin, surgeon of the Leopard. 'How d'ye do, Doctor?' said the Admiral. 'I must beg your pardon, sir, for my late appearance: I was called away on -- ' 'No ceremony, Doctor, I beg,' said the Admiral, smiling: the Leopard's hundred pounds were practically in his pocket, and this man of theirs did not look very dangerous. 'Shall we begin?' 'By all means,' said Stephen. 'You go down to the other end,' murmured Jack, a chill coming over him in spite of the torrid sun. 'Should you like to be given a middle, sir?' called the umpire, when Stephen had walked down the pitch. 'Thank you, sir,' said Stephen, hitching at his waistband and gazing round the field, 'I already have one.' A rapacious grin ran round the Cumberlands: they moved much closer in, crouching, their huge crab-like hands spread wide. The Admiral held the ball to his nose for a long moment, fixing his adversary, and then delivered a lob that hummed as it flew. Stephen watched its course, danced out to take it as it touched the ground, checked its bounce, dribbled the ball towards the astonished cover-point and running still he scooped it into the hollow of his hurly, raced on with twinkling steps to mid-off, there checked his run amidst the stark silent amazement, flicked the ball into his hand, tossed it high, and with a screech drove it straight at Jack's wicket, shattering the near stump and sending its upper half in a long, graceful trajectory that reached the ground just as the first of La Fleche's guns, saluting the flag, echoed across the field.

The tragedy of Central Appalachia is that it is becoming more marginalized in American life just when the country needs more than ever what it has to offer. At a time when the bonds of community and family are visibly failing and people feel more alone than ever, and as they are bombarded from all sides with more demands, and with more "data" that they can possibly digest, Appalachia offers a model for a less frenetic and more measured way of life. People of Appalachian descent elsewhere in the nation-and they number many millions-still feel deep ties to some Appalachian hamlet or hollow as to an ancestral homeland, though they may never have even visited it. As they make their way in the big world of getting and spending they know that something valuable has been lost for all they may have gained. That less frenetic way of life is deeply embedded in Appalachian culture, which has proved incredibly tough and enduring. Yet Appalachia has now been so thoroughly bypassed and forgotten that it cannot give, because the rest of America will not take, what could be it's greatest gift.

In 1969, NASA scientist James Lovelock noticed something unusual happening in the earth’s atmosphere: inexplicably, its balance of oxygen and other gases was regulating itself like a thermostat. But what was doing the regulating? He looked at other planetary processes—including the stable concentration of ocean salinity and the cycling of nutrients—and came to a startling conclusion: the earth is alive. He proposed that the earth is a superorganism—one giant living system that includes not just animals and plants but rocks, gases, and soil—acting together as if the planet was a single living being. Its bodily systems, such as the water cycle and nitrogen cycle, are balanced to maintain life on earth. The throb of the tides was the systole and diastole of the earth, and water coursed like blood through its veins. We proud humans may simply be microbes on the surface of a superbeing whose entirety we cannot fully comprehend. Like the bacteria in our body, is it possible that we, too, are part of a larger living earth, a speck on the eyeball of the universe? Tree roots break the sidewalk. Dandelions spring through the cracks. Insects grow resistant to pesticides

— ¿Qué piensa usted de las artes? — El arte es la ciencia de lo inútil. El médico frunció la frente sorprendido. Aquella respuesta no cuadraba con la personalidad que había creído adivinar en su paciente. — ¿Quiere decir que desprecia usted las artes; que las considera algo trivial, y a quienes las practican gentes desocupadas que no tienen otra cosa mejor que hacer? — ¡Nada de eso doctor! ¡Considero que el arte es tanto más sublime cuanto mayor es su inutilidad! — Explíquese mejor. — El hombre es el único animal que se crea necesidades que nada tienen que ver con la subsistencia del individuo y con la reproducción de la especie. No le basta comer para alimentarse, sino que condimenta los alimentos, de modo que añadan placer a la satisfacción de su necesidad. No le basta vestirse para abrigarse, sino que añade, a esta función tan elemental, la exigencia de confeccionar su ropa con determinadas forma y colores. No se contenta con cobijarse, sino que construye edificios con líneas armoniosas y caprichosas que exceden de su necesidad: lo cual no ocurre con la guarida del zorro, la madriguera del conejo o el nido de la cigüeña. ¿Hay algo más inútil que la corbata que lleva usted puesta? ¿De qué le sirve al estómago una salsa cumberland o un chateaubriand a la Périgord? ¿Qué añade al cobijo del hombre el friso de una escayola o las orlas en forma de signos de interrogación de los hierros que sostienen el pasamanos de una escalera? Pues bien: todo eso que está inútilmente «añadido a la pura necesidad»… ¡ya es arte! La gastronomía, la hoy llamada alta costura y la decoración son las primeras artes creadas por nuestra especie, porque representan los excesos inútiles añadidos a las necesidades primarias de comer, abrigarse y guarecerse. — Dígame, señora de Almenara, ¿dónde ha leído ese ensayo sobre la inutilidad? ¡Me gustaría conocerlo! — ¡No necesito leer a los demás para formarme una opinión, doctor! — Prosiga, señora: me tiene usted absolutamente fascinado. — Pues bien — continuó Alicia —. En el momento mismo en que el espíritu creador del hombre se despegó incluso de la necesidad primaria para producir sus lucubraciones, nacieron las grandes Artes: la Poesía, la Danza, la Música y la Pintura. — Olvida la Arquitectura. — Considero a la Arquitectura, como a la Gastronomía, un añadido inútil a una necesidad «primaria». La Danza en cierto modo, también tiene este lastre, pero se aleja más de la necesidad. Es… ¿cómo explicarme?, una… una… ¡una mímica sublimada! ¡eso es lo que quería decir! Tal vez la Danza sea anterior al lenguaje y tuviera en sus orígenes una intencionalidad práctica: con carga erótica, reverencial o religiosa. ¡Yo no estaba allí, y no se qué «intencionalidad» tenía! Pero no hay duda de que encerraba «un propósito», encaminado a la consecución de un fin. No sé si me explico, pero la intencionalidad es algo muy superior a la «necesidad primaria». Está ya directamente relacionada con el juicio y la voluntad. «Quiero esto y voy a demostrarlo con gestos y ademanes rítmicos.» ¡Y la Humanidad se puso a danzar! ¡De ahí a la Paulova o a Nureyev no había más que un paso! La Pintura pertenece a un género superior. ¡Es más inútil todavía! Tiene un lejanísimo parentesco con la escritura ideográfica, mas una vez añadida su carga de inutilidad, la distancia entre lo necesario y lo que no sirve para nada, se hace tan grande, que la considero entre las primeras de las Artes Mayores. ¿No opina lo mismo, doctor?

I just want you to know, in case your mind is racing a thousand miles per hour like mine is—that I don’t do this. I don’t go around groping my interns or people I work with.

She’d believed I would go far, regardless my drawbacks galore and unsavory habits. I found a good rock and watched the sun melt into the Cumberlands. Layers of orange like a buttermilk pie cooling on the horizon. Clouds scooting past, throwing spots of light and dark over the mountainheads. The light looked drinkable. It poured on a mountain so I saw the curve of every treetop edged in gold, like the scales of a fish. Then poured off, easing them back into shadow. I got all caught up in the show, waking up from my long cold swim underwater. Breaking the surface is a shock, the white is so white, the blue so blue. The air that’s your breath.

If we want users to like our software, we should design it to behave like a likeable person.’ Alan Cooper

That’s the one thing people never tell you about anxiety—people like me know it’s an irrational state of mind, but we can’t stop it from happening. Everything in my logical brain screams that it’s going to be okay, I’m fine, that this is ridiculous, but that other piece of me can’t see that logic and refuses to listen. The dichotomy of it all is overwhelming and completely frustrating

J.D. Fergusson is both a painter and a sculptor. He was born of Highland parents, is a true Celt, and worked in Paris both before and after the War. Since 1909, he has exhibited at the Salon d'Automne, and the influence of France must be upon him. Yet whatever impressions he has garnered in France, no Frenchman could have painted Fergusson's pictures. There is nothing imitative in his work; rather it is the expression of an unusually strong personailty. His compositions have attracted the French critics by their pleasing, unforced originality, kept always in bounds by an austere sense of good taste. Strength combined with grace characterises his pictures, and also his most attractive statuettes.

Her girlhood was spent in graceless toil and crowned by an early marriage. Wasted by a quarter-century of childbearing, she saw a row of graves dug for her children. Often she survived as a widow to fend for the remainder of her brood. She could rarely influence the impetuous decisions of her husband and sons, and, never far from the family graveyard, mourned through long years the results of their errors.

The pain stings to the point of bitterness. Bitter that it happened. Bitter that I had to come back.

It’s a double-edged sword, huh?” Her voice is soft with a tinge of agony. “Understanding the pain and living with the pain.

That’s the one thing people never tell you about anxiety—people like me know it’s an irrational state of mind, but we can’t stop it from happening. Everything in my logical brain screams that it’s going to be okay, I’m fine, that this is ridiculous, but that other piece of me can’t see that logic and refuses to listen. The dichotomy of it all is overwhelming and completely frustrating.

The pain stings to the point of bitterness.

through any structure without detection by his prey. He was a flawless assassin. It was just before five local time when Steven settled into the plush leather seating of the first-class compartment. The Deutsche Bahn Intercity Express, or ICE, was a high-speed train connecting major cities across Germany with other major European destinations. The trip to Frankfurt would take about four hours, giving him time to spend some rare personal time with his team. Slash was the first to find him. The men shook hands and sat down. Typically, these two longtime friends would chest bump in a hearty bro-mance sort of way, but it would be out of place for Europe. “Hey, buddy,” said Steven. “Switzerland is our new home away from home.” “It appears so, although the terrain isn’t that different from our place in Tennessee,” said Slash. “I see lots of fishin’ and huntin’ opportunities out there.” Slash grew up on his parents’ farm atop the Cumberland Plateau of Tennessee about halfway between Nashville and Knoxville. His parents were retired and spent their days farming while raising ducks, rabbits and some livestock. While other kids spent their free time on PlayStation, Slash grew up in the woods, learning survival skills. During his time with the SEAL Teams, he earned a reputation as an expert in close-quarters combat, especially using a variety of knives—hence the nickname Slash. “Beats the heck out of the desert, doesn’t it?” asked Steven. After his service ended, Slash tried a few different security outfits like Blackwater, protecting the Saudi royal family or standing guard outside some safe house in Oman. “I’m not saying the desert won’t call us back someday, but I’ll take the Swiss cheese and German chocolate over shawarma and falafel every friggin’ day!” “Hell yeah,” said Slash. “When are you comin’ down for some ham and beans, along with some butter-soaked cornbread? My folks really wanna meet you.” “I need to, buddy,” replied Steven. “This summer will be nuts for me. Hey, when does deer hunting season open?” “Late September for crossbow and around Thanksgiving otherwise,” replied Slash. Before the guys could set a date, their partners Paul Hittle and Raymond Bower approached their seats. Hittle, code name Bugs, was a former medic with Army Special Forces who left the Green Berets for a well-paying job with DynCorp. DynCorp was a private

El hombre es el único animal que se crea, necesidades que nada tienen que ver con la subsistencia del individuo y con la reproducción de la especie. No le basta comer para alimentarse, sino que condimenta los alimentos, de modo que añadan placer a la satisfacción de su necesidad. No le basta vestirse para abrigarse, sino que añade, a esta función tan elemental, la exigencia de confeccionar su ropa con determinadas formas y colores. No se contenta con cobijarse, sino que construye edificios con líneas armoniosas y caprichosas que exceden de su necesidad: Lo cual no ocurre con la guarida del zorro, la madriguera del conejo o el nido de la cigüeña. ¿Hay algo más inútil que la corbata que lleva usted puesta? ¿De qué le sirve el estómago una salsa cumberland o un chateaubriand a la Périgord? ¿Qué añade al cobijo del hombre el friso de una escayola o las orlas en forma de signos de interrogación de los hierros que sostienen el pasamanos de una escalera? Pues bien: todo eso que está inútilmente << añadido a la pura necesidad >>... ¡Ya es arte!

Finding your voice is mostly having the courage to speak and letting it be enough.

Love doesn't always make sense. And that's the great beauty of it, the great mystery–the thing cynics who scoff at so-called 'insta-love' would bottle if they could. But you can't manufacture mystery, honey.

No, not at all. Looks like we're both here to learn how to be the best at getting people off.

Though her head was aching too much for her to reason with herself, she could think of nice things - the Cumberland hills, her lambs, her Nannie, who had taught her this trick of detachment. "When you're sick or sorry, child" she had said, "think of other things as much as you are able. It's just practice, Start young and you'll get the trick of it." And most astonishingly, after a little while of going back to childhood and remembering Nannie in her blue print dress, with her white apron on and her sleeves rolled up, turning on the bath-water and humming a little song as she did it, she fell asleep.

inhale and yell, “Fuuuuuuu…….dge.” Ugh, crap. I hear Eric chuckling behind me. “I didn’t tell you to yell what you want to lick all over my body, sweetheart.

Men like their women full and satisfied. Always eat on dates, that way they know you won’t get tired…for later.

Maddox is his polar opposite.  He has just as many muscles, but on him they look huge and imposing.  His brown hair is longer than Zeke’s, sporting that messy look like he was running his hands through it all day—sex hair.

Sugar,” Beck interrupts my ruckus with a wink, “if chocolate is more fulfilling than sex, then someone isn’t doing their job right.

«Иногда смотреть на звезды – отличный способ перестать преувеличивать масштаб своих неприятностей.»

«Никогда нельзя считать, что вы слишком стары для достижения новой цели.»

Within minutes, they pulled up to the address on record for Henry Anderson. It would be generous to call the domicile a house—it was little more than a shack, the roof sagging, the windows boarded with cardboard. They could see muffled bits of the Cumberland River beyond the property. The likes of Anderson wouldn’t be accepted in a neighborhood that had expectation. Anderson wasn’t living large. The money he was pulling in from the pornography obviously went toward something else, Taylor speculated. Drugs, perhaps. The house looked like it could double as a meth lab. Baldwin had gotten quiet as they pulled up. She put the car into park and raised an eyebrow at him. “This place is a dump,” he said. “Surely a criminal mastermind isn’t living in this hell. What’s he doing with his money?” “Funny, you read my thoughts. Let’s go see.

powerful were

She found it a lot easier to communicate with her parents on paper. In

«Время нашего пребывания на этой планете ограниченно. Так проводите его в кругу тех, кого любите, кто вам нравится и с кем интересно. Перестаньте тратить силы на тех, кто ничего для вас не значит и портит вам жизнь. И позвольте себе быть с теми, кто поднимает вам настроение, с кем вам хорошо и вы счастливы.»

«Вы смогли бы прожить неделю или хотя бы день, не открывая электронную почту, социальные сети и вообще не выходя в интернет? Как кто-то остроумно пошутил, хороший доступ в интернет сейчас гораздо важнее еды и воды! 24 процента участников одного кросс-платформенного опроса признали, что пропускают важные моменты в своей жизни, потому что заняты их обсуждением в соцсетях. Знакомо? Вы фотографируете нечто поразившее вас и тут же размещаете снимок в Instagram, вместо того чтобы продолжать наблюдать за увиденным. Недавно на моих глазах столкнулись две машины. Потому что оба водителя перед этим смотрели на экраны смартфонов, а не на дорогу. Как-то на вечеринке я, оглядевшись, увидел, что большинство гостей смотрят в свои телефоны, а не болтают с теми, кто рядом. Мне стало неловко, когда я отвлек одного из знакомых, набиравшего СМС. А мне всего лишь хотелось поговорить!»

«Не жалейте времени, чтобы смотреть на происходящее у вас перед глазами, а не в сети. Руководство к действию Проводите меньше времени онлайн Интернет – отличная штука, но необходим баланс между жизнью в сети и вне ее. Сколько часов в день вы проводите онлайн, читая новости в Facebook, просматривая фотографии в Instagram, общаясь в WhatsApp или просто просматпросматривая сайты? • Отключите мобильный интернет в телефоне. Выходите с него в сеть только через Wi-Fi из дома, офиса или кафе. Теперь вам не нужно постоянно утыкаться в экран, едва услышав сигнал, и вы можете просто идти по улице и наслаждаться тем, что вокруг. • Пригласите в гости друзей и убедите их весь вечер не доставать телефоны из карманов и сумок. • Каждый день звоните кому-нибудь, а не пишите сообщение в Facebook или WhatsApp. И разговаривайте, вместо того чтобы перекинуться письмами с парой коротких предложений вперемешку со смайликами. • Напишите кому-нибудь не электронное, а обычное письмо или открытку. Почерк – вещь очень личная, передающая эмоции и тепло. • Отвлекитесь от чтения в Google. Проведите пару часов в книжном магазине или библиотеке, просто просматривая книги и журналы. Вспомните, как приятно перелистывать бумажные страницы. • В выходные или в отпуске регулярно проводите «день без интернета». Фотографируйте, но не выкладывайте снимки в сеть. Просто получайте удовольствие от того, что вокруг, не стремясь тут же рассказывать об этом всему миру.»

«Никогда не поздно меняться Самое печальное – начать думать, что вы слишком стары для новых стремлений. Я сбился со счета, сколько раз мне приходилось помогать людям, считавшим свой возраст оправданием для ничегонеделания. Но ведь от действий вас удерживает совсем не возраст, а сознание, полное страхов и опасений, что не справитесь. Это ваш разум опасается проявить себя, а иногда и просто боится успеха.»

Night Comes to the Cumberland.

We could do it easily if the three of us took turns watching him,” he said. “I don’t think we should worry your mother,” he told Sara, “but why don’t you invite me to stay for supper so I can see what Dr. Reeves says when he comes back? And, after that, you can suggest that since it’s so late, I should stay overnight. Then we can make our own arrangements about who stays with him when.” “And if Dr. Reeves doesn’t come back?” asked Andrew. “We won’t be sure about that until about nine or ten o’clock, which will be late enough so that there’ll be all the more reason for me to stay.” “Will you stay for supper, Sean?” Sara asked with no change of expression. “We’re having one of Mrs. Simmons’ specialties, Wiltshire gammon with Cumberland sauce, which I happen to know you like.” “I love any kind of ham, Sara,” said Sean, his face as expressionless as hers, “but I love Wiltshire gammon best of all. Thank you very much.

You don't always get to chose who you love. Sometimes love chooses you and you just roll with it. Don't question love, or fate butts his ugly ass in and messes everything up.

a stranger holding his eldest daughter. Chase Cumberland said nothing more; instead, he just

By training his soldiers to lunge with their bayonets not at the charging Highlander in front of them, but at the one to their right as he raised his arm to strike and thus exposed himself to a lethal thrust, Cumberland now had the tactic that could counteract the violent shock of the clansmen’s charge. His troops sensed for the first time that they could beat the Jacobites in a pitched battle.

There was Arctic John, a businessman from Salisbury who doesn’t hold water, Bruce Knott, a social worker from Cumberland who spends his lunch hour picking his bum, and Judith Glycerine, the reformation pig.

However, it is doubtless true that in a vague way some of these poorer mountaineers, fiercely independent as they were, found something abhorrent in the ownership of one person by another.

Here the mountains were like the walls of a great jail which shut in the combatants. After Appomattox it was as though mortal enemies had been locked in the same prison without taking away the deadly weapons they knew so well how to use. Perhaps in no other region of the United States except the Southern mountains were the lives and property of a great number of pro-Union civilians lost in the war. In Pennsylvania, Kansas and a few other border areas the people were subjected to occasional Confederate forays, but those areas were comparatively rich and the losses were soon restored. But in the highlands much of the modest and slowly-built-up accumulations of three generations were destroyed, impoverishing virtually the entire population.

need